Meanwhile, Bruvold was verbally abusing the E.F.O to anyone who would listen. “I am telling he is girl … He is wearing dresses. He is small like girl. He is talking like girl and he is singing like girl. He is no man. He is girl.” Freddie became a little sullen at Bruvold’s remarks and spent the rest of his break in his own quarters. The minute Freddie reseated himself at his station after break another complex situation arose.
“There are two racecrafts battling just out of range in the next quadrant,” reported Jaws.
“Tell me who it is when we get in range. Get it up on my screen. We might be able to go around both of them unnoticed.” Drake didn’t want to jump into a battle with two racecrafts so quickly after making a stop. They might both gang up on his vessel, damaging it to the point of making repairs again.
“Neither one of them is going very fast. We have the number two craft and the number eleven craft. There’s a lot of cannon fire.” Jaws let out a yawn. It was supposed to be his break now.
“The number two belongs to Boxton … I’m not sure about the eleven.” Drake knew the number two craft all too well, it was his rival, Boxton Oblize, and his racecraft special weapon was some sort of device that immobilized all main engine power and weapons in range, but their own. Drake was thinking that Boxton would be too involved with his current battle to pay any attention, either way he intended to go past two positions right here. If he fled past Boxton, and stayed in front of him until the end of the race, he would gain overall points on the current leader. This made Drake wide-awake with thoughts of winning the championship. At once, he engaged manual control and began to steer his way up and over the fight, with his heart pounding. He was going to try and take a diagonal route to the quadrant above, while passing the two crafts.
“We’ve done it we’re past both of them,” Jaws said mundanely.
Drake was just about to enter his destined quadrant that was out of both the other ship’s range and celebrate with his team, when everything went dimly quiet again. It was apparent to him that the number two craft had used one of their special weapons, but he wanted an all around systems check anyway. “There is only impulse here, cap,” said Freddie. “Shields fully operational, chief,” Sammy said happily. “There is no response from weapons control,” reported Kraus. “Life support completely responsive,” said Priscilla brightly. “I have something here, sir. The number eleven is without main thrusters as well. They are heading toward the nearby planet of Utekor, on impulse power,” Jaws explained sleepily.
Drake, upon hearing this last statement by Jaws, began navigating his way toward Utekor, effectively catapulting into an impulse race to the surface. Drake estimated they would probably arrive at the same time, but figured he had to be more popular than the number eleven driver, and therefore would receive better treatment. He also concluded that landing near the other craft would be more conducive to his plan of getting off the planet sooner, as they would help he, the famous Drake Judge, navigator of the Future Fuels number thirteen racecraft, instead of whoever that other guy thought he might be.
It took nearly sixteen hours, but just as Drake had predicted, they landed just a few moments after the number eleven, and not too far away from it either. He, along with Bruvold, Kraus and Jaws went to the loading zone to prepare for departure onto the lush, exotic surface. They equipped themselves with the standard rapid-fire laser units, but didn’t bother with anything else as Utekor met their needed qualifications for survival. When Drake, and the three with him, exited the loading zone, they saw a great deal of very tall, very thin, transparent beings, with large feet and small heads in comparison.
The illusive beings wore garments of unknown texture that covered them from the top of the neck down to the knee area. Some of the members of the crew, from the other craft, were emerging, when Drake asked one of the local aliens if they would be willing to assist and was trying to explain the situation, but the being only held up one long finger and smiled faintly. After the captain of the number eleven finished pleading the same case Drake had just beseeched, the being spoke inside of everyone’s mind.
“We would be glad to assist one of you. Our powers are such that we could instantaneously get both of your vehicles in the sky again. This poses a most astounding circumstance for our race. We have not seen outside talents for as long as we can remember. We require that each of your band, select four opponents to inaugurate individual hand-to-hand combat, involving absolutely no weapons. When any combatant is no longer able to sustain itself, the combatant is eliminated and all others continue, until one squad prevails. We will then assist the prevailing squad with whatever they necessitate for the proper repairs. If both sides agree, naturally.” The being finished communicating in the same mannerisms that it had the duration, with a simple smile and no movements.
“Did you guys hear that?” Drake asked his three mates. Bruvold and Kraus each nodded but Jaws stood still. Drake figured the little big nosed guy did in fact hear the mental voice, and addressed him. “Jaws, do you feel up to some fighting?”
“Now that you mention it… I uhh … am not really qualified for combat … sir,” Jaws replied tensely.
“Go back inside our craft and tell Sammy to get out here … the rest of you can go to the consuming quarters for nourishment,” Drake commanded to Jaws.
Drake felt his lineup would have a much better go of it without the little creature’s meager help. He then, noticed the captain of the number eleven send one of his five present crew members back inside their craft, leaving four total in their corporeal looking party. At which point, Drake assumed that the other commander had agreed to the before mentioned spectacle. Sammy soon emerged from the thirteen craft and placed himself by Drake’s side. Drake instructed his soon to be skirmishing bunch to disarm themselves, and prepare for particularized contests of strength and skill.
A stadium of irregular trapezoid like proportions manifested itself between the two competing racecrafts. This materialization included seating and lofty walls on all sides, with two entrances into the fighting pit, one on either end facing the crafts. Drake elected to enter first, as he was the captain and had more experience than any of the others in these types of situations. He also wanted to see if these fans reactions were the same as the fans in the premonition he had back on the platform, but just as he had this thought he recalled it wasn’t the same arena, not even close in proximity.
Drake passed through the tunnel into the stadium pit, to a crowd of the same small-headed entities, which made no sound whatsoever. The floor was sandy and there was a light haze up to the ankles. Drake wasn’t here to impress anybody, but preferred to dispatch of his opponent quickly, in order to get back in the race and after Boxton. His match-up was against a burly balding man who, upon entering the pit, began a charging battering ram with his head pointed forward. Drake soared into the air, with his leaping ability, and seemed to move in slow motion with his feet together and his knees slightly bent. His boots landed on his opponent’s back, with a loud crack, squishing him into the soft sand. Having easily defeating the man, he walked briskly out of the tunnel to send someone else in.
Bruvold came strutting through the passage next, looking excited and smiling broadly. The man Bruvold was fighting was about four inches shorter than him, had less reach, and was looking wary. They met in the center and the man extended a hand to Bruvold. Bruvold grabbed the man’s arm with both of his hands, and knocked him to the ground with a right leg sweep. The man tried to kick at him, but Bruvold sidestepped it, and then collapsed all of his weight, using one knee, to the man’s leg, fracturing it. Bruvold got up, dusted himself off, and began touting himself.
“Bruvold is best. No one is beating Bruvold,” he stated with both arms raised in triumph.
They now had eliminated two of the four, and Drake was feeling pretty confident about his chances of winning. Drake wished he could have just taken them all on at the same time. It would have gone a lot faster in his eyes.
Sammy was next and he was pitted against the captain of the number eleven. Racecraft commanders often times had a lot more hours of combat training logged in, and this case was no different. Sammy was outmatched and eventually had his lights knocked out by a hard counter punch to the side of the jaw. Drake now realized this was not going to end in the first round, but was optimistic that it would in the second.
Kraus was the last of the first round to enter the sandy stadium, and he was partnered against a short, wiry looking fellow. Kraus was the initial aggressor, but the little man dodged everything, with an amazing act of contortionism. The little warrior did not appear to have any connecting joints, and soon enough, fastened his arms around Kraus’s neck, and had his legs tightened around Kraus’s waist. The weapons officer struggled for a while, and then passed out from lack of oxygen to the brain. It would now be a competition of two on two for the help of the Utekors. They had obviously saved their best for last, in an attempt to prolong the activities. Drake would go in next and take care of another one expeditiously. He would not lose to the likes of these limited brawlers.
The captain of the other crew came at Drake with a flurry of combinations, but they were embarrassingly unsuccessful. Drake cocked his fist back and you could hear the sound of a power tool, as his punch moved forward, connecting to the heart of the other commander, sending him flying across the entire arena and crashing through one of the walls. Drake again walked out the tunnel dismissively to send Bruvold in for his next encounter.
Bruvold, much like Kraus, was too big to catch the lanky grappler. He fell to the same choke-out move as Kraus, leaving a final match-up of Drake versus the rubber man. The fight started with the man rolling, and jumping about, throwing sand in all directions, and trying to impair Drake’s vision, to no avail. Drake caught him with a mighty clap, like he was swatting a pest, and it was over.
“Congratulations,” a monotone voice rang inside Drake’s head. “We have already made repairs to your engines and weapons, as promised. We have healed your fallen comrades to the point they were when they arrived, as well.”
“You wouldn’t be able to help us install an ice capsule cannon, would you?” Drake asked the sky.
“It is done. We bid you farewell.” The stadium and all of the extraterrestrials vanished without a trace, leaving a healthy number thirteen crew behind.
CHAPTER SIX
Nothing Left to Prove
Drake couldn’t remember the racecraft ever launching so smoothly, and he was feeling confident after winning the contest on Utekor. Nothing made Drake feel quite as rejuvenated as giving a good beating, with the exception of greeting the fans from a victory platform. With his newfound happiness, Drake found himself going down to the consuming quarters for some coffee and bread. He even thought he might go to the recreation room afterwards, for some mindless entertainment. His elated mood was short-lived due to the sludge that was dispensed out of the tubes. Drake called for Juhaen, to get down to the consuming quarters to explain himself, using the intercom.
“Why is there no fresh coffee? Drake asked the well-composed Juhaen.
“I have a lot of duties now that you have given me the M.S.C. job. The others must have drunk it all during our stop at Utekor. Nobody informed me that the dispensers were empty and I simply had not checked it yet.” Juhaen was cool and collected while talking and afterwards he went to go brew coffee and fill the dispensers, without waiting to see if the captain had anything more to add.
“Did I dismiss you? Come back here!” Drake bellowed. Juhaen then trudged back beside Drake. “You had better make sure the bread and meat is stocked too, and if you EVER walk away from me again, before I tell you to, I’ll throw you in isolation.” Drake stomped out of the room to go up to his navigation chair. His temper was flaring and he no longer felt like going to the recreational quarters. Drake flipped the controls to manual, so he could keep his hands and mind occupied. There was not a single racecraft driver alive that drove manual more than Drake, and that was what set him apart from the other racers.
Juhaen came into the navigational center about thirty minutes later and said, “Sir, I brought you a fresh cup.” He wanted to get back on Drake’s better side.
“Keep it,” Drake replied, causing Juhaen to retreat back out of the room morosely.
“Craft number nine at a dead stop, next quadrant.” Jaws said with Kraus peering over his shoulder. “Commander, they don’t even have a full percent of a shield. The craft is doomed to float, unless someone helps them,” finished Jaws with a look of horror on his face.
“Just keep course, pass it up, it’s another position,” responded Drake flatly.
Priscilla turned around to face Drake, but it was Jaws who spoke again. “Isn’t our obligation to at least get them to a planet?” he pleaded as politely as he could manage.
“Our only obligation is winning the Full Circle Six,” Drake stated firmly.
Jaws was going to give up the argument until Priscilla interjected with her own ideas. “If it is that important to you, C.E., why don’t you call for a team member vote? It is in the rules that if at least three members disagree with a command decision directly involving the loss of life, they can call a vote. I say we should help them too … Does anyone else think we should try to save the lives of others? She asked the room.
“Of course I do, darling,” Freddie crooned, and Priscilla didn’t look disgusted at him. He then cut the engines down so they didn’t pass up the stranded racecraft.
“Well, that’s three, and since the commander can’t vote, and Uciferi is in isolation, that means we only need one more vote to overthrow the commander’s decision.” Priscilla was looking quite pleased with herself.
“It’s come to mutiny then has it?” Drake already doubted his own decision-making skills and now the crew did as well. Drake had never had a crew vote on any of his commands before this occasion, and it made him uneasy. If it weren’t for what the other three in the room had to say, he probably would have resigned on the spot.
“I’m with you no matter what, boss,” exclaimed Sammy while patting Drake on the back.
“Yeah, let’s just keep racing,” announced Kraus, while moving over to Freddie’s station, which was closer to Drake.
“I am for winning. I am no for stopping,” Bruvold said proudly while giving the three voting opposite a dirty glance.
“There you have it, tie goes to commander,” Drake said with more pep in his voice. He was about to order the engines back to maximum, but Priscilla reminded him that Juhaen had not voted. Drake, using the intercom, called Juhaen and instructed him to bring coffee for eight up to the navigation center. Drake waited for him to distribute the coffee, took a sip, and addressed him. “Do you think we should stop and help a disabled racecraft?”
The F.B.R. surmised why he was asked this question by the setting of the room. He knew Drake wouldn’t want to stop and under normal circumstances, he himself would rather continue racing, but he was still agitated at the scolding earlier and thought this was as good a revenge as any.
“Yes I do think we should help,” Juhaen answered.
“Fine! Let me know when anyone feels like racing again!” Drake switched off manual, leapt up, and aggressively strode to his personal quarters. He would take no part in what he considered a contradiction to the goal at hand. It wasn’t that he believed the other craft should perish; it was that it wasn’t his responsibility. He didn’t damage the craft leaving them to die, but figured that Boxton was the one who most likely did. Drake wanted desperately to catch up and pass Oblize, not stop for a racecraft that probably would not have done the same. He decided right there that if any of his decisions were ever put to a vote again, he would retire from racing for good.
Meanwhile outside Drake’s personal quarters the others were discussing how they could save the stranded racecraft. “Couldn’t we just transfer some shield power over like the twenty six did?” Jaws asked the room.
“I coul
d if our converter picked up that they even had a shield. It takes at least one percent to register,” Sammy answered.
“Maybe we should just forget about it and tell Drake it’s useless anyway,” Juhaen said, feeling guilty about which side he chose.
“I suppose I can throw on some space gear and go outside to connect the converter manually, through a cable,” Sammy suggested, wanting to give his captain time to cool down. Sammy didn’t think it was a good idea to go inform Drake that they had just voted him down for no reason at all. It would be too disrespectful.
“You would do that?” Jaws asked, looking astounded at Sammy.
“If it will quiet all of your whining. That goes for everyone else, too. If I do this, you have to agree not to challenge the commander again on any decision he ever makes. Is that clear?” Sammy answered with flare in his voice.
After everyone agreed to his request, Sammy headed down to the loading zone to prepare his suit. Kraus brought the converter that was already connected to their shields to Sammy and also hooked him up to the life reel so that he wouldn’t go floating off into nowhere. Freddie repositioned the racecraft to make the task easier.
“I’ll be at your station till I read a connection, then I’ll transfer the other craft about seven percent of our shields. When I tug on the converter cable hard, come back to us, ok?” Kraus told the nodding Sammy, who was ready to begin the rescue mission.
With his suit booster controls in one hand and the converter cable in the other, Sammy began descending down to where the other craft was positioned below. Freddie had already moved the number thirteen over the number nine, because the spot Sammy needed to connect to was located at the top front of the craft. Sammy landed on the roof of the number nine softly and began to see an awfully scarred racecraft. The only thing that concerned him was if the outlet he needed were damaged, it would make rescue impossible. Every now and then hitting his booster controls, Sammy proceeded to the front of the severely crippled craft. When he arrived at the destined spot, he saw that the lid to the outlet was ajar and barely holding on, but the outlet itself seemed unharmed. He jammed the cable into the converter and waited patiently. He estimated it would take around fifteen minutes to transfer shield power, but had no way of knowing if it was working or not. If it weren’t working there would most likely be a tug on the cable sooner than expected.
The Full Circle Six Page 9