The Full Circle Six

by Edward T. Anthony

  The cable moved after twenty minutes or so, and Sammy quickly disconnected the converter and pressed a button on his controls that would activate the life reel, bringing him in like a freshly caught boot from the sea. Sammy waited until he pulled all of the converter cable onboard and closed the loading zone hatch, before removing any part of his suit. He undressed the gear and hurried up to the navigation center to see if the rescue was successful or not.

  “Should we send them a contact letting them know they’re good to go?” Jaws asked as Sammy seated himself at his station.

  “If they can’t figure that out they don’t deserve to live,” replied Kraus.

  “They’ll find out soon enough. Let’s just put as much distance between us and that craft as we can, before they do.” Sammy didn’t want the number nine to know which racecraft helped them, because they might expect it to happen again. “Freddie, put the engines back to max. Drake will hear it and assume our task is done,” he added. Then he decided to go ahead and switch shield security codes, as the manual transfer would have given them the information.

  Drake came out of his quarters in a huff, with his cap on backwards, and flopped into his navigation chair, engaging manual control. He drove relentlessly for hours not speaking to any of his team, until Jaws reported some very discouraging news.

  “Alien spaceship detected at five times our mass, it’s on a path to intercept us.” The panic was creeping back into his big-nosed expressions.

  “We can’t go any faster, so let’s get into battle positions … Sammy, take left cannon … Bruvold, you take the right. M.O., fill in for Sammy on shields. Kraus, get on special weapons. We must defend if necessary … Wait for them to make the first move. I don’t want to start something if I don’t have to. Let’s hope they’re not aggressive in nature.” Drake thought the alien vehicle’s intentions were clear, when they began the intercept course, but if he was wrong he didn’t want to provoke a war by firing on it first.

  “They’re here and attacking!” Jaws shouted this as he was strapping himself in.

  The impact of the unknown alien weapon was felt throughout the navigational center, as if an earthquake were occurring in outer space. Bruvold and Sammy unloaded their cannons, but they were no match for the enemy space ship shields. Drake ordered Kraus to use a Shield Energy De-Stabilizer and it also had no effects.

  “We’ve lost over half of every shield, cap,” Sammy informed Drake nonchalantly.

  “I don’t think we have any choice but to use another time disrupter,” Drake said solemnly. “Should I try this ice cannon?” Kraus asked optimistically Drake had forgotten all about this new toy. He instructed Kraus to fire it at once. The capsule expanded right next to the alien vessel and the foreign weapons ceased immediately.

  “The space ship has stopped its progression. It appears to have been disabled.” The much-relieved sounding Jaws reported.

  “Good … Maintain max engines and give me a shield report.” Drake disengaged manual navigation and turned his hat back around. He was feeling better, having outwitted a superior vessel.

  “Shield one forty three percent, shield two thirty eight percent, shield three forty percent,” replied Sammy casually.

  “Kraus, record the time it takes for the ice cannon to recharge, then I want you and Sammy to meet me in the recreational quarters.” Drake left the center without addressing or acknowledging anyone else. He wanted to reward his most faithful teammates for their show of loyalty, and would use the time it took for the cannon to recharge to figure out exactly how. He didn’t have a whole lot of time, as Kraus and Sammy came strolling in after no more than ten minutes. Drake still hadn’t figured out what to do for his trustees, so did not turn, but kept his back to them, hunched toward the wall.

  “What’s on your mind, cap?” Sammy was curious. Drake had been acting more and more out of character since Croxon had died. Sammy was not a therapist, but could read Drake better than anyone alive, and reckoned this to be a main source of Drake’s problem.

  “I want to thank you two, somehow, for standing beside me back there. It took courage and loyalty, and those are two things I’ll never forget,” Drake told them as he turned about to face them. He could increase their pay, but that would be a moot gesture, as they were already among the highest paid in the league.

  “We want to win just as badly as you do.” Kraus was a bit uncomfortable accepting a compliment from his revered captain. He had always considered Drake to be the best racer alive as a result of having a stone heart and ice water in his veins. Emotions were not supposed to be a part of the malevolent driver, who had never won a points championship, but had won nearly every race he entered.

  “I highly doubt that,” replied Drake. “But the fact remains that I owe both of you a bonus. So, that said, Sammy I’ll tell you now that after this season, I’m going to retire and respectfully request to the league officials that you take over the command post of the number thirteen Future Fuels transport racecraft.”

  “Cap,” Sammy started, but couldn’t find the words to continue.

  Kraus was befuddled. Drake retiring made as much sense as Future Fuels selling out to a popcorn distributor. He deducted that the captain was speaking out of stress and would change his mind by the time they won this race, forget about the end of the season. This calculation was shot down in Drake’s next sentence.

  “Once I win the Full Circle Six, I have nothing more to prove. Not to Boxton, not to the press, not even to the fans.” Drake was firm on this decision and it was apparent in his tone. He switched his attention to Kraus and continued, “Kraus, the first thing I’ll do for you is the second thing I’m doing for Samelak. The number thirteen will be signed over to both of you. This way, I know you’ll be together, and the Future Fuels team will be just as prosperous as it was with me at the helm. Old Croxy would have wanted it that way.”

  “Look, this is too much, D.J.,” Sammy spoke, trying to be the voice of reason. The mention of Croxon split open an internal wound that he would not show for anything. “Why don’t you just wait till after the race and see if you still feel the same?”

  “I’ve made my mind up,” Drake said. “Kraus is there any other favor you would require of me. I’ve paid Sammy here two favors, I’ll do the same for you.”

  Kraus stared at his hands in contemplation. Never had he imagined the captain would be asking what he could do for his weapon operator. Kraus virtually idolized Drake and didn’t know what he could possibly ask for. Seemingly out of nowhere, he started thinking of the other members and how they could have avoided all of this. It took no time at all for them to rise against the captain like they were a bunch of neglected orphans. Then he remembered that Bruvold had stood by Drake as well. He also thought upon how great it was to be with Bruvold again just like the old days and knew what he would ask.

  “Sir, would it be possible for you to request that Aristando be a permanent member of our team?” He asked this of Drake sincerely wishing it hadn’t come to this.

  “That is the most selfless request I have ever heard,” Drake, said this in a soft, non-Drake-like voice. “I will gladly do so, and I hope that Bruvold knows what an honor it is to be a part of any team with one man like you.”

  This time, it was Kraus’s turn to lose his speech ability. He was finding it very difficult to hide the weakness he was feeling. He didn’t want to even think about racing without Drake Judge. Just as Sammy did, he thought all of this would blow over after they had won the race. He thought once more of the traitorous crew and how much it infuriated him. He would love nothing more than to take hold of that pathetic wimp Freddie’s neck and squeeze until his eyeballs were popping out of their sockets. Also, he would like to rip off Jaws’ freakish nose and slap Priscilla in the face with it. Juhaen, he would force into the delivery dispenser tubes in pieces. He was the one who had outright betrayed the captain deliberately. Kraus knew the little weasel didn’t care an ounce about saving anybody for any reason
.

  “You guys take the rest of the shift off,” Drake said, with an unusual, playful half smile. “And play me in a game of Holo-Hand-Eye-Harmonization.”

  Kraus and Sammy laughed and started to retrieve the equipment for the well-loved game. The reason Drake’s challenge was so amusing is everyone knew the captain, although he was the best driver any of them knew of, had never won a game. The reason for this, little known to any but Drake, who didn’t care, was he always wore his gazers, which showed the planetary charts and possible courses of the region. This interfered because of the way the game was played.

  Using virtual reality simulation equipment, which was a box that sat in the center of the room on the floor and turned any room into a digital space, specified in parameters by the user of the game, they utilized holographic images of paddles and balls. The player’s goal was to hit the ball, called the target, toward an opposing player before it touches any surface, but the paddle. If the target is missed, the player swinging at it is terminated and this continues until there is one winner. The aspect that made this pastime challenging was the fact that a player could not direct the target in any path that it had already taken. Doing so would result in elimination. Every player starts with two paddles and had to use a significant amount of concentration, as they were required to use each paddle alternately. If the target was hit twice in a row on the same paddle in one player’s hand, or if the player drops any paddle, that player was consequently eliminated. Drake was consistently swinging at planets instead of targets.

  Sammy set the box down in the middle of the recreational quarters and punched in the number sequence that would allow them maximum room to play. At once, the digital grid that outlined the playing field, which was a magnified duplicate of the boxes’ inside perimeter, surrounded them. The paddles appeared in their hands, but the target would not reveal itself until they were in the proper start positions, with both paddles raised to shoulder level, arms fully extended.

  The target materialized en route to Sammy, leaving behind a bright yellow trail. This was to represent the forbidden paths the target had already taken. Sammy smacked the target with his right, and it ricocheted rapidly toward Kraus, who used his left to force a sharp upward angle in Drake’s direction. Drake ran at the wall, jumped, and kicked off of the wall about three meters from the floor, launching himself into the air just high enough for him to get his left paddle on the target and send it screaming back toward Kraus.

  The more the game ensued, the faster the target became, making it much harder to hit or see. Drake was amazingly dexterous for a man his size. He ran faster, jumped higher, and created more intense angles than either of his opponents, but in the end, made a spectacular dive after running along a wall to score a direct hit to the planet they had just left. That leaves Kraus and Sammy. They are both seasoned players of this game and the battle that proceeded was a magnificent barrage of speeding targets, and it seemed the entire playing field would soon be solid yellow. Sammy finally hit an angle that he believed Kraus had no chance of getting to without his right paddle, which was just used in the former volley. He was right in that fact, but to his dismay, Drake had already used the angle in the exact same line earlier in the match. Kraus had won as a result of the foul.

  The holographic generator automatically shut down the grid and again was dormant, just as an ordinary box would have been. The three friends shook hands with each other and commended the respective challengers on a game well played. It had been too long for all of them since they had last played and they made a vow to play at least once a week until Drake had retired. None of them had any real expectations of getting to play every week, but they all thought that it was a nice idea, and would strive to make it a tradition.

  Kraus was the first back into the navigation center and promptly went to tell Bruvold the news about winning his harmonization game, along with being a permanent member of the team, giving him a higher pay rate.

  “You is no for real. Is make joke at Bruvold, yes?” Bruvold was skeptical at this unexpected announcement.

  “It’s no joke old buddy, that is, if you want to be on our team past this race. I mean no one is forcing you or anything.” Kraus was smiling broadly at his friend, telling him he wasn’t kidding with the look in his eyes.

  “You is making me happy. I is staying always with Kraus. Is good for team. Is good for me.” Bruvold grabbed hold of his friend in a bear hug and tried to hoist the big man into the air. He had never been treated as well as he had by Kraus. In that moment, Kraus became Bruvold’s truest and most trusted friend. The two brother-like friends walked away, with arms casually draped over one another’s shoulder, to the consuming quarters.

  Sammy was on his way to the navigational center when he passed the companions in the main corridor.

  “Congrats, Bruvold. Welcome to the team. I think you’ll be a great addition,” Sammy said to Bruvold, while pointedly not looking at Kraus. He was still bitter at the loss of his favorite game. He held no real animosity toward Kraus, it was just that he was great at the game and hated to lose.

  “Yes is good,” Bruvold responded with more enthusiasm than was called for. “Is good for team and good for me.” He was so excited that he didn’t realize he was repeating himself.

  “Want to join us in celebration?” Kraus asked Sammy in an effort to break away the tension over the game. Sammy, who had seen the two men celebrating before, respectfully declined, thinking he would be doing himself a favor not to get involved with their catastrophic fights by simply being there. It was also unbelievably hard to understand a drunken Bruvold, who would slobber and yell in his show of affection for his friends.

  Sammy then waved and continued up the main corridor to his original destination. When he arrived at his shield station, Juhaen was there. Upon seeing his new friend, the M.S.C. cheerfully gave his salutations. “I think I have something new,” He told Sammy. “There may be a way to give more power to both engines and shields at the same time. Now, hear me out because it sounds questionable, but I know it can work, just like the fire shooter did.” Sammy had forgotten that this was Juhaen’s idea. Juhaen continued, speaking rapidly. “If we use the back-up life support generator power, it would not affect the status of the main life support that we always use, and we would have more than enough power to double engine and shield power. If the scenario came about where we needed the back up before it was restored to its original function, it could be all too easy to reverse the polarity of the energy flow.”

  “So, what you’re telling me is, we could max out our shield, and then be able to switch it back whenever we wanted?” Sammy was looking doubtful.

  Drake surprised the both of them when he entered and said, “Make it happen. That’s the best plan I’ve heard since we started. Good work, Sammy.” Drake knew that Juhaen had come up with the plan, because he had been listening just outside the threshold of the navigation hatch, but refused to credit anything to one still guilty, in his eyes, of treason. Just then, Freddie’s voice carried throughout the racecraft, singing in the strange, yet lovely, melodic tongues of his home planet. He was dressed in his most lavish and cherished robes. These were important to him because, where Freddie was from, they represented patriarchal figure, and were his favorite colors, deep, dark purple and bright, sparkling, red. These robes were very renown and respected with the highest regard. His head was held as high as it could be, his steps were precise and confident, and his left fist was held with the first knuckles resting lightly on the bottom half of his right, shoulder muscle, throwing his elbow out to lead the way through the main and medical corridors. His arrogance emanated from his every pore with at least as much force as the tune coming from his mouth. Sir Frederick had all confidence that Priscilla would now succumb to her hidden fantasies that, in Freddie’s chronic daydreams, involving the two of them throwing away all inhibitions and losing themselves in the passionate embrace of desire and ecstasy. He was on his way now to give his beloved the o
pportunity to confess to the undying, burning ache that was named love she felt for him as much as the other way around.

  During his preposterous visions of Priscilla’s innermost fancies, Freddie came upon the door to the medical quarters and gazed lovingly at it, while his song hit a dramatic and almost torturous climax. When the song was finished, he boldly strode into the quarters, swept aside a large fold of his robes, and announced to Priscilla that he was ready for her confession. The medical operator laughed, but not unkindly. She was flabbergasted to find that she felt his annoying antics were now for some reason endearing. No, she thought to herself, it doesn’t matter how impressionable or interesting he made himself seem. She would still find him disgusting, vile, and downright pompous. She would never consider having anything more than a professional relationship with engine and fuel operator Stallworth. Even as she was telling herself these things, there was a spark inside of her she would not yet acknowledge that was powerfully attracted to sir Frederick. Priscilla firmly escorted the babbling Freddie out of her medical quarters in an embellished mood that did not quite fool her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Liberation

  Drake, along with his entire crew, had finished mandatory cleansing and napping. After his very short snooze, Drake began to look over medical charts provided by Priscilla. She seemed to him to be a little too thorough. He discarded the bunch without really making an entire overview, and went out to the navigation center to order everyone back to positions. Drake had decided to work everyone on the same shift, but make the shifts intensely longer and more demanding. The shifts were increased even more, when the commander received news that the number thirteen was occupying fifth place.