Tiger Takes the Big Apple

by David P. Reiter

  ‘How the f--- did you do that?’ one of them asked Tark.

  ‘Don’t answer him, Tark,’ said Judge Wanda, ‘until he promises to be more polite in his language.’

  ‘I can’t believe I’m getting a lecture from a lizard,’ said the first driver, ducking as his car floated over his head then eased gently onto the ground between them and the Crew.

  The drivers ran over to their cars and examined them for signs of damage.

  ‘Mine looks OK,’ said another of the drivers. ‘But will she start?’

  ‘How very quaint,’ said Tark, ‘naming a mechanical thing by the feminine gender type. We label our robot helpers as “its” to keep them in their place.’

  With more gestures of his toe he restarted each car in turn. They coughed and spluttered a bit at first but then settled down to a smooth idle.

  ‘Good as new!’ said Number 12, examining each of them, then stopping at the red one. ‘I like this one. Pity they’re so camel unfriendly!’

  ‘How’s that?’ asked the red car’s driver.

  ‘If I can’t fit in the driver’s seat,’ said Number 12, ‘it’s camel unfriendly.’

  ‘He’s just kidding,’ said Tiger.

  ‘No, I’m not!’ said Number 12. ‘It would be nice to win a race without ending up with a sore tail.’

  ‘It all seems so pointless,’ said Tark. ‘Racing these primitive cars up and down the salt flat, not even at the speed of sound.’

  ‘It’s not just about the speed,’ said the first driver. ‘We’re doing it for a good cause this time.’

  ‘And what would that be?’ asked Wanda.

  ‘Beehives,’ nodded the second driver.

  ‘Yeah, beehives,’ agreed the third.

  ‘I’m... allergic to bees,’ said Tiger, already scratching. ‘At least I think I am.’

  ‘What do bees have to do with racing?’ asked Number 12.

  ‘Follow us,’ said the first driver. ‘And we’ll show you.’

  The other end of the raceway was all a-buzz, if you can forgive the expression. The stands were packed with people, except for those who were lined up, waving dollar bills.

  ‘I told you it was for a good cause,’ said the second driver.

  ‘Just another day at the races,’ sighed Number 12. ‘Pick your camel and place your bet!’

  Overhead was a sign that explained it all – or at least the reason why the cars they had seen made no more noise than a strong breeze as they raced past.

  Welcome to the Bonneville Flats Solar Races

  ‘Alexander would approve,’ said Tiger. ‘At least they’re not wasting non-renewable resources!’

  ‘But it’s still little boys racing big cars,’ Wanda snorted. ‘And other boys and girls betting on who will come in first.’

  ‘Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,’ said the second driver. ‘We’re raising money here.’

  ‘Yeah, for the bees,’ said the first driver.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ said Tark. ‘You humans play some really strange games.’

  ‘Look,’ said the third driver. ‘It’s a worldwide phenomenon: our bees are disappearing. Some say it has to do with climate change, others insist that it’s due to loss of habitat – bulldozing flowering plants for more and more houses.’

  ‘No bees, no us,’ said the second driver.

  ‘Ah,’ said Tiger. ‘So all the betting is to raise money?’

  ‘Precisely,’ said the first driver. ‘And the money raised goes to our Adopt a Hive Program. We start with pesticide-free greenhouses where the queen bees can feel safe, then make sure that every queen has her own crew of soldier bees to gather the nectar from the millions of flowering plants and trees in the greenhouse. Once the hives reach maturity, we extract the young queens to start new hives then deliver the hives to people who’ve agreed to adopt them.’

  ‘It’ll take a while,’ said the second driver, ‘but our goal is to place a hive in every backyard where it’s wanted, along with enough flowering plants to keep the bees happy.’

  ‘I don’t carry any cash,’ said Wanda. ‘But I promise I’ll never try to catch a bee again.’

  ‘Yes,’ nodded Tark. ‘I’ll pass on the word to the Members. From now on, the Sacred Pool is a bee-safe zone!’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ shouted a voice over a microphone. ‘The final race is about to begin. Drivers and bees take your places!’

  ‘Drivers and bees?’ said Tiger.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said the third driver over his shoulder as he walked toward the starting line. ‘Didn’t we tell you? The bees get to go along for the ride!’

  What he meant, as the Crew was soon to find out, was that each car had to have a bee on its hood, and that any car that went so fast that its bee got blown off would be disqualified.

  As each car advanced up to the starting line, they could see bees dropping in and flying out of a hive with their feet carrying a little block of something.

  ‘What is that?’ asked Number 12, squinting to see better.

  ‘I’ll check it out,’ Syd volunteered, flapping off. He came back soon after with the news. ‘It’s wax!’

  ‘I’ll bet that’s to make them stick better!’ said Tiger.

  And so it was that each bee took its place right in front of the windscreen of its car, breaking its chunk of wax into six portions, then letting the heat of the car and the sun beating down warm the wax just enough for the bee to sink its feet into the wax. This took a little time, but the crowd seemed in no hurry. The betting just continued.

  ‘Oh, I wish I’d brought my AMEX card!’ cried Tiger.

  ‘You mean Alexander’s AMEX card,’ Wanda reminded him.

  Tiger pretended not to hear that. ‘I have no idea who will win, but if I can help build a hive, maybe Alexander would adopt it.’

  ‘Not to mention Myrtle,’ Wanda said. ‘Think of all the money she’d save on sweetener for her Greenhouse Ginger Cheesecakes.’

  ‘We’d have to give Tony and Cleo strict instructions not to bother the bees,’ said Tiger. ‘You know how territorial Tony can be!’

  ‘Bees and drivers,’ the voice of the microphone continued. ‘Congratulations on making it to the finals of the Bonneville Beehive Classic!’ He laughed to himself. ‘Don’t know why I called it that since it’s the first of its kind – must be force of habit! Let me remind you that this race is not about raw speed and daring. Drivers must still retain their bee INTACT on the hood of their car to win.’

  ‘That’s different,’ said Tiger. ‘Never heard of such a thing!’

  Wanda sniggered. ‘That’s because you’ve never been to a Beehive Classic before.’

  ‘Steady,’ snorted Number 12. ‘I’m getting all hot and cold here. I wish someone would lend me a bee so I could race, too!’

  Tark gave him a crooked grin, pointed his toe at a passing bee, and drew it gently down onto Number 12’s nose.

  ‘Ooh,’ said Number 12, ‘that tickles!’

  ‘We have a late entry,’ Tark called out to the man with the microphone. ‘Number 12, the famous racing camel direct from Australia!’

  ‘How you go on!’ said Number 12. ‘I’m not that famous – not really.’ If a camel could have blushed then, he would have gone three shades of red.

  ‘This is most irregular,’ said the man. ‘A camel? Even if we were to let him run, he wouldn’t stand a chance. I-I’ll have to check the rulebook.’

  A hush gathered over the crowd until a voice cried out. ‘But nobody’s placed a bet on him. What if he wins?’

  ‘What are the odds?’ called out another.

  All eyes turned to the chief bookie who looked around then up to the heavens as if to find an answer. ‘Hundred to one,’ the bookie called out. ‘Anyone take them odds?’

  No one spoke.

  ‘Odds?’ Tark said to Wanda.

  ‘It’s called betting,’ Wanda replied with a Judge Wanda tone. ‘You bet for your car or camel, and if you bet against the odds you st
and to win lots of money!’

  ‘Crazy,’ said Tark. ‘The things these humans get up to!’

  The man with the microphone was flipping desperately through his rulebook. ‘Can’t find any rule against a camel being entered... so long as he pays his entry fee.’

  ‘Done!’ called Tark.

  He pointed his toe in the direction of the lake and then raised it. Something rose from the water in the distance and then floated toward them. Tiger could see it was a chest of some kind.

  ‘Buried treasure!’ someone in the crowd shouted. ‘The frog’s found buried treasure in the middle of the Great Salt Lake!’

  ‘This is getting out of hand,’ said the man with the microphone. ‘I’m ruling the camel ineligible. If I let him race we’ll be the laughing stock of the circuit!’

  The chest dropped down almost to the ground, still dripping with salt water, and Tark hopped on board. With Syd leading the way, the chest and Tark glided over to the stands where the man was standing. Tark hopped off the chest and opened it with a flip of his toe. A gasp rose from the people around the man in charge, and even his eyes bugged out.

  ‘It’s gold!’ a woman cried out. ‘There must be millions there!’

  ‘How did it get there?’ another asked.

  ‘I know!’ a schoolboy called out. ‘There was a Dreamworks crew here last year making a film. Maybe they dropped it into the lake by accident.’

  ‘Poppycock!’ said the man in charge. ‘Even Hollywood can’t afford to lose a king’s ransom!’

  Tark turned to Wanda. ‘Hollywood? A king’s ransom?’

  ‘Fairyland make-believe,’ said Wanda. ‘You don’t want to know.’

  Tark cleared his throat and hopped up onto the man’s shoulder. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘You want to raise money for beehives, right?’ As he pointed his toe, several coins rose from the chest. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from. So you should let me bet on this camel, and you should let this camel enter your race.’

  He pointed at the bookie. ‘Are you still offering the same odds?’

  The bookie gulped. ‘How much you reckon you got in that chest?’

  ‘Let’s call it an even million dollars worth,’ said Tark. ‘If the camel wins, I’ll donate everything to the Beehive Appeal.’

  The bookie gulped again, even harder than the first time. ‘That would be a hundred million in winnings,’ he said.

  ‘Aw, come on, Frank,’ someone shouted. ‘Look at that camel. He’s way past it! If you don’t take the bet, I’m sure there are others who will!’

  Tiger saw Number 12’s eyes go red and his nostrils flare. ‘Excuse me – who’s past it?’ Number 12 grunted. ‘Let me at it!’

  ‘Yeah, let’s do it!’ came a small voice on top of his head. It was the bee that Tark had brought down. ‘They said I was too young to enter,’ the bee said, hovering in front of Number 12’s nose like a hummingbird. ‘But I’m not, so let’s show them, Number 12!’

  The man with the microphone shrugged. ‘I’ll leave it up to the crowd. All those in favor of the camel being allowed to enter?’

  It only took one person to begin shouting ‘Camel in, camel in!’ before others joined him. In seconds, the roar was deafening.

  ‘OK, OK,’ the man said, turning to the bookie. ‘No funny stuff, Frank. You still offering those odds?’

  Frank obviously had had enough time to think that only a fool would let a cool million slip through his fingers. ‘You’re on, froggie!’

  Number 12 was already doing his warm-ups, rolling his head from side to side, bending each knee in turn, strutting over to his place on the track but not until he’d fixed each driver and bee with a death stare.

  ‘Are you ready, bee?’ he said.

  ‘Wait!’ the bee cried, just before the man with the microphone called out for them to be on their marks. ‘The wax!’

  The bee quickly flew into the hive and came out with a chuck of wax. Flying back to Number 12’s head, he broke it into six pieces, slipped a leg into each, glued the wax into knots of Number 12’s hair and braced himself for the start. ‘Ready now!’ the bee called out.

  ‘Tiger!’ Number 12 shouted. ‘I need a spotter. Hop on!’

  Tiger hung back. ‘What’s a... spotter?’

  ‘You’ll ride on my hump and keep me posted on where the cars are so I know when I have to speed up?’

  ‘Is that legal?’ asked Judge Wanda.

  ‘The cars have rear-view mirrors,’ Number 12 said. ‘Which means the drivers don’t have to look around to see how they’re going. You can be my rear-view mirror, Tiger!’

  Tiger wasn’t sure why, but he felt proud to be appointed as the rear-view mirror. It had to be a first for a cat. With a quick hop and a bound, he was up on Number 12’s back and then looking for a brace position on his hump.

  ‘Hope I don’t fall off,’ he said.

  ‘Use your claws,’ Syd urged him.

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded Number 12. ‘My hide’s thick enough – I won’t feel a thing.’

  The other five drivers were already revving their engines, which didn’t make much of a sound since they were solar, more of a whine that didn’t bother Number 12 at all. He tried to paw at the ground as he always did before the starting gun sounded for a camel race, but it was very hard due to the salt so there didn’t seem to be much point.

  ‘On your mark...’ the man called out.

  ‘Be brave!’ Number 12 said to his bee. ‘Remember, it’s not whether you win or lose that counts, but how you trample your opponents!’

  ‘Get set...’

  ‘It does count!’ the bee called down to him. ‘Don’t forget there’s a hundred million riding on this, OK?’

  ‘Ready, Tiger?’ Number 12 called up to him.

  ‘Ready as I’ll ever be,’ Tiger said, putting on a brave face, then carefully flexing his claws to see if Number 12 could feel them. He didn’t seem to.

  The starting gun sounded, and they bolted off!

  ‘We’re in the lead!’ cried Tiger.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Number 12. ‘Let’s keep it that way!’

  Tiger knew the finish line was far off in the distance, but it didn’t hurt to be out in front at this point.

  ‘Come on, Number 12!’ Syd cried, flapping alongside. ‘We can do this!’

  ‘What do you mean we?’ Number 12 snorted. ‘Let me know if they’re gaining on us.’

  ‘They are – a bit,’ said Tiger, digging his claws in a bit deeper so he didn’t bounce quite so much on the hump.

  ‘Whee,’ cried the bee. ‘This is fun! But can’t you go any faster?’

  Number 12 didn’t answer. He knew that to win you had to conserve your energy, and nothing would be gained by wasting it on a chat with the bee.

  ‘Come on, Number 12,’ Tiger urged. ‘You’ve done it before, and you can do it again. All it takes is a big heart, and you’ve certainly got that!’

  But the whining was getting closer, and they were only halfway now, and Tiger could see that Number 12 didn’t have much more to give. If only Tark—

  He stopped himself right then and there. Number 12 had never asked for Tark’s help before, and he probably wouldn’t want to start now.

  The first of the solar cars was almost neck and neck with them – if you could be neck and neck with a car. Tiger could see it was just a matter of time before Number 12 would drop to second, or even third.

  But just as the first car overtook them, a sudden gust from the lake hit them sideways, pulling the car’s bee free from its wax brace.

  ‘Yippee,’ cried Tiger. ‘One down, four to go!’

  The driver raced on, but he would certainly be disqualified.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ Number 12 shouted. ‘We’ll use his slipstream!’

  ‘His what?’ Tiger asked over his shoulder as he kept an eye on the other cars coming up.

  ‘Slipstream,’ said Number 12. ‘If we stay close enough, we can let him break the wind – so to speak – for us.’
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  Tiger wrinkled his nose. ‘You don’t mean—’

  ‘No, silly,’ Number 12 said. ‘Not that kind of breaking wind. The front car acts as a shield for us so we don’t have to fight against the wind.’

  ‘You’re the expert,’ Tiger said. ‘Do whatever you need to do!’

  ‘How are you going up there?’ Number 12 called up to his bee.

  ‘F-fine!’ the bee replied. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’d be as snug as a bee in a saddle – if only we had one!’

  ‘The other drivers are hanging back,’ Tiger said. ‘Maybe they can’t go any faster.’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on that,’ said the bee. ‘They’re probably afraid of getting disqualified, too.’

  ‘Not far now,’ Number 12 said. ‘I can see the finish line!’

  All at once, the other drivers started to make their move.

  ‘It’s all happening!’ Tiger cried. ‘Better pull out all the stops, Number 12!’

  Number 12 said nothing in reply, but Tiger just thought he wanted to conserve every last ounce of his energy for the final dash.

  There was a car on either side of them now, and Tiger could see their bees clinging on as best they could.

  ‘Come on, Number 12,’ shouted Tiger. ‘We’re almost there!’

  Tiger flattened himself against the hump to be as streamlined as possible for the final dash, and then they were across the line. Had they won? It was a photo-finish!

  It was agony waiting for the results.

  ‘Well done!’ Wanda said to Number 12 as they made it back to the starting point. ‘You gave them a run for their money!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Number 12. ‘But was it good enough?’

  ‘I’m quietly confident,’ winked Tark.

  ‘But how could you know?’ Tiger asked. ‘You were back here.’

  ‘Haven’t I told you about Predictive Telescopy?’ Tark said. ‘Most Griffs have it now. You take your starting point and triangulate it with your destination and mirror back the results—’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Tiger said, his head already spinning with the pointy part of “triangulate”. ‘But did we win?’

  Just then, there was a cough from the stands, and they could see the man with the microphone squinting at a digital tablet.