“This Dr. Zetlin has a very strange imagination,” Loor said.
Before I could agree, we heard excited shouting.
“Whooo! Yeah! Eehaaaaa!”
It sounded like a bunch of guys having an adrenaline rush. A second later five figures appeared on top of one of the icy mounds. They shot over the top, got some serious air, and then landed on the slope and slid down on what looked like snowboards. They weren’t like Second Earth snowboards though. These things were round and black. They were about the size of a garbage can lid and curved up at the rim. The riders’ feet were attached in the middle somehow. Man, they were good. As they sped down the slope, they did three-sixties and dodged around one another and basically looked like a stunt team. They all wore the familiar green jumpsuits, but with black helmets that covered most of their heads and faces.
Loor and I watched in awe as the five riders sped toward us. I wasn’t sure if we should run, or hold our ground. I started to back away, but Loor stopped me.
“No,” she said. “We cannot show fear.”
Easy for her to say. But I stayed where I was.
A second later Loor and I were hit with a spray of snow as the snow riders dug in and stopped directly in front of us. It was a totally awkward moment. The five helmeted riders stood shoulder to shoulder, staring at us through dark, tinted goggles. Nobody said anything. Finally I figured it was time to cut to the chase.
“We’re looking for Dr. Zetlin,” I said.
The five riders looked to one another and started to laugh. I didn’t expect that. Then again, I’m not sure what I expected. Finally one of them got control of himself enough to step forward.
“You can’t just show up and see the Z,” he said.
“It’s very important,” I said, feeling kind of lame. “He’ll want to see us.”
I had no idea how to sum up quickly why we had to see Dr. Zetlin. They didn’t seem like the kind of guys who would stand still for a long-winded explanation. Or care.
“Do you know where he is?” Loor asked.
Another rider walked up to her and said, “Sure, but if you want to see him, you’ve got to play first.”
“Play?” I asked. “Play what?”
“Slickshot!” another rider shouted.
“Yeah! Slickshot!” the others chimed in.
The riders then quickly released their boots from their snow disks, tossed them aside, and started to skate across the ice. It seemed impossible because they moved like they had ice skates on, but they didn’t. They were sliding along with only their boot bottoms touching the surface. The first rider then skated back to us and stopped right in front of me.
“Here’s the deal,” he said. “One of you races slickshot with us. You don’t have to win, just finish.”
“What kind of race is it?” I asked.
The guy pointed out across the ice to the other racers who were skating along.
“It’s a skating race,” he explained. “There’s a course over the ice marked by red arrows. We all skate the course together, first one back here wins.”
“And all we have to do is finish?” I asked.
“It’s not that easy,” the rider explained. “There are five checkpoints. The first one has a tower with six red balls in it. One for each racer. You have to pick up a ball, then skate forward and drop it in a basket before skating to the next checkpoint. That one has six balls too. But the third checkpoint has only five balls. If you’re the last one there, you’re done. The next one has five balls too, but the final checkpoint has only four.”
“So six start the race and only four finish,” I said.
“Exactly,” the guy said. “Finish the race and you can meet the Z.”
“We are not here to play games,” Loor said firmly.
“Too bad,” the rider said with a shrug. “We are.”
With that he turned and started to skate away.
“Wait!” I shouted. “I’ll give it a shot. But I don’t get how you guys are skating without skates.”
The racer skated over to the mouth of the cave. Next to the opening was something we hadn’t seen when we arrived. It was a rack full of the same black helmets like the racers wore. Next to it was a wire bin with close to forty red balls about the size of a grapefruit. I guessed those were the kind of balls that would be at the checkpoints. The guy picked up one of the helmets and skated back to us.
“Attach these to your shoes,” he said while reaching into the helmet. He pulled out two wire frames that looked as if they would fit onto the sole of a shoe. Each one had two yellow pads, one for the front of the foot, one for the back. He then added, “Get used to them. We’ll go set up the course.”
He skated away to join the other racers.
“Maybe I should be the one to race,” Loor said.
“Do you know how to skate?” I asked.
Loor looked down. She didn’t like to admit defeat.
“I do,” I said. “Let me try these things out.”
The wires attached easily to the soles of my boots. One end clamped over my toe, the other attached over my heel. But I didn’t understand how they could work like ice skates, until I put my feet down and pushed off.
“Whoa!” I shouted as I slid across the ice.
The pads must have been made of a superslick material, because I glided over the ice as easily as if I had on hockey skates. It took me all of thirty seconds to get the feel of these things and found they were even easier to control than skates. I played a couple of years of junior hockey, so I was pretty confident on the ice. With these slick pads, I found that I could turn, stop, cut, and skate backward better than at home. My confidence was building.
But we faced a tough decision. Between the two of us, Loor was the athlete. But if she couldn’t skate like me, it didn’t matter how strong she was. She’d never make it to the first checkpoint.
“I think I should be the one to race,” I said to Loor.
Loor nodded. She knew I was right. “Why must we play games?” she snapped. “We are on a serious mission. It should not be decided by a childish competition.”
“I know,” I said. “But let’s do it their way. If I finish, then we’ll get to Zetlin.”
“And if you don’t?” she asked.
I didn’t have an answer to that.
The five racers then skated right up to us and stopped in a group. “Ready?” the one who gave me the helmet asked.
“Sure,” I said, trying to sound like a winner. “Any other rules I should know about?”
The racers laughed again. I hated that.
“Absolutely,” the first racer said. “The main rule is: Anything goes. Finish any way you can.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. But this was their game; I wasn’t going to start arguing the finer points of slickshot. The five racers pushed off toward the starting line. I was about to follow when Loor touched my shoulder. She didn’t say anything; she simply looked into my eyes. I think she was trying to give me some of her strength and confidence. My knees went weak. In that moment I was more worried about letting her down than finding Dr. Zetlin. She gave me a wink and let me go.
I pushed off while putting on my helmet and fitting the goggles over my eyes. I never wanted to win anything more in my life. For her, for me, and even for Aja. I realized that the fate of Veelox might very well be decided on this icy racecourse.
How wrong was that?
(CONTINUED)
VEELOX
The five racers stood shoulder to shoulder at a tall, red post. “This is the start and finish,” the first racer explained. He then pointed out the course. “The first checkpoint is dead ahead.”
I looked across the flat expanse to a wall of ice that rose up in the distance. There I saw a red arrow painted on the face, pointing left.
“Just follow the arrows,” the rider said. “You can’t miss them. Get to the checkpoint, pick up a ball and drop it in the basket. If you miss one ball, you’re out. Got it?”
My heart started to pump faster. This was suddenly looking like a bad idea. I had no clue as to how good these guys were. It’s not like they looked like pro speed skaters or anything. Just the opposite. They were all my size. But this was their home ice. I’ll bet they raced this course all the time. This was insane. But I was in it now. All I could hope was that I’d hold on long enough to stay in the race.
“On my go,” the first racer said.
All six of us crouched down, ready to spring forward. “One, two, go!”
What happened to three? This was a bad start. I was already a second behind and the race had barely begun. All I could do was push off and try to catch up, pumping my legs and swinging my arms for momentum. I was surprised to see that these guys didn’t leave me in the dust. Or maybe I should say leave me in the frost. Not only did I keep up with them, I quickly made up the ground I had lost with the bad start. I was still last, but my confidence zoomed. Maybe I had a chance after all.
We quickly arrived at the first arrow and made the turn toward the checkpoint. I made the turn easily, crossing my feet over and trying not to lose too much speed. Up ahead I saw a rack with six of the grapefruit-size red balls. The five other racers quickly snatched one apiece while barely slowing down. I was last, but right there with them.
That is, until the fifth racer knocked the last ball off the rack. The red ball hit the ice and rolled away. I had to come to a full stop to pick it up. No way that was an accident. I guess when they said that “anything goes,” they meant it. I realized there was more to worry about than just keeping pace. These guys cheated.
I snatched up the ball and took off again. A few yards ahead was a steel basket with the first five balls that the other racers had already dumped. I dropped mine off and dug in to catch up.
The other racers were skating easily. None of them looked as if they wanted the lead. That was fine with me. As long as they all were being cautious, I could keep up. This part of the course was a wide-open expanse of ice. I didn’t even look for any red arrows, all I did was follow the guys in front of me.
But it got frustrating because they were all skating in one line, shoulder to shoulder. I had no hope of getting around them. I skated up behind the group, but when I put on some speed to go around, the whole group moved in front of me, blocking the way. I’d try to skate the other way, and they’d all move as one in the other direction to block me again. I was beginning to think this wasn’t so much about somebody winning, as about making sure I would lose. As long as they kept me back like this, I would always be the last one to reach the rack of balls.
That would be bad news at checkpoint #3.
We quickly approached the second checkpoint. Like precision pilots the five racers smoothly moved into a single line, with me last, again. But this time I made sure to be close enough behind the fifth racer so he couldn’t try anything cute witfc the sixth ball.
He didn’t try. All six of us picked up a red ball and dumped it into the steel basket beyond the rack. This time, I was right there with them. But I was still in sixth place. Not good enough. I had to make a move.
The course then slid into a narrow canyon of ice. The walls rose up steeply on either side. There was maybe five feet between the walls where we were skating. It was so narrow, we had to skate single file. There was no way I could make up any ground.
I was in trouble. The next checkpoint only had five balls. If we stayed this way, I’d be gone. I tried to move up on the fifth racer, but it was like these guys had eyes in their butts. The whole line slid over in front of me. It was so frustrating! I was fast enough to keep up with them, but didn’t have the experience to do anything else.
We were closing in on the third checkpoint. I had to make some kind of move or the race would be over. An idea came to me that was either brilliant or totally whacked. Chances were good if I tried it, I’d crash and burn. But I didn’t see any other way. I looked ahead at the ice walls to either side of us. I needed a little luck, and got it. Ahead to my right I saw a spot that was a little less steep than the rest. There wasn’t time to think. I had to go for it.
I made a quick move to my left and sure enough, the whole line of racers slid in that direction to block me. But then I shot to my right and skated toward the wall of ice. The slope was forgiving enough that I didn’t slam into it. Instead I skated a few feet up onto the wall, forcing my chattering legs to hold firm. I then pivoted my body back left and shot for the center. The momentum from being up on the wall gave me just enough extra speed for a slingshot between the fourth and fifth skater. It was a NASCAR move all the way, and it worked.
The fifth guy couldn’t believe it. My surprise move threw off his rhythm and he nearly fell. By then we were at the checkpoint rack of balls. The fifth, and last, was mine. I scooped it up and jammed it into the basket. I was still alive.
The next section of the race was hairy. We shot out of the ice canyon and the course again moved left. I now realized we were moving in a big loop, counterclockwise, back to the starting line. The racers ahead of me broke out of formation. A second later, I saw why.
The expanse of ice before us was littered with boulder-size chunks of ice. There was no straight path through. It was an obstacle course. Blasting through at full speed would be suicide. We had to back off the speed, get more control, and dodge the boulders. Fpr me it was a relief, because I was getting tired. I’d bet Anything that these guys were in better shape than I was. My only advantage was that I had so much at stake, I couldn’t lose. I was racing on adrenaline.
All five of us took a different route. It was tricky, not only because I had to get through as fast as possible, but now that I wasn’t following anybody, I had to keep an eye out for the red arrows that marked the course.
I have to admit, I was doing pretty well. I can’t take all the credit though. These skate pad things were incredible. They made it so easy to shift direction, I started pouring on the speed and cutting it very close to the boulders. I saw that I was actually pulling ahead of the others. It was awesome! By the time we got to the end of the boulder field, I was out in front. The checkpoint was just past the final obstacle, and the first ball was mine. Yes! But I didn’t care about winning. All that mattered was the next checkpoint. I had to get one of the next balls to make sure I’d finish. I was feeling pretty confident, though, which in my experience is the kiss of death. This time was no different.
I had just grabbed the red ball and dumped it into the steel basket, ready for the final push, when something hit me on the back of the foot. At first I didn’t know what it was. But I wasn’t worried… until I put that foot down and tried to push off. Before I knew it, I lost my balance and fell to the ice. Something had happened to my skate pad.
On the ice next to me, I saw the culprit. A red ball was lying at my feet. The first racer shot up, scooped up the ball, and dumped it into the basket.
“Sorry,” he said. “It got away from me.”
Yeah, right. He had thrown it at me. The ball must have knocked off my skate pad and when I put my foot down, my boot caught the ice and sent me tumbling. Sure enough, I saw the wire frame of the skate pad a few feet away. I scrambled for it, desperately pulling it back over my shoe.
I quickly looked up to see the four other skaters leaving me behind. I was done. There was no way I could catch up and pass anybody before the next checkpoint. But I didn’t know what else to do. So I strapped the skate pad back on and skated after them, praying for a miracle.
The racecourse again veered left and into another canyon. This one wasn’t as narrow as the first, and the walls weren’t quite as steep. I pushed as hard as I could, trying to catch up, but it was useless. These guys weren’t taking any more chances. They were skating hard and moving faster than they had the whole race. The sad truth hit me that up until then, they had been playing with me. They knew I wasn’t a threat and barely put out any effort. But now, they had their heads down and pumped their
arms powerfully. I didn’t stand a chance.
That’s when I got the miracle I needed.
The four remaining racers were so focused, they didn’t see it coming. But I did. At first I wasn’t sure what it was. It didn’t make sense. But nothing about this fantasy building made any sense, so I shouldn’t have been surprised. A few seconds later I saw exactly what it was and it suddenly made all sorts of sense.
High up the slope on one side of the canyon, an avalanche was starting. But it wasn’t about snow and ice. It was an avalanche of red balls. There must have been forty of them, all rolling down the hill, headed for the skaters. There was only one explanation.
Loor.
I looked up to the top of the rise to see her standing there with the empty wire basket that had once held all the balls. Excellent.
I glanced down to the racers. They had no clue about what was bouncing down toward them from above. The only question now was whether Loor had timed it right. There was a chance the tumbling balls would miss them entirely.
They didn’t.
The balls rained down on top of the unsuspecting racers, making them scatter. One took a header and beefed it into the canyon wall. Another spun out, lost control, and came to a dead stop. A third kept going, but had to pinwheel his arms to keep his balance. One racer dodged the balls completely and kept going. I didn’t care. Fourth place was all I needed.
I flashed past the three skaters who were trying to get their balance back. They didn’t know what had hit them. When I got to the checkpoint, I had my choice of three balls. I felt like taking one and dumping the other two over, just to put an exclamation point on the moment. But I figured we had already cheated enough. So I picked up one of the balls, and spiked it into the steel basket with a vengeance.
I coasted home on the last leg. By then the two other racers caught up and passed me, but I didn’t care. I skated across the finish line with my hands in the air chanting, “We’re number four! We’re number four!”
The Reality Bug tpa-4 Page 24