by Andy Briggs
“Third place is for losers in this game,” said Carson angrily. “We should have easily won this.”
They examined Vanta, who now sat on the workbench not looking any worse for wear.
“If you’d let me take over,” said Vanta, who seemed just as angry as Eddie. “I could’ve out-raced them all.”
Trix was examining the radio control unit. “I think the frequency from this is interfering with your power performance.” She regarded the controller thoughtfully. “Maybe if I can switch frequency that will help?”
Vanta used her fans to reposition herself on the table to look at Carson. “If you’d let me do all the flying, we would have won!”
“We may be many things, but we’re not cheats,” said Eddie. “It has to be human controlled. And that I did read on the website,” he added defensively.
“It might be cheating,” sighed Carson as he watched the winners on the big screen as they performed a victory dance, “but it’s as bad as losing to those morons.”
“Excuse me?” The voice behind made them all start. Carson turned to see a girl with freckles and a red ponytail poking through the back of a baseball cap. She looked a year older than Carson. A VR visor hung from her neck, and she was holding a remote control that had more switches and dials than he had ever seen. “Carsonators, right?”
Carson nodded mutely.
“Were you … just talking to your drone?” She stood on tiptoes to look over his shoulder.
Carson immediately moved to block her view. His cheeks burned cherry red and he felt his tongue flop around his mouth uselessly.
Eddie nodded. “Yes, he was. He banged his head and lost a few IQ points. He’s down to single figures now.”
Carson glared at him to shut up. “It’s just our team debrief.”
For a moment the girl regarded the Carsonators with suspicion, but then shrugged and smiled. “I’m India. Just wanted to say that was some gnarly flying out there.”
“Oh, thanks.” Carson felt his cheeks burn. “You know, if it wasn’t for that rubbish Sixtus –” he laughed nervously and nudged Trix, who stared unsmiling at the girl “– I mean, six rotors? Give me a break. Somebody needs help!”
The girl’s smile turned to ice. “That’s my drone.”
Carson suddenly felt sick inside. “Yeah, that’s what I mean. It’s great…”
Any friendliness in the girl’s voice vanished. “Well, I just wanted to say good luck next time. You’ll need it.” She turned abruptly away and disappeared amongst the crowd.
Trix’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You handled that so well.”
“Heartbeat elevated, facial temperature rising. Looks like you fancy somebody,” sang Vanta before joining Trix and Eddie in laughing.
“No, I don’t!” muttered Carson as he felt his cheeks burn.
“Look on the bright side,” said Eddie. “We may have lost the race, and have no money left… Oh, wait, there isn’t a bright side.”
Carson wasn’t in the mood to argue. He carefully slid Vanta into the backpack as Marcus Nation nudged his way through the crowd to find them.
“Hey, guys!” he panted, fighting for breath. “I was hoping I’d catch you before you dashed. That was some impressive racing out there!” He nudged Carson in the arm. “I mean, seriously awesome stuff. We had you pegged to lose! I even lost money betting against you.”
Carson could hear Vanta say something from the confines of the backpack, but he gave it a shake to silence her. Nation hadn’t appeared to notice.
“Any-hooo, third place means you’re through to the next heat.”
Carson, Trix and Eddie had completely forgotten. They looked at one another in surprise.
“There really is a bright side?” gasped Eddie.
“Sure is. The first five all go to the next stage, so you’re in! It’s next week in London. Twenty-five teams battling it out to represent the UK.”
“Represent the whole country?”
“That’s right. The Constructor League’s first UK finals! And then it only gets bigger! We’ll email you the details. Just wanted to say, well done.”
With that Marcus Nation was lost in the crowd as he congratulated the other runners-up.
Trix and Eddie were talking, but Carson didn’t hear a word. He couldn’t believe that things were finally going right.
The trio left the stadium, excitedly talking over one another. Eddie even burst into a verse of “We Are the (Almost) Champions…”
None of them were aware of a pair of suited figures watching them intently from the judges’ panel. Nor did they notice how the figures appeared to talk into their wrists, almost as if they had microphones hidden away there…
Chapter 12
THINGS THAT GO BUMP…
Carson stopped outside his house and remained on his bike, eyeing the dark windows. The terraced street was very quiet and lit with yellow street lights that did little to dispel the darkness. His father’s car wasn’t in the driveway, so he had no reason to sneak inside, but the thought of walking into the empty house at night always filled him with sadness.
He wheeled his bike into the side passage and locked the gate. Then he pulled his key out and slid it into the front door … once again pausing.
“Are you OK?” came Vanta’s muffled voice from his backpack. “I’m detecting elevated signs of stress.”
“I’m OK,” Carson lied, and turned the key, nudging the squeaking door open with his toe. Inside, he immediately put the hall light on before shutting the door. Then he removed Vanta from his pack and placed her on a small table filled with unopened mail.
“Doesn’t your mother live with you?” Vanta asked innocently. She couldn’t see Carson’s face, but saw his shoulders tense.
“Your batteries must be drained,” he said evasively. “I need to plug you in.”
Vanta remained silent as he made a sandwich from the leftovers in the fridge, then picked her up and headed to his room. He hooked up the charging pack and the little drone sat silently on his desk, her orb pulsing steadily.
“What happens if you completely run out of power?”
“What happens if you stop breathing?” she replied.
The answer upset Carson more than he liked to admit. He took to his iPad to read more about the Constructor League they had just taken part in. Founder Marcus Nation, he learned, had made his fortune from fidget spinners. Nation had always loved drone racing and decided to create his own action-packed league. Media companies had even bid for the rights to show the UK final on TV.
“Your father works several jobs, doesn’t he?”
Carson was surprised that Vanta was active. “Uh, yes. He’s always working. I think he prefers it to spending time here…” He stopped himself from saying with me out loud.
“And you didn’t answer the question about your mother.”
The text on Carson’s iPad had become a blur. He was lost in a long silence, unable to form the words to answer Vanta’s question.
Aware he hadn’t spoken for a long time, he looked sidelong at Vanta. The drone hadn’t moved and showed no further signs of activity. He closed the browser and checked his messages. There were dozens of them from Trix and Eddie, eagerly relaying the race to their network of online friends. There must have been about fifteen people throwing congratulations and asking questions. He considered joining the conversation, but he hadn’t met any of them, nor had he joined in the group chats online. If anything, it made him feel quite lonely, as if he was watching a party from the doorway and never taking part. He turned the tablet off and laid it on his bedside table.
“You never told me what happened to that buzz-saw drone.”
Vanta gave a little flutter on her forward fans, repositioning herself to look directly at Carson. “I think it developed engine trouble.”
“That was quite convenient.” He didn’t believe Vanta’s answer, and the memory of Eddie’s warning that she may be dangerous briefly swam back to mind, before he d
ismissed the thought.
“Yes. We were lucky.”
Carson turned off the bedside lamp and pulled the duvet over him. He instantly felt a wave of tiredness creep through his body. The fast-moving events of the day had finally caught up with him.
“You’re one of a kind,” said Carson with a yawn.
“I am that.” The reply came with a warm hint of pride.
“So where did you come from? And why would anybody throw you away?”
“Questions, questions, questions…”
“And no answers, answers, answers.” Carson wanted to feel annoyed, but the truth was he enjoyed having somebody to talk to at night.
“You worry too much, Carson Lox.”
Carson drifted into a warm dream … but somewhere at the back of his mind he wondered how Vanta knew his full name. He didn’t recall telling her…
The wind on his face felt cool and refreshing. Carson spread his arms wide, enjoying the sensation of flying through the wide canyon … no, the Grand Canyon. That was it. The vivid orangey-brown walls towered above him, turning red in the dying rays of the sun. The wind increased … then seemed to snap at his ears as something brushed past them.
“Wake up!”
Carson jolted awake with a start. It was still dark. His hand went to swat whatever was buzzing around his ear. The light from Vanta bobbed before his eyes, and he realized the breeze from his dream was caused by the downwash of her propellers buzzing too close to his face.
“What are you doing?” he said with alarm.
“Ssssh!” Vanta cut him off in a low voice. “I heard a noise downstairs.”
Carson groaned and closed his eyes. “That’d be Dad coming home.”
Vanta zipped across to his door and whispered, “It’s not your father.”
Carson bolted upright in bed. He’d heard a noise too: a soft shuffling made by somebody trying not to make a sound. His dad wouldn’t care how much noise he made and the lights would have all been on in the hallway. Instead, the gap under Carson’s door remained dark.
It must be a burglar! His first instinct was to call the police. He groped for his phone on the bedside table. It wasn’t there.
He felt a pang of panic. Where had he left it? With horrible clarity he suddenly recalled placing it on the kitchen table as he made his sandwich.
Vanta drifted silently to the door. “Let’s check it out!”
“No! I need to call the cops.”
Which meant creeping into the kitchen. He fumbled under his bed and found a battered cricket bat. At least having the heavy wood in his hand made him feel braver. He gingerly climbed from bed and tiptoed across his room. Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened his door. He’d had enough practice to do so without making the hinges groan.
“Entering stealth mode!” whispered Vanta, her tail light extinguishing. In the darkness, Carson couldn’t even hear her spinning rotors.
Beyond, the landing was dark and quiet and there was no sign of Vanta. Before he could open his mouth to call to her, there was more scuffling from downstairs, followed by muted whispering. There were two intruders and, judging from their tone, one was a woman.
Carson’s blood turned to ice when he heard a gentle creak from the bottom step. Somebody was climbing the stairs!
He considered dashing back to his bedroom and hiding, but that would only be cornering himself. He pressed himself against the wall just to the side of the staircase and raised the cricket bat. He held his breath and the hammering of his heart almost drowned out the approaching footsteps.
The air shifted next to him, signalling the arrival of the intruder.
With a battle cry that startled even him, Carson stepped out, the bat held before him. It was too dark to make out any features, but it was obviously a man standing in front of him, yelping in surprise. Carson spotted something gun-like with flashing lights in his hand. Presuming it was a weapon, he swung the bat, putting all his weight into it. There was an explosion of air as the bat slammed home into the man’s chest. Carson had been expecting him to fall back the way he came, but the intruder groaned and doubled over in agony.
Before Carson could swing again there was a rush of movement as Vanta darted past him on a collision course for the man’s head. Carson watched in astonishment as the man was pitched backwards, sailing over the second intruder, who stood several steps behind.
The man landed hard in the hallway below and tumbled out of the still-open front door. There was just enough illumination coming through the door from the street light outside, to see the outline of a woman. She had turned around to follow the path of her colleague. Carson caught blonde hair poking from under a black cap. She started to turn back to face him, raising a strange boxy pistol at him – just as Vanta dropped down in front of her and spun around so that the orb from her tail faced her. The drone emitted a sharp blinding strobe light. Carson looked away, covering his eyes with his forearm.
There was a shrill scream, followed by the sound of a quick retreat. Then the door slammed shut.
Carson was shaking when he sat at the top of the stairs. He could still see the afterimage of the bright flash; fortunately, it was slowly fading. Vanta hovered close to him.
“Don’t worry, they’ve gone. They won’t come back.”
“How do you know?”
“Trust me. Your heart rate is elevated. Take a few deep breaths.” Carson did so. With each long breath he felt better. “Go and make yourself a hot chocolate. You’ll feel better. I’d make you one myself, but I don’t have hands.” She wiggled two of her propellers, making Carson smile, despite his trembling.
“Who were they?”
“Just some common thieves. Maybe they saw you at the race and were just chancing their luck. Don’t let it worry you.”
Carson remained on edge for the rest of the night and only turned his bedside light off when he heard the more familiar thumps of his dad arriving home. All the hall lights came on as he wearily ascended the stairs and, as usual, paused outside Carson’s door.
Normally his father would walk away after a few moments, but this time he stayed. Something was wrong. Then he heard the door handle squeal as it was turned, but his dad still didn’t enter.
With a gulp, Carson realized he had left Vanta in full view on the table and he knew his dad’s view on drone racing. He sat up, ready to throw the discarded jacket at the end of his bed over Vanta.
Too late. The door opened and his dad stepped inside.
“Hey, pal, are you awake?” Caught sitting upright, Carson couldn’t pretend otherwise. His father was immediately drawn to the glow from Vanta. “What’s this? You haven’t been wasting your money on those silly toys again, have you?”
“It’s not…” Carson stopped himself. There was no use arguing. “I was given it. It’s broken, though. Doesn’t work.”
“Good. You should be doing something … constructive.” He searched for an example as he looked around the posters on Carson’s wall. “A sport or something.”
“Drone racing is a sport.”
His dad gave him a look that brimmed with impatience. Then he sighed, his voice softening. “You forgot to lock the front door again. You need to be careful, someone could just walk right in.”
“Sorry.”
His dad awkwardly rubbed his hands together, searched for something else to say, and duly failed. He headed for the door. “Night, then.”
As his dad left, Carson lay back down. Regardless of whether the front door was locked, he was certain he wouldn’t sleep for the rest of the week.
Chapter 13
THE WATCHERS
The next few days rolled along as summer holidays do, with long, hazy days that bled into humid nights. For the most part they practised racing Vanta around the warehouse. Trix had her nose in a set of online instructions while her hands tinkered with the electronic guts of the radio controller.
“You’re giving out a lot of weird frequencies,” she said to Vanta. “They’re
definitely interfering with the controller, which is slowing you down, and I don’t think there is anything I can do about it. Can you turn something off?”
“Not really. I don’t quite know what signals I’m sending out. I can’t help it.”
“Like BO,” Eddie chimed in as he read the long list of terms and conditions on the Constructor League website.
Trix and Carson frowned.
“Well, you can’t control your BO and people still complain.” He turned back to Carson’s iPad and continued reading the league’s racing rules, unaware of his friends’ confused frowns.
It seemed an age had passed since the burglars had broken into Carson’s house. He had told the others, who had all heard of several similar break-ins that night.
“My mum’s calling it a crime wave,” Eddie added with some relish.
As Vanta had predicted, the intruders hadn’t come back, but Carson was still worried. He couldn’t find any evidence that the front door had been tampered with, which meant either he had left it unlocked – he was certain he hadn’t – or they had been more than just common thieves.
“If you’re worried, I’ll take her,” said Trix.
Carson eyed the screwdriver in her hand and caught Vanta’s camera nervously flicking between that and him.
“It’s fine,” he assured her. “After the beating we gave them, I’m sure they won’t be back.”
“It’s not as if you have much worth stealing anyway,” Eddie pointed out.
Carson was hard pressed to disagree. Like most of the stuff in the house, the TV was older than him, and they had no valuables to speak of.
Eddie stopped reading the iPad and rubbed his eyes. “You know we still can’t afford to get to London next weekend.”
The emailed invitation for the semi-finals had arrived and, duty-bound as manager, he had spent an entire evening reading all the small print and replying to every query. The event was to be held in a huge converted warehouse in the East End docks. It would even be televised on a sports channel. It would bring together the top five qualifiers from the five heats held across the country and came with a whopping ten-thousand-pound prize. Plus, the winner would go through to the world championship.