“Doctor, hospital or morgue, one,” said Sparky.
“Doctors and hospitals here on Earth have no idea what to do about a mulgny slash,” said Neff, standing. “Could have been the end of Trevor.”
“The end of Trevor,” said Notch. “Has a nice ring.”
Neff and Sandy headed up for their first run.
CHAPTER 66
The Forerunner
SANDY AND NEFF got off the lift and joined Mark near the start.
“How was the practice course?” he asked.
“Weird,” responded Neff. “Our arms go right through the columns. It’s like they’re not there.”
“In a way they’re not,” said Sandy, eyes drawn to the mural on the Snoflian tent, showing the trees and terrain behind the start area, with Jagged Peak in the background. I wonder how they did that.
“Take a look inside,” said Mark.
She and Neff slid over to the tent. It was open at both ends. Its sides rose vertically, then arced overhead under curved struts. Four large, round windows ran along each side, lighting the interior. Neff and Sandy peered in. Ribbon-like stripes in yellow, orange and green undulated along its length.
“Looks like an alti tunnel,” said Neff.
“Forerunner, get ready,” shouted the start assistant.
The Trail Tyrant, idling at the far corner of the start area, gunned its engine and tracked down to the start tent. Goober hopped out and pulled open the back door.
A huge, fur-covered face with long whispers looked out. The nearest racers shuffled back. The beast had round ears and a glistening black, wet nose. Shiny brown hair covered its long body. It scanned the crowd, then bobbed its head and undulated out the door. It sidled over to Mark, then sat up, its white underbelly showing, paws dangling, playful eyes sparkling.
Is it smiling? Sandy watched the whiskers curl upward.
“It’s an otter!” said Neff.
“Giant Snoflian sea otter,” said Mark, patting the head. “They slide down mountainsides into the sea.” The huge animal dropped to all fours and rubbed its head on Mark’s leg, nearly pushing him over.
“That’s our forerunner?” asked Neff.
“He is,” replied Mark, “Or more like a foreslither. His name is ‘Slytherzz’. Makes really round, grooved tracks.”
“All he needs is the ocean at the end,” said Neff. Mark raised his eyebrows and cocked his head. Neff thought for a moment. “Wait,” she said, “I know.”
Sandy frowned, “What?”
“It’s the....” Neff was interrupted.
“Two minutes,” said the start official.
“It’s time,” said Mark. He placed a pair of super-sized goggles with ear loops and a chin strap over the animal’s eyes, pulled it tight, and turned to Neff and Sandy.
“Would you guys like to put the timer belt on his neck?”
Sandy stared, “His neck?”
“He seems friendly,” said Neff, stepping out of her skis, “even kind of cuddly. Come on.” She took the belt from Mark. Slytherzz stretched his head forward. Neff gently laid the belt over his neck. Sandy went to the other side, and handed the end of the belt back under his neck. Neff clicked the two ends together. Slytherzz licked Neff’s face, then Sandy’s. Both wiped their faces, laughing.
“They’re brave,” said one girl, watching.
“They’ve been different, since they came back,” said another. “The guys, too.”
“Forerunner, please,” said the start official.
Slytherzz undulated through the tent to the starting line. A drone followed overhead. The racers and coaches ran toward the course to watch.
Slytherzz carefully placed his forepaws behind the line. Then he stuck his nose in the start official’s face.
The official lurched back and coughed, Major fish breath! “Uh, are you ready?” he asked.
Slytherzz licked the starter’s face, and turning his head to start, flicked his long whiskers across the starter’s cheek.
The official wiped his mouth and cheeks, pointed down the course and said, “You, uh, you may go.”
Slytherzz arched his back, tensed the sinewy muscles along the length of his body and uncoiled like a spring. He shot from the start like an arrow, feet tight to his sides, head off the snow. The drone caught up. Just before the first candy column—spiraling red and white—Slytherzz curved uphill and gracefully arced down around it.
“Forerunner on course,” shouted an official at the finish. “Everyone please stay clear of the open gate at the back of the finish area.”
“Must have a hard time stopping,” said Notch, looking at the gate, then up the course. Slytherzz came into view. Notch stared, spellbound. The big otter snaked down through the gates, leaving an ideal groove in the snow for the racers to follow.
“Awesome,” said Sparky, beside Notch.
A minute later, Slytherzz whipped across the finish line, shot across the finish area, through the gate, and dove into a hole in the ice on the snowmaking pond.
“Yep, hard time stopping,” said Notch.
“Where’d he go?” asked Sparky.
Suddenly, Slytherzz popped up from a hole on the far side, spun, and lunged onto the ice. He slid across, climbed back through the gate and shook his wet fur, spraying the spectators. Then he sat up, head above the crowd, smiling.
“Whoa,” whispered Sparky, “He’s huge.”
Suddenly a dog began yapping. Slytherzz glared over the crowd. A woman in a matching fur coat and hat, the very same brown color as Slytherzz’s fur, was holding a quivering, little lapdog in her arms.
Trevor Trumble was standing beside the woman.
Slytherzz let out a long, low growl.
“Oh, boy,” blurted Notch. He pushed through the crowd. “Mrs. Trumble,” he shouted. “I don’t think that otter likes noisy little dogs, or for that matter, a fur coat and hat that look like him. For your safety, you may want to get out of here.”
“You’re way out of line, Notch,” spat Trevor, stepping in front of his mother, fist clenched. “Back off!”
“You’re very rude, young man,” huffed Mrs. Trumble from behind Trevor.
“It’s your skin, ma’am,” shrugged Notch. Hey, good choice of words. “Just trying to help.” He held up his hands and turned to see people stepping aside.
Slytherzz was coming.
Trevor shoved his mother towards the Training Center. She glanced back, saw the oncoming otter and stumbled away, covering her nervous little pet with her coat, Trevor pushing.
Slytherzz paused, snorted, then sauntered back across the finish area. He glanced toward the woman and dog once, then slipped into the trees. At the first fire road, he hopped into the back of Goober’s waiting Tyrant. Goober tossed in four fresh trout, shut the door and sped up to the cave.
“What on Earth was that?” the local sports reporter asked Sparky.
“Some new kind of forerunner,” he replied, as Notch came up.
“Amazing the way they made it look like an otter,” said Notch.
“Really, though,” persisted the reporter, “is it some kind of robot?”
“I can’t say,” Notch answered. Not allowed to say. But I’m pretty sure it’s no robot.
The loudspeaker erupted, “The ladies run will begin in one minute.”
“Sandy’s about to start,” said Sparky. “Let’s watch from the lift.”
The Jagged Peak girls had gathered around Neff and Sandy at the start. Some were chatting; some were pensive. All had churning, fluttering stomachs.
Sandy was called to the start.
She glided through the tent, taking slow, deep breaths. The first candy column began to spiral. Pretty. She focused on Slytherzz’s grooved track, a perfect line for her. She didn’t hear the drone overhead, or the Jagged Peak girls shoutin
g.
“Come on Sandy.”
“Go for it Sandy.”
“Sandee. Sandee. Sandee....”
CHAPTER 67
Ladies’ Run
SANDY CLICKED HER POLES together and planted them in front of the start line.
“You may go,” said the starter.
Sandy flexed her body, shouted, “Eeyah!” and shot down the ramp. She skated twice, accelerating toward the first spiraling red. She carved to the left around it and cut tight arcs around the following spirals—blue, red, blue, red—then dropped into the steep.
“Great start!” said Neff, as Sandy disappeared.
“Fast,” said Mark, a smile on his face. “You ready?”
“Watch me.” Neff clicked into her skis.
Mark grinned. Newfound confidence. Nice.
Sandy ripped to the left across the top of the steep, her left edges gripping the surface. Stay high. She switched edges and whipped to the right just under the spiraling blue. She held Slytherzz’s line around the next three spirals—red, blue, red—then hit two bumps, and skidded below Slytherzz’s track. Too low!
“Get higher!” she puffed, steering her ski tips uphill. She drove her arms and body forward. Her skis left the snow. She rotated her core, twisted her skis to the right and dove down the pitch, extending her left leg, driving the ski tip into the snow. Stay strong! She held her left leg firm against centrifugal force and gravity and whipped into a tight curve past the blue. She was back in Slytherzz’s track. Whooo hoo!
She arced past the last red on the steep. Flats coming. She flew across the pitch higher than most racers would, then cut sharply downhill, snapping her poles under her arms, her hands in front of her nose. She shot past the last blue on the steep.
“Go!” she grunted, zipping past the first spiral on the flat.
“She’s ripping,” cried Notch watching from the lift with Sparky.
“Went super high to get speed,” said Sparky.
Remember that.
“Smooth, smooth,” breathed Sandy, in a high tuck, gliding across the flat past blue and red spirals, using just enough hip and knee to hold her line. She saw the top of the red hologram peeking above the next drop-off. Get direction. She went wide, arced to the right under the blue at the top of the pitch and headed toward a spiraling red.
“Good move,” said Sparky watching from the lift. “Too straight off the flat and you drop too low.”
Sandy’s left arm and shoulder sliced through the red column. Nothing. Three cross hill gates. She headed toward a blue, carved to the right around it, looped up through a red, then cut left around a blue...into a drop-off.
“Airtime,” she panted. She touched down, sucked up her knees and hit a huge roll. Uhh. She flew. Slytherzz’s tracks were on the snow below her! How did he do that? She landed hard, turning right past a red.
She swung back and forth past a blue, red, blue, red—picking up speed. She sensed the drone above as she headed toward the Pillow Garden....
Neff slid into the starting tent, the drone above her, blinking green.
“You may go,” said the starter.
Neff sprung from the start, skated twice and sped to the first gate, adrenaline pumping. This is fast. Be smart. Stay way high.
Though fourteen racers had gone before her, only one had stuck to Slytherzz’s high line. Must have been Sandy. The other girls either couldn’t follow it, or didn’t trust it.
Neff took the highest line ever. Too high? No, trust. Trust. I’m on it, “Mostly!” She dropped a tad lower than she wanted down on the steep, but still held her speed. “Wheee!” she screeched as she passed the first red on the flat. She held her line down the next two sections. When she hit the roll, she flew further than expected. But twisting in the air, she cut back on line. My legs are burning!
She shot toward the pillow garden. She had skied over it for fun. But never raced on it.
Trust the course setter. Trust the course setter. She crossed above the pillow garden, the snow-covered boulders spilling down the slope below to her left, like giant marshmallows. She began to lose speed. Ugh. Everyone must slow down here...I hope. It’s set that way. She slipped around the blue, and headed back, bouncing across the pillows, flexing and extending her legs.
“Uh...Uh...Uh...Uh...Gee. Uh. Awh...Ohhh.” My legs! She hit the smooth snow on the other side. Relief. Then she turned past a red back into the pillows. Here I go again! The snow-covered boulders were flatter, “Boun...cing, less,” she stammered. She skidded past the last blue, and flew off a ledge, a sudden void in the pit of her stomach. So steep. She dipped her ski tips and landed. “Mmmmpphhh!”
She headed back across the main trail, whipping above a red, carving under a blue, brushing over a red, and sneaking under a blue. She left the main trail and passed above a frozen waterfall. She swung a tight right around a red and headed back above the waterfall. Then she cut left around a blue spiral and dove down beside the waterfall into the stream-bed, gritting her teeth, heading for the surprise of her life.
CHAPTER 68
Men’s Run
NEFF WHIPPED ACROSS THE FINISH, skidded to a stop and looked at the display. “Six,” she squealed. “I got sixth. Yeooww!” I never, ever skied that fast. Never. Ever.
“Great run!” laughed Sandy, hugging Neff.
“You too,” bubbled Neff. “First. You were awesome.”
Sparky, third man to start, was still stretching, when three hovercraft, trailing tillers and drags, whooshed past in tandem and headed down the course. They look like riding mowers.
The first machine cut close to the first column, the second further out and the third furthest out. The hovercrafts’ blades pulverized the snow and shot it back under the tillers and drags, which then spread and groomed it into a micro-corduroy surface.
“Hovergroomers!” said Notch, joining Sparky. They watched the crafts vanish over the first steep.
“Racers get ready!” shouted the official.
Suddenly, two more hovercrafts whipped past, both carrying tanks. High-powered sprayers spewed liquid from beneath the tanks onto the fresh micro-corduroy surface, making it freeze and glisten.
“First racer,” said the start official.
Trevor Trumble was first to start. “Good luck, pipsqueak,” he said, smirking at Sparky. “Hope your edges hold. Oh, and remember, go to the right of the first hologram.” He entered the start tent.
“Thanks. And good luck to you, too,” said Sparky.
“What a jerk,” muttered Notch.
Trevor went out fast.
“Go faster,” whispered Notch.
The second racer went. Sparky slid into the start tent.
He knew better than to look at the spiraling column. He had learned long ago, skis go where the eyes go. Look where you want your skis to go.
People were shouting. But Sparky only heard, “You may go.”
He exploded out. He sailed through the top turns and onto the steep, taking each turn well above the gate, carving high, tight arcs down the pitch.
“Go Sparky!” Neff shouted from the side of the trail.
“Do it,” yelled Sandy beside her.
Like Sandy, Sparky cut well above the last gate on the steep and shot onto the flats in a high tuck, shouting, “Go, Patch. Go!”
“Yesss,” whispered Sandy.
He flew across the flat and dropped out of sight over the knoll.
“He makes it look so easy,” said Neff.
To Sparky’s mom, watching from the finish area, he seemed to be dancing through the gates.
He headed toward the pillow garden.
Neff and Sandy slipped down to a knoll to watch. Sparky pumped over the first two pillows, then leapt from the third, sailed over the fourth and landed on the down side of the fifth. He sucked up the sixth, knees t
o his chest.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” laughed Neff.
“It flashed through my mind,” said Sandy, “but then....”
Sparky zipped like a bullet toward the waterfall, passed above it, swung around the red and headed back. But instead of going above the safety netting, he rocketed beneath it toward the edge of the fall.
“No, don’t...!” cried his dad watching from the side.
Sparky leapt. He flew over the fall, hit the snow on the far side and flipped his skis out to the side. Like nailing a snow lizard! He ripped left past the blue and dropped into the gully. I love stream-beds. He’d been skiing them since he was five. He whipped around a red, a blue, a red, and whooshed up the side of the gully, flying thirty feet. He landed in line with the last series of columns, all spinning super fast.
Trevor, with the fastest time so far, waited smugly by the scoreboard, watching. Sparky shot across the finish. The loudspeaker announced his time.
Trevor heard it. He stared at scoreboard. “First?” he blurted. How could he get first? Turning away, Trevor whacked the ground with a ski pole.
“Nice run, Trevor,” Sparky said, after glancing at the scoreboard. “A respectable second.”
Trevor stomped past. “Pipsqueak,” he mumbled, shaking his head.
Notch, still at the start, heard Mark’s radio come on.
It was Sparky’s dad. “Sparky got first. He jumped the falls below the safety netting.”
Mark shook his head, “As long as he passed all the columns, he’s good.” Then with a wry smile, Mark said, “I need to have a talk with that young man.”
“Sparky’s in a different world,” said Notch, slightly envious.
“It’s true. He’s good,” said Mark. “But you’re pretty good yourself. You’ve been skiing really well since you, uh...came back to Earth, as it were. But, I wouldn’t recommend jumping the falls.”
“Not a chance,” said Notch pensively, leaning on his poles, sliding his skis back and forth in place.
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