The Full Circle Six

Book One of the Lost Dimension Chronicles

This book is dedicated to our Father Tony Ray

Prologue

CHAPTER ONE:
The Red Key

CHAPTER TWO:
Fresh Meat

CHAPTER THREE:
Come Back to When

CHAPTER FOUR:
Live Always in Space and Time

CHAPTER FIVE:
Fresh Start

CHAPTER SIX:
Nothing Left to Prove

CHAPTER SEVEN:
Liberation

CHAPTER EIGHT:
The Sound of Cannon Fire

CHAPTER NINE:
The Future Is Fuel

CHAPTER TEN:
Purefection

CHAPTER ELEVEN:
The Three Benchmarks

CHAPTER TWELVE:
Welcome to Scyntar

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
Crew of Three

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
Lost and Found

Epilogue

T
he battle involving dark and light is constant and equal. If one extinguishes the other, the temple of dimensions will crumble. At a point, the dark and light collided. The ethereal battle spilled over to the corporeal in the form of crystal. The crystal spread out evenly throughout the one hundred dimensions. The new battles required a measure of control, thus the dark and light forged the planet Ink inside dimension one to host a temple guardian. The temple guardian required an arena to balance the crystals, thus the dark and light forged the lost dimension.

D
rake Judge seemed to move through life more easily than anyone else. Along with his ever-increasing popularity Drake, has always had extraordinary skills. Gravity did not affect Drake as much as it affected others. He jumped higher and ran faster than everyone, despite his massive six feet seven inch two hundred and eight five pound frame. There was an extra light or spark in his eyes that gave the impression of extended life, and Drake, did indeed age slower than his counterparts. Hardly any soul ever got to look into his eyes however, because he wore a pair of holochart gazers all the time. These skills of his may have been better utilized playing a traditional athletic competition, but Drake Judge was a space racer. By spending a lot of time in space, where gravity is all but consistent, he negated his would-be advantage.

Drake had just completed one of these particular space races, and was standing in the small lift room, just off of the much larger victory platform, waiting to be introduced. Drake was stroking his prominent chin, feeling the stubble, with his left hand, and gripping his speech from inside his leather Future Fuels Racing jacket with his right. The victory platform sat approximately one half kilometer above what looked to be a sea of fans. There was a holocam placed directly in the middle of the platform that displayed its content larger than life as it towers over all in attendance. The holocam also amplifies the occupant's voice so the crowd can hear as if standing on the platform themselves.

After a most enthusiastic introduction, Drake slowly began to walk onto the stage. This time, his left hand was gripping the bill of his denim number thirteen Future Fuels Racing cap and, as he stepped onto the platform to the roar of the crowd, something peculiar happened. Drake had what could only be described as a mixture between a daydream, deja vu, and a premonition. The crowd was chanting
Drake, Drake, Drake,
in unison, but they were not the same crowd, and he was no longer on the victory platform. Drake was standing chin up in the middle of what appeared to be an arena, and he was soaking up the crowd's almost perfect chants, absorbing them somehow into power. He had the impression of being there before, at that moment, and again in the future. The feeling was gone as abruptly as it came. Drake snapped to and positioned himself in front of the holocam, slipped his speech out of his inner jacket pocket, then addressed the crowd.

“First of all,” he paused for effect. With a slow, deep, slightly gruff voice he continued. “I would like to thank my fans.”

The ocean of people erupted, but Drake noticed that he could not distinguish any of them simultaneously cheering, and immediately got a feeling of dissatisfaction. Could it be possible that one peculiar moment would be more fulfilling to him than this one, or was he just thinking ahead to the swarm of reporters waiting to strike? He decided to bury the feeling and march on; after all he was prepared and had gone through this countless times.

“I'd also like to thank my sponsors, especially Future Fuels, without which none of this would have been possible,” he proclaimed proudly with his chest protruding forward. He then tipped his cap, showing the logo, and twirled around to display the Future Fuels logo once again stamped across the back of his jacket.

“I am pleased to announce that our planetary stop was better than anticipated, so most of all I would like to thank the members of my number thirteen team and my teammates in the number twenty six transport racecraft.” Drake adjusted his holochart gazers, which kept an accurate account of star maps along with his current position, and continued, in his deep, slightly gruff voice.

“I plan to run even longer races, so that I can finally put our number thirteen Future Fuel transport racecraft in position to … Win The Championship!” Drake shouted the last part, and pumped his fist in the air to an explosion of cheering. He then turned around and let the chief race executive join him in front of the holocam. The executive spoke in a much smaller, squeakier voice.

“On behalf of the race league officials, I would like to congratulate Drake Judge on another impressive victory and present him with this most outstanding prize.” The crowd again paid its respect with a lot of screaming and complimentary shouts.

“To you, Drake Judge, we give this rare set of ten dimensional keys.” The official held them up high, with both hands on the bottom of the case, and bowed slightly toward Drake. Drake took the prize, examined it, and then stuffed it into his jacket. He then shook the executive's hand firmly.

“Thank you, sir, for this opportunity, and I hope to be on the winner's platform again real soon.” Drake let go of the official's hand, after thanking him, and turned to exit the victory platform into the small room, where he could descend to the press area, using the lifts. Once in the press area, he will undoubtedly be reminded of his shortcomings.

Drake entered the press area, folded his bulging arms together, and immediately engaged the reporters.

“Go ahead, you first,” Drake grunted while pointing at a scrawny man with straight brown hair and a loud purple suit. Drake thought momentarily and determined that the only reason the guy wears the suit is so that he is noticed right away.

“Rod Chole, Tibot Tributary … This was the longest race you ever ran, at just over ninety-seven days, and only one planetary stop … You say you want to win the championship, but you have already skipped four races this decade that were longer and worth more points … How do you intend to catch up when you're only sixth in points and your whole career you've tended to run shorter races?

Drake let out an angry looking sigh, and then responded encouragingly.

“I've already said that I will be running longer races when I was on the platform. You, you're next.” Drake pointed at a pleasant looking female reporter with dark hair and had an ever-building impatience in his voice. He wanted to go celebrate, check out his prize, and prepare for the next race.

“Eril Verich, Clyme Gazet. By saying that, are you suggesting that you're going to compete in the Full Circle Six, the longest and most dangerous race this decade, with a minimum of six planetary stops, responsible for countless deaths, estimated time of race being between one and one half and two years?” The lady said all of this exceptionally fast, as if in one breath, but with a sweet voice that was understandable. It took Drake a few moments to digest.

“I am proud to announce, for the first time publicly, that the number thirteen and number twenty six transport racecrafts have every intention of entering and winning the Full Circle Six … With, of course, the continued support of Future Fuels.” Drake was looking down at his timepiece when he blindly pointed into the multitude of reporters.

“Jace Lomez, Fazeir Frequenter.” This man had a completely arrogant voice and, on top of that, he was smirking. This was very irritating to Drake, smirking was just one of those things that rattled Drake. “You're currently in sixth place … You've never finished better than fourth place in previous attempts at championships, based on non-performances in length races … Some would say this is a desperate attempt, and the only reason you're doing it is so people will stop pestering you about not running longer races … The defending champion and current point leader Boxton Oblize is much more experienced at planetary stops … How do
you
intend to compete with his number two team?”

Drake scowled at the pompous reporter and leaned forward with his chin sticking out, so that it was impossible not to notice.

“Our team has every intention of competing with every other racecraft in the Full Circle Six. Next!” Drake was getting hotter by the second; he wasn't sure how much more of the same crap over and over he could take.

“Are you ever going to take off your gazers?” A random female voice shouted from the back of the pressroom.

At this point, Drake turned around, as quickly as he could manage, to make his way back to the safety of the number thirteen transport racecraft, which he has long since used as his living quarters. His intention was to leave a group of hungry reporters behind unfed.

The number thirteen racecraft was an arrowhead shaped space vehicle transport. On the bottom, it carried two large, cone shaped firewall guards that supported many small, swiveling thrusters. This was essential in any racecraft to support manual maneuverability during launch, landing, and difficult handling situations. Individual thrusters were also located at various points surrounding the transport craft. The two main thrusters, as well as the enormous rocket booster for launching, were located at the rear and were used to turn, accelerate, ascend, descend, and even helped to slow the vehicle.

Drake's personal favorite aspects of his beloved home were the cannons and special weaponry, as he loved to obliterate opposing threats to his position. The left and right cannons were symmetric to the main thrusters, but were on top and toward the front. Though these were considered normal cannons and therefore basic weaponry, Drake had the largest of any league approved racecraft, with the unfortunate exception of Boxton Oblize, his number one rival and current reigning champion of the Intergalactic Challenge Circuit. The back cannon was so small that it pushed Drake's limit of patience. It was bolted directly six meters back from and in between the main thrusters so that it fired directly over the launch booster.

All racecrafts were equipped with a unique special weapon that would give its driver an inherent advantage over competitors. Drake did not have an inkling as to what the others were packing, but of his own he was especially proud. This was an exclusive device named the shield energy de-stabilizer, located at the very tip of the nose cone. When activated, the S.E.D. would totally eradicate enemy shields, one at a time. Created by a true master of artillery and defense, this intimidating fortification contained two charges. Once spent, the device took nearly a week to fully charge one detonation.

Inside, there were two levels containing general and special quarters. The bottom level contained the main corridor, to both sides of which were three corridors. The right side consisted of the north, loading, and south corridors. The north and south corridors branch from the main corridor to seven of the eight total personal quarters. The loading corridor leads to the entrance to the racecraft and the equipment and fuel storage area. The left side held the medical, recreation, and cleansing corridors, each leading to their corresponding quarters. At the bottom of the main corridor were the consuming quarters, where there were four modules, each one with a set of three delivery dispenser tubes.

These tubes would portion out an order, placed by keypad. Behind the consuming quarters, and separated by the backup life support, were the two isolation chambers for any malcontents. The other end of the main corridor gradually sloped up and opened into the navigation center on the top level. In the very center of the navigation command center sat Drake's control chair. From here, he could guide the vessel and the team, as the position of the seat allowed him to keep his eyes on every station. On either side of his seat, mirrors were posted so that the cannon chambers were visible, without turning completely around. All the other stations, including scanners, shields, and special weapons were in full view up front. The only other rooms on the floor were Drake's own personal quarters.

In order to board, Drake headed for the loading zone, which was in the bottom of the two decks. Entering the racecraft through the loading corridor, Drake worked his way beyond the piles of equipment and spare tools. He stepped through the main corridor and heard what sounded like a celebration coming from the recreation quarters.

As Drake entered the recreation room of his transport racecraft, the first member of the team that he encountered was the shield and ship technician, Samelak Riordin, known only to Drake as Sammy. He has been working with the racing Phnom for over sixteen years, the longest of any crewmember on the racecraft. Sammy was approximately five foot eleven inches tall, standing nearly six inches shy of his teammate and captain. With jet-black hair and piercing green eyes, looking at Sammy gave one the impression of revealing any thoughts or emotions. His appearance however was more than deceiving, as he seemed to be the only person to understand Drake's race strategies, not to mention his outbursts.

Upon spotting his long time teammate and trustworthy partner, Sammy could not resist giving Drake a firm, friendly pat on the back and a congratulatory grin.

“Well done, champ!” Sammy exclaimed, only a split second before the other three mainstays in the room echoed the cry from behind him. Drake grunted a form of gratitude, as his irritation had not yet yielded. In spite of his aggravation, the recent winner could not help but feel a deep sense of pride for his team.

“The Future Fuel rep guy contacted, they're sending us the list of newbies for the Full Circle in about twenty hours … Thought you'd like to know straight away.” When Kraus Klotzki, the weapons operator, spoke up, it diverted Drake's attention.

“Well, it appears someone is thinking clearly again,” Drake responded. He was referring to an incident in the last race, in which the weapons officer could have removed the second place racecraft with a well-placed shot, thereby ensuring victory. Drake liked to cut risk to a minimum, and was notorious for blowing transport racecrafts from the sky, improving his chance of winning a single race event. The Full Circle Six just happened to be the race that laid claim to more racecraft annihilation than most other races in the circuit combined. Drake Judge had never entered this race before, but this fact was not unknown to him.

He couldn't help thinking about the list of fresh crew, silently hoping to acquire more members like his life support systems operator, Iriarte Croxon, or Frederick Stallworth, his engine and fuel operator for the last decade. Croxon was ugly from head to toe, and the worst part was, you couldn't tell what species or sex he/she was. Old Croxy had kept Drake alive, so far. So, as far as he was concerned, it did its job well. Now, Freddie is so different it's insane. Mr. Pretty boy, Drake refers to him on occasion. You will often find
sir
Frederick, as he loves to refer to himself, grooming in the cleansing quarters or singing about how great he looks. He is also always donning the traditional dress-like robes of his home planet.