The Full Circle Six (15 page)

Priscilla turned quickly when the light entered the little room, her face dirty and stricken with horror. It took a few seconds for her to recognize Freddie, and when she did, the look of horror melted away into surprise and disbelief, mingled with a small dose of adoration.

“Come on, quickly my darling,” Freddie rushed. It sounded as if he had rehearsed this scene the entire way.

“I thank you, Frederick.” The medical operator was not cold when she spoke, but was more business than personal. She grabbed her medical bag that she had taken off of the racecraft with her, and took Freddie's hand to lead her out of her cell. She halted when she saw Drake, who was kneeling on the floor, doubled over, holding his left arm in pain, and swaying from side to side.

“I should have a look at that wound, captain,” she said as she squatted down and opened her bag.

“I'll be fine, I don't need you,” Drake slurred. Even as he protested, the dizziness increased and he removed the hand covering the wound. “Unless maybe you have a shot for me like Croxy used to?”

“Actually, in this case, I do happen to have an injection for you.” Priscilla had seen the injury and established that it was poison. “This is an antidote to most poisons,” she went on to say, “It should help you feel better in no time.”

Drake was doubtful, but had no choice, and the fact that she had a shot led him to believe that she may not be so bad after all. There was no hissing sound, sure, but everyone had different styles. The inoculation was working its full abilities in sixty seconds.

Meanwhile, Bruvold was feeling very proud of himself for gassing the Dooghinians. He would have had good reason to be proud, had the wind not blown the puff of gas that came from the bomb away. At the time, he did not know this, and was telling Sammy and Kraus that all was safe. Kraus suggested taking Juhaen to the medical quarters and prepare him as best as they knew how for Priscilla. He had no doubts that Drake would bring back the craft's M.O. The three teammates carried the unconscious Juhaen on their shoulders to Priscilla's examination module.

After a few minutes of debating on what to do, if anything, further, Kraus agreed to stay beside the injured while the others went back out to prepare to leave. Before Sammy and Bruvold could get out the door the racecraft rocked as an explosion rattled the loading zone area. Nobody saw the six Dooghinians board the craft and split into different directions to bring justice to the thieves that had tried to ransack their planet.

Bruvold was the first to see the trespassers. As he stepped into the main corridor, he saw three of the intruders coming toward Sammy and himself. The former weapons operator fell to one knee, while pulling a rapid-fire laser unit, and opening fire. Samelak Riordin stood, legs spread, behind Bruvold with a laser unit of a different type. It did not have a rapid-fire option, but was efficient all the same. The three deformed humanoids went down one after the other, in sequence.

Sammy ran along the main corridor to the navigation center to check on things, and Bruvold sprinted across to the loading corridor to do likewise to the loading zone. Bruvold received the biggest surprise. There was a hole in the side of the racecraft that was almost as large as the loading zone and storage area itself. Furious, he brought the pulse cannon from behind his back and walked out of the hole, blasting at every Dooghinian group and individual that he could see, either moving or standing still. The force of each round knocked him back a step and a half, but he barely noticed. Shouting in a foreign tongue, he killed enough of the surrounding natives to start a population concern on this portion of the planet, made up of mostly outlaw rogues, thieves, murderers, and various criminal types, that somehow seemed to live amongst themselves without as much trouble as such a thing suggested.

Panicked, the people scattered in all directions, forgetting all plans of taking over the racecraft and delivering it to the castle. This would give them a generous reward from the governing body of the planet, which all lived in the castle with their army. They all loved space racing more than anything else, and were always very pleased with the delivery of a new racecraft. Many inhabitants of the poorest sections of populated areas would have enough money to barter and sustain themselves for months with the reward. This was not worth losing all of their lives to them; evidently, money has no value to the dead. The area was clear within two minutes of killing, screaming, and bodies blowing up.

Uciferi heard shuffling outside of his chamber, and felt hunger and anxiety strike his torso. Finally Bruvold was bringing him another meal! He didn't know how long it had been since he had eaten, but hunger cramps had come and gone since the last time. His mouth watered as he stood and faced the slide window carved into the door.

“What happened?” Uciferi was referring to the collision that had swayed the craft. “Is everything alright?” He didn't really care, and had to yell to be heard through the door, so decided to shut up and wait for the food.

There was a scratching sound at the door and Ouldsid started to get curious. Bruvold had never knocked before. In fact, not even Priscilla had knocked when she visited him, as he liked to think of it. Then, this wasn't exactly a knock either. He decided to wait it out, thinking that Bruvold was just teasing him.

The slide window slammed open and the prisoner was eye to eye with the most grotesque face he had ever seen. The eyes were uneven, the nose was off center, and the thing's crooked teeth, gave the impression of a mutated human staring in. Uciferi screamed. The Dooghinian yelled louder. As Uciferi was watching, the creature's head blew up, the neck gushing blood like some macabre geyser erupting. He screamed even louder and more shrilly than before. It almost sounded like Freddie. Sammy told him this, and to keep quiet while he looked for the other two enemies aboard.

Little did Sammy know that Kraus had found the last of them in the consuming quarters, and did away with them by using the waste compactor in the food storage area. He had shoved them in while they were picking rotten remains and putting the garbage in their pockets.

Drake, Freddie, and Priscilla were all running over the freshly dropped bridge, courtesy of Freddie, when the mounted lasers opened fire once again. This time, it was as if the guns were off target, as none of the rounds hit even close to any of them. Drake was the only one not to feel discouraged when he saw how far away the ground transport still was. They had reached the sand and, so far, had not been followed, but the real danger of the moment lie ahead of the adventurers, not behind them.

Out of the sand, slowly rose more than twenty of the huge beetles that Drake and Freddie had seen fighting. Priscilla and Freddie both shouted and tried to slow their pace, but Drake, without slowing a step, scooped one of his teammates up with each arm, and hopped across the sand on the beetles' backs. Just as he was jumping back onto green grass, feeling reassured for not having to look out for the sinking sand areas, Drake risked a look behind him and saw four men running out of the castle, all were dressed like the soldier in the entrance hall, but two carried pistols instead of swords.

Drake set his crewman on their feet a few meters away from the transport they had stolen. They all dashed inside, and soon Freddie was speeding away again, adrenaline pumping heavily and quickly through him.

“Head toward the forest,” Drake instructed. He had been a navigator for longer than the others had been in racing, and was sure he could pilot Freddie back, cutting through the forest, which would lead them to the corn. If, that was, this was the same wood. He liked his odds on the risk.

Freddie plowed through the low shrubs and foliage in the dense copse of trees and strange plants. He had no tracks to guide him, so was going only where the captain ordered. His mission had been met, in Freddie's opinion. He and Drake had rescued Priscilla.

The automobile bounced and shuddered while going through the forest, but Freddie handled it rather well. He followed Drake's directions perfectly, but was dumbfounded when the commander told him to stop the vehicle. The natives were still chasing them, and Freddie wanted to waste no time getting back to the racecraft, which should be repaired and ready to launch by now.

Drake had seen the first glimpse of corn, and he had already come up with a way to dupe the fools trailing them. He led Priscilla and Freddie to the safety of the cornrows. Then, he strutted back to the automobile, picking up a medium sized dead branch on the way. He started the engine the way that he had seen Freddie do it, with the key, and then looked behind. The attackers were not in visible range, but he could hear them. Quickly, he wedged the branch between the acceleration pedal and the seat, and then pulled the transmission lever to the D. The transport took off, pointed directly toward the city streets.

Drake dived into the corn just in time to miss being seen by the followers. The Dooghinians yelled and hooted, one of them fired his gun into the air. They believed that they were going to catch their prey again, this time with bonuses. The famous Drake Judge would make a nice addition to their leader's statue collection.

While making their way back to the rocky terrain that marked the area where they landed, Drake collected as much corn as he could carry, and ordered the others to do likewise. He would take care of payment personally.

“You want us to eat this stuff?” Freddie could not believe that the captain ever ate anything other than meat and bread, even in the off-season.

“Just wait until you bite into one of these ears, when they're steaming hot and bursting with juices in your mouth,” Drake said, with a wistful tone. “You'll be thanking me for it.”

“Yeah,” retorted Freddie, while Priscilla looked on with a smirk. “That's easy for someone with clothes to say! Just look at the state of my beautiful skin and body!”

This produced a snicker from both Priscilla and Drake, but the smiles quickly died when they stepped out of the corn and saw the number thirteen racecraft in the distance. There was a gaping hole where the loading zone should have been. Also, it looked like someone was standing outside the craft holding a small cannon, which would explain the astronomical amount of Dooghinian bodies lying about.

Drake hurried to his ship, not looking to see if his crew-members had followed. The only thing alive within sight was Bruvold, standing pompously and frowning in the general direction of what made up the marketplace of Dooghin.

“There had better be a good explanation for this,” Drake said ominously.

“They is attacking, and I is killing … is for team and for you … is for living.” Bruvold responded, looking defensive and discombobulated.

“Keep your post. You've done well. Raise an alarm if anyone comes near, but do not shoot!” Drake brushed past him, after making sure that Bruvold had understood his commands, and continued to the racecraft. Freddie and Priscilla had caught up by this point, and Bruvold eyed Freddie suspiciously, but said nothing. They too, rushed to the craft.

Freddie ran directly to the cleansing quarters. Kraus immediately confronted Priscilla and told her about Juhaen, lying on the module, waiting to be healed. She wasted no time in getting to the medical quarters. Drake was already talking to Sammy about what had happened while he was gone, and was becoming more furious by the second. He, in turn, told his friend about the racecrafts, and the gear that he and Freddie had found. Drake punctuated this story by showing Sammy the number thirty-eight Future Fuels cap that he had pilfered in the same room.

While the two old friends were conferring and changing stories, Jaws had reappeared. The return of his captain had eased his nerves enough to become visible again. As soon as Drake spotted the communications expert, he called the long nosed man over and told him to send a contact message to league officials, concerning this planet, and the practices of its natives in the castle.

Drake marched back outside right before Bruvold had turned to call for him. An assembly of about fifteen Dooghinians was cautiously approaching the racecraft. As they moved closer, their silence lessened and they began to chatter and mumble amongst themselves.

“You people have been living as slaves to the tyrants of the castle in the west!” Drake's booming voice was heard without him having to shout, and all stopped their advance. He was telling them nothing that they did not know, however, and all of the deformed faces stared toward Drake, wanting to know where he was going with this.

“I have sent a message to the Intergalactic Challenge Circuit on your behalf, and very soon, your liberation will be at hand!” He was close to shouting this last, and it had the effect that he had aimed for. The Dooghinians around him all cheered and clapped and chanted his name, which faintly brought him back to the memory of the victory platform and the dual crowd, but he realized soon that it was nowhere close to his phantom fans.

He talked for a time with the leader of the small rebellion that was left to stand up against the malevolent leaders of the planet, and worked out an arrangement that allowed him to keep all the corn that he had stolen, in addition to helping them repair the racecraft that their people had destroyed. In exchange for all of this, Drake would pay one hundred thousand space credits, which were good for currency anywhere in this dimension. Drake then retired to his own personal quarters for some much needed rest.

I
n the second of the three days that it took for the racecraft to be repaired, Juhaen, Freddie, and Sammy all approached Drake at the same time to request that Priscilla be made a permanent member of the team. Drake pulled Sammy aside to his personal quarters to discuss it. When they were behind the closed door, the commander turned to his ship and shield technician and spoke.

“It's going to be up to you, whether or not the woman stays,” he informed Sammy. “I'm going to be gone anyway, but I don't think it's such a bad idea. She has shots, you know.”

“You're really serious about this retirement thing, aren't you, D.J.?” Sammy was still holding out a little hope that it had been the stress talking.

Drake nodded gravely in response. He had been through enough in his career to be happy with himself. Drake let out an audible groan as his eye caught the picture of the original five once again. He recalled that it was much more fun back then. Battles were fought with strength, not trickery. Loyalty to the team meant everything, and if anything were ever wrong with any of them, old Croxy had the cure in its medical case.

“It won't be the same without you, cap,” Sammy did not want the commander to think him weak, but had to let his friend know that he would be missed.

“Feel up to a game of hand-eye?” Drake asked him, out of nowhere.

“You're on!” Sammy accepted Drake's challenge with a grin.

On the way to the recreational quarters, they ran into Kraus, who knew instantly what was going on by the way his two old friends were walking.

“Looking for a rematch?” He was overacting on the smugness a bit, but the others knew this to be his way of messing around and gladly brought him along.

The match was over in seven minutes, this time Sammy was the victor. Drake was again, of course, the first to be eliminated, and it did not take much longer, obviously, for Kraus to slip up and use the same paddle in consecutive strike-returns.

After the game, the three disbanded to check on various repairs about the racecraft. Drake wanted to check on the loading zone, Sammy was going to supervise the shields, and Kraus went to help Juhaen with random, scattered jobs.

It seemed everything was finally going smoothly, although it had taken them fighting the civil war that the planet Dooghin so desperately needed to free them. Drake was forcing the whole crew to try the corn every time he caught one, or any number, of them in the consuming quarters. Freddie had gone back to wearing his dress-like robes and singing again, mostly tales of his endless beauty, chivalry, bravery, and his undying love for Priscilla, who acted as if it were all a comical game, when, in actuality, she had become quite fond of the engine and fuel operator, and thought him quite charming, though a touch ostentatious. The fact that they were teammates, would keep Priscilla from pursuing any real feelings that she had for him, unfortunately for sir Frederick.

Bruvold had started feeding Uciferi again, including some of the corn. This was not so much to give the ship's former maintenance and sanitation control personnel a treat, as it was to get rid of just a little more corn. He would bring the caged Ouldsid two or three ears each time he brought the meat, bread, and coffee, and sometimes he just brought an armload of corn. Jaws stayed mostly in his personal quarters, the reason for this being he had purchased a small store of cold drinks on the planet Dooghin, and Juhaen followed Kraus and Sammy around, working with them and secretly hoping that maybe he would get a permanent position aboard the number thirteen.

The next day, repairs were finished, and everything was set for launch. The Dooghinian commoners had suffered another loss to an attack, sprung by the castle's inhabitants, but were now under league protection, while the governing body was under investigation. Drake was anxious to leave this nightmare behind. He was also highly suspicious at Freddie's sudden return to acting as he did before, as if the E.F.O. had no dark side, but was all beauty and love. Drake didn't buy it. He had seen the beast in Freddie's eyes, and heard its snarl in his chest. He wondered to himself what else, if anything at all, could cause sir Frederick to behave in the same manner in which he did at the castle.

The navigation command post operator, Drake Judge, called the crew to collect in the navigation center. It was time to launch. Hopefully, they had not lost too much position, as they had only been docked for three and a half days. It was still much longer than Drake would have preferred during an unplanned stop, which most of his stops were turning out to be so far.

Successfully launching themselves back into the race, the crew of the number thirteen was already thinking of the ordeal as a surreal dream-like experience. They all had their own reasons for needing this win and each individual was separately insistent in achieving the goal as a group. Once their course was set, and they were cruising at maximum engine power, Drake ordered everyone to naps and nourishment. Everyone had an allotted six hours, in shifts of three crewmembers.

After the first shift, which consisted of Jaws, Freddie, and Bruvold, departed for required rest, Drake thought he could do with some nourishment himself, so walked down to the consuming quarters for a meal. He ate three ears of corn, about a pound of meat, and a loaf of bread, chased down with four cups of coffee, the last of which he took along with him to check the scanners and see what, if anything, lie in the path ahead or behind them.

The screens were blank, and Drake was bored, so he switched to manual control to be able to control the racecraft physically. This also gave him something to do with his hands, and his concentration. He was frustrated not knowing to what place the delay had dropped them into. Again, the thought crept in that suggested there was some entity or force willing his progress, or lack of, along. It was not too long before Sammy broke the boredom.

“Looks like another fight up ahead, cap,” he warned Drake.

“Want to join in?” Drake was only half joking with this question.

“Actually, we probably should, it's the number two and the twenty six.” Sammy knew his friend would have preferred to fight, even if Folders was not involved.

“Kraus, wake up or gather everyone on break, we're going to need the whole crew,” the commander ordered his best weapons operator, starting to feel as if something might be salvaged of this horrendous month.

While Kraus was rushing to comply, Drake navigated in a position to be able to come up from below the number two craft. When Jaws got back, he would establish mental contact with his race partner, and work to double team the enemy in order to continue with the race without losing a lot of unnecessary time.

Freddie and Jaws shuffled in a few minutes later, both of them sleepy and disoriented. Bruvold followed less than thirty seconds later, marching with a purpose, and not the least bit incoherent. Without being told, he strapped himself in to the right cannon's operator seat and stared directly ahead, awaiting orders. Drake sent Sammy to the other cannons and Priscilla to the shield station. Juhaen was to stay in the Cannon loading zone at all times. Kraus would operate special weapons, and Jaws and Freddie would work their normal stations of scanners and engines respectively.

“Give me mental contact with the number twenty six, C.E.” Drake put his mental receiver over his denim hat and awaited contact, while still maneuvering the racecraft below the number two.

“What do you think you‘re doing? ”
Folders sounded just as scared, as Drake was excited.

“Helping you to destroy my nemesis,”
Drake replied as if this should be obvious.

“If you think he doesn't know you‘re here, you are sadly mistaken, my friend!”
Folders was relieved to see Drake, whatever his afflictions, and it was apparent in his thought pattern.

“Just keep him busy till I get in range.”
Drake was sure that this would be his moment of glory over the Oblize family.

“Right, ok. Just don't take too long.”
Freddie terminated transmission after this last depressed message.

“Kraus, how long until you can hit him with the cold?” The captain could not stand to wait much longer.

“Closing in now, cap,” Kraus, sounded relaxed and ready.

“Well, fire the second you're able to,” Drake instructed.

Just before Kraus pressed down on the fire button in the special weapons station, Jaws reported another racecraft coming in from the east, but could not yet tell which team it hosted. Kraus had scored a direct hit, and the number two was frozen in space. Ten seconds afterward, Drake received another mental contact transmission.

“This is Boxton Oblize of the Mandatory Meats number two racecraft, and circuit champion,
the smugness of the last Oblize came booming into Drake's head.
“Where did you get that weapon? ”

Drake smiled as he answered.
“I found it on a big chunk of ice floating through space.”

“You arrogant fool!”
at this point Boxton was beyond enraged. He had figured out that Drake killed his younger sibling, but thought that it had been for the weapon. Drake's explanation, he believed to be an outright lie.
“Now you shall truly find out how unfortunate it is to be one of my enemies.”
The contact was broken as abruptly as with Folders.

“All cannons fire on the two!” Drake was shouting this command, but did not know this. Even if he had, he certainly would not have cared. As the last word escaped his lips, the racecraft was hit solidly in the side.

“The number eleven is approaching, sir.” Jaws informed, just a little too late.

“All cannons direct hits on the number two,” He added, after a scowl from Drake, Bruvold, Sammy, Kraus, Freddie, and Priscilla.

The commander had no time to judge the flaws of the communications expert, for the craft was bashed again, this time from both sides, making the inside of the number thirteen tantamount to being in an earthquake registering an eight on the scale. Drake steered his ship in twists and turns, trying to get a good vantage point to see both enemy crafts, when he pulled around just in time to witness the number eleven being pummeled by cannon fire from the number nine, who had just joined in the melee fun.

The eleven, Drake knew he would have had to deal with, after that fight they were forced into for planetary stop purposes, but he had expected never to see the nine again, just for the simple reason that he would not have returned the favor in their position.

“The number two has stopped all engines.” Jaws sounded like he was getting nervous again.

Drake wondered vaguely if he should do the same, but he could scarcely believe that Oblize had tried such a feat. It was obvious that the point leader and champion was preparing to use a time disrupter, but taking the chance of stopping completely with all this cannon fire flying around was close to suicidal.

Every racecraft was being hit by quite a lot of shots, but the Mandatory Meats craft was taking it from all angles. The only thing that saved the life of Boxton Oblize, is the accidental shrouding, caused by the fogger special weapon of the number fifteen, which had entered the battle without anyone knowing it, for its stealth capability made it invisible to any scanners or viewing screens.

The fifteen may well have been the deadliest racecraft on the circuit. Only the driver, and the fact that it was his rookie season, kept it from being more dangerous than it was. This was the first rookie to ever run the Full Circle Six, and most people, especially reporters, chastised him for this endlessly since the day that he announced he would be running in the infamous event. Not only did it have the stealth and foggers to make it invisible, but it also had the only semi automatic cannons equipped of anyone on the circuit.

Drake began to feel uneasy. They were being hit every couple of seconds, and the shields were dropping consistently. He could see nothing because of the rotten fog, and had no idea as to whether or not his cannons were hitting anything at all. For all his skill, maneuverability was more difficult than he had ever imagined it could be. Nowhere could he dodge random fire, and he could not get around or through the fog so far. It began to look, to Drake anyway, that their doom was imminent.

“How much longer for another ice capsule to be ready?” Drake asked Kraus.

“Two minutes, twenty seconds,” Kraus replied mechanically. Drake did not think that they had that much time before the shields were all demolished, but still did not plan to just lie down and die. He would go out in a magnificent blaze of destruction.

“How are the shields?” Drake suspected the answer to this, but did not truly know it.

“Shield one; eighteen percent. Shield two … thirty two percent. Shield three; seventy four percent.” Priscilla's voice sounded off like a female robot. All three shields were better off than Drake had believed them to be in the first place, so he was not disappointed.

Disappointment quickly became the least of his worries as a raining barrage of cannon fire hit his valued racecraft once more. The craft lurched and jerked when a special weapon of the number eleven slammed the underside. This knocked Drake and his crew directly into the path of an electrical outburst resembling a bolt of lightning. The attack was the number nine craft's special weapon, intended to hit the number two. Instead, the number two disappeared, leaving the charge to hit Drake with the path clear.

Suddenly, the fifteen was visible on screen, but not on scanner. Drake tried to bring the nose of the number thirteen around to the left and was met immediately by the rapid fire of the fifteen. Cursing, he pushed into a dive with a half twist and brought the craft up with his nose pointed toward the stealthy ship's rear thrusters.

“Fire all cannons!” Drake screamed the order in his excitement. Finally, he would show this little punk why the Full Circle Six was considered too dangerous for rookies.