The Full Circle Six (12 page)

A small crowd was assembled, without much interest, outside of the racecraft to see if the driver was anyone they had ever heard of. They knew that the Full Circle Six was going on, but had not received any stoppers until now. In truth, they had not really expected to get racecraft stops, despite being right on the course. The eerily weird Dooghin was widely known and much feared, though nobody really knew why. A person from the age of reason could, very conceivably, be driven insane by spending too much time on the planet. It was not a small planet, but neither was it the largest planet on the course.

The place was considered so strange because the land changed without any pattern or measured way of going from one landscape to another. You could be walking along the foot beaten path in the dry, rocky desert, maybe taking in the scenery of the double sunset as you strolled along. Then, after you blinked, you would be treading on soft, rich soil, surrounded by plants that were lush and green. If you turned around, you would see the patch of land with the dead vegetation and the blowing dust stop right at the point this new and wonderful earth began, full of beauty and life, as if these two environments had every right in the universe to coexist alongside one another. This, combined with the omnipresence of stifling atmosphere, and a few other unpleasant aspects, kept the population low on planet Dooghin, and the inhabitants liked their seclusion, but were not outwardly unfriendly to those who happened to visit, especially if the visitor in question was a space racer.

Drake stepped through the loading hatch, with his crew in tow, minus Bruvold, who stayed behind to keep an eye on Uciferi, in isolation. The Dooghinians that made up the meager crowd were significantly more impressed and fascinated when they saw that the visiting race team was Drake Judge and the Future Fuels team. So, when Drake emerged, a dozen race fans asking for autographs encircled him. This was not an uncommon experience for the number thirteen team, so while Drake was signing pictures and racing magazines, the others just sort of meandered around, exploring. This was just the break from the pressures building up that Drake needed. He loved the appreciation and admiration of the fans. They always made him feel like the fighting and struggling to the top was worth more than just the monetary prizes, although those were, in some cases, worth it alone.

Thinking of prizes, Drake thought that the Dooghinians would obviously not be winning any intergalactic beauty prizes any time in the next four or five generations. They seemed to be a mixture of different breeds that were somehow mutated in the coupling of their ancestors. Drake took a magazine offered by a female whose hair only grew on the sides of her head. The girl's mouth was off center to the right, and the excitement of seeing the famous racer caused her to grin incessantly, making her appear as a monster or demon. Drake pitied the creature and signed the magazine, depicting his last triumphant victory, with a personalized note, which he had done only a few times before on the occasions that he was caught by fans. It was just a small thank you for support, but it boosted the girl's morale by at least ten fold. Drake took pride in being able to make his fans happy. For all he knew, it could be the excitement of a lifetime for a lucky fan to have the opportunity to meet his favorite star.

The mutated girl took her signed magazine, with the picture of Drake on the front, and scurried away to show it to her friends. They all squealed with delight when they saw that the famous racer had also written her a note along with his signature. For the next five minutes, they stood in a line, watching Drake and swooning.

Kraus, Juhaen, and Sammy wandered around a tent that was selling primitive weapons. Most of the weapons were very loud when demonstrated, but looked as if they would certainly get the job done. Kraus was amazed by what appeared to be a ball for play, but when the demonstrator, a tall thin creature whose nose would have made the people of Jozwiak's home planet jealous for its size, pulled a stick out of the ball and threw it, the thing obliterated a wall made of stone, erected for this purpose only. He purchased three of these and resolved to store them with the rest of his private collection of hand weapons, stored in his personal quarters.

Freddie and Jaws were inspecting a quantity of quality made linens laid out on a table, with Priscilla on the other side. She was looking toward a barrel filled with a sweet smelling liquid.

With no warning, Freddie let out a blood-curdling scream that tore through the bustle of life surrounding him and caused several beings, including Drake, to look in his direction in order to find out what had startled them. Freddie was pointing at Priscilla, who was being dragged away by two very large Dooghinians toward a ground transport vehicle. One of the brutes had its hand over his beloved's mouth and all that he could see of her face were her crystal green eyes, wide and terrified.

Sammy and Kraus sprinted full speed at the assailants, boots pounding up dust, and hands tossing aside any who tried to obstruct their path. Jaws could do nothing but stare in open-mouthed amazement. Drake nearly leapt from his crowd of supporters, which somehow had managed to stay around twelve, no matter how many times he had written his name. As he was running toward the commotion, he realized that none of them would reach Priscilla in time. The big animals were even now tossing her into the rear of the transport, as if she were nothing more than a plaything they had just tired of.

The four original crewman of the number thirteen stood alongside Jaws as they watched the vehicle speed away, leaving nothing but a trail of dust, and two perpendicular tracks, leading away from the scene of the horror.

“We have to do something! We got to go after her, we can't let them get away!” Freddie screamed into Drake's face.

“There is another of those ground transports,” Drake pointed Freddie's attention by turning his head with his hands. “We can use that, if you know how to work it.”

Freddie's eyes were puffed from crying and his chest heaved with his breathing. His movements seemed jerky and convulsive. He dropped to his knees, bringing his hands up to his face. There was nothing he could imagine that would be worse than having to watch his love dragged away to be sold into slavery or even worse. This thought slapped reality back into Freddie. He stood and walked calmly to the transport to inspect the engine. Never before had anyone seen Frederick Stallworth so serious. He found the engine underneath the paltry protection of a sheet of metal after a few minutes of searching. Just as he had expected, the engine was as rudimentary as the rest of it.

Solemnly, the engine and fuel operator turned to Drake and announced the vehicle was fit for transport. Drake sent the other three back to the racecraft. He determined that Freddie could go along with him in the effort to rescue Priscilla from these foul beasts. In truth, he needed Freddie in case the transport broke, and to instruct Drake on how to drive the thing.

The thing in question was called, on Dooghin, an automobile. There were other names for it on the planet they had stopped at for a forced visit, but according to the manual that Freddie had found inside, that was the name. Apparently made of steel, it sat upon four circles of rubber that were filled with air. The center of these circles was also filled with metal. On the front side of the vehicle, it appeared the manufacturer had constructed a face. On either side of the front, a circular bulb was placed, allowing the means of transportation to operate when the dual suns of the planet expired over the horizon. Slightly beneath and precisely in between the eye-lights, was wide, wickedly grinning mouth, made of a soft metal. There were also mirrors on both sides that gave the impression of ears. The rear had lights posted on both sides as well. These, however, were different from the lights in front in that they were covered in a red colored glass that was textured on the inside. As a whole, the automobile resembled a large bullet with glass surrounding those who would sit inside. It was even the color of a bullet.

Drake was doubtful of this contraption. It looked to be something used to kill, rather than something used to get around. He knew, though, that he could waste no time, so he opened the strange hatch and slid in behind the navigation controls. Everything was different and nothing made sense to him. There were not enough knobs, buttons, and switches in here. Drake was not sure he would be able to drive it. He was saved from trying however, when Freddie opened the door and told him it would be easier if he were the one to navigate on this mission. Drake slid over on the seat. There were two seats in the transport, one in front of the other, that had to be benches wrapped in animal skin.

Freddie had glanced at the operator's manual, and knew the theory of how to drive this invention, but theory was incredibly different from real life. As he turned the key protruding from the ignition, the archaic style motor sputtered, choked, and then roared into life. Smoke discharged into the air, from behind, reminding Drake of the fog produced by the number fifteen craft. Freddie's face was full of rage, something Drake had never seen, and did not really think to be possible until this moment. Determined to catch his beloved's kidnappers, he slammed one of the two pedals on the floor with his foot. According to the manual he had just skimmed through, this was the accelerator. The engine howled, wailing in a high pitch, but the automobile stood still. The only change was the increase in smoke, coming from the rear.

“Why are we not moving?” Drake asked. He was intrigued by the mood Freddie was in. Normally, the carefree Freddie had an arrogant air about him that could not be disrupted by even extreme circumstances.

“It's a basic motor, that uses a transmission,” Freddie replied without looking at Drake. “I've got to find a way to switch gears.”

“Gears?” Drake was even more confounded. “What about those sticks?” he inquired, pointing to the levers protruding from the shaft that connected the steering circle to the engine compartment.

Freddie grabbed the lever on his right and pulled. They could both feel the machine switch into a different gear, and Freddie gave Drake a look as if to say, good job. He again smashed his foot on the acceleration pedal, and the vehicle lurched backward, forcing both men to hit their heads. Freddie's hit the steering wheel, and Drake's crashed into the console separating him from the front window. Yelling in frustration, Freddie stomped both feet on the other pedal and they screeched to a stop, but not before demolishing the table of linens and cloth that some of the crew members had been examining just moments earlier. He noticed when he pulled the lever; there was a little screen that relayed to him the positions of the gears. Seeing one marked with a D, he pulled the lever into that position, thinking it to stand for drive.

This time, when he pressed the accelerator, they shot forward, and just in time. The owner of the table was flying at the automobile in a fury, flailing his arms, one on which was wielding a long piece of metal that looked like it could do some serious damage, and screaming loudly. This disturbance rose quite a bit of attention from the surrounding Dooghinians. Many of them assumed the man was being robbed and joined him in chasing the culprits. The owner of the weapons shop, that so fascinated Kraus, Sammy, and Juhaen, fired several shots from an ancient blasting device, and threw one of his exploding balls. The detonation was behind the rapidly receding vehicle, and the blast only helped their forward momentum.

Drake and Freddie let loose simultaneous sighs of relief as they drove over the rocky terrain, bouncing in their seats. Freddie followed the tracks of the kidnappers, keeping the pedal pressed as far as it could go to the floor. Soon, they were crashing through rows upon rows of tall plants. Drake recognized this as corn. It grew in many areas of his home planet, and he was quite fond of the vegetable. He made a mental note to remember it was here. If they could somehow procure some of this from the Dooghinians before they left, it would be a fine addition to the meat and bread they had been supplied with by the league. It would be almost a treat. The tracks made a sharp turn to the left, so Freddie followed suit. Bursting through the final row of corn, they entered a thick forest at too high of a speed. Freddie whipped the wheel to the right and the transport skid an entire rotation before taking off again though a path cut in the woods. The ride became increasingly more turbulent as they bounced over tree roots and uneven imperfections in the path. It was obvious the attackers had fled this way. The transport they had used was much bigger that the one chosen by Drake and Freddie, and left deep tracks that were easy to follow. There were animals of some sort leaping through the trees. In fact, everywhere there were creatures of various sizes and skin. Drake had never seen creatures such as most of these species. He wondered silently if any of them would be good for eating.

Sir Frederick saw nothing but the tracks left by Priscilla's assailants. He had never felt this angry and did not have an idea of what he was going to do when he finally caught up to them, but he was not going to let them get away.

A few minutes later, the two-man rescue team emerged from the forest into civilization. Paved streets crossed each other at intersection of blocks full of tall structures made of metal and glass. Freddie saw their targets nine streets ahead of him take another left. Weaving around the other automobiles on the road, he continually accelerated, refusing to let up on the pedal. When he turned on the street he had seen the evil Dooghinians take, a primal growl started in his gut and worked its way upward, morphing into a snarl that escaped his sneering lips. Drake was more and more impressed by the minute. He had always seen Freddie as a pretty boy, not fit for violence or fighting. The rage and fury coming from the robe wearing, usually peaceful, man was telling a different story.

Drake thought to himself it would be prudent to keep quiet while Freddie drove. He didn't look like he would handle distractions very nicely.