The Full Circle Six (14 page)

He was in a mammoth pipe that was roughly as big around as the inside of the racecraft he had grown to be so adapted to. It was dark, but some of the stone on the floor was incandescent and he could see the staircase to his right and behind him. Cautiously, he took one stair at a time. Freddie's heartbeat increased as his vision cleared the top of the stairs. He inhaled deeply and cut sharply to the left, running all out for a dark corner that he had sighted. Pressing back into both walls, he let out his breath. He had seen nobody in any direction, but was too suspicious to feel any sort of relief for that.

Once his eyes were fully accustomed to the darkness, Freddie spied something to make him even more leery of his good luck. Down the right hallway, he saw the mechanism that was used to lower the drawbridge. Not caring if he was walking into a trap or not, Freddie trotted to the crank and began to loosen the resistance, dropping the bridge little by little, so that Drake could come inside straightforwardly.

As the drawbridge lowered, more light crept in, and Freddie saw someone coming at him. It was evident that he was male, from Dooghin, and huge. The man wore metal plating on his chest, and what looked like a skirt of sword, with sandals that laced all the way to the knee. He was brandishing a long sword in one hand, and on the other arm, supported a golden shield. Etched in the shield's center was the animal, if one could call it that, from the top of the castle.

Instead of mounting fear, which would have been the norm, Freddie's blood boiled in anger. He let out a passionate wail that pledged vengeance for the offenders. Outside, Drake heard the yell and recognized it as Freddie, although he was used to Freddie screaming like a woman, not roaring like a lion. He jogged backward a few paces and made a running dive, catching hold of the bridge that had halted its decline. Pulling himself up with his incredible upper body strength, Drake looked down on a scene no one could have convinced him would ever take place.

Freddie was in his skivvies, fighting with an armed and armored warrior, with only an iron bar. He was yelling wildly and striking with all of his force in each blow. His face was screwed up in a grimace and he looked to be the epitome of rage. No matter how the ancient-looking soldier came at him, Freddie had a dodge and counter waiting for him.

Drake vaulted himself the rest of the way over the semi-open drawbridge by throwing his top weight to the left and swinging his legs over. He let the momentum carry him down the bridge like an amusement park slide. While coming down, Drake again pulled his weapon. This time he only fired one shot. The laser went completely through the man's head, dropping him quickly and noisily to the stone floor.

During the same time Drake and Freddie were infiltrating the Dooghinian palace, the rest of the crew, with the exceptions of Jaws and Uciferi, were trying to deal with an increasingly irate public. The natives had taken it as a personal affront to them when the stolen automobile had crashed into an honest shopkeeper's table.

Jaws had ran back inside the racecraft to tell Bruvold that the team was under attack, while Sammy, Kraus, and Juhaen stood rear the loading zone with their laser guns pointed at the advancing crowd. Upon hearing the news, Bruvold brightened noticeably. This was the kind of excitement that he had been looking forward to. Smiling, he marched proudly to his personal quarters, to a strongbox covered by a blanket.

The big security officer opened the chest and revealed an arsenal fit for a small army. Inside, were more guns than any one person should own by himself. There were medium handguns which, fired shrapnel in a scattering pattern, hitting anything less than twenty meters in front, or to either side of whoever had fired. The size and strength, not to mention the quantity, of the weapons were congruent with the violent nature of the proud Aristando. He even had a number of bombs that, when detonated, would release a deadly gas, called Vaporcide, killing all who inhaled. Vaporcide was a very rare gas that came from a planet made up of the lethal poison. Land mines, space mines, timed mines, firebombs, and numerous accessories that Bruvold had accrued over the years to add to the collection made the box look to be a mess inside. Bruvold however was quite aware of the location of each weapon or defensive device, which was few. A metal looking net, that had the power to contain thirty men without breaking lay underneath it all.

He loaded himself up with two extra rapid fire laser pistols, making it three total on his person, thought for a moment, and decided to add a couple of the Vaporcide bombs as well. They might be able to retreat to the racecraft after he had thrown them to escape their deaths. Then he picked up a large gun with a barrel bigger than his arm. This came equipped with a strap that draped over the owner's shoulder, helping to support the weight of the firearm. It would blow a hole in anything it was fired at. Boxes of ammunition, which were really just battery packs for the lasers, lay on top of the net at the bottom, scattered about the many devices of destruction and he collected a few of these to take with him. His smile became broader as he got closer to the loading zone and exit hatch.

Bruvold stepped out to see Juhaen take a hit to the shoulder and go down. A waft of smoke rose from the wound. He aimed the hefty hand cannon at a group of five Dooghinians, who held archaic weapons. When he fired it, a pulse of energy burst from the barrel, looking like a big ball of electricity, the force of the blast slammed his back against the racecraft. Sammy and Kraus both turned around with amazed disbelief in their expressions. The five attackers were no more.

“Bruvold is liking,” the big man cheered. Kraus and Sammy looked at each other, smiled, and turned back to the fight at hand. Four more groups were now closing in on the number thirteen team. One group of three, that had been advancing when Bruvold opened fire, was retreating back to the safety of the weapons shop. Sammy took down two enemies that were swinging a rope tied to weight above their heads at the same time that Kraus kindly removed the head of one Dooghinian, who had been struggling to put on a helmet.

Bruvold had let go of his pulse cannon and had drawn two of his rapid-fire laser guns, to which he had attached extra battery packs. These he fired seemingly without aiming, although every shot found a target, laughing so hard and maniacally that he was nearly screaming. When the flurry of laser shots streamed past Kraus, he ceased fire and proceeded to drag Juhaen back into the racecraft, out of harm's way.

The Dooghinians had stopped their advancement, after witnessing the extremity of Bruvold's firepower, and were conferring with each other on how to plan an attack, that didn't end up with their men dying.

Bruvold looked at Sammy and said, “You is for going inside, now. I is for using death smoke.”

Sammy stared at the man, confused. He understood when Bruvold brought out one of his Vaporcide bombs. Although not extensively knowledgeable with artillery, Sammy knew these for what they were. The notoriety of the deadly gas was not unknown to Sammy's family, which had lost a great number of members to racing and wars. He gave Bruvold a little salute then quickly ducked back inside, a little less concerned about the attackers. Bruvold pressed a button on the device and it sounded off a series of beeps. He then tossed it over the heads of the Dooghinians closest to him and ran back inside, closing the hatch straightaway.

Right as Bruvold was following Sammy into the racecraft, Freddie was picking up the sword dropped by the slain soldier. He would have taken the uniform as well, but the man was much bigger, so he left it alone. He tried picking up the shield, but that proved too heavy to carry. So, for now, he was armed with a sword and had no clothes but the undergarments that were now too filthy to be kept. A steely glint shone from his eye as he began making his way to the other hallway.

“I always thought you were too pretty to fight,” confessed Drake. “Where did you learn those moves?”

“Fencing,” Freddie replied evenly. He continued down the hall until he saw a heavy wooden door on his left. Even tugging with all of his strength, Freddie could not budge the door and stepped aside to let the powerful commander try. In the end, it took both men, straining to open the door. Nothing could have prepared either of them for what was inside.

“What … how … this can't be …” Drake started softly, looking around the room, but he could not find the words to finish. Freddie froze solid where he stood, behind and to the left side of Drake's own statuesque figure. He too saw the room but could manage not even a stutter.

In the center of the room stood what was unmistakably, a racecraft. What was frightening about this was the fact that this particular racecraft had been reported missing before the end of the last season. Drake remembered the sponsor offering an irresistible reward for the return of the driver. There was a brief period in which drivers were dropping out of races, or failing to enter them, for this prize, which was substantially bigger than the proceeds of any race, except for the infamous Full Circle Six.

Hanging from all four walls were race team hats and jackets beyond counting. These people had been a main contributor in the ‘deaths' and disappearances of racers for generations. Drake had a sudden, powerful urge to search for his great grandfather's gear. He would know this when he saw it; for Drake raced the number thirteen in dedication to the estranged J.W. Judge, former driver of the same team, but had a different sponsor by the name of Fazeir's Fine Roast Coffee.

Chaotically, his eyes darted over random, sporadic jackets and hats. Drake bolted to the nearest wall and started tossing hats to the left and right and then his heart stopped. He had found the Future Fuels hat, worn by the previous sponsored racecraft. The number thirty-eight was stitched into the hat. Drake's blood ran cold. How long had they been doing this? How many racers kidnapped and killed, with their uniforms stripped and stolen as trophies, not to mention the racecrafts. Thinking of racecrafts, he recollected the ancient crafts he had seen in front of the castle. A rare shudder made its way up his spine. Those things had to be some of the first models.

Suddenly, he no longer felt like looking for his great granddad's gear. Shoving the hat inside of his jacket, he turned around and ran for the door. Freddie was still standing with his mouth open, gawking at the renowned craft in the middle of the room.

Drake slapped him on the arm on the way by and said, “Come on, killer, we got to get Priscilla.”

This snapped Freddie out of his trance as nothing else could. He ran beside Drake step for step, his face twisted in a grimace. Drake thought about making a bet with Sammy when he got back, about whether or not Freddie had a dark side. If any of the other crew could see Freddie in this character, he, or she, would forget everything they ever knew of him.

Further down the same hall, they came upon a squat, wide steel door and stopped to investigate. Freddie was the one to pull the door open, and when he did, anyone and everyone in the castle must have heard the scream he produced. It was not fitting for the mood he had been in. Drake walked to stand beside Freddie and see what had shaken him so badly.

Immediately, he jumped back and pulled Freddie with him. A jagged, pincer-like claw swiped the spot in which they had been standing. The sound it created moving through the air was all Drake needed to know about how impressive the power of this beast was. They could not fight this, he thought. He could barely even stand to look at the thing.

It was only about five foot high, but was at least twenty wide in circumference, and primarily red in color. It supported itself on eight legs, covered in thick, coarse, long hairs. The abdomen was also covered in this hair, but the neck and head looked to be shelled, as were the claws and adjacent appendages. The things eyes were tiny and pitch black. They stared blankly out of a fiat skull, in a pyramid formation and numbered somewhere in the vicinity of the fifties. If this were not scary enough, the twelve-foot, upward curving tail was. It was scaled to the point of being armored, and tipped with a sharp point. This tip was dripping, and there was no question with this creature whether or not it was poison. The thing's mouth was filled with several rows of tiny, pin-like teeth, which held bits of old and faded cloth. The stench was overwhelming, almost unbearable. Its movements were fluid and so fast that they blurred. After the initial strike, it scurried around the small room, over the walls and through the massive webbing it had spun. There was no sign of any other life, no waste, and no bodies, not even an insect. The creature ran full speed at the shocked observers. Freddie dropped the sword in his hand and cowered against the wall behind them. Drake slammed the door onto the oncoming monster, then bent and picked up the sword. He was reaching to open the door again when it crashed open before he could reach it. The thing's tail struck at Drake with blinding speed, but Drake was already swinging the sword horizontally through the air and, with a maddening sound of steel on scale, he cut the tail off to land safely to his left. He ducked and rolled as a claw swipe swept in at his head, and as he was regaining his footing, slashed in a downward stroke, to bring the edge of the sword to meet this abomination's eye pyramid. There was a horrible, earshattering scream, and this time, it was not from Freddie. The scream slowly subsided, as Drake stabbed the terrible beast's head repeatedly.

Breathing heavily, Drake walked over to the detached tail and picked it up. He was meaning to throw the tail on top of the body, when the pointed end stretched of its own accord and stabbed him in the bicep of his left arm. He threw the thing far down the hall with a startled and furious yell. He then ran to the dead body and kicked with all of his might, splattering a boot sized hole in its shell.

Freddie put a hand on his shoulder and warned him that there may have been a few floors of people to hear that commotion. There were no more hallways to look for, so they went into the room to search. The sight of the extravagant web work was very distracting, but they found a door hidden behind one angle of the webbing. Freddie's heart dropped. If these Dooghinians had given Priscilla over to that thing, he didn't think he would hold himself responsible for his actions. Not thinking of his fear, Freddie slapped the webs away and pulled the door open.