The Full Circle Six (16 page)

Drake watched silently, his smirk slowly widening to a grin, as an ice capsule, followed by three missiles, made for a direct route to the engines and thrusters of the number fifteen. An explosion, created by one of the cannon's projectiles hitting a mine left by Folders, forced the fifteen away from harm, and the ice capsule glided harmlessly past the slippery beginner into the unsuspecting number nine.

“Oblize is gone!” Jaws reported in dismay. “He had to have used a time disrupter.”

Drake had already deduced as much, but with all the pandemonium going on, had no time to even think about it. Their lives were again at stake, and he found himself pondering not survival, but victory overall.

Invisible once again, the fifteen craft slowly retreated into its fog, looking for a rout to a planetary stop. The rookie had seen enough and was anxious to escape with his life. He had not expected to witness such a spectacle. His goal was to take another racer out, thereby improving the finishing place of his team.

While the fifteen was escaping, Folders released his fury, and emptied his cannons on the number eleven. Drake watched this in reserved amusement. He was thinking of making contact with the number nine to find out if the damage he had caused was severe, when he saw the craft strike a shield mine dropped by Folders. The craft was instantly obliterated.

All at once the area was clear of all but the thirteen and their teammates in the twenty six. After a momentary stunned silence, the crew erupted in a cheer. Minimum damage had been done to the shields, although the bottom thrusters were damaged and could not be repaired without a stop, and the three cannons were overheated, so would not fire for some time.

Freddie's voice rang out after the applause and whooping died down, giving Priscilla a chill. “I can still hear the sound of cannon fire.”

“Mental contact from the twenty six, sir,” Jaws reported softly. Drake put on the headset, ready to congratulate his partner on this terrific battle, but his mood was shut down after he heard what the number twenty-six Captain had to say.

“Proceed to planned stop on planet Furgit. I'm done, Drake.”
The gloom was nearly powerful enough to transmit along with the thoughts.

“Explain yourself, Fred …”
Drake did not like the tone of this contact message.

“On the ground, Drake. This is one of those face to face things.”
Without another word, Folders broke contact; leaving Drake to speculate on what could be going on with the teammate he'd had since he could remember.

Drake threw the headset aside in irritation. He then ordered the crew to prepare for a stop while he set the course to Furgit alone. Whatever was eating at Fred's mind, it was nothing small. Surviving a battle like that should be cause for celebration, not dejection. Perhaps the reunion would lighten his spirits a little, Drake thought, picturing a hearty pat on the back and a shared small bottle of contraband fire-drink in memorial to the losers.

The course was set and it appeared the way was clear, so Drake set the controls to automatic and stood up to break for coffee. Stretching, he turned to Bruvold and instructed the security operator to check on their prisoner in isolation. He then invited Sammy to the consummation quarters along with him. Sammy had also been teamed with Folders for a long time, and might be able to help him figure some of this out.

Priscilla distracted everyone's attention for a moment by shouting at Freddie, who was deafened and had no idea why his love was trying to hold his head down on the floor of the navigation center.

“Hold still, I'm trying to help you!” She shrieked into the side of his head.

“Why do you want to hurt me when I love you so?” Freddie's normally singsong voice boomed out and echoed and resounded in the small quarters. It was apparent that he believed himself to be speaking at a normal level.

“Help! I want to help!” The medical operator was having trouble trying to keep from laughing at squirming Freddie, whose face looked horrified.

Drake suggested she give him a shot, while Sammy shook his head and laughed. He then put a hand on Drake's shoulder to lead him down to the consuming quarters. Priscilla only smiled knowingly up at the two and proceeded to tend to the E.F.O.

After they had poured their coffee and sat down, Drake decided to tell Sammy about the glumness he had heard during contact with Folders.

“Maybe his crew wasn't as lucky as us,” Samelak offered when he was through milling it over in his mind. “You know, maybe some of them didn't make it.”

“Perhaps,” Drake replied, “It sounded like something big, though. I don't know how to explain it, but I suppose it doesn't matter much. We'll see him in about four hours.”

“How far ahead you think Oblize got?” Sammy asked.

“Boxton is not a factor right now,” came Drake's answer. “I'm sure we're going to see him soon enough as well.”

Samelak Riordin knew better than to believe that Drake Judge, of all people, did not consider Boxton Oblize a factor, but he also knew well enough not to say so out loud. The two friends sat for another twenty minutes and three cups of coffee, talking about shared interests and past races. The relaxation and company was soothing to their nerves and each noted their own exasperation when the break ended, and they stood to leave back to navigation.

Upon landing, Drake saw that the number twenty-six would be a long time in leaving planet Furgit. The racecraft looked more like a split loaf of metal bread. There were holes throughout and long pieces of metal hung down from the body of the ship. Four people stood around the craft in racing uniforms. The only aspect of what he saw that Drake approved of was that humans inhabited this planet.

The commander waited until the craft was powered down and dismissed the whole crew for leisure time. He was going to go to his personal quarters and get his bottle of fire-drink, but decided that he would talk to Folders first. Drake was anxious to find out what Fred's problem was, other than the condition of his craft.

When he exited the loading zone, Drake saw with relief that the Furgits were civilized people. He had never been on this stop, but had heard of the planet and figured it to be another large group of criminals and outcasts. It seemed the entire universe was not space trash after all.

Their buildings were very tall, sleek and clean. The streets were paved with sidewalks set on both sides that were just as spotless. People ambled, seemingly aimlessly, in both directions on either sidewalk. The streets were spotted with small, motorless carts, which were set with the four wheels open on the sides. Everything was bright and peaceful, and it was hard to believe that a bloody, apocalyptic battle had occurred not too far away just hours ago.

Drake spotted Folders standing alone not far from the twenty-six with his hat in his hands and his head hanging. Drake jogged over and clapped his friend on the back.

“What's to be down about? We just came out of the most intense fight I've ever seen, and we know that we're top five now,” Drake tried to sound cheery, but the result sounded as if he were trying to impersonate Priscilla's high pitched voice.

Folders looked up, tried to smile and found that he couldn't, then blew out a heavy sigh. “I'm down to a crew of four. My medical operator is gone, along with the assistant. I have to drop out of the race.” Drake opened his mouth to respond, but was stricken speechless. He knew that Fred had lost a couple of members earlier, but four at once now? He realized that a loss that enormous would have to stop anyone from continuing a race.

“Come on up to my personal quarters with me,” Drake finally managed. “Let's talk over a sip something strong.” Folders nodded in agreement and followed Drake back to the thirteen. It was going to be hard for him to tell Drake, who had been much more than a teammate since the union began, and he would prefer to do it with a hard drink. His heart felt as if it were a lump that made its way into his throat. So many good times he remembered with Drake. From rookie to legend, Folders had been there through it all.

In the captain's quarters, Drake halved the bottle of fire-drink between them and sat with Folders. It was good to have him here like this. He could not remember the last time he had an opportunity to visit with his friend, and for this moment, Drake Judge was the happiest he had been so far in this killer race. He was happier, in fact, than he had been in quite a long time.

“It's not the end of the world, Fred,” Drake opened jovially. “A big race, yeah, but you'll be ok in overall points and you'll have a good start next season.”

“Maybe not the end of the world, Drake, but it is the end of my career.” Folders looked straight at his friend as he revealed the shocking news. “I'm retiring right now.”

It was several minutes of uncomfortable, depressing silence before Drake could reply. “Why now?”

“Look, I've killed almost my whole crew in just this one race. There won't be a replacement good enough to take over for my medical operator, let alone the temps I just put to death in that stupid attack on Oblize.” Folders obviously blamed himself for everything negative that had happened.

“You didn't kill anyone,” Drake said. “Every crew member on every racecraft knows the risks of this race. A lot don't even report to duty just because of the danger. Self-pity does not become you.”

“I can't race anymore, Drake.” Folders sounded firmer in his tone now. “No more death, no more panic, no more meat and coffee, and best of all no more cursed Boxton Oblize!”

“That much I can understand.” Drake was planning to retire himself, and it just occurred to him the gravity of the situation. An era in space racing was coming to a close. Before too many years, their names would be only talked about as history. If they were lucky, most racers were forgotten completely when the new batch of rookies either proved their worth or died trying. For Drake and Folders, glory days were quickly passing by, never to return, leaving them with only heartbreaking memories of victories and losses past.

A
few more hours passed with Drake and Fred reminiscing on old times, and starting to feel the effects of the fire-drink. Folders decided that it was time to head back to his own personal quarters for some much needed rest and, consequently, Drake began preparing for the cleansing quarters before checking on the repairs of the racecraft.

A knock at the door startled Jaws, forcing him to spill his ice-cold bubble drink on the front of his uniform. In a panic, he unceremoniously tossed the bottle into the contraband refrigeration unit and yelled for the knocker to hold for a moment. Having no better ideas with any time, Jaws snatched a towel from his counter and draped it over his chest.

The crack in the open door gave view to the exhausted face of Juhaen. Already Jaws was beginning to regret his decision to answer the door. No doubt, the food and beverage regulator was looking for some kind of help with some kind of tedious chore. Jaws would prefer to sit and enjoy his leisure time, but if he refused to help the gung-ho Juhaen, he would surely be reported and punished just as severely as Ouldsid Uciferi.

“What do you want?” The set of Jaws' eyes and the quiver of his nose suggested that he knew exactly what was wanted. The hopeful look in Juhaen's eye told him all he needed to know.

“I need your help. The tubes and motors and the cleaning and the coffee and the corn and meat and bread and the coffee it is just too much! I have not rested … I can't do it all” Juhaen knew he was taking a long shot, but it was worth the risk.

“Well,” Jaws once again thought of the commander's predicted reaction to a report stating he had denied help when asked. “What exactly did you want me to do?”

“I … well … you could …” Juhaen was just as surprised by Jaws' response as Jaws was by the knock on the door. “How about helping me in the consuming quarters?” “By the way, what's with the towel?” Juhaen's curiosity had finally got the better of him.

“Alright, I'll help you, just give me a minute.” Jaws closed the door to the quarters and quickly changed into a new uniform. He would not trust anyone to the secret of his cold drinks. They may want to share.

On their way to the consuming quarters, they passed Sammy, who had found Drake and was currently going to check on fuel for the racecraft. Sammy was speaking and part of the conversation drifted over to Jaws and Juhaen.

“I was thinking of asking him to stick around as well,” they both heard Sammy's voice say. “I mean this is his first Full Circle, and he seems to be handling himself ok.”

“It's of no concern to me,” Drake responded. “I've already told you, do whatever you want with the craft and crew after I'm gone, I have full confidence the Future Fuels team will continue to win championships.”

“Yeah, I know, I just wish you would reconsider …” the rest of what Sammy said trailed away and became inaudible as he and Drake continued into the loading corridor while Juhaen and Jaws started down the consuming corridor.

“Did you hear that?” Jaws looked as if he'd just discovered teleportation, or something equally amazing. “The new commander wants to make me a member!”

“First of all,” Juhaen retorted with a stern, teacher-like tone. “He's not the commander yet. We still have to get through this season. Secondly, you have no way of knowing that he was even talking about you.”

Jaws merely stood still, staring blankly at the door to the consummation quarters, his reflective expression portraying knowledge of a fantasy come to life. Juhaen internally shrugged his shoulders and continued on to the work at hand. It took about thirty minutes to properly train Jaws how to repair and stock the delivery dispenser tubes. Most of this time was spent trying to explain the process of fusing together the broken tubes.

Outside, Drake and Sammy had come up against a roadblock that could potentially put them out of the race beside Folders. Planet Furgit had no fuel that could run the league appointed crafts. Their fuel was burnt for light and heat. These people had no knowledge of engines or thrusters.

Sammy had brought up to Drake the fuel problem by knocking on his door just as Drake was heading out for the cleansing quarters. The big problem was that they had used most of their reserve fuel trying to unfreeze themselves from the ice when the racecraft was stuck on that floating iceberg in space. The supply of fuel was now not sufficient to make it to even close to the end of the race. With Furgit having no fuel, the predicament became a crisis. They departed to the surface in order to inquire further. There must be something somewhere on the whole planet. The forthcoming answer was not as pleasant as they had hoped.

“Wonderful!” There was more than a little sarcasm in Drake's booming voice. “Out of gas! We are going to lose the race because of lack of fuel! What do I say to our sponsor?” The fact that Future Fuels sponsored the number thirteen was blatantly obvious with the racecraft sitting not one hundred feet away.

The native who had just conveyed this disturbing news to Drake made the horrible mistake of picking that moment to chuckle at the irony of the situation. Drake's hand shot out and wrapped around the front of the man's throat quicker than Sammy could even widen his eyes in surprise. The fierce scowl on Drake's features revealed that he would have little remorse or restraint from killing the poor soul.

“If you so much as smile in my direction again, I will snap your puny neck … this is not funny!” The volume change in Drake's voice was extreme from start to finish, almost whispering building into a shout. He dropped the man and walked away while Sammy turned his head and became very interested in a vendor selling cakes that were made from corn.

Inside the consuming quarters, Jaws was becoming very frustrated with the directions that Juhaen was giving. It wasn't that the orders were difficult to perform, but the fact that Juhaen was the one giving them that bothered Jaws. At some length, Juhaen told Jaws to work on the corner dispenser tubes, which Jaws eagerly obliged to do. With this privacy, he could sneak a cold drink or two while Juhaen scalded his throat with hot coffee. He could not have had worse timing.

Just as Jaws was raising his bottle of ice blue liquid to his lips, Drake was storming into the consuming quarters. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the communications expert, eyes widening behind his ever-present holochart gazers.

“What is this contraband?” Drake's voice was low and soft spoken, but it struck fear into both of the other men in the room with its deadly timbre.

“I … it's just … I was …” Jaws stammered, while his floppy nose quivered.

“Prepare for a personal quarters inspection,” Drake warned. “I'll be there in fifteen minutes.” Jaws hurried away to straighten up his shared personal quarters, a feeling of deep dread locked inside his chest. Drake sat down, after dispensing a mug of steaming coffee, and through all of it Juhaen stood staring, like an animal in oncoming traffic.

Drake didn't even notice him for a full minute. His mind was reeling with the fact of Folders retiring, among a hundred other worries … the red key … the Full Circle … his grandfather … and the impertinence of one Zarocostas Jozwiak, and even if he had seen Juhaen, he probably would not have cared one way or the other. His main problem right now was to figure out how to get fuel for his racecraft. Failure would not go over well with Drake regardless of how it came to be. No matter how right or wrong it felt, Drake Judge would not sit idly by while some force pushed or pulled him to its will.

Drake drained his coffee and left the consuming quarters without a word, or even a glance toward Juhaen. The annoyance that he had felt at seeing Jaws with a bottle of smuggled goods was slowly building to the point of rage. He did not remember that he himself had brought along a small bottle of fire-drink, which was also illegal as far as race standards went.

Drake tore through Jaws' personal quarters like a tornado through a new trailer park. Papers, clothes, hats, and other personal items flew throughout the air as if stirred by whirling typhoon. Jaws was in a dangerous situation. So far, the commander had found the rest of his cold drinks, some herbal twine, used for burning, matches, and an old captain's chair that was supposed to be left behind before they started the race.

“I have bigger problems to deal with right now,” Drake said coldly without facing Jaws. “I'll deal with you when I find the time. Until then, report to Bruvold for punishment duty.”

Jaws left without a word, head hanging and nose waggling. He knew that if it were going to start with punishment detail, whatever was to follow would be a very terrible experience. The fact that he was more than slightly afraid of the often-violent C.S.O. made his mood even more sullen.

Meanwhile, Sammy had worked out a deal with Folders to give them some fuel. It wasn't but a mere fraction of what they really needed, but in this situation, every little bit of gas they could get would be of some help. Also, Folders was insistent upon doing all that he could to help his teammates win. It seemed that he was an entirely different person since he had announced his retirement.

Without delay, he began the necessary procedural steps to transfer the fuel between racecrafts. He hired several Furgits to help with the job, for speed was of the essence. Just like Drake, he wanted this over with as soon as it possibly could be.

Drake came outside about the same time that Folders reentered his own racecraft. The small bit of fuel they were able to obtain was enough to appease Drake in measure enough to calm his anger. Slightly. There was still too much going on in his head for him to really settle down much. He wanted to get off of Furgit immediately.

“I found a planet on my gazers not too far from here, but a good ways off course, so we need to hustle.” Drake did not look at Sammy as he said this, but walked by him to the number twenty-six to say his final farewell to Fred.

“I'm not sure this whole quadrant has any league friendly planets, D.J.,” Sammy was trying to get Drake's attention back, but all the commander did was shrug his shoulders and kept his stride.

Sammy hurried to the navigational center to call everyone back to duty, and get things ready for start up and take off. This was much to the relief of Jaws, who was being forced by Bruvold to clean the isolation chamber that was holding Uciferi. The prisoner was transferred to another chamber during the cleaning process. Jaws was so overjoyed when Sammy interrupted the job that he sighed heavily and threw his towel hard enough to knock over the cleaning bucket. Bruvold kept them both an extra five minutes for this little mishap. He also squeezed Jaws' nose hard enough to make the little man wheeze for a solid minute.

Bruvold and Jaws were the last to arrive at their stations, and Drake was still not back. The Furgits were finished with the small fuel transfer, and all systems were ready for start up. They would waste no fuel whatsoever. The bit that they had would get them to where Drake wanted to go, if it wasn't too far, but if they found no fuel at the next stop, they would lose any chance of getting back into the race. Right now they may not have lost any position, but were getting further behind by the minute.

Fred Folders was in his personal quarters when Drake came in. Although the long time commander of the twenty-six craft was not in tears, it was obvious by his features that he soon would be. It had been a great career for Folders, and he could hardly bear to see it coming to a close. He had been so close to finishing the Full Circle Six after all this time just to be destroyed in a crossfire battle from hell. The frustration only intensified when he turned to see Drake standing just inside his door. He found it hard to face his teammate. Folders felt that he had let Drake down. He had failed to assist in a victory. Drake had a different view, and brightened Fred's mood just a bit when he spoke.

“I appreciate all you've done to help us get this far. I hope I can finish at the top to make it all worth the while.”

“That's a nice sentiment, Drake,” Fred started. “But I'd hardly say it was me that got you here, I mean, you've pulled yourself out of some catastrophes.”

“You saved us with the mine field way back when, and you've helped in key battles that could have left us without a chance.” Drake was firm on forcing his friend to accept the gratitude.

“You would have done the same,” Fred answered. He could tell that it wouldn't be long until his voice started cracking and he broke down. “You've wasted enough time here, though don't you think?”

“I'll be in touch with you as soon as the race is done. With any luck, it will be after I step down from the victory platform.” Drake knew his friend and would not embarrass him. There had been enough emotions. He turned with a nod and a wave and left to prepare for takeoff.

When Drake arrived at the navigational center, everyone was in position at their respective stations, and the racecraft was ready to power up and take to space. With a burst of pride, he gave his crew a nod of thanks, and as he sat down, Freddie powered up. Drake was more than ready; he took manual control of the craft and smoothly ascended altitude and speed at a steady, constant rate. Speeding toward the planet Foughden, and further away from the course to the race finish, Drake was hopeful of making it a full purchase, a full tank and several reserve barrels. The information that the holochart gazers gave him said there was fuel and population on the planet. He had in mind that he would use another time disrupter after the purchase to make up for the lost time, and perhaps even catch up to the leader.

To reward his crew for their quick and decisive actions, he sent them to break, with the exception of Jaws, who he decided to punish by taking over Juhaen‘s duties for the rest of the day. Drake was confident of the fact that he could navigate to Foughden and land by himself. It was his racecraft, after all, and he was the best navigator alive.