The Full Circle Six

by Edward T. Anthony

  “Can you guys believe this? My plan of over-shifting is working perfectly. We are in fifth place, people.” Drake was beginning to visualize himself being rewarded on the victory platform and then afterwards, retiring in front of everyone who happened to be watching. “We will work even harder now. We are right there so only two-hour naps from now on, until we take over the lead. Everyone stock their bellies full of coffee and meat.” Drake couldn’t wait to catch and pass the next four racecrafts; he wanted the secure feeling of being in the lead that was so familiar to him.

  “We’ll have to wait on that belly stocking thing, we’ve got company up ahead a couple of quadrants.” Jaws reported reluctantly. His stomach was grumbling loudly enough to be heard even while he was talking.

  “Decrease engines to half power,” Drake ordered. “See if we can find out who it is before we get within range.”

  “I am reading parameters equal to those of the twenty six craft, sir.” Jaws thought that something was out of place, but chalked it up to hunger when he couldn’t figure out what it was.

  “Are you saying it is Folders?” Drake asked Jaws while turning his chair to face him.

  “Yeah, we’re approaching contact range, should I make contact, sir?” All Jaws wanted to do was devour a large chunk of meat.

  “Affirmative. Get me a visual as well,” Drake responded. He was already thinking of how he was going to praise his teammate for helping to get them both into the top five.

  “Contact made, cap … uh … they disappeared,” Jaws reported with fright. Drake had witnessed this spectacle on the visual screen in front of him. This caught him by surprise. If Folder’s had known it was Drake contacting, what would have made him run away? Drake surmised that the number twenty-six driver might have used a time disrupter, trying to lead his teammate to an even better position.

  “He must have used a disrupter.” Drake spoke his thought aloud. “Anyone else for following?” Drake Judge would never have asked his crew’s opinion on anything to do with driving, and he used this point to his advantage in order to make them feel guilty for their temporary mutiny.

  “Well,” began Freddie, foolishly. Sammy quieted him with a look, and Drake smiled smugly. Had he said another word, Drake would have told him he knew nothing of racing, and knocked him out cold.

  “It doesn’t matter what you think,” Drake barked at Freddie. “We’ll just leave the driving to me on this one. Is that ok with you, pretty boy?”

  Freddie did have enough sense not to respond to this rhetorical question, having already been struck by the formidable captain on two separate, unrelated occasions, during this race.

  “Kraus, let’s follow, E.F.O., all engines stop.” Drake was set on not calling Freddie by name.

  Then, unexplainable by any of them, a thick, white fog began to spread out from seemingly nowhere, and it appeared that it had the sole purpose of engulfing the number thirteen, as a tsunami would a small fishing village with no levy to offer any level of protection.

  Confused, Drake ordered engines back on, just as they had wound down to a stop, then he pushed into a nose dive, taking an oblique line to the left. Even Drake’s driving skills were not enough to outrun this cloud-like, gaseous substance. They were hit hard on the right by what could only be construed as cannon fire. Drake maneuvered into a back-loop with a half twist that sent him directly in the path of incoming fire. They were jolted; the force of the cannon fire had hit them head on, damaging their shield energy de-stabilizer.

  “D.J., we got to get out of here,” Sammy screeched in a panic ridden tone that was very unlike him. “I’ve read about this before, it’s the number fifteen. Their specials make them undetectable to visual and sensory output, like some sort of stealth. If we do not find a way out of this, we’re going down. Our shields are dropping fast, and he won’t stop till we’re dead. He’s a rookie, but the crafts reputation is that its killed more teams than both Oblizes.”

  “Any ideas, Sam?” Drake had no clue how to get out of this mess. Every move he made seemed to put him right into harm’s way. He was going as fast as possible, so he couldn’t out run it. If he stopped the engines, trying to use a time disrupter, they would be battered to death. He was open to suggestions from his trusted second in command.

  “Now might be a pretty good time for a planetary stop,” Sammy replied, good-naturedly to Drake. If Drake had been testing him, which was not uncommon for the captain to do, then Sammy knew he had passed with flying colors.

  Sammy was right in thinking he was being tested. Drake had noted the fear in his voice, and marked as weakness. The commander was trying to catch the S.S.T. in the moment and see if he would falter. As he suspected, Sammy came through in making the same decision that Drake himself would have made. Drake had already mapped a course in his holochart gazers to a planet nearby that was satisfactory for race stops. The planet Dooghin was not the best stop to plan, but this was, yet again, another unplanned stop, and would suffice in the current situation.

  The life support on the planet was not ideal, but could be tolerated for short periods of time by most humanoid species. The natives of Dooghin were considered to be among the strangest and violently defensive of their culture, which consisted of assorted aspects from random differing times and dimensions. Dooghinians did not, in general get along with anyone but themselves, and their colonies were constantly at war with one another. The main way of lifestyle seemed to be the trading of hides cut from unknown beasts, and the commerce was disorienting, if not startling.

  Another missile slammed into the number thirteen, this time in the back. It felt like it hit the rocket booster, for the racecraft was jerked to the right, without Drake controlling it. He was descending at a reasonable rate to enter the orbit of Dooghin, but was still being pummeled like they were still in the meteor shower. The enemy had smaller cannons, but was able to fire many more rounds than the Future Fuels team. At long last, or so it seemed to them, the racecraft slid into orbit and Drake accelerated the main thrusters, switched the controls off of manual operation, and rubbed his forehead. He just knew the shields were nearly gone and they would be forced, once again to give up time and position, in order to get themselves back in racing condition. This roller coaster of emotional peaks and distresses was making him sick. Furthermore, he wanted nothing more than to be done with the despicable Full Circle Six and, accordingly, his career. Drake was tired of all the wrong turns in making his decisions, and was even more exasperated at the fact that every time something started to go right, there was a force of some sort present to bring it all crashing down around him.

  He got up, looked to Jaws, and ordered that the communications expert meet him in the consuming quarters. Zarocostas had never been dismayed and relieved at the same time, but could not begin to care at the moment. His stomach gave a roar inside that was heard by Priscilla, who scoffed and turned away from what she considered the doomed long nosed extraterrestrial. They had all heard Jozwiak report to the commander that the vessel being approached was the number twenty-six Energy Elixirs racecraft. It was suspected by all that the little liked communication guru would be occupying the other isolation chamber very shortly. Bruvold was even preparing to answer the call.

  By the time Jaws reached the craft’s eatery, Drake had already pulled a loaf of bread from food storage and dispensed himself a large portion of meat and a serving of steaming hot coffee. Drake gestured to Jaws to have a seat across from him but, when the timid man reached for the keypad to order, knocked his hand away.

  “I want your full attention,” he said around a mouthful of meat and bread. “You won’t be able to give it to me if you’re eating. So, wait till I’m through speaking, at least. Show a little respect for goodness sake.” It looked as if Jaws would cry. His face scrunched up tightly in a grimace as his gut moaned in heated agony.

  Drake was enjoying this small torture, exploiting the weakness of a lesser man. It might even help Jaws to become a stronger man, but this
was no concern to the commander of the Future Fuels transport racecraft. He relished the panic and hopelessness coming from the weakling in waves, but did not choose to terrify him any more than necessary, although that was what he truly wanted.

  “Calm down, you’re not in danger,” Drake reassured Jaws. “All I want to know is, why you would tell me that death craft was Folders.” He then took a long, slurping sip of the fresh, aromatic coffee, nearly driving Jaws mad.

  “Sir,” the small creature managed at last. “The parameters were identical …”

  “You didn’t know it was the number twenty-six, so why did you tell me you did?” Drake interjected before wrapping the substantial amount of meat he had left in a wad of bread and tearing off a bite.

  “I’m sorry, sir, I was hungry and …” again the communications expert was interrupted.

  “That is no excuse to endanger the lives of the entire crew.” Drake was in the process of trying to figure out how to punish this little ugly miscreant, so wanted to stall a bit more. He began to make a dramatic display of how delicious his rations were, and how much he was enjoying each morsel. Jaws was near to fainting by the time Drake had stood and crossed to the coffee tube to replenish his already empty oversized mug.

  “I’m going to dock your pay and divide it amongst the other members you almost killed today.” Drake said this as he was walking out of the consuming quarters and without looking at Jaws.

  Before Drake was even out of eyesight, Jaws had ordered meat and was ravaging it as a wild animal will do to its recent kill. He was well aware of the severity of his mistake and was quite grateful for the light punishment, although it was not so light from his point of view. He tried to take too big a gulp of coffee and scalded his throat. The only thing for it, without going to the medical quarters was to ease the burn with bites of bread. Drake had eaten the last of the loaf that he had retrieved from food storage, so he just had to endure it until he got to the bread. Jaws felt the engines slowing and privately hoped there would be cold drinks on this stop. He couldn’t let any of the other crewmembers see him drink it, of course, that would only solidify his image as worthless in their eyes, but he would relish the delicious, crisp bite of cold coating his esophagus, which, at the moment, felt like an inferno. Jozwiak didn’t want to linger too long in the consuming quarters, so, stuffing bread into his mouth, he left to the personal quarters to await the landing.

  Drake Judge was in his own personal quarters, trying to cope with the enormous load on his mind. He still had not had sufficient time to grieve the death of old Croxy, and this was the main problem he had in dealing with all of the difficulties he had been forced to endure at the hands of some cruel and spiteful power that was determined to keep him from the glory that he fought so hard to achieve. After this planetary stop, which hopefully would not be more than a couple of hours, he was thinking he would have to use another disrupter to make up lost time. It seemed to Drake that that was all he was doing in this race, yet, astoundingly; he had continued to gain position in spite of the entire catastrophe that had befallen him and his crew. Drake let out a pained sigh and picked up a photo of his first day as commander. His former medical operator Iriarte Croxon was grinning and shaking hands with the then brand new driver of the number thirteen racecraft, Drake Judge. The rest of the original, five-man crew of the racecraft was also in the photograph. Sammy, Kraus, and Freddie stood side-by-side, sporting matching race suits and grins of their own. He put the picture down and shook his head to clear it. Thinking of the body of the highly valued Croxy floating aimlessly through space would not help him right now. He felt helpless that he had to wait for repairs and refuel again. When he felt the engines slowing, he sulked back to the navigation center to find out how long it was estimated they would have to be here.

  Sammy was overseeing the entrance into the planet‘s atmosphere, as he usually did, and, when prompted by Drake with the question, he guessed they would take around five hours to get back into the race. He was concerned for his friend, the commander, and was beginning to doubt his earlier opinion of Drake announcing his retirement as being an irrational outburst, brought on by extreme stress and taxing conditions. Also, he was still a bit overwhelmed at being offered the job of navigational commander, as well as half ownership of the racecraft itself. Samelak Riordin had never thought of the prospect of becoming a commander, but had to admit, the thought was not displeasing.

  They were starting to commence the landing sequence and the Dooghinians were just becoming visible like little ants on the surface of the planet, when it occurred to Drake that something didn’t seem to belong in the scene of the planet’s horizon he was watching unfold. It wasn’t until they touched down that he figured it out. The surface of the planet had been inconsistent.

  The area of the planet they had touched down upon was made up of mostly rock formations and cliffs. The vegetation around them was sparse, and what little there was, was dry and looked dead. There were large insects that may or may not have been pets to the natives, which scurried every which way. The ground was layered dust, but was smooth, not cracked. There were buildings erected sporadically, but it was not apparent whether these structures were personal habitats or businesses. The people dressed in clothing that was out of date, but could not be considered primitive, by any means. Many people carried large bundles of unrecognizable pelts, teeth, horns, and anything else that had struck the fancy of the one who carried the bundle, to cut them off of some creature. There were two suns so it was comfortably warm, but the oxygen was low and the gravity was slightly above average, which can be very difficult to deal with after some time. There were also high winds in this area of Dooghin, which added to the illusion that it would support life very well.

  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.