Canyon Chaos

by Axel Lewis

  What am I going to do? he thought. I can’t tell Grandpa that I don’t want to drive that old rustbucket, not after all the hard work he’s put in. I’ll have to give it a go...

  But then Horace Pelly’s horsey face crept into his mind again, the boy laughing himself to death and making fun of Jimmy in front of Max and all his friends.

  Grandpa was now deep in the cupboard under the stairs, muttering to himself. Occasionally something would come flying out: an old Christmas tree, a broom with no bristles, a chair with three legs.

  “Aha!” came his voice from the depths of the cupboard and Grandpa suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway with dust and cobwebs strung from the corners of his moustache to his ears. He was holding a battered crash helmet. “This was mine when I was just seventeen,” he said, carefully placing it on the kitchen table. “And now it’s yours, Jimmy.” Grandpa patted the crash helmet fondly. A cloud of dust and flakes of paint landed on Jimmy’s jam sandwich.

  “Thanks, Grandpa,” said Jimmy with as much enthusiasm as he could find.

  Grandpa placed the helmet ceremoniously on Jimmy’s head like he was crowning the next king of the world.

  “Come on then, Jimmy,” said Grandpa. “Let’s go and win that race.”

  “What about my breakfast?” asked Jimmy.

  Grandpa looked at the kitchen clock. “No time!” he said. “You can eat jam sandwiches any day of the week, but you’ll only get one shot at qualifying for the Robot Races. Come on!”

  They hurried back to the shed. Grandpa opened Cabbie’s door and Jimmy climbed in.

  There were buttons, switches, levers and dials covering every centimetre of the dashboard, on the doors to his left and right and even over the roof above his head. Jimmy’s eyes widened as he looked around. Cabbie might look like a scrapheap on the outside, but on the inside it was like being in the cockpit of a robo-rocket.

  “How do I—” he began, looking up. But Grandpa had already climbed onto his rusty old bicycle and was pedalling furiously out of the shed door, heading for the main road.

  “I’ll see you at the finish line!” he called over his shoulder.

  Jimmy glanced back down at the hundreds of buttons, knobs and levers that lined every inch of Cabbie. “But ... but I don’t even know how to make it go!” he said to himself.

  “Go?” said an excited electronic voice from somewhere behind the dashboard. “Of course! Why didn’t you say so?”

  From all around Jimmy came a whirring noise which grew higher and louder as the racer powered itself up. A red button was flashing right in front of Jimmy.

  “Am I supposed to press this?” Jimmy asked nervously, not sure if he should expect an answer from the voice or not. There was no reply. Jimmy shrugged, then reached out a finger, took a deep breath and gently pressed the button.

  “Whoopeeeeee!” cried the voice and, with a deafening roar, Cabbie lurched forward at an incredible speed, hurling Jimmy back into his seat. He just had time to do up his seat belt before they crashed through the shed doors, out into the garden, through the neighbour’s fence and onto the road.

  They bounced down the kerb and Jimmy had to turn the steering wheel sharply to avoid hitting the wheelie bins belonging to Mrs Cranky across the street.

  “Come on,” encouraged Cabbie. “Put your foot down. Do you want to be in this race or not?”

  For a second, Jimmy’s foot hovered over the accelerator pedal as he thought how crazy this all was. He’d never even tried to drive a car before and now he was at the wheel of a real robot racer.

  “Here goes,” he said. He squashed his foot to the floor and Cabbie’s engine roared.

  “AAAAAAAAAGGGGHHH!” Jimmy yelled as they exploded out of the shed.

  Chapter 7 - The Qualifier

  Jimmy gripped the steering wheel in terror as Cabbie hurtled along. They raced up the street to the top of Smedingham Hill, where he could see the rest of the city spread out beneath them.

  The roads were lined with safety barriers and crowds of people were standing behind them, waiting for the race to begin. Even before he saw the crowds, Jimmy could hear them:

  “...nine ... eight ... seven...” they shouted in time with the huge display board which hovered above the circuit.

  Cabbie was picking up speed, the houses, cars and trees becoming a blur as they whizzed past. Jimmy could make out seven other racers, all revving their engines and sending clouds of exhaust fumes billowing into the air. He was relieved to see that three of them looked a bit like Cabbie: old cars with various pieces of scrap bolted to them.

  One of them looked like Jimmy’s crash helmet: a dented black fishbowl on wheels. Another one was so tiny Jimmy couldn’t see how anyone, even a kid, could fit in it. It was like a big skateboard with something resembling an egg box stuck on top. And then Jimmy caught sight of a robot racer shaped like a sleek, black sports car. The sun glinted off its smooth surface, almost blinding its competitors before the race had even started. And the only thing brighter than the shine from the racer was the big, white, horsey grin on the face of its driver – Horace Pelly.

  That must be Zoom, Jimmy thought. Horace was right. It does look just like a real robot racer.

  “...six ... five ... four...”

  Maybe I should turn back. This was a stupid idea.

  “...three ... two ... one...”

  “Slow down, slow down,” shouted Jimmy. “We’re heading for the start line!”

  “GO!”

  A deafening klaxon rang out and the spectators all cheered and whooped.

  “Speed up, speed up!” cried Cabbie. “They’re leaving without us!” He rocketed to the start line, overtaking all the other racers before they could get going. “We’re winning!” shouted Cabbie as they sailed ahead.

  Jimmy turned to look behind in amazement. Cabbie was right – they were in the lead.

  “Yes!” shouted Jimmy, punching the air.

  But as soon as he’d said it, the whirring of a powerful jet engine could be heard getting louder and louder. Then a long, smooth black bonnet pulled alongside, followed by a crystal-clear windscreen, a glossy chrome steering wheel and then the tanned, handsome face of Horace Pelly. Jimmy watched Horace rubbing his eyes in disbelief. He clearly couldn’t understand how Jimmy had managed to get a robot racer.

  But Horace’s shock didn’t last for long. He looked Cabbie up and down through the gleaming glass of his racer and then he pulled a face at Cabbie – the same face somebody pulls when they notice they’ve got a big lump of dog poo on their shoe. Horace shouted something that sounded a lot like, “Ner ner ner ner ner!” and then Zoom’s engine roared as he accelerated into the lead. He opened up a gap of 10 metres, then 20 metres, then 30. And before you could say “NASA”, he’d disappeared off into the distance.

  Two more racers swerved around Cabbie, overtaking him with ease even though Jimmy had his foot pressed hard on the accelerator.

  “Oh no!” Jimmy said. “They’re so much faster than us. What can we do, Cabbie?”

  “Well,” said Cabbie, “you could change gear for a start.”

  “Erm, how do I do that?” Jimmy asked. “You haven’t got a gear stick.”

  “See those paddles flashing on each side of the steering wheel? The one on the left changes down and the one on the right changes up. Pull the one on the right.”

  Jimmy quickly pulled on the gear paddle and heard a deep growl coming from the engine. Cabbie seemed to flex his mechanical muscles, then all of a sudden he flew forwards. Jimmy hunched himself down over the steering wheel and focused on the road ahead as they whizzed back past the two racers just in front of them.

  “Eat my dust, soggy bonnets,” Cabbie cried as they left them in their wake. “You see, Jimmy. We’re going to win this race. Now, show me what you’ve got.”

  They entered a tricky section of the cou
rse with sharp bends and tight corners, but with Cabbie handling the braking and Jimmy controlling the wheel they flew onwards, with the tyres screeching and the wind whipping at the windscreen as they weaved left and right.

  “We’re doing really well,” Jimmy said. “We’ve left the others behind.”

  “Of course we have,” Cabbie replied. “We’re robot racers, and that’s what we do!”

  In the distance they could make out the cloud of dust that billowed into the air behind Zoom’s jet engine.

  “We’ve got to catch Horace and Zoom,” said Jimmy. “What should we do?”

  “See the small red button with the picture of the flame on it?” Cabbie replied. “It’s flashing. Push it.”

  “What does it do?” asked Jimmy.

  “You’ll see,” replied Cabbie.

  Jimmy pressed the small red button.

  For a moment nothing happened. And then the world seemed to explode. Jimmy was pinned back against his seat as Cabbie accelerated so fast that his front wheels left the ground. Before he knew it, Jimmy was whooping with excitement. He was really doing it: he was really a robot racer. At school, he was just a shy, quiet boy who only had one proper friend, but out here he could see hundreds of people cheering for him. He could feel confidence whizzing through his body like petrol through an engine, causing his fingers and toes to tingle. He wasn’t scared, he wasn’t being laughed at. And he was in second place!

  “Wow!” he cried. “We could actually win this, Cabbie!”

  “Of course we can,” said the robot. “We’re gaining on them. They’re—” Cabbie paused, checked, recomputed. “Yes,” he said. “They’re slowing down!”

  “Why would they do that?” Jimmy asked. But before Cabbie could reply, the answer became obvious. Horace had begun to show off.

  Zoom’s roof was folding away and disappearing. Zoom was going open-top! Jimmy could see Horace sitting casually in the driver’s seat with one hand on the steering wheel, his hair flying in the wind. The other hand was waving at the crowd and a group of TV cameras that had gathered. A moment later, Horace was standing up and steering with one foot. The crowd were going wild.

  Then Horace turned round and saw Jimmy. “I’ve won this race already, Jimmy Roberts. You haven’t got a chance,” he shouted above the roar of the engines. He dropped back down into his seat and twiddled a couple of knobs on the dashboard.

  The motor on Zoom’s roof whirred loudly but nothing happened. Horace punched three more buttons and the whirring started again, followed by a nasty crrruuuunnkk!

  “No!” screamed Horace over the noise of the wind. “We can’t reach top speed with the roof down! Zoom, do something.”

  “System malfunction,” the robot replied. “Roof pod not responding. Unable to override.”

  “Noooo!” Horace yelled again.

  “This is our chance, Cabbie,” Jimmy said excitedly. “Let’s get them.”

  The race was on!

  Zoom slowed to round a bend in the road. Jimmy swerved Cabbie wide and tried to fit through a gap between the black robot racer and the crash barriers, but he could see Horace gritting his teeth and moving across to squeeze him out of room.

  “We’re going to hit them!” yelped Jimmy.

  “No, we won’t,” Cabbie shouted back. “Watch this.” And before he knew what was happening, Jimmy felt the whole world tip sideways. Cabbie had thrown himself onto two wheels.

  “Go, Cabbie, go,” Jimmy cheered. They inched past Zoom and took the lead. Jimmy could see Horace thumping the steering wheel and shouting as they flew past.

  Ahead of them stretched a long straight road and at the end of it a huge crowd was cheering the two leaders on. They could just make out a man standing with a chequered flag in his hands.

  “Look!” cried Jimmy. “The finish line! Come on, Cabbie!”

  “Hold onto your hard drive,” Cabbie replied, then he threw himself back on four wheels.

  Jimmy’s heart was racing faster than Cabbie’s pistons. Zoom and Horace hadn’t given up yet though, and Jimmy could see them in his mirrors, dodging and weaving behind them. The jet engine whirred louder than ever and Zoom inched alongside.

  And in front.

  Then Cabbie took the lead by a whisker.

  Zoom edged back ahead.

  They were neck and neck.

  The finish line raced towards them. Jimmy’s foot was flat to the floor, his grip on the steering wheel steady and solid, his eyes fixed on the chequered flag just a hundred metres away.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Jimmy shouted.

  “Faster, you useless heap of space junk!” Horace shrieked above the noise.

  “This is gonna be tight,” Cabbie said.

  With a whoosh! they hurtled past the chequered flag as the crowd screamed their appreciation.

  “Did we win? Did we win?” asked Jimmy.

  But before Cabbie could answer, a huge crowd of people surrounded them, cheering and screaming and chanting.

  “We did! We did!” yelled Cabbie, his lights and sensors flashing madly as he slowed to a stop in front of the grandstand.

  Photographers and TV cameras pushed their way through the crowd. Reporters shouted questions.

  Even louder than the crowd, a voice echoed from the loudspeakers: “Let’s hear it for our winners ... Jimmy Roberts and Cabbie!”

  The crowd went even more wild.

  I don’t believe it, Jimmy thought to himself. We’ve won a Robot Race!

  Head spinning and feet stumbling, he climbed out of Cabbie’s cockpit and into the crowd. From the corner of one eye, he saw Horace get out of Zoom, slam the door, kick it, and stomp off into the distance. He could just hear him shouting, “Dad! Dad! Get over here! I want that result changed right now. He cheated and it’s not fair. He broke my roof, I know he did. Do something!”

  Just then two figures pushed their way through the crowds towards Jimmy. It was Grandpa and Jimmy’s friend Max, jostling with the scrum of photographers and the TV cameramen who were fighting to get the best picture. When Grandpa reached Jimmy, he seemed to be lost for words. But he had a grin on his face that was so broad it nearly split his face.

  “We did it, Grandpa!” said Jimmy. “We won!”

  “You did it, my boy,” corrected Grandpa, crushing Jimmy in a huge hug. “You did it.”

  “Jimmy ... how did you...? Why didn’t you...? When did you get a robot racer?” asked Max, his mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land.

  “Didn’t I tell you my grandpa was an inventor?” replied Jimmy, trying to look cool. But he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as Max high-fived him.

  “You were awesome,” Max said. I’ve never seen a race like it – and I’ve seen every Robot Race there’s ever been!”

  Just then, the crowd surged around them, and before Jimmy could say anything else to his grandpa or best friend, he was being carried away on a tidal wave of jostling bodies, swept towards a podium where a camera was pointing right at them. Behind the camera was a huge blank video screen.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” boomed a voice from the loudspeakers. “Please wait as we calculate the results of the qualifiers from all around the world.”

  The video screen flickered into life. Numbers and names flashed up, whizzing by and whirring, as the results from the hundreds of qualifiers were beamed in. Jimmy held his breath. He had won the qualifier in Smedingham – but surely he wouldn’t be one of the fastest racers in the world?

  “Remember,” echoed the voice, “only the six fastest qualifiers will win a place in the Robot Races Championship. And ... the ... results are ... in!”

  The screen went blank for a moment before it flickered and an image appeared. It was a face: the round, red face of Lord Ludwick Leadpipe, his monocle gleaming and a beady black eye peering through it.

&n
bsp; “The results of the qualifiers are as follows—” announced Lord Leadpipe. He paused and checked his notes, cleared his throat, scratched his ear, and cleared his throat again. The crowd was absolutely silent, leaning forwards in their seats as they waited.

  “With the fastest qualifying time in the world, in first place,” said Lord Leadpipe, “from the United States of America, Chip Travers and his racer, Dug.”

  Lord Leadpipe’s face disappeared, and in its place appeared the face of an African-American boy in a baseball cap, whooping and screaming on top of a huge yellow and gold robot shaped like a digger. The crowd cheered.

  “In second place,” announced Lord Leadpipe, “from Japan, Princess Kako and her racer, Lightning.”

  The face of the bouncing boy in the baseball cap vanished and a solemn Japanese girl appeared, leaning against a motorbike racer. Princess Kako smiled and nodded gently at the camera as she received her round of applause.

  “In third place,” said Lord Leadpipe, “from Australia, Missy McGovern and her racer, Monster.”

  A red-haired girl filled the screen suddenly. She was sat comfortably on the giant wheel of her monster truck racer, giving a big thumbs-up to the camera.

  “In fourth place,” said Lord Leadpipe, “from Egypt, Samir Bahur and his racer, Maximus.”

  More cheers rang out. Now it was the turn of a serious-looking boy to look out from the giant screen. The boy was scowling at the camera, and it was hard to believe he’d just won the race of his life. Behind him was an impressive hovercraft racer with giant fan engines that looked like they’d been taken straight from a windmill.

  “In fifth place,” said Lord Leadpipe, “from Sweden, Olaf Trygvasson and his racer, Velocitron.”

  The screen showed a stocky figure in a leather jacket, his head encased in a huge black crash helmet. He waved at the camera.

  “And finally, in sixth place, from the United Kingdom—”

  The crowd fell deadly silent.