Though he actually felt fine, he begrudgingly poked Alex in the chest, “Maybe it’s that poison your fiancé over here injected me with this morning. So Alex, how long before it takes effect and I croak?”
Alex grabbed his companions by the shoulder. “I need you both to completely trust me. You know I would not be racing if I didn’t absolutely have to.” He turned to William, “And no, that was not poison. I especially need your help more than anybody else’s.”
“What am I supposed to do?” William asked. “Wait until whatever you inject me with turns me into a mutant or some kind of a monster to find out?”
Alex could say no more. Now was definitely not the time to alert The New Reality through their quantum brain scans to any of his intentions.
“You’ll know what to do,” he reiterated. Alex then hugged Marissa. “Now, go root for me on in the stands.”
I’ll need all the moral support I can get.
As Marissa and William walked out of the racing circle, Alex began to concentrate on the competition. His main concern was last year’s winner at the international aero-bike competition, Tom Alesio. Tom Cat, so called for his dexterous manipulation of the aero-bike and his uncanny ability to negotiate tight spaces and make difficult turns, was considered both a veteran and an innovator of the sport. He had taken home the international title a total of five times, more than any other competitor in the history of Ultimate Aero-Bike racing, making him the obvious choice for crowd favorite.
This was Alex’s third year of official competition. He’d never had the time to give racing the attention needed to progress in the sport. But with his uncanny athletic skills and incredible foresight, he was able to qualify for this match with little practice.
All eight racers, including Alex, were aligned in a long row at the designated starting point. Members of their pit crews also began to exit towards the stands. Tom Cat was positioned two bikes to Alex’s right and had a large “4” printed in fluorescent yellow on the back of his black flight suit while Alex proudly donned his lucky number “2.”
Each of the other racers also had their assigned numbers emblazoned on the back of their black flight suits. The suits themselves were similar in appearance to those worn by astronauts. Though nearly not as bulky, they were black, with a silver stripe running down the sides and a gold belt strapped around the waist.
About a hundred feet behind them, tens of thousands fans had congregated to watch the race. Most were highly intoxicated as they sat or slumped on the bleachers.
Standing eagerly in the front row was a large group of beautiful young women cheering on Tom. A favorite among the ladies, he always received their patronage, and no race with him competing would be complete without them.
Over a hundred video boxes were levitating in the air above these spectators. Despite their square, flat shape, they displayed the competition in such vivid 3-D that it felt as if the race was directly in front of them.
The referee, who wore a similar flight suit, walked in front of the eight competitors. He held a glass board and was frantically pressing buttons on it as he got into position. “And that’s gonna do it,” he said, placing the clipboard to his side while peering up into the blue sky overhead.
“Here they come!” yelled the energized crowd as over thirty small, silver, disc-shaped photo-cams emerged from out of the distance and hovered over the contestants.
“Contestants, please secure your helmets,” said the referee, signaling to the racers by pointing to his ear.
Tom Cat gave one last wink to his admirers.
Alex, on the other hand, waited until the last second before donning his helmet. In an attempt to size up the competition, he wanted to scrutinize each racer one last time.
“Racers, polarize your engines,” ordered the referee, making an X with his arms.
Alex looked down at the digital readout on his bike’s dashboard. Speed, Altitude, Acceleration, Magnetism, and Score were all displayed in red, with a corresponding blue number underneath. Each of the readouts showed “00” and only Energy was different, reading “99.”
With the press of a button on the right handlebar, Alex magnetized his bike’s engine. As their opposing dipoles came into alignment, the hair underneath his suit and helmet began to stand on end with the energy field that it created.
The referee pointed to the sky with both hands and gave the next order. “Racers, take to the air.”
Alex’s bike began to slowly levitate off the ground. While ascending, he looked back and saw the entire crowd was on its feet. Was it the thrill of the sport or the effect of heavy alcohol consumption? Feeling dizzier the higher he ascended, he looked straight to avoid vomiting or possibly passing out. His head once again began to throb despite the analgesics consumed just before arriving.
Each bike, in accordance with the guidelines set forth by the Ultimate Aero-Biking Authority, was virtually of the same design and dark color. Looking more like a souped up motorcycle than a vehicle of flight, they were impressive machines intended for one thing and one thing only: speed.
“Display maps,” the referee called, holding up his hands as if he were stopping traffic.
Wow, Alex thought, imagining and mentally preparing for what he would have to endure. The six checkpoints are much more precariously placed than before. If he didn’t feel so nauseated and weak already, he would have been exhilarated by the challenge.
The referee then took a few steps back. From a pocket on his right pants leg he withdrew an old-fashioned pistol. Being that all firearms were banned by The New Reality, this item was purely for show and did not possess any lethal capability. Holding it high above his head, he shouted, “Racers ready!”
Alex leaned forward and grasped the handlebars even tighter. The tug of the safety harness against his chest made it impossible for him to bend any farther. His pulse quickened. His heart pounded.
“On your marks. Get set. GO!” With the sound of the simulated pistol shot the race was underway.
Alex immediately hit the throttle button, propelling himself straight up into the air. The initial G-force made his head feel as if it were about to explode. Despite the agony, he envisioned the map, recalling that the first designated checkpoint was the simplest. Its rings hovered 5,000 feet above ground and were about ten miles north of the grassy field they had just departed.
Alex and the other racers flew high into the atmosphere, almost in a parallel formation. No one wanted to be the first to break from the pack and risk putting himself at the mercy of the other seven blasters.
The photo-cams followed closely as they matched the racers’ speeds.
Time to make people think I actually want to win this.
Alex stared at racer 1. With a slight tilt to the left and a nudge on the throttle, Alex darted out ahead of him and then rapidly decelerated—a maneuver designed to activate number 1’s automatic safety features. Now, again soaring back up into the atmosphere, Alex turned to see that his opponent’s bike had come to a complete stop.
With no other recourse but to use his photo-blasters, racer 1 fired feebly at Alex, who had already zipped far into the distance. The blast was woefully off target. Detained for five seconds before his bike would accelerate again, racer 1 watched his competition fly ahead, leaving him in last place.
Alex’s maneuver not only stalled one opponent, but it left him in excellent position to use his own photo-blaster. Now positioned behind the other six, he took aim on racer number 5. With only one shot allowed every five seconds, he knew that he couldn’t lose this easy opportunity.
Alex pushed a button on his handlebar and a red blast shot out from the bike’s underbelly.
“Bull’s eye!” shouted Alex. “Five points off and the race has just begun!” The thrill of the competition made Alex momentarily forget his ailments.
At the sight of a direct photo-blaster hit, the crowd back at the bleachers roared with exhilaration. The shot, along with Alex’s first maneuver, were being
played over and over again on the video boxes.
Surprised by the blast, racer 5 decelerated slightly. Tom Cat, the aero-biking pro, saw an opportunity and flew directly in front of him, causing his bike to come to a complete halt.
With Alex on their rear and in striking position, most of the remaining racers except number 8 began evasive maneuvers, dispersing throughout the sky.
Like shooting a sitting duck, Alex took aim and fired at this lone racer. But his shot was off target, barely missing its mark. A few more red blasts rocketed through the air below him as the other contestants began to join in with their own volley of photo-blasts.
Alex glanced down at his dashboard as he accelerated towards the troposphere. A red dot representing his bike indicated he had pulled ahead of the group. With only one blue dot, denoting racer 8, in front of him he knew he was in for a one-on-one battle to reach the first checkpoint.
After a few minutes, Alex saw eight separate red rings hovering in the air directly in front of him. A few photo-cams were also present, waiting for the racers to pass.
As Alex began to accelerate up to the checkpoint, Tom Cat flew directly in front of him. It was not close enough to trigger him to stop, but it caused his bike to unintentionally decelerate.
Flying out of Alex’s line of fire, Tom accelerated up to number 8 and scored a direct hit on him just as he was passing the first checkpoint.
Tom thus was able to take second while Alex was the third to fly through the rings.
The score on Alex’s dashboard currently read 15—with 25 points being credited to first place and 20 to the second. Other than the first three places, no other scores were allotted to the other racers. He was less than pleased with himself for not only having let Tom outmaneuver him but also for taking only third at the first checkpoint.
Taking a deep breath to help diminish his pounding headache, Alex looked down at the map; he knew checkpoint two would probably prove one of the trickiest. Despite having flown there previously, Alex saw that the rings had been placed in a spot along a mountainous terrain not far below that was seldom flown by aero-bike racers.
Still in third place, Alex saw on his dashboard that the others were not far behind. Even number 1 seemed to be catching up after his early difficulties.
I’ve got to do something to get in front of these two ahead of me!
Instead of descending into the mountains at a safer location, Alex undercut the two racers in front of him and zipped through the mountainous landscape with the precision of a seasoned professional. No turn was too risky, no path too tight. His enthusiasm quelled his headache as he drew nearer to the next checkpoint.
The rest of the racers, on the other hand, were having a more difficult time handling the difficult terrain. Even the two racers that were once ahead of him hesitantly entered the mountainous area, allowing Alex to take the lead. Because of the tight spaces and sharp turns, the racers began to fly too closely together. As a result their bikes made constant automatic adjustments, each decelerating or having to stop along the way.
Tom Cat was next to last. But his racing position did not come about by accident. Patiently biding his time, he waited for the other racers to clump together while entering the narrowest path through the mountains before striking.
Straight ahead, Alex saw the eight levitating rings surrounded by a few photo-cams between two narrow mountain peaks. As he raced closer, he suddenly noticed a blue dot directly to his rear on his dashboard map. “Do I evade or do I stay the course… I need those points!” Without further hesitation, Alex flew directly toward one of the rings.
In direct pursuit was Tom Cat, and he fired as expected of him.
“I knew it!” yelled Alex as he watched his score reduce to 10. Not wanting to turn and risk acknowledging Tom’s presence, Alex simply accelerated through the checkpoint and collected his 25 points. A second later Tom passed through one of the rings.
Both Alex and Tom immediately began to accelerate up and out of the mountains at full speed. Neither had the opportunity to use their photo-blaster as they exited in parallel formation.
Alex glanced at his dashboard and saw that his score now read 35. Unfortunately for his mounting vertigo, he knew the next checkpoint would not be much easier. Situated deep within a dense forest, it would be very difficult to negotiate. Then again, these rings were the most valuable in the entire course with 50, 40, and 30 points being awarded instead of the standard amount for all the other checkpoints, and taking another first place there would certainly give him a commanding lead.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Tom doing a few 360-degree horizontal rotations in an attempt to distract him. Unaffected by such simpleminded games, Alex flew on without making any course alternations.
After flying in parallel for about 10 minutes, Tom Cat once again caught Alex’s attention, offering him a salute before descending directly into the forest below.
Mister Tom Cat seems to underestimate my flying ability, Alex thought as he followed suit and dove into the green canopy.
When Alex descended rapidly, the trees suddenly turned into people as his mind began drifting away from this reality into an entirely different one. He attempted to concentrate on the race and fend off the hallucinations. He began losing all sensation in his body as the people became more vivid in his sight. It was like he was being transported into another world once again, and he could do little to stop the transition.
Consumed by the vision, Alex felt paralyzed as he attempted to make flight corrections to his aero-bike. As his consciousness drifted away from the race, he began to lose control of the bike and plummet helplessly to disaster.
Chapter_7
The spectators in the crowd went wild as the video boxes displayed a hologram of Alex’s unbelievably rapid decent.
“I wonder what all that cheering is for?” William asked as he began to breathe heavier the longer he spoke. “Something crazy must be happening in the race.”
“I wish I knew,” Marissa responded walking a few steps in front of William.
She felt so nervous since the race began, and could barely speak since the opening pistol shot. She knew that her fiancé was in no physical or mental shape for racing.
“You think Alex is winning?” William then asked, winded by the walk.
I just hope he’s still living, Marissa lamented to herself. Why did I not insist that he couldn’t go? Why didn’t I just inject him with some sedative so that he would have been unable to race?
“Do you?” William then asked again, falling further behind Marissa as she obliviously walked ahead of him.
Though she wanted to watch the race on the video box, she knew that viewing the event live would prove much too nerve-racking for her to handle. She could barely even look at the crowd, let alone a view box. Plus, every time they cheered, she assumed it was at Alex’s expense.
Marissa was extremely grateful that Samantha provided her with an excuse not to go up into the stands and take their designated seats. Just after the race began, she contacted her and said that she needed to discuss something of the utmost importance right away.
William began to scratch his skin. All of a sudden it felt as if bugs were crawling all over his body. Though at first he just assumed that he needed a shower, he realized that he had bathed before visiting Alex last night.
“Marissa,” William then asked, trying to catch up her. She was so preoccupied that she failed to hear him. “Marissa,” he then reiterated, touching her shoulder.
Startled, she turned. The surprised look on her face made William realize that something must be awry.
“What?” he frantically blurted, expecting only to hear the worst. He began to breathe heavier and took off his cap because all of a sudden he felt claustrophobic. “What is it? Am I dying?” He began to wipe his brow. “Please tell me I’m not dying.”
“No, you’re not dying,” Marissa responded, slightly amused by this most recent fit of hypochondria, “but you do
look pale. Are you feeling alright?”
“I don’t know,” he said, contemplating her question. “All of a sudden I feel hot and clammy.”
She escorted him over to a vacant bench under a nearby spruce tree. The cheers of the crowd became more distant the farther they walked away from the massive array of bleachers. Marissa then sat down next to him and felt his forehead. Without any of her medical devices with her, she could only check to see if he were febrile.
“Your temperature seems normal,” she commented. “Any other complaints.”
“Well—” William began.
“Medical?” Marissa interrupted.
“Not really. I just feel a little winded and tired. Plus—I know this is unbelievable—but I don’t have my appetite.”
Marissa pulled down one of his eyelids and gave it closer inspection. “It looks like you’re becoming anemic,” she concluded.
“It’s that thing Alex gave me!” William said. “What’d you think it was?” he asked. “Poison?”
“I don’t know,” Marissa said, unsure what to think at the moment. It seemed so irrational. First Alex injected his best friend with something that was probably making him anemic and then he was off racing without medical clearance. “How about this,” she finally concluded, “after Samantha gets here, I’ll take you directly to Neurono-Tek and check you out completely.”
William raised an amusing eyebrow.
Marissa slapped him on the shoulder.
“Did I hear my name?” a powerful voice for such a petite person echoed over the crowd noise.
Samantha then walked over to the both of them and nonchalantly placed a small patch behind each of their ears. “OK. Now we can talk.”
William sat up and began immediately picking at the patch. “First Alex poisons me and now you want to finish off the job?”
“Calm down,” she assured him in the softest voice she could muster. “It’s an audio scrambler. Alex invented these contraptions a few months ago and gave some to me in case I needed to speak in private. You know that everything we say, no matter where we are, is being recorded by The New Reality; nothing at all goes undetected by our great overlords.”
The Hidden Reality (Alex Pella, #2) Page 7
