by Mark Crilley
“Fuelers,” Spuckler explained. “They got a lock on the market with this race. If you wanna get refueled without stoppin', they're the only choice ya got.”
The shoe-box ship, which was about four or five times larger than our own, carefully adjusted its speed and glided over us until we were enclosed. Spuckler punched a few buttons and barked more orders into his walkie-talkie. There were a bang, a clang, and several loud thunks before I heard—and smelled—fresh grull pouring into our ship from above.
GUDDA-GUDDA-GUDDA-GUDDA-GUDDA &
The grull bin was about half full when I saw Streed's ship pull in next to ours. He rolled down a window at the front of the ship—almost like a car at a fast-food drive-through—and signaled for Spuckler to do the same. Spuckler groaned but flicked a switch that opened a large window in the right-hand wall of our ship.
There, no more than fifty feet away from us, was Bluggamin Streed, grinning and resting a white-clothed elbow on the ledge of his window.
“The Hole spat you through faster than me, old-timer.” His sun-tanned face was smiling but angry. “You're a lucky man.”
“It's called skill, Bluggy.” Spuckler leaned back in his chair. “Watch me. Ya might learn somethin'.”
“Don't get sassy, Spuck.”Streed pointed a threatening finger. “That Hole was a demon today. Three ships got so mucked up, they're out of the race.”
Three more gone? That left just five ships, including ours!
“Th' Hole knows better'n to mess with me,” said Spuckler, giving me a wink. He looked a little tired.
“Mark my words, Spuck. The Centauri Cup is mine.”
Spuckler gritted his teeth. “We'll see about that.” “See about that?” Streed's laughter echoed off the walls, surprisingly loud. “The only thing you're going to see is the tail end of my ship, crossing the finish line before you do.”
Spuckler yanked a knob &
K'CHOK!
& slamming the window shut. Grull was still pouring into the ship, but he was already pushing buttons, revving the engine.
“THERE'S STILL MORE COMING, SIR,” protested Gax. “WE'VE ONLY RECEIVED THREE-QUARTERS OF THE LOAD.”
“Times a-wastin', Gax.” Spuckler snapped a lever down and the ship rocked and shuddered.
“BUT—”
BBBRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMM!
Boach's Bullet tore out of the refueling ship like a race-horse bursting from a starting gate. Through a window in the rear of the ship I saw a trail of grull spiraling through space behind us.
I was alarmed by Spuckler's behavior, but also glad that we were still in first place. So long as we could stay ahead of Streed &
“HE'S DONE REFUELING, SIR,” Gax announced, “AND GAINING ON US! WE'RE NO MORE THAN A MILE AHEAD OF HIM AT BEST.”
“Grull!”
We all jumped back to our duties. Mr. Beeba shoveled grull into the ship's furnace more frantically than ever, and I huffed and puffed on the Twerbo-Fladiator, which definitely seemed to be overheating with increasing regularity. There was no problem cooling it down, but I really had to keep an eye on it.
“THREE-QUARTERS OF A MILE, SIR!” said Gax.
“The dagnabbed little runt,” Spuckler growled, throwing switches and punching buttons. “He jus' don't know when to quit!”
Finally the grull delivered the speed we needed.
“HOLDING STEADY AT THREE-QUARTERS OF A MILE, SIR!” said Gax.
I breathed a sigh of relief. For the time being, at least, it looked like we'd be able to maintain our slim lead. I asked Mr. Beeba if there were any more hurdles left.
“Just one,” he answered. “The Jaws of McVluddapuck.”
“Jaws?” I asked. “That doesn't sound good.”
“It isn't,” he replied. “The Jaws of McVluddapuck are the remains of a planet—the planet McVluddapuck—that was cleaved neatly in half many eons ago by an enormous blade of solar radiation.” He paused to shovel another load of grull into the furnace. Gasping for breath, he continued. “Since then the two halves of McVluddapuck have been slamming together with uncanny precision once every 7.3 seconds.”
He gave me a moment to form a picture of this in my mind.
“There's a sort of balletic grace to it, really. Aesthetically speaking, I'm sure we'd all enjoy it if not for the fact that we'll be trying to fly this ship between the two halves before they smash together again.”
I sat there blinking.
“Try not to worry, Akiko,” Mr. Beeba added. “Spuckler's been practicing. He's made it through the Jaws in well under 7.1 seconds. Haven't you, Spuckler?”
When the confident reply didn't come, we both turned and saw to our horror that Spuckler was slumped over in the driver's seat, asleep at the wheel.
“Spuckler!” I set Ozlips and the Twerbo-Fladiator on the floor and ran to the front of the ship. Mr. Beeba got there first and began checking Spuckler's pulse. Gax and Poog, who had been busy keeping an eye on Streed's ship, raced over and joined us at Spuckler's side.
I gave Spuckler a good shake and he slowly came to.
“I'm awright, I'm awright,” he said. He was anything but all right. He looked like he was struggling just to keep his eyes open.
“Strange,” said Mr. Beeba. “His heart rate is fine, but he's clearly in need of rest.”
Poog frowned. He looked very troubled.
“I'm awright, I said!” Spuckler insisted. “Git back t' yer stations. We got a race t' win here.”
“This is really weird,”I whispered to Gax. “Have you ever seen him like this before?”
“NEVER, MA'AM,” Gax answered. “SOMETHING'S DEFINITELY HAD AN ADVERSE EFFECT ON HIM. THE PASSAGE THROUGH THE ALMOST-BLACK HOLE, PERHAPS &”
The whole ship rocked to one side as Streed's ship moved into position alongside us. We were still ahead of him, but just barely.
“Streed!” Spuckler cried. “'Kiko, I'm gonna need your help.”
“H-help?”
“I'm havin' trouble seein' straight,” he whispered.
“Spuckler,” said Mr. Beeba, “you're in no shape to fly this ship. You need rest!”
“Back to the shovel, ya lazy varmint,” Spuckler said. “We're losin' steam!”
Mr. Beeba stepped back uncertainly.
“Go on!” Spuckler barked. “Snap to it!”
Mr. Beeba reluctantly went back to his duties.
“Gax, see whatcha can do about coolin' the Fladiator,” said Spuckler. “I'm gonna need 'Kiko up here with me from now on.”
“YES, SIR,” said Gax as he wheeled himself over to Ozlips and the Twerbo-Fladiator. He began using a little hair dryer–shaped tool to perform my earlier duties.
“Poog,” said Spuckler, “keep an eye on ol' Streed over there. Let me know if he's fixin' to bump us again.”
Poog, still frowning, floated over to the portal with the best view of Streed's ship, leaving Spuckler and me alone.
“Okay, 'Kiko,” Spuckler said, “jus' b'tween you an' me, I don't feel so hot.”
“I can see that.”
“So I'm gonna show ya how to fly this ship.”
“Me? Are you nuts?” My knees turned to jelly. “I'm just a kid. I'm still working on my bike-riding skills!”
Spuckler remained silent for a moment, his eyes very sad and serious.
“You sayin' ya ain't gonna help me, 'Kiko?” he asked. “You're gonna quit on me? Right now, when I really need ja?”
“I didn't say that, Spuckler. But &”
“But what?”
There was another long pause. I looked around at the others, everyone doing his best to keep the ship flying its fastest. Through one of the portals I could see the nose of Streed's ship, edging its way past us by what looked like a matter of inches.
“I'm going to need a pad of paper,” I said. “I'll never remember all this stuff if I don't write it down.”
Boach's Bullet was just about the most difficult thing I've ever had to do in my life. There were knobs to pull, dials to
turn, and levers to switch up and down. My head was swimming with all Spuckler's directions:
“This one regulates th' honk-oddle pressure.”
“This baby keeps the Rimpley pistons from knockin' into one another.”
“I forget what this one does, but ya better give 'er a good tug once in a while jus' t' be safe.”
I scribbled down page after page of notes, drawing crude little pictures to remind myself of what I had to do and how to do it and how often.
“Not bad, 'Kiko. You're gettin' the hang of it.”
Spuckler did his best to appear energetic, but I could tell he was suffering. Beads of sweat covered his forehead and his eyes had this very faraway look, like he was wearing himself out just standing there.
“Spuckler, you need rest,” I said. “Why don't you go lie down for a minute?”
“I'm fine, 'Kiko, I'm fine,” he insisted, rubbing his eyes.
Then, not more than half a minute later: “Ya know, 'Kiko, you're right. Lyin' down for a minute or two would do me a worlda good right now.”
I swallowed hard. Was I ready for this? Not by a long shot.
“I'll be back in a jiff, 'Kiko,” Spuckler said, raising his finger to make one last point. “Don't worry about Streed. Don't even think about him. It don't matter if we win or lose. Just do your best.”
Spuckler's eyes were half closed. His hair was black with sweat.
“Go lie down, Spuckler,” I said, wishing he wouldn't.
“Thank ya, 'Kiko.”
Then it was just me flying the ship.
I raised my head and looked through the windshield at the boundless black sea of stars beyond. Had I really just agreed to take over flying the ship for Spuckler? What was I thinking?
“More grull, Akiko?” I heard Mr. Beeba ask from behind me. He evidently had no problem accepting a fifth grader as his captain.
“Um, yeah,” I said, shooting a glance through the window at Streed's ship, now a good yard or two ahead of us.
I looked at the dashboard with all its knobs and dials and flashing orange buttons. It was like sitting in the cockpit of an airplane, I swear, but with more switches and more lights. There were five or six levers for acceleration alone, each one for making the ship move forward in a different way. I consulted my notes and pulled one on the far right of the dashboard, one that I thought Spuckler had said was for increasing acceleration gradually.
Oops.
DROGG-DROGG-DROGG-DROGG-DROGG
The whole ship shuddered and shook, tipping over until it was nearly upside down.
KLANG!
“Yyyyoooowch!”
(I have no idea what made the first sound, but I'm pretty sure the second one was Mr. Beeba.)
“Sorry!” I said.
I took the lever I'd just pulled and un-pulled it as quickly as I could. The ship went back to flying straight again, but now Streed was ten or twenty yards ahead of us.
I couldn't bear to let him beat us. Even if it was okay with Spuckler, it wasn't okay with me.
I tried lever after lever, knob after knob, and after shutting the lights off and on and cranking up a strange alien radio station to full blast, I had to admit to myself that I really didn't have the faintest idea how to fly this ship.
“Mr. Beeba!” I shouted.
“More grull?” he asked.
“Forget about the grull! Get up here and help me out for a second!”
A moment later Mr. Beeba was at my side, looking around as if it was the first time he'd ever been so close to the controls of the ship. Or any ship, for that matter.
“Heavens!” he said. “So many flashing lights! That red one's pretty. What does it do?”
“I was going to ask you if you knew how to fly this ship,” I said, “but I think you already answered my question.”
“No need to get snippy about it, Akiko.”
We both turned to Gax, who together with Ozlips was going to great lengths to keep the Twerbo-Fladiator cool.
“Gax, old boy,” said Mr. Beeba, “you don't happen to know how to fly this ship, do you?”
“INTERSTELLAR REGULATIONS HAVE BANNED ROBOTS FROM LEARNING HOW TO FLY ANY AND ALL SPACESHIPS, SIR,” Gax replied, “EVER SINCE AN ANDROID CRASHED ONE OF THOSE BIG GALACTIC CRUISERS BACK IN '29.”
“Poog?”
Poog slowly shook his head back and forth. I couldn't tell if he meant “No, I don't know how to fly this ship” or “No, you've got to do this on your own.”
I was running out of people to turn to.
Wait!
“Ozlips?”
Ozlips shook his head and made a gesture of helplessness with his stubby little arms, as if to show that he couldn't even pull down a single lever, much less help me fly the ship.
I gazed through the windshield as Streed's ship pulled farther and farther ahead of us.
“I'll go wake up Spuckler,” said Mr. Beeba.
“No. Wait,” I said.
Spuckler was flat on his back on a narrow bed he'd folded out from the wall. He was sound asleep and snoring loudly.
“Let him rest,” I said, a little surprised by the words coming out of my mouth. “I'm going to fly this ship. Spuckler showed me how. He's counting on me & and I'm going to do it.”
“Y-you are?” Mr. Beeba asked. “How?”
“Trial and error.”
“Akiko, with all due respect—”
“More grull!” I shouted, sounding about as much like Spuckler as I probably ever will. “Everyone back to your stations!”
I tightened my safety belts until it felt like the driver's seat was permanently glued to my back. I trained my eyes on Streed's ship, now miles and miles ahead of us. It was now or never.
“Hold on tight, everyone,” I called out. “This is not going to be a smooth ride.”
I was pulling levers, pressing buttons, yanking knobs. I was throwing switches, twirling dials, stamping on pedals. I'd chucked out my notes and was doing everything by, I don't know, sense of smell or something. I might as well admit it: I was just totally out of control. It didn't matter how many times I made the ship flip upside down, scoot sideways, or even blast backward at full speed. I was going to figure this thing out!
“More grull!” I shouted again and again.
The ship rocked. It lurched. It weaved and banked and did loop-the-loops. It spun from top to bottom. It spun from side to side. It spun from back to front and front to back and back to back and & man, did it ever spin.
But &
&after a while…
&it started to fly straight.
And somehow I actually began to get a feel for what worked and what didn't. It had nothing to do with thinking. It was like my hands were figuring out where to go on their own and my job was just to stay out of their way. My left hand pulled a knob: the engine boomed. My right hand hammered a button: the ship dipped and zoomed forward.
At one point I noticed Poog hovering just a few feet away from my right shoulder. He was smiling. I could see myself reflected in his big glassy eyes. I was smiling too.
The stars whizzed by.
The engine roared.
Now Streed's ship was in my sight. He was no more than a hundred yards ahead of us. My hands flew all over the dashboard: every lever I pulled brought us closer to Streed.
“More grull!” I cried.
Now we were just twenty yards behind him. Now fifteen. Now ten, now five.
I threw one last switch.
GGGRRRREEEEAAAAAAARRR!
Disaster! Our ship swerved to the left and was headed straight into Streed's exhaust fires. For a blinding second it looked as if we were going to plunge straight into his ship from behind. The windshield was a blaze of yellow-orange fire, the air rippling with heat.
I closed my eyes and gripped the dashboard with all my might, waiting for and dreading the impact of the crash. There was a horrific second of silence, then:
FWUUUUUUUUM!
Nothing but stars in front of us. Nothing but
stars on both sides. Streed's ship was nowhere to be seen.
“Heavens, Akiko!” Mr. Beeba said, trotting up to the front of the ship, grull shovel in hand. “You &”
He paused and drew in his breath, the hint of a smile forming on his lips.
“& you bumped him!”
“No way,” I said.
“Oh yes.”
“Really?”
“ABSOLUTELY,” said Gax.
Yes. “Yes!” I cried. “I bumped him, I bumped him!”
I wanted to jump up and dance, I was so happy. Mr. Beeba threw his arms around me and gave me a great big hug. Poog beamed and bobbed up and down. Ozlips danced around and around and jumped into my lap. “Yish! Yish!” he said.
“Take that, Streed!” I shouted. “We're gonna win! We're gonna win!”
I was just about to ask Mr. Beeba to go wake Spuckler up and tell him the good news when Gax interrupted.
“MA'AM, I HATE TO THROW A DAMPER ON THE FESTIVITIES, BUT THE RACE IS NOT OVER YET. WE ARE NOW APPROACHING THE JAWS OF MCVLUDDAPUCK.”
I'd completely forgotten about them. There they were ahead in the distance: two enormous half-planets, each thousands of miles from top to bottom. Their outer surfaces were bright red, speckled with craters and vast deserts. The Jaws— the inner surfaces created when the planet split in half—were perfectly flat, smoothed by a million years of pounding into each other.
throom
THROOM
THROOM
The sound of the slamming Jaws thundered through the walls of our ship. It was the noise you'd hear if two mountains leaped into the air and rammed into each other.
For a moment I was frozen at the wheel, hypnotized by the two halves joining, separating, joining, once every seven seconds or so, just like Mr. Beeba had said. He was right. There was something elegant about it, something really beautiful.
THROOM
THROOM
THROOM
But if we were going to fly through the Jaws of McVluddapuck, one thing was sure: We'd need speed, and a lot of it.
“Sorry, Ozlips.” I picked him up off my lap and dropped him to the floor. He whined a bit as he scampered away.
