by Mark Crilley
“Empty the grull bin, Mr. Beeba!” I shouted. “Throw it all into the furnace!”
“But—” said Mr. Beeba.
“We need all of it,” I said.
“BUT—” said Gax.
“All of it!”
I turned my head to make sure Mr. Beeba was following orders. Sure enough, he was feverishly shovel ing in the very last of the grull, causing white-hot towers of flame to burst from the furnace with every load. The engine roared as it received this final boost of energy, and the ship began to rattle and shake and hurl itself forward through the stars even faster than before.
THROOM
THROOM
THROOOOM!
I gazed through the windshield at the massive red sphere before us, splitting in half and slamming together again and again and again. Before long my entire field of vision was filled with the surface of the planet and the terrifyingly narrow gap that kept appearing and disappearing, appearing and disappearing.
THROOOOOOOM!
I had to get the timing right.
If we flew into the Jaws even a split second too late, we'd never make it through to the other side before it closed again. My hands were frozen on the acceleration levers. What to do? I knew we'd have to fly into the gap at top speed, but entering at precisely the right moment was crucial. Should we be going faster? Slower?
The gap opened.
We were still many miles away; even at its widest the gap looked incredibly narrow. It was going to be like driving a truck into an alley at a hundred miles an hour.
THROOOOOOOOOOOM!
The Jaws slammed closed again.
Our ship kept barreling in, closer, closer &
“YOUR TIMING IS OFF, MA'AM,” said Gax, a staticky quiver in his voice. “WE'RE GOING TO HIT IT WHILE IT'S STILL CLOSED.”
“Tell me what to do, Gax!” I shouted. “Faster? Slower?”
He didn't answer right away. His mechanical brain must have been doing cartwheels trying to come up with an accurate calculation.
The Jaws opened again. We were much closer now, and for a few seconds I could see clear through to the stars on the other side. Light reflected off the massive interior walls before vanishing as the gap closed once again.
THROOOOOOOOOOOM!
“FASTER,” said Gax.
“NO, SLOWER!” he said a second later.
“NO, WAIT, FASTER !”
“Which is it?” I screamed.
There was a high-pitched gurgle in my left ear.
“Poog says slower!” said Mr. Beeba.
I wiped the sweat from my eyes as the Jaws of McVluddapuck opened one more time. This was it. After they slammed shut, we needed to be right there when they opened again, ready to enter the gap the moment it reappeared.
I threw both of my hands around a lever in the middle of the dashboard—a braking mechanism—and pulled down with all my might. The ship screeched and howled.
THROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
The gap was gone.
We were only seconds away from the surface, still careening toward a pathway that no longer existed. I pulled the lever as hard as I could, trying desperately to slow down. It was no use. Boach's Bullet was hurtling forward under its own momentum.
GREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
The windshield was a sea of red, the surface of the planet now visible in terrifying stone-and-pebble detail. I braced myself for the impact. The crash was coming, it was all over.…
We were inside the Jaws of McVluddapuck. The gap had reopened at the last possible moment and our ship was flying almost noiselessly through the increasingly wide passageway.
FOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSHHHH
The shadowy red walls dissolved into a blur as we zoomed closer and closer to the stars on the other side. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. I knew we had only 7.3 seconds before the Jaws would close again. How many seconds had already passed? Two? Three?
“FOUR SECONDS,” said Gax, as if reading my mind.
“The walls are closing in again!” I heard Mr. Beeba say. “We're not going to make it!”
FOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSHHHH
I pulled the accelerator levers with all the strength I had inside me. The engines roared, incinerating the very last of the grull, and the ship rocketed forward at a truly terrifying speed. But the starry sliver of space ahead still seemed impossibly far away.
“FIVE SECONDS,” said Gax.
By now I could practically feel the interior walls of McVluddapuck closing in around us. It looked like the wings of the ship had no more than a couple of yards of open space on either side. I had this terribly clear picture in my head of Boach's Bullet getting caught in the Jaws—how it would look from somewhere up above, sparks flaring as the red walls clamped onto the wings and ground the ship to a halt before crushing it like a tin can in a trash compactor.
“Sideways!” Mr. Beeba howled. “You've got to turn the ship sideways! It's the only way we'll make it through!”
I yanked knobs, pulled levers, hammered one button after another, but none of them did anything at all.
FOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSHHHH
“SIX SECONDS,” said Gax.
TRIT-TRIT-TRIT-TRIT-TRIT-TRIT
One of the ship's wings was skidding along the surface of the wall. Sparks were flying across the wind-shield like a yellow-orange snowstorm.
“Siiidewaaaays!” Mr. Beeba shrieked.
The ever-narrowing sliver of stars on the other side of McVluddapuck was at least a mile away. The ship's right-hand wing was being shaved down to a stub. Worst of all, we were now beginning to lose speed.
We'd never make it like this.
Giving up hope, I let go of the controls altogether, threw my hands over my eyes, and slammed my forehead down on the dashboard.
FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—
Huh? We were still moving.
I raised my head and peered through my fingers.
The sparks were gone.
The ship had flipped sideways! I must have hit the right button with my forehead!
Faster, faster, faster &
“7.2SECONDS,” said Gax.
—OOOOOSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHH!
We shot out into the stars, the Jaws of McVluddapuck closing behind with a deafening clap of thunder.
THRRROOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM
Oh man. I wish you could have seen it: the hugging and dancing and hollering and just sheer joy that broke out on that ship. It had nothing to do with winning the race and everything to do with simply being alive!
I ran over to check on Spuckler and found to my delight that he'd been awake—groggy, but awake— through the whole thing.
He propped himself up on his elbows and asked me to kneel down beside him.
I did.
“That was darn good flyin', 'Kiko,” he whispered. “Darn good.”
“Thanks, Spuckler.” I felt like I was about to cry. Was that a tear on Spuckler's cheek? No way!
“Now get back to the controls,” he said, rubbing one eye. “We ain't crossed the finish line yet.”
He was right, of course. But it wouldn't be long now. The Alpha Centauri Stadium was already coming into view. I jumped back to the driver's seat and reduced our speed, trying to conserve what little power we had left.
“Poog,” I asked, “do you see Bluggamin Streed out there anywhere?”
Poog gurgled something in reply, which Mr. Beeba translated as “He's miles behind us. He mistimed the Jaws and had to circle back to have another go at it.”
“I can't believe it,” I said. “We're really going to win this thing! Gax, how's the Twerbo-Fladiator?”
“JUST FINE, MA'AM,” he answered. “THE NEEDLE HASN'T BUDGED IN MORE THAN HALF AN HOUR.”
“Really?” I said. “That's funny, it was overheating like crazy before.”
The stadium was now only ten or twenty miles away. At our current pace we'd cross the finish line in just a couple of minutes. I checked my watch: 5 P.M. Perfect. I'd still have just enough time
to get back for dinner at six. Heck, I could even push it until six-thirty if I really—
FLAAM!
FLA-FLAAAAAAAAAM!
Two loud noises—like explosions, almost—shook the ship from front to back. We continued moving forward and everything seemed to be okay. But a little red bulb on the dashboard started flashing and buzzing loudly.
“Heavens!” gasped Mr. Beeba. “The escape pod!”
“Escape pod?” I asked.
“All ships come equipped with escape pods, Akiko,” he explained, pointing to a small round hatch on one wall surrounded by black and yellow stripes. “Well, except for this one, as of a few seconds ago.”
“What, it just & shot out of the ship all by itself ?”
“I'm afraid not, Akiko,” said Mr. Beeba. “I'll lay odds a certain little friend of ours was on board.”
I turned and looked around. Poog. Spuckler. Gax. Mr. Beeba. Everyone but &
Ozlips.
In all the excitement, I'd totally forgotten all about him. Sure enough, he was nowhere to be seen. But why would he leave us now, right when we were about to—
Whatever. It would have to wait. We were already zooming into Alpha Centauri Stadium, coasting on our last vapors of grull. I cut back on the accelerator and decided to take things slowly. This was a moment to savor!
The stadium was wide and round, a huge white space station lit by gigantic lamps hovering above it. The stands were filled with cheering crowds. A strange alien fanfare blared from speakers on all sides. Carved into the middle of the stadium was a long gray path like an airport runway. There at the far end was a shimmering golden ribbon: the finish line!
“Spuckler!” I cried. “Are you still awake?”
“I'm watchin', 'Kiko, I'm watchin'!”
We floated down to the foot of the runway and began our slow flight to victory.
FFFFFSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHH
A loud hissing filled the ship.
“MALFUNCTION!” said Gax. “THE & THE TWERBO FLADIATOR IS OVERHEATING!”
I shot a glance over my shoulder. Thick black smoke was pouring out of the thing. The Lava lamp part looked like it was actually on fire.
I got an awful, queasy feeling in my stomach as I remembered the tiny crack I'd made when I dropped it.
“Dagnabbit, Gax,” Spuckler cried, “I thought you was keepin' an eye on that gauge!”
“IWAS, SIR!” Gax protested. “I & I &”
It was the first time I'd heard Gax at a loss for words.
I turned back to face the finish line, now just fifty feet away. We were still moving forward. At a snail's pace. But still moving.
Spuckler rose to his feet. “We're losin' altitude. Better put down the landin' gear, 'Kiko. That black knob there on the right.”
I yanked it hard. The ship shook a bit as the wheels descended from their compartments beneath us. Were we really going to have to roll to the finish line like some old jalopy? Come on!
“Don't worry, everybody,” I said. “We're almost there. We're still going to win.”
PLAM! PLAM! PLA-PLAAM!
The Twerbo-Fladiator exploded, sending shards of metal and glass ricocheting all around us. Our ship dropped to the runway with a sickening crash. The finish line was only twenty feet ahead of us. If we could just keep moving &
FLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
The engine gave out a terrific boom and then fell utterly silent. All the lights on the dashboard went out, and even the ceiling lights dimmed to a yellowish flicker. It felt like we were trapped inside a dying animal.
The wheels carried us forward a few more feet &
& a few more inches…
&then squealed to a halt.
The finish line was ten feet away.
“No!” I cried. “This can't be happening!”
The ship was filled with the roar of the crowd outside. What were they cheering about? Were they crazy?
Then we heard it. A high-pitched engine roar in the distance behind our ship.
“Dag &” Spuckler cried, “& nabbit!”
The crowd went wild as Streed's ship shot by— bumping us one last time—and zoomed across the finish line.
The Alpha Centauri 5000 was over.
Streed had won.
How could we have come so close and then lost?
Music blared. People cheered. Through the wind-shield I could see Streed climb out of his ship and into a swarm of alien news reporters. A second ship shot by. Then a third and a fourth. And there we were, still ten feet away from the finish line.
I felt like crying. I also felt like kicking something.
“It's not fair!” I slammed my fists down on the dashboard over and over. “It's just not fair!”
“Take it easy, now, 'Kiko,” I heard Spuckler say. “Ya did yer best. It ain't your fault.”
“It is my fault! I dropped the Twerbo-Fladiator and broke it! I know I should have told you all, but—”
“Hang on a second, 'Kiko,” Spuckler said. “I've dropped that thing dozensa times. You couldn'ta broke it all by yourself. It ain't as fragile as that.”
“I did, though! I did!” Now I really was crying. “I dropped it and the glass cracked and now we've lost the race! It is my fault. It is.…”
Mr. Beeba stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Oh, but it's not as simple as that, my dear girl.” He was holding what remained of the Twerbo-Fladiator. “It was not a matter of a crack in the glass. It was a matter of this.”
He reached underneath and pulled out a small black box. It looked like it had been attached with some sort of putty.
“Sabotage!”
Spuckler squinted. Gax rattled. Poog looked sad, but not at all surprised.
“I knew it. I knew it,” said Spuckler. “That little varmint!”
“Ozlips,” said Mr. Beeba.
“Ozlips?” I said. “You mean—”
“It all seems so clear now. He came aboard this ship for one reason and one reason only: to prevent us from winning.”
“But—”
“Disabling the Twerbo-Fladiator must have been plan B.” Mr. Beeba stepped over to Spuckler's side. “Show us the back of your neck, Spuckler.”
Spuckler turned and pulled his straggly blue hair up against the back of his head. There, in the exact center of his neck, was a reddish circular mark with a bright red dot in the middle.
“Plan A,” said Mr. Beeba. “Knock Spuckler out so that he can no longer fly the ship properly. The little chap must have injected you with a tiny dose of Somnus-Ether when he was cleaning off the black-hole mucus. Just enough to knock you out until the end of the race.”
It couldn't have happened that way. It just didn't seem possible.
“But why?” I asked. “Why would he do this to us? He should be grateful. We & we helped him escape from his master!”
“Ya wanna see that critter's master?” said Spuckler, pointing a finger toward the windshield. “He's standin' right over there.”
I whirled around and stared through the glass, fully expecting to see some big mean ogre of a man with a whip. Instead, my eyes fell on Bluggamin Streed. He was standing on the winner's platform, the Centauri Cup in one arm, posing for photo after photo. And there, perched on his shoulder, was Ozlips: smiling and laughing, clearly enjoying all the attention.
“They tricked us,” Spuckler said. “Tricked us fair and square.”
“Fair?” I said. “Are you nuts? Sabotage isn't fair!”
“Everything's fair in the Alpha Centauri 5000, 'Kiko.” Spuckler sat down and grinned. “Even cheatin'. Some people do it. Some people don't.”
Unbelievable.
“Me, I don't go for cheatin'. It just don't feel right to me. Plus I ain't got the smarts to pull it off.”
Mr. Beeba nodded his agreement. Gax and Poog nodded right along with him.
I was stunned. How could they be so calm about losing? The least they could do was be as angry as me.
“You & you guys don't even care, do
you?”
“I care. I care plenty.” Spuckler took my hand in his. “What I care about is how well we ran that race, 'Kiko. And we ran it better than all the rest of those lunkheads put together. Lots better.”
“Let me get this straight. You're saying & basically & that it's not whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game.”
Mr. Beeba beamed.
“That's a splendid way of putting it, Akiko. Is that one of your own?”
“It's how ya play the game,” repeated Spuckler. “That's right, you got the gist of it there, 'Kiko. So we never made it 'cross the finish line. We gave it our best shot, an' we had a darned good time. What's the big deal?”
I was speechless. Well, for a few seconds, anyway.
“You want to know what the big deal is? This is the big deal: I just went through the most terrifying Saturday in history.”
I was shaking with anger. I started pacing back and forth, chopping at the air as I tried to get the words out. “Trans-Moovulators! Asteroids! Black holes! The, the, the—”
“JAWS OF MCVLUDDAPUCK?”Gax offered.
“McVluddapuck? Try Mc-DEATH- apuck! I nearly got killed about seventeen times today, and, and, and, and I'm not going to let some cheater go home with my trophy!”
“But 'Kiko—”
“Don't try to calm me down!” I was stomping back and forth, throwing my arms all over the place. “Cheating's okay? What are you going to tell me next? Losing is cool? Losing is fun?”
Mr. Beeba coughed. “Well, it does have a certain noble quality to it, Akiko, you have to admit.”
“I don't have to admit anything!” I pointed a finger at Mr. Beeba that nearly touched his nose. “Losing is not cool! Or fun! Or noble! Losing stinks! Losing is & for losers!”
Everyone stared at me. They looked frightened.
There was a noise.
Outside.
Coming from the stands.
It sounded like a small group of spectators were shouting something in unison, some sort of cheer. More and more joined in each time they repeated the phrase. It grew louder and louder, clearer and clearer.
“The Rusty Sprocket,” said Mr. Beeba. “I'd almost forgotten.”
