DRIVER MACH 1

by ÆGEON DAVIS

  It was heading straight for me!

  I sidestepped again and could see the moving entity change its direction and start barreling straight for me. The minutes felt like seconds as I observed the streak of motion scream through the air. It wasn’t touching the ground at all. Fucking hovercrafts are thing here?

  The hover thing was milliseconds away when I jumped towards the track just missing the soaring craft. My knees, elbows, and face dug into the sandy bits of plastic. Even my mouth took in some plastic bits, which tasted like what I’d expected: table salt.

  I spat, then stood up, trying to gain my bearings. I looked ahead toward the road where the crazy hover crafts were going, and I saw they disappeared behind a bend. Those things were fast. I looked to the TesLorean, now dead as a doornail. I would need to find some way to charge it and get the hell out of here.

  CRASH!

  I felt sudden pain shoot up from my legs. Before I could register the shock and scream like a baby, I was thrown in to the air. The strange world around me tumble in an instant. I flipped around one full revolution before I felt my body catch soft padding. I flailed my arms and legs up and was funneled into a hole—a driver’s cockpit.

  The vehicle swerved back and forth. I tried to look around, but my head was constrained. All around me, the garbage piles whipped by in a motion-blurred fury.

  “Get out of me!” screamed a voice that seemed to reverberate from under me.

  I squirmed like a headless chicken trying to pull myself from the awkward hole. After gaining enough leverage with my arms, I pulled myself up and managed to get my legs back under me. My waist and chest were pulled into the seat. Seatbelt harness straps shot over my torso, securing me to the car.

  Traveling at speeds I couldn’t comprehend at first, I sat in a cockpit. The chassis was open wheeled and aerodynamic, like an alien F-1 Indy Racer on acid. A steering wheel with six buttons on a center panel blinked to the tune of a livid female voice screaming what sounded like profanities. As I blasted at breakneck speeds, I felt the vehicle bob up and down as if we were skipping across water.

  My eyes could not adjust to the momentum, and I could see a fork in the road separated with stacks of trash. Grabbing the steering wheel, I yanked the vehicle to the right, barely avoiding the piles of garbage.

  The wheel yanked back the other way, but I fought the car with every bit of strength left in me. I nearly shit myself when the vehicle said, “Get out of me, asshole. Are you trying to drive us straight into the Scabian Valley!”

  “Scabian Valley?” I uttered out loud, letting go of the steering wheel.

  “Trixies, I am heading for Scabian Valley,” the woman’s voice pleaded from the dash. “I need your help.”

  We swerved hard from the Scabian Valley route to what was apparently the safer route, but the front wing flap, just on the front of the open wheel, clipped a trash stack. Thrown into the air, the screaming vehicle and I became weightless. We were thrown into the air.

  We hit the ground on the left wheel axle and I watched it give way, breaking off. Adrenaline flooded through my body, and I braced myself for a barrel roll.

  Our front hit the ground and I could hear the cracking of panels rip apart. The last hit spun us in a gyrating motion that made me feel like my intestines was coming up into my throat. My eyes became heavy just before I lost consciousness.

  I woke up, again feeling like I took a hammer to my skull after a heavy night of drinking. My ears rang for a minute before my attention shot to an ominous figure sitting against a wall in the back of the room. A single beam of light illuminated from the ceiling down on the center table. I could make out what looked like headphones, a distinct ponytail and soft shoulders just a under the large mirror and obscured in shadow. I assumed it was one of those two ways mirrors you would see in an interrogation rooms in a police station on earth.

  My wrists ached in pain. I jerked them away, but found them constrained and bolted to the wrought-iron table before me. As I tugged the chains, I checked for their strength and I saw the figure beyond the table stand up. The womanly form was striking. She was like a cross between Amber Heard and Abbie Cornish. My eyes met her curves that sloped into deep insets similar to a robotic humanoid. She limped into the harsh beam of light.

  I thought she was wearing some kind of exo-suit at first, but that assumption fled when I saw the paneling was a part of her body. The headphones I suspected she was wearing turned out to bonded to her head, covering her ears, and connected to a glass eye visor. Her soft, pearly-skinned face stressed features that seemed fitting on a swimsuit model. She had a set of perfect lips, eyes, and arching eyebrows. Taken aback by her beauty, I then gasped at the sight of her of robotic alien flesh.

  She was like a hot Transformer robot!

  She had full, pillowy breasts wedged between white, blocky panels that formed the nose of an F1 Indy car on her chest. Her shoulders had a set of wheels and met more panels that looked like a series of broken wing flaps accented in bright red and blue that jutted from out her frame. As I followed the aerodynamic paneling. contouring her soft abdomen, I eyed her thick legs inset with more blocky paneling. Her figure rivaled a Ms. Universe competition on Earth, I thought.

  “You fucked me,” she said.

  Fucked me. My mind went straight into the gutter, but snapped to respectful attention when she pointed with her blocky robotic fingers at her broken wing flap of a shoulder.

  “You caused all of this,” she said. “You idiot, human.”

  “You ran into me,” I exclaimed. “I even I tried to steer us to safety.”

  “Safety?” She balked. “All you did was try to send us into the Scabian Valley. Don’t you know that side path is full of Scabians trying to pick off racers from the hills?”

  Scabians? I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, but how in the hell was she speaking English.

  “Uh, sorry,” I said, shaking off any frustration I had from her belittling comments. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. How do you know how to speak English?”

  “I have a standard issued universal interpreter installed in my ear box, and I also have vocal cords,” she said pointing her headband that connected to her ears. “You know what I don’t have? A fucking foot. No thanks to a moron human like you.” she vented and pulled her her lower leg, which had a wheel attached to it, up to the table to show me her foot. What I thought would be a pretty set of toes, was in fact a smashed wheel well, accented with half a rear wing flap.

  “Whoa!” I exhaled in astonishment. “So you are a race car and an alien woman?”

  “My name is Spectra and I am a Xoian.”

  “Well, nice of you to run into me,” I said in a cringe-worthy joke. By her unaffected expression, I assumed it didn’t land. “My name is Lorean. What is a Xoian exactly?”

  “They brought me here from my home world to race in the CarTsar’s Intergalactic Gauntlet.”

  “Intergalactic Gauntlet?” I repeated back. Then I sighed and palmed my forehead. “Of course, it’s called ‘Intergalactic Gauntlet.’”

  What she had said made me nearly shit my pants, but I held what feces I had still in my gut and pressed on to get more information.

  “So, why are we in here?” I asked.

  “We are in here because you sabotaged the Trial Run and now you must face the Tsar,” she said matter-of-factly, leaning forward, which emphasized her already large cleavage. She raised an eyebrow before saying, “And I expect to be fully compensated.”

  The courtroom they brought me to was like nothing I had seen before. Gone were the judge, the onlooking defendant, and plaintiff desks . Substituted instead was a high pillar made from the same rusting metal material as the desk, which was illuminated from above by another harsh beam of light. All around me, blackness filled the ambiance save for Spectra standing on a wrought-iron column next to me.

  Lights around me began to flicker into existence, and several floating heads appeared that varied in alien r
aces from reptilian to robotic. It was like the god damn Republic Senate from the Star Wars prequels. One particular race had a brooding quality about it and spat like a camel every few moments.

  “Are you a Fixer or Driver?” a voice boomed over me.

  The words sounded like it was calling to the depths of my soul. I knew what I wanted. So I said, “I am a Driver.”

  A thunderous laughter swelled all around me. A visual clip of the events played before me like a flickering old projector. “Not with skills like that.”

  “She ran into me—” I tried to explain, but was interrupted.

  “You, human,” the expectorant creature said, hawking up another glob of spit. “You stand trial before the CarTsar for crimes against the Intergalactic Gauntlet of the Planet Cauldron.”

  “Hey, listen I don’t even know how I got here to this… planet?” I asked, holding back my every urge from telling this Turismo guy off. Sure, I had been a Fixer, but now I wanted to be a Driver.

  What sounded like a gavel knocking three times echoed throughout the chamber of bodiless faces. A bellowing voice made its way from the shadow ahead of me. Encrusted in its face with fine metallic pins revealed a pair of black eyes and red slits for pupils. The creature looked like some kind of reject from Hellraiser. “The garbage that breaks on our shores makes this competition possible, human. Processed it and sorted by the Scabians, we have abundant amounts of nurdle pellets to craft whatever we like.”

  “Well, hold my Clive Barker. Who the hell called Pinhead to the scene?” I cracked, letting my humor overcome what fear that beckoned inside me. The crowd gasped at my comment quicker than a Cenobite opening Pandora’s Box.

  “How dare you speak to me like that, human.” The spiny creature scoffed. “I am the CarTsar of Cauldron.”

  “CarTsar?” I repeated. “So, let me guess… you know what ‘cars are’?”

  “You fool,” Spectra said. “Shut your mouth, human, or you will get us all punished.”

  So, this Pinhead guy before me was the chap causing all the concern around here. My joking disposition changed to a more docile one once I realized the spiny creature was the head honcho. If I were to rile him up any more—I was sure by the looks of him—he would be the alien that drop me in some kind of bottomless pit.

  “So sorry, your honor,” I said, now looking at Spectra with a raised eyebrow. “What I meant was, please tell me what I am accused of.”

  “The court finds you responsible for sabotaging the Intergalactic Gauntlet Trial Run,” the CarTsar stated.

  “And damaging a contender for the Trial Run,” an alien woman said to my right.

  The CarTsar’s lacked any nose bone under those inky eyes and his skin was scaly yet looked soft. As he spoke, I noticed his teeth were sharp with two large incisors that jutted out.

  The floating heads erupted in laughter while Spectra’s pearly-white face was turning three shades raspberry. She narrowed her eyebrows and raised her hands.

  “Your honor, I am trying my best to advance to next pit, but I am hindered with this body you have provided me,” she said, pointing the wheels that hung from her shoulders. “My plastic paneling and open wheels are useless against the Iron Racers.”

  I imagined her petite Indy-like car frame racing against a hoard of metal-reinforced racers like some kind of Mad Max duel to the death. She had no chance with parts like that, no matter how sexy she was.

  “Then I shall sentence this human to fix the damage he has done,” the CarTsar ordered.

  “Sir, what makes you think he can?” Spectra argued. “He couldn’t keep me on the road when he fell into me.”

  “Don’t be silly, Spectra. A human hasn’t been able to contend in the Intergalactic Gauntlet for many cycles. Their minds are too weak,” the CarTsar confirmed. “Well, then I suppose this human can work the Recycle Factories of Scabia to earn enough Gel to compensate you. Weak human bodies do not last long in that kind of work. His demise will be inevitable.”

  “Well,” Spectra said, her tone fell softer and more caring than before. “All I want is to win, sir. Do what you must.”

  Demise? My eyes widened when I heard the CarTsar’s comment.

  I would be damned if I would take on another maintenance role, but I had no choice. I told myself I was done with the lying and pretending to be something I was not. Yeah, I wanted to drive, but I had caused this situation. And now I needed to use my repair knowledge to make it right. One last gig, I guess.

  “Your honor, all my life I’ve been working my way up from what you call a Fixer to a Driver. I have had many years tending to my father’s go-kart racers back home and I excel at it,” I said genuinely. “But recently I learned sometimes people use lies to tell the truth. And right now, my truth is that I am Fixer. If the defendant allows me to help her, I promise she will be a more comparable contender than she was… before she ran into me.”

  The crowd murmured around the chamber, and I looked at Spectra while she gave me a death glare. And if looks could kill, I would have been a dead man.

  “The contender is receiving positive opinion from the galactic media outlets in the outer rim,” mumbled a stunning alien woman’s floating head. “They like a good underdog.”

  “I do always fancy competition. So be it,” he said after a moment. Then, he continued, “We also found this intriguing vehicle. Tell me, what is this?” the CarTsar asked.

  He held his scaly hand out that manifested under his floating head. His fingers were untarnished and shiny as if wearing a metal gauntlet glove from medieval times. A hologram projected the TesLorean vehicle.

  “It’s a TesLorean,” I said.

  “Hmmm. Something is familiar about it,” the CarTsar admitted, inspecting the sleek car.

  “Sir, my team has no place for an impulsive human,” Spectra cut in. “We must have our Gel compensated now so we can continue our Trial Runs.”

  “Enough. Your team hasn’t won a race since you banded together twenty cycles ago,” the CarTsar spouted, rolling his eyes. “The human will repair your damage, and I will compensate you the ten Fuel Gels you would have received for competing, but you will receive nothing more.”

  “And what of my property?” I asked.

  “This vehicle will become my personal estate until you reimburse the defendant and make good on your promise,” the CarTsar said, motioning for the reptilian guard next to him. “Guard, issue this human a Visor with the Fixer abilities unlocked.”

  Visor? I tried to contain my grief of losing my car to an impound lot. The satisfaction of not being sentenced to death overshadowed the loss.

  Now, all I needed was to fix up the dazzling racing lady and get the hell of out here. Sure, it would be some work. And the rearranging female robotic car had it out for me, but I remembered what my Uncle Pete had showed me about myself. Sometimes people use lies to the truth. Perhaps this ‘Spectra’ had a hard shell with a soft center.

  6

  The Garage Pits

  The vehicle I rode in was a paddy wagon with an open window in the back. As we swayed up and down over the track that was now barren, the heaps of reused trash that acted as guard rails opened up to a sprawling sandy beach. The sand, or what I soon learned were called nurdles—fragments of recycled plastic—was dumped here creating beaches around islands.

  I could see hundreds of aliens laying in the nurdle sand trying to catch what light that could make it through the thick hazy atmosphere. It all reminded me of a soot-covered city in Thailand. The smog would plague Bangkok for weeks with pollution if the air was stagnant.

  As we turned another corner, I drew my eye to the right, away from the beach that climbed a volcanic mountain riddled with yellow chunks of sulfur that could rival Ijen the volcano itself. Jagged cliffs rose at its base and on its side, sweltering, muggy industry fortress smoked, which only added to the wretched air around.

  “Interesting,” I whispered. Lava meant this planet had a molten core of some sort. I leaned to the fr
ont wired window and asked the two guards, “Hey, what’s that place on the volcano side?”

  “It’s the CarTsar’s private smelting refinery,” the reptilian guard hissed. “Keep asking questions and you’ll end up there, human.” The two hissed out a laugh that rivaled a dead cat getting skinned. The sound sent a chill down my spine and I sat back down admiring the alien terrain.

  It wasn’t long until the paddy wagon slowed down and dipped into an underpass that opened to a single lane marked by numbers. I could see each one was a garage ‘Pit’ for each race team working on their automobiles. Various vehicles of all shapes and sizes were being outfitted by what looked to be their mechanics.

  As we passed a random Pit, I could have sworn I witnessed a naked woman laid out on a table while two assistants went to town on her insides, pulling mechanical parts out of the way like a half-ass Caesarian operation. The image was almost sickening, and I shook it from my head just as we stopped at the last pit.

  Gas fumes and warm oil filled my nose as if I was back in Chicago on an L train tunnel in the summer. Sounds of combustion engines firing at different timings filling the air like I was back on Earth at a drag race track. And even though I grown up in a place just like this, my father’s go-kart garage, the similar sensory overwhelmed me.

  Spectra, pulled up, and and revved her engine a few times as if to signal something. She then transformed. The front half of her split into a pair of legs while her rear end seemed to roll back as the center portion ‘stood up.’ Panels moved, revealing the fragile flesh she was half composed of. I watched her perfect ice-blue eyes and she pursed her lips in disappointment as the guards let me out of the wagon.

  “Who is this?” a female figure said from beyond the pit wall barrier. Her voice was hoarse and yet had a soft island drawl. Almost like a modern-day Leah Remini from the Caribbean islands.