Shackleton's Folly (The Lost Wonder Book 1) (17 page)

Alec pulled on his shorts and then grabbed his shirt. “It shouldn’t be much. I am usually pretty good about staying out of accidents.” He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped to the floor to put on his socks and shoes.

Electra stood looking down on Alec. “I have taken field medicine as part of my training. Do you have a kit of some kind?” She held out a hand for him to grab and helped pull him up. Dancer took a belt from his back compartment and handed it to Electra. She opened it and combed through it to see what it included. “Very good — anything else I need to know?”

Alec and Dancer looked at one another. “The race has few rules other than how to win. Depending on the competitors, there have been shootings in the past,” said Dancer.

“You’re joking,” came her reply.

“I am not,” said Dancer.

Alec turned, pulling up his shirt so she could see his lower back, and there was a patch of what could be described only as scar tissue from an energy weapon. “I was almost out of range when I was hit.”

“This is crazy; you cannot do this on your own.”

“Electra, I am it. We need the inscription piece O has for me,” said Alec. “Besides, I have been doing this for a long time. I’m not going to get hurt now.”

She stepped close and put her hand on his shoulder at the base of his neck, pulling him closer so she could whisper in his ear. “You had better not.” She let him go and walked a few steps away from him. “Where to?”

“Come with us, and I’ll show you.” Alec stuffed the last of his clothes into the bag and put it over his shoulder. They left the prep area. Alec said to Dancer, “O said my ride would be on the dock. We’ll see what it looks like.”

Dancer picked up the oar case, and the three left together.

*

They followed the corridor, which turned into a lower-ceilinged tunnel with a more rectangular profile, much wider than high. Warning panels blinked messages in languages unknown to Electra. Blue and red flashing lights stopped the group ahead of them in the tunnel; their crews were putting their feet in trays on the floor near the wall. Alec said, “We are entering a Non-Regulated Gravity Zone — and there is low gravity ahead.” He went over to one of the trays and, one foot at a time, stepped into the oozing material filling the bottom of the tray. “Come on. It’s temporary shoe goo that will keep you from floating off the ground.” Dancer had completed the process with his front legs and was working to get his back hooves. Electra followed the procedure and continued with Alec and Dancer.

The temporary low gravity boot material made their familiar squeaky sticky sound as they plodded along the tunnel. It returned them to the cavern approximately a kilometer and a half from the end, at a height of a hundred meters from the floor opposite the video wall. The artificial gravity did not extend this high, so the dock structures were easily cut from the wall. The area was hollowed out from the natural rock, and the dock area extended out into the open twenty meters. The side of the dock open to the cavern had slots cut into them for the boat launcher. The mechanism visible to those using the system was a structure similar to a crab’s claw, which, when opened, allowed the racing shell to be deposited into it; it sensed the user’s needs, resizing itself as it closed firmly around each end of the shell.

Alec looked for slot seven. They walked by an eight-rower crew, two four-rower boats, and a scull before he spotted slot seven. The launcher’s claw of slot seven was retracted with a single-rower flying scull. The boat itself was similar to the Earthly versions, with the addition of oars ending in fan-like bowls, the tail section of a plane, and short, stubby wings in the bow. The shell looked battered and ready for the scrap heap, but, on closer inspection, what looked like worn-out or corroded components were actually high-end units given the patina of faux damage. It was a high-end racer made to look like it was ready to fall apart. Alec put his bag down next to the shell. Electra inspected the lightweight shell frame, wondering how such a craft would hold up. She watched as the boat in the next dock readied for launch.

The 30-meter-long, flawless eight-rower boat was held tight in the dock’s claws, the crew and coxswain all in their seats. The oar fans moved slowly as the crew pulled and pushed the handles back and forth. The launcher pushed the boat up and out into the cavern at a 45-degree angle. As it neared the extent of its reach, the claws opened wide, giving the boat upward as well as outward momentum. The coxswain called out across the boat’s audio system for attention from the crew. They went to their rowing starting positions and waited for the command to start rowing. The boat was now too far away for Alec’s group to hear the coxswain; the crew started rowing, taking them down cavern.

There were a few boats on the course warming up. The course cameras zoomed in on the boats and crews. The video screen across the cavern filled with team and crewmember profiles and statistics. A group of alien sports announcers sat around a desk and made commentary about the crews and rowers being profiled. Previous race highlights were shown; with graphic overlays, course obstacles and crash hazards were shown.

Dancer put down the oar case and scanned the shell’s flight controls and seat sliding system, “This will be interesting.”

Alec reached inside the boat and tested the support structure with more than a few good tugs. Alec said, “Seems solid enough.” He inspected every element from bow to stern. Alec freed one foot and then the other from the floor, flipping himself into the shell. Alec slipped his feet into the foot stretchers and pulled the straps tight. He found the seat belt ends, latched it over his lap, and pulled the end, tightening it and securing himself to the seat. Alec tested the seat and track by pushing and pulling himself along it with his legs. The super magnets kept the back-and-forth action of the seat along the track frictionless.

Dancer handed Alec a clip-on communicator. “We are using an encrypted sub-space channel, so we won’t have a party line. Don’t want the neighbors listening in to us.” Dancer switched his unit on. “Testing, testing.”

Alec heard Dancer clearly through his earpiece. “Got it.”

Electra looked apprehensively at the sculling shell. The boat had “Piece of Pie” in Standard painted on it.

Electra asked, “Is it safe? It looks so fragile that it would fall to pieces with one good hit.” Electra considered the alternatives. Alec obviously knew what he was doing here. She watched the boats leave the dock, and, from what she could see, there wasn’t a lot of danger from the boats themselves.

Alec smiled reassuringly. “I certainly hope so.” Alec checked the seat and track by sliding back and forth a second time. Dancer held out a small energy weapon to Alec.

“No, not this time,” he shook his head. “If I just focus on the race, I’ll be okay,” Alec said.

“You said that last time, and, after the race, I had to rebuild your ear,” reminded Dancer.

Electra’s attention flew to Alec’s ear. She brushed back his hair, and, sure enough, it showed very subtle scarring. It had not been apparent before, but, now that it had been pointed out to her, she felt she should have seen it before.

Dancer tossed Alec a small toolkit with some replacement parts. Alec stowed it away, strapping the flat box to the forward hull. Alec replied, “Yes, yes you told me so, but what’s a burnt ear among friends?”

Electra’s concern could be seen on her face.

“It’s going to be fine, and we’ll be getting the next piece of the inscription,” he said, smiling confidently.

Electra’s hand went unconsciously to the knot of the headscarf, and she knew what she needed to do. She removed it from her head. She went to him and reached up with the knotted scarf to put it over his head. Electra did so but used the scarf now around his neck to bring him down to her. Electra kissed him fully, deeply, on the lips. Alec, strapped in, was afforded little leverage to take her in his arms. Electra stepped back. “Good luck.”

Dancer touched a control button near the claw structure. The launcher’s claw mechanism released its hold on the shell as it extended itself up and outward to float free. Alec started a slow rowing motion, but his mind was elsewhere.

Alec checked and adjusted the positions of the rearview mirrors on the gunnel rails on either side of the shell. They were a bit of a throwback technology Alec liked to use. He liked their simplicity, which meant they were less likely to fail — unlike the camera systems other rowers used.

The stroke Alec produced was a little rough at first, but it quickly evened out. Alec made it to the end of the racecourse and banked in a wide arc, ending with the shell facing down the racecourse set through the center of the cavern.

Alec readied himself in the starting position for his only race. The six large, bright-orange markers were placed at differing heights behind him, with each becoming progressively smaller.

He meditated upon the moment, clearing his head. Alec could still smell Electra’s perfume — if that were even possible. He adjusted the scarf so the knot was behind his neck. Alec took a breath — there it was again. He put the scarf to his face and inhaled deeply. It was her. She would be with him during the race. It was like the knights of old before the Tournament — he had found the most beautiful lady to beg favor from, and this was his lucky token. His focus had to be the completion of the race; he had to come in first place. That was the long and the short of the situation. He could conquer anything if he broke it down into small, manageable chunks. Alec cleared his mind, getting it into “the zone.” “The zone,” to him, was a focused mind state that gave him the ability to shrug off most setbacks and still win. Alec reflected back to a device he had on the
Quest
that helped train him to get into the zone. He relaxed, setting his mind into the zone: single purpose, single outcome, single expectation.

Alec hung floating by himself for ten minutes before another boat showed up. Then two more rowed into position, followed by the last two boats. The
Piece of Pie
and five other boats of different designs lined up at the starting line with the help of the race officials, wearing jetpacks. They moved in and out of the racing shells like bees amongst a field of wild flowers, unable to make up their collective minds as to the correct placement of the starting line. A laser curtain appeared from above, showing without a doubt where the start line was and who was out of place.

The Racing Official, a small brown amphibian creature, abruptly stopped its flight above the boats. The Racing Official received a communication through its bodphone device.

It examined the group of boats’ positions and the starting line. A small, remote media bot swooped in, using high-powered jets to move quickly and to hover at an acceptable distance to the race. Its large, high-definition digital optics, even at this distance, gave the viewer a perspective that was like being in the official’s back pocket. The Racing Official switched on his microphone connection to the racecourse’s public address system. “This is an unlimited race. Anything goes — first one to the finish line under your own power wins,” it growled.

The boats bobbed up and down as the rowers tried to keep in place. The cycling of air currents in the cavern was complex, to say the least, and the thermals on this end of the cavern were notorious. They smashed shells into the ceiling or the floor that got a little too light handed in their passage through the drafts.

The Racing Official nodded to his staff, “Starting commands will be, ‘Ready All — row!’ Energy weapons must be kept at low power settings — don’t want to fry an official instead of your target.” The Racing Official seemed to be looking down the cavern. “The course is now clear. We are ready to start. Rowers, to your starting positions!”

The six boats bobbed a little as the rowers shifted their mass within their craft moving to their starting positions.

“Ready All!” shouted the Racing Official.

A swarm of media bots flew in behind the racing sculls — one to follow each of them.

“
Row!
” commanded the Racing Official.

Dancer and Electra watched the race on a giant screen across the cavern from the dock. The screen had close-up shots of all the competitors. Alec was profiled as the oddball competitor with a history of losing here at Nowhere Downs. The bookies had him at pretty long odds of even finishing the race, much less of being in the top three.

*

One of the sculls bumped into the
Piece of Pie
. Alec rolled his scull over and disengaged from the other scull. There was some slight damage to the control systems of both sculls.

“Great job,” said Dancer from his communicator.

Alec slowed his pace to about 35 strokes a minute.

The tote board flashed into view on the video screen.

Dancer’s voice said, “Your close call was with a guy called ‘Narriseer.’ Stay out of his sights — he has five kills on his record.”

Alec stayed behind the other shells. He knew that half the battle in this race was just being able to finish at all. Two more of the boats bumped ahead of him, fouling equipment; they were not able to separate from each other.

The media bot of the racers Nooxoar and Yolzakall broadcast the live altercation. The oars had come out of the oarlocks quickly this time, and they were really going at it. The bloody head of Nooxoar roared with a primal scream as he brought down his oar across the back of Yolzakall’s neck, knocking him free of his shell. Nooxoar ended his rant by slamming his oar back into place and using some wire cutters, freeing him from Yolzakall’s shell. The media bots followed their respective rowers.

Alec overtook the crash site, leaving Yolzakall spinning slowly in space. His consistent rowing style gave him the upper hand in long races such as this.

Dancer’s voice came from his communicator. “Focus, Alec. You are doing fine. Up your pace a stroke.”

Narriseer spotted Alec’s shell in his rearview imaging system. His long, white muzzle and charcoal-black nose twisted in the air as he checked his monitors. The one-kilometer marker was coming close. He steered his shell so its course would run tight along the marker’s lower inside edge.