Helium3 - 1 Crater Page 5

  Crater took a deep breath and when he let it out, he knew Asteroid Al was right. He was going to have to race, but he also knew he was surely going to lose and also wreck the Comet, strewing pieces of it—and probably himself—all over the track. Still, with his heart thudding in his ears, he reached over and flicked the switch for the fuel cell stirrers that, after a few seconds of chugging, purred to life.

  Asteroid Al patted Crater’s back encouragingly. “Watch that Neroburg car. You see that big knobby rear end it’s got?”

  Crater had seen it but he didn’t know what it was for, although he supposed it had some function having to do with the fuel cells. Asteroid Al soon rid him of that idea. “It’s to whack you, Crater. That rear end is a hammer as sure as I’m standing here. Watch out for it.”

  “But that would be cheating,” Crater said.

  “No rule I know against it,” Asteroid Al replied.

  “But it’s not right.”

  Asteroid Al smiled a sad smile. “Son, doing right to fellows like those Neroburg louts just means what they can get away with.” When Crater looked confused, he added, “Not all people are as kind and honest as you are. Very few, in fact. I’m sorry about that but it doesn’t change anything. Put that goodness and kindness away for just a little while and win this race!”

  Crater nodded uncertainly, then drove into position. By the draw, he was on the outside of the second line, each line consisting of four fastbugs. There were ten fastbugs in all, the third line containing two racers. Six of them came from Moontown, three from the Russian territories, and Neroburg’s entry named Flashinpan. Besides the odd tail, Crater had observed Flashinpan had twin fuel cells and a beefed-up lunasteel alloy transmission. It was sure to be not only fast but rugged. Flashinpan’s driver, Trace Farley, also had the reputation of being a hotshot driver, a cocky win-or-burn type.

  Crater gripped the steering wheel and waited for the signal for the race to begin. The Czarina counted backward from ten. The gillie, picking up her transmission, mimicked her perfectly. When she reached zero, Crater waited a split second for the fastbug in front of him to move, then jammed the accelerator to the floor, swerved through a small gap just barely large enough for him to slip through, and swept into the front rank. It was a move Petro liked to use in a crowded field, and Crater had copied it perfectly.

  Racing in the moon’s light gravity, and on the special courses with their ramps and turns designed to send the fastbugs into the air—or to be more accurate, the vacuum— demanded a set of skills and knowledge no Earthian race driver had ever needed to learn. One of them was a working knowledge of the physics of rotational vectors, which described how a rotating wheel created a force at right angles to the plane of the wheel. This meant by selecting a wheel on a fastbug and spinning it up during flight, drivers could cause the car to rotate while flying. Since ramps were often set up just before a turn, novice drivers often oversteered upon landing and flipped over. An experienced driver, however, could rotate his bug in the direction of the track and land in the right direction with all wheels spinning for maximum traction. It was a tricky maneuver and it didn’t always work, but Crater had at least practiced it. The puters aboard the fastbugs were designed to tell drivers when and how to spin up. That would be the gillie’s job for Crater.

  The second turn saw one of the Moontown fastbugs plow off course and into a crater field where it flipped over, the driver quickly dragged away by the rescue crew. The first ramp loomed and Crater didn’t have time to think about anything but hitting it straight on. Comet and Flashinpan reached it at the same time with two other fastbugs close behind. One of the Russian fastbugs ran off the rails of the ramp, dropped over the edge, and rolled over. Comet reached the end of the ramp and started flying.

  Coming off a ramp in a fastbug at maximum acceleration was pure adrenaline. There was no turn, just a long straightaway, and when they landed, Comet and Flashinpan were neck and neck. There were only six fastbugs left, the other drivers taken away in ambulances from their badly bent racers.

  Crater jammed the accelerator pedal down, aiming for the next ramp, but just as Comet reached the base of the ramp, Flashinpan turned sharply inward. Crater veered away, steering into the ramp at an angle and launching away from the track.

  The gillie advised: Spin front and rear right wheels. Now.

  Crater spun up the wheels. Comet landed hard and Crater had to dodge another fastbug coming apart in big chunks beside him, but he emerged from the dust to find himself just yards behind Flashinpan and the remaining cars. They hit the next ramp, and Crater saw Farley spin up his wheels so the tail of the Flashinpan whipped around and struck the nearest fastbug, causing it to go into a roll from which there was no recovery. It crashed, came apart, and flipped into a deep crater.

  The next part of the track was a series of dips and turns. Two fastbugs crashed through the barriers, rolling end over end.

  Another sailed off into the dust. Only Comet and Flashinpan were left. Crater jammed down the accelerator, caught the Neroburg racer at the next ramp, and up they went side by side.

  Flashinpan spinning up, the gillie warned, and Crater glanced over his shoulder and saw the deadly tail whipping in his direction.

  Spin up. Left wheels both.

  Crater spun up as advised and dodged Flashinpan’s tail.

  When the two fastbugs landed, Crater zipped into the lead and streaked for the final series of turns, one of which went down into a deep crater with a collapsed rim that was a natural ramp. He kept the pedal to the floor and Comet flew up the slope of the crater.

  Spin up. Right wheels both! The gillie nattered but Crater ignored it. Comet was flying straight and true so why change anything? At the apogee of the arc, he looked around and could not see Flashinpan. Crater thought he’d left it behind even though the gillie kept whining at him. Spin up right wheels!

  Spin up, spin up, spin up!

  Crater finally relented and spun up, although he was certain the gillie was wrong. But the gillie wasn’t wrong. The knobby tail of Flashinpan came down hard and missed Comet by inches. It had been above Crater all the time.

  Since it had missed its target, Flashinpan began to tumble, and Crater spun up again to get out of its way. As the two fastbugs landed, Flashinpan hit hard and began to break apart.

  Comet landed hard too, and Crater nearly lost it, but he spun up all wheels, gritted his teeth, held on, and, somehow, out of a spray of dust, sped straight and true, flashing across the finish line.

  It was the most amazing thing. The checkered flag was waving for him. Crater had raced the race and he had won.

  Nobody was more surprised than he.

  :::

  SIX

  Though Farley was alive and his biolastic suit intact, he needed to be pried out of Neroburg’s mangled fastbug. Crater ran over to see if he could help but was brusquely shooed away by the Neroburg pit crew. Shaken, still not quite believing he’d won the race, he entered the dustlock to doff his BCP suit and put on his tube clothes. That was where Petro showed up. “Congratulations, brother,” he said. Though he was smiling, he didn’t sound entirely happy about it.

  “Are you okay, Petro?” Crater asked. “When you didn’t come, I thought you must be sick.”

  Petro shrugged. “As you can see, I’m perfectly healthy. Watched the whole thing from the stands.”

  “You were here? Then why didn’t you drive?”

  Before Petro could answer, the sheriff briefly pushed his head through the hatch into the dustlock. “Get on up to the Colonel’s box,” he said. “Your trophy awaits.”

  Crater headed for the hatch, but then a sudden truth popped into his head. He stopped and turned back to face Petro. “You bet against me.”

  “Sure I did,” Petro replied. “There was no way you were going to beat that Neroburg fastbug, not with that knobby hammer on its back. I figured to make a lot of money. Guess I got fooled.”

  Petro’s bank account as of one point seven s
econds ago is zero point zero zero, the gillie said.

  “You see?”

  “You bet against me,” Crater said again in disbelief.

  Summoning up a twisted smile, Petro shrugged. “Come on. It’s not the end of the moon. So I bet against you. So I lost money. You should be happy.”

  “How can I be happy that you think so little of me?”

  “What’s your beef? I’m the one who lost money.” He put his arm around Crater’s shoulder, making the gillie dodge out of the way. “Forget it. Let’s get your trophy.”

  “Stay away from me.”

  Crater pushed Petro’s arm away and headed to the Colonel’s box. Though he felt no sense of victory at all, it would have been impolite not to go. Petro shook his head, shrugged, then followed.

  To get to the Colonel’s box required going along the common corridor, down another set of tubeways, and then up a series of stairs. When Crater entered the box, the Colonel was sitting in an ornate chair with Czarina Zorna perched on a throne at his side. Standing and talking into a do4u while looking grim was General Nero. The Czarina looked up from the crystal flute glass from which she was sipping wine. Crater started to say who he was but before he could, Petro stepped up beside him. “Your majesty,” Petro said and bowed, pulling Crater down. “It’s royalty, you rube,” he hissed.

  The Colonel smiled as the boys straightened up. “Our conquering heroes,” he said, snapping his fingers toward a servant. “Let’s have our little ceremony, eh?”

  The servant handed the Colonel the trophy, a mooncrete cup painted gold. The Colonel handed it to Petro. “Well done, my boy.”

  Czarina Zorna added, “You were a brave driver. I salute you.”

  “Crater drove,” Petro said, gesturing toward Crater. “Of course, I taught him everything he knows.”

  “Petro has won the cup for the last two years,” the Colonel said.

  Petro passed the cup to Crater. He had worked up a little speech and began, “It was a hard race but—”

  “Perhaps you have heard of me in a different manner, your highness,” Petro interrupted. “My mum is the queen mother of the late United Kingdom. I am the Prince of Wales, Earl of Chester, Duke of Cornwall, Duke of Rothesay, Earl of Carrick, Baron of Renfrew, Lord of the Isles, and Great Steward of Scotland.”

  Crater began again. “It was a hard race but—”

  Colonel Medaris interrupted this time. “So Q-Bess says of the boy. It could be true, for all I know.”

  Crater opened his mouth, then shut it, recognizing his moment had passed.

  Czarina Zorna inspected Petro. “Intriguing, yet your name sounds Greek.”

  “It is an acronym, your majesty. My given names are Philip Earl Thomas Reginald Osgood. First letters put together, you get Petro. Coincidentally, it means rock in Greek and serves me well. As you know, royalty must oft be anonymous in these days. I am beyond pleased you are an exception.”

  A tall, sturdy, and stern-faced man came forward wearing a green tunic and an elk sticker on his belt. He also wore several military medals that Crater recognized were for bravery under fire. “Twice a winner of this race and a fastbug instructor, eh?” he said to Petro. “I don’t care about this prince stuff, son, but if you ever want a job, I could use a fastbug scout.”

  “Captain Jake Teller,” the Colonel introduced. “Convoy commander.”

  “Appreciate the offer, sir,” Petro said with a disarming smile, “but I’ve got my eye on bigger paydays.”

  At the Colonel’s beckon, a young woman rose from a chair and stepped forward. Crater was instantly transfixed by this slim girl with long ebony hair who wore a faux leather suit that hid scarcely a curve of her young body. His mouth went dry, his knees trembled, and his heart thudded in his ears.

  This was confusing, as these were the exact symptoms he had when he was scared.

  “Maria,” the Colonel said, “this is Petro and, um, Crater, our winning fastbug team. Boys, meet my granddaughter Maria. She’s named for the mares, that is to say, the seas of the moon, and is as lovely as all of them put together.”

  Crater could not argue with the Colonel’s proud introduction of his amber-eyed granddaughter. Impetuously, he stepped in front of Petro, handing off the trophy cup to the older boy as he did, and eagerly put out his hand. “G-g-good to meetcha!” he blurted, then cringed. He surely sounded like an idiot.

  The girl seemed amused as she shook his hand—hers was cool and dry while he knew his had surely turned clammy— and then shook Petro’s hand. “I think you ran a noble race,” she said, before noticing the gillie on Crater’s shoulder. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a gillie,” Crater answered, pleased that he’d done so without stuttering.

  The gillie preened and tried on a number of colors, settling on a soft green. Crater said, “Stop it,” and the gillie shifted back to being gray. “It gets above itself sometimes,” he apologized.

  “Personally, I’m enchanted,” Maria replied, then reached out to touch the gillie, which shied away.

  “It doesn’t like to be touched,” Crater said.

  “Gillies are illegal,” General Nero said, snapping shut his do4u.

  “It knows that, sir,” Crater answered.

  “Illegal everywhere in the world, it’s true,” the Colonel said, “but I decided to let Crater keep his gillie. It was the only artifact of his biological parents.”

  “He is an orphan?” the Czarina clucked. “We do not allow orphans in New St. Petersburg. They are not productive.”

  Colonel Medaris shrugged, then waved Petro and Crater away. “Toddle off, boys. And thanks again for maintaining the honor of Moontown over those Neroburg ruffians.” General Nero, back on his do4u, shook his fist in mock outrage. The Colonel laughed.

  Crater wanted to say something else to Maria but he didn’t know what, and before he could open his mouth, Petro handed the infernal trophy back to him and took her arm and steered her away. “How would you like to go to the Earthrise tonight?” he asked her. “I have a band and we’re playing there. I’ll make sure you have a table up front.”

  “I will have to check my calendar,” Maria replied, smiling.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Petro said, then added out of the corner of his mouth, “Crater, tell the gillie to make it so.”

  Crater didn’t like that Petro had taken Maria by her arm, nor did he like that he’d asked her out, nor did he like he’d called the band his. It wasn’t his, not even nearly, but, as always, Crater was quick to forgive Petro.

  Without Crater telling it to, the gillie made the call. Within seconds, it said, Earthrise puter confirms table for Maria Medaris.

  “That gillie is handy,” Maria said. “How much for it?”

  “It’s yours for a kiss,” Petro grandly replied.

  She peered around his shoulders at Crater. “Since it belongs to Crater, shouldn’t he get the kiss?” Crater blushed and the gillie turned pink to match.

  Petro chuckled. “Crater’s too shy and, anyway, he’s just a child—so I’ll collect your kiss for him.”

  “Well, no kiss for you today, nor tomorrow, nor perhaps ever,” she answered, her smile turning coy. “Unless I decide it should be so. Now, go away. I’m told there’s to be a parade and I want to watch it.”

  Petro made a little bow, then ambled off while Crater stumbled along behind. Crater had won the race, yet Petro had still received the glory. And the girl too! All he’d gotten was an ugly mooncrete trophy cup. At the bottom of the steps, Petro said, “That’s a great girl, Crater. I’ll get her to kiss me tonight— don’t think I won’t.”

  “I was talking to her,” Crater said, “and you interrupted me.”

  “So? You think she’s ever going to kiss you?”

  “Why not?”

  Petro chuckled. “Crater, you know nothing about women.

  In the first place, they’re attracted to men with a future. You’re a scragline picker and that’s all you’re ever going to be. But
you heard what I told that convoy cruiser. She heard it too.

  Although I’ve lost my throne, I’m still destined for bigger things.”

  “But you could see I liked her. You’re my brother.”

  “Not really,” Petro replied. “We live in the same tube and Q-Bess is my mum and your guardian. Otherwise, there’s not a thing that makes us brothers.”

  A lump formed in Crater’s throat and tears filled his eyes, but no words came to him. He turned and walked away. Petro called after him. “What’s your problem, anyway?” When Crater kept walking, Petro hurried after him and put his hand on Crater’s shoulder. “Hey, I was just joking.”

  Crater brushed Petro’s hand away. “No, you weren’t.”

  “You’re too sensitive, Crater. Toughen up!”

  Crater didn’t reply but took his trophy cup and threw it against the tube wall, whereupon it shattered into a dozen pieces. He stared at the shards on the deck, then knelt and picked them up, lest anyone think he wasn’t grateful for the honor. Carrying the mooncrete chunks and flushed with anger and embarrassment, he walked away, wishing he could keep going and never look back. Life was suddenly very dark.

  Back in the viewing box, the sheriff approached the Colonel. “So that’s your boy, Sheriff?” the Colonel demanded.

  “Indeed, sir.”

  “Is he naive?”

  “Completely.”

  “Not too dumb?”

  “He’s actually a brilliant lad. Knows a dozen languages and is a fair engineer.”

  “Brave?”

  “Braver than a squad of generals.”

  “Loyal?”

  “No one is more loyal to you than he.”

  “The other boy? Our royal pretender?”

  “Not right, sir. It’s Crater you’re needing.”

  “Well done, Sheriff.”

  “Thank you, sir. Anything else?”

  The Colonel turned back to his guests and waved his hand.

  The sheriff was dismissed. Another problem solved.

  :::

  SEVEN