Image by Smithsonian Institution via Flickr

Pit Stop

by

Mona Jean Reed

Joel could see it better now: a velvet blackness without stars, the Elphaxha nebula. The tiny input/output woven into his brain left an itch behind his right ear. His fans could see it too, through his eyes.

That itch let him know they were there, cheering him on, wanting to see more of this Elphaxha anomaly. He stroked the input/output lightly, just enough to cause a little static on their sets. His fans knew that was his way of letting them know he hadn’t forgotten them. Had to keep them coming back. They would enjoy this; bless ‘em.

He put the tip of his tongue on the roof of his mouth to engage the speak system to talk to them. “Folks, you know how much cross-galaxy racing means to me. Only thing I love more is my wife.

“I gotta tell you, I’ve made a mess of things this time. I have to do the only thing that could still make winning possible. The rules say I can go through Elphaxha or around it. If I go through, I shave a week off my time.”

The beautifully built Unaphore transcever he’d installed just before the race would take his words and fling them to the Echotephs that had been set in relay throughout the galaxy. Those devices would then route his message into the multitudes of star systems that contained members of the Astran Federation. The farthest from his racer would only receive his transmission thirty minutes after he said the words. He still had difficulty with that concept.

The itching grew intense. He had ‘em by the pads of their detachable I/Os. With a grin and a deep breath to calm his fluttering stomach, he added, “Old timers said there were time-loops and that fabled space beasts lived in there. I’ve heard rumors of thieves and renegades and I know that eight of the last ten ships that went in didn’t come out.”

Joel wondered, was he really crazy enough to actually do this stunt?