Unexpected Alliances
Another Speed Racer Fanfic by "Freddo"
Chapter Three "Back to the Alps (Part Two)"
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First…we have to deal with the usual copyrights and credits...etc….
Speed Racer is (c) 2008 by Speed Racer Enterprises… I don't own this property...Freddo
Second: This is a sequel to Attack and Counterattack, but, I can't guarantee we're staying in Speed's universe after all, although we do, for this chapter (I think...or do we?)…
Finally, thanks to GoldAngel and Oriana for the great reviews! And this thing continues to grow...and mutate...Freddo
I. RACE TIME
Friday, November 4, 1971
West Germany
Near Seyer on the Rhine
The Hockenheimring Motorway
1100 Hours (Local Time)
Go Team was busy in the pits at the Hockenheimring Racetrack where the Second Alpine Race was about to begin. The Hockenheimring was a distance up the Rhine River in West Germany. It was a long-standing raceway of 6.8 kilometers built in 1932 and enlarged several times. Speed had raced there several times, in both the Mach Five and the Mach Five Formula One. The last time that Go Team had been there had been in the Rhineland Race just before Speed had been drafted. So, ironically, Speed was restarting his career at the same circuit he had last raced the Mach Five at.
"I don't like this, Trixie," said Sparky as he checked the Mach Five's brakes again as it was up on its autojacks.
"Sparky, thanks for your concern, but we're decided," said Trixie Racer. "I'm going with Speed on this race as navigator. You and Janine are in the helicopter spotting. And that's final!"
"Where's Speed?" said Sparky. "We start in half an hour."
"He's checking over the map. It's pretty complex, and it's quite a drive to the first checkpoint in Switzerland."
"That's around Schaffhausen, isn't it?"
Trixie nodded. "Believe me, I know this course better than you do, Sparky. It's not that bad starting out. Ten laps around this track for the spectators, and then out onto the main Autobahn heading south down the Rhine and into Schwarzwald. We should reach Schaffhausen in Switzerland by late in the afternoon. Then, the fun really begins. We head south to Zurich, then pass Lake Zug, and Lake Lucerne, and then start passing into the foothills of the Swiss Alps in the night. Then, we have the race in the night around Altdorf, and head east to Unterschachen..where…"
"It really begins to get treacherous," said Speed as he finished drinking some water as he came up with his own map.
"Speed!" said Trixie. She gave him a hug, which he returned.
"We were talking about the course, Sparky and I," said Trixie.
"Yeah? And how you probably ain't gonna live?" said Snake Oiler as he came in, laughing like crazy while carrying his familiar Car Acrobatic Team striped helmet.
"You?" snapped Speed.
"Remember me, chicken?" laughed Snake. "Too bad ya lost your edge when you got drafted, Speed! This time, I'm leading my team!"
"I was serving my country," snapped Speed. "I don't know what you were doing then, Snake?"
"I was having fun," sneered Snake. "Too bad I couldn't have been with your lovely wife then, Speed!"
"I wouldn't want you if you were the last man on Earth, Snake!" huffed Trixie. "Hmph!"
"Little spitfire, ain'tcha?" laughed Snake. "What's she doin', Speed? Makin' ya cold milk and cookies? When did you develop that stupid habit of having cold milk after a race?"
"It's a tradition to remember his brother, Rex," said Pops as he came up swinging a large wrench. "And, as for his wife, she's navigating for him. And who invited you here, anyway, Snake?"
"I did," sneered Snake. "I wanted to give Speed a friendly warning."
"Which is?"
"If you value your life, quit this race," said Snake. "I plan to win it. Everyone else is gonna meet their Maker up in the Alps. If you don't wanna make Trixie a widow, just check your name off the IRC list, chicken. And go home and make babies with her until you and I have a little friendly race again next year at Oschersleben. There, I'll make you look stupid. But I won't have to kill ya, Racer. Got it?"
"I'm not afraid of you," snapped Speed. He almost wanted to punch out Snake until someone else stepped in between them.
He had on a white firesuit; and a black mask.
"Racer X!" said Speed.
"Glad to see you here," said Racer X. "But, Speed, listen to me."
"What?" said Speed.
"For once, Snake Oiler and I agree on something," said Racer X as he put his arm around Speed and led him away from the sneering figure of Snake. "Leave the race."
"Why?" snapped Speed. "So you can win it, Racer X?"
"Yes," said Racer X with a grim smile. "I also have something to report to you and Pops," he said. "A friend of mine and I have been doing some investigative work," said Racer X. "Snake is a danger to himself and everyone else in this race. His father put him up to something." Racer X paused and said, "Snake should be disqualified right here and now. We're trying to convince the IRC of that. We found evidence, my friend and I, that Snake is intoxicated on Aqueous V-Gas."
"What the…?" said Pops. "Racer X, that means he's half-insane? But why is he on that devil's brew that Oriana invented?"
"The Car Acrobatic Team made a little purchase," said Racer X in a low voice. "Pops, Speed, that madman dug up and purchased the GRX."
"What?" said Pops. "That engine from hell? It's here?"
Racer X nodded. "The race is too dangerous for Speed and Trixie to be in. I think you should withdraw their names."
"I think not," retorted Speed.
"It might be better if you withdrew them," said a youngish man who spoke in a slight Scottish burr.
"Who are you?" said Pops as he turned around. He and Speed looked at a rather unassuming but eccentric-looking young man with dark brown hair who wore a long fawn-colored overcoat, dark brown pinstriped suit, and white sneakers?
"Doctor John Smith, special IRC inspector at large," snapped the young man as he held up a credentials book that apparently presented to Pops and Speed an IRC commission and badge. Of course, it was a blank book with psychic paper, but the Time Lord didn't need to let anyone (but Rose Tyler) know that.
"Wait a minute," said Pops as he looked suspiciously at Doctor Smith. "I heard a little about you on the BBC. Isn't it true that whenever you show up, lots of people die for no reason at all?"
"They said the same thing about me, too," said Racer X.
Speed glared at the young man, feeling a shiver going dowm his spine as he remembered. I've met him before, he thought. He feels very familiar. But when? Was it that time, around that one race they say I missed because I had a fever? I had these weird…fever dreams…
Then, conflicting images went through Speed's head…
An image of a pyramid in the jungle…
An image of some bearded, laughing madman dragging Trixie around…
Memories of being on a ship…but a ship high in orbit above Earth, as he and Trixie danced with another young couple…
An image of an older man with curly white hair and a dramatic opera cloak…
…and an image of a blue box…
"Blue Box?" mumbled Speed.
"Speed?" said Trixie. She looked hard at the young man in the brown suit. "Who are you?"
"A friend," he snapped. "Oh, by the way, he may need rest. He was talking about a blue box. IRC inspectors don't have blue boxes. Good day."
At that, the young man and Racer X turned and went back to their own pits.
"This is weird," said Sparky.
"I'm not quitting this race," snapped Speed.
"Suit yourself," said Snake as he threw a chicken bone in Speed's direction. "Well, at least they won't write 'CHICKEN' on your tombstone! I'll grant ya that much!"
"That son-of-a.." muttered Speed as he went to follow.
"Speed," said Pops. "Save it for the race. That is, if you won't take Rex's advice," he whispered.
"You know?" whispered Speed.
Pops nodded. "Long story. If you and Trixie are bound and determined to go…better get ready. Starting time is in fifteen minutes…"
II. FIRST ROW
Friday, November 4, 1971
West Germany
Near Seyer on the Rhine
The Hockenheimring Motoway
1130 Hours (Local Time)
Speed and Trixie were in the Mach Five, which sat in the first row before the starting line at the Hockenheimring. Speed and Trixie did not make the pole position, but, beside them sat, on one side, Racer X and the Shooting Star, and on the other side, there sat Snake's Number 13, a sleek black and gold car with bizarre ace-of-spades markings called The Deathcard.
At the moment, Doctor "Smith" and two other IRC judges had The Deathcard's hood up and were looking over the rebuilt GRX and some of the bizarre accessories crammed under the hood around the cursed engine.
"I tell you," said the Doctor. "I know what I am talking about! That thing connected to the crankcase by the left valve cover is a tachyonic ram device! There are issues involved in letting something with a high potential electromotive radiation force in this race!"
"It looks like a smog control air pump from a '69 Camaro," said the other judge. "Look, sir, I can even read the GM serial number on it!"
"Like bollocks!" said the Doctor as he ran a weird analysis device over it. "It's sucking in neutrinos even now! I don't know what sort of maniac is sucking neutrinos into a petrol engine, but…"
Snake smiled and said. "Ya see? I am very environmentally conscious. It's been rebuilt to '69 California specs for pollutants. This is gonna be the cleanest car in the whole race."
"We have three minutes to starting time," said one of the other judges. "I outrank you, Special Inspector," said the judge, namely, Olde Codger. "I see nothing here inconsistent with IRC minimum standards. It's rather gallant that Oiler has given himself a six-horsepower power penalty and a two hundred kilogram weight penalty by adding conventional GM emissions equipment to his engine. And that is a normal fuel diverter valve. More Camaro smog equipment."
"Fuel diverter valve?" snapped the Doctor. "It just looks like one! It's really a supercharger metering valve. Legal under the Shadow Proclamation and also under the Terran/R'Khell Non-Aggression Treaty of 2212, but I'll be damned if we let that thing go into a race car!"
"Doctor Smith," said Olde Codger. "I think you've been out in the sun too long," said the old man. "Turgison, mark off Oiler's car as "approved" and let's proceed with the race."
The other judge nodded as Codger escorted the shouting Doctor off the track and said as he slammed down his hood and checked off a mark on a clipboard, "You're cleared to race, Mister Oiler. Sorry about the delay."
"Thanks," said Snake. "Maybe you should check the Mach Five. I think Racer has an illegal supercharger duct in that engine," said Snake with a crazed grin.
"We checked the Mach Five forty-five minutes ago at the same time we inspected High Octane's car," snapped Turgison. "He's just as clear as you are, Oiler. Nice try, though, lad. You'll have to beat him in the race."
Snake gritted his teeth as he then turned to his navigator, a girl all in black named Penny Laine. The mysterious blond-haired beauty from Britain in her black firesuit and helmet and pink scarf was Snake's newest girl, a woman he had inducted as an apprentice Car Acrobat against his father's objections. Snake had met Penny while they had both been on trial in Canada for fixing a race in 1970, and Snake's shady lawyer and Penny's shyster lawyer (both lawyers currently had their Bar licenses under a one-year suspension) had joined their cases and put the two of them together. Snake and Penny were not married, but Penny had been in Snake's bed several times.
"Well, my darling Cobra," said Penny as she seductuively patted Snake's hand. "I think we're ready for our agenda. I see most of your other Acrobats have navigators…"
"None as sexy as you," said Snake.
"I bloody hope not," she said in a pouty Cockney voice. "You don't know how many other racers and rock icons I've had…Guts Wheeler…"
"A chicken," sneered Snake. "I made him look so stupid before the First Alpine Race."
"Tim MacPherson, Mick Jagger, Eric Burdon, Elvis, Paul McCartney, Zoomer Slick…"
"You've got the morals of a randy cat," purred Snake.
"Why, thank you," said Penny. "I wanted Speed before I wanted you, by the way. But she got in the bloody way," said Penny as she pointed a finger at Trixie's head and pretended she was shooting her.
"Don't give it away yet," whispered Snake. "Save the Walther PPK for if we really have to use it. Although I kinda don't wanna. I really don't want Racer dead."
"Why not?" purred Penny.
"He's too much fun to make fun of," laughed Snake. "Way too moral for me, though. I always like it when I cause trouble and make him look stupid!"
Snake and Penny laughed at that. These two were made for each other…a serpent and a minx.
The announcer said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, the Alpine Race is about to begin once again in two minutes! Drivers, make all final preparations!"
To the right of the Mach Five, Racer X had taken his place behind the wheel. He reluctantly nodded at Speed, who gave him a thumbs-up in return.
"Aaaaaaa," hissed Snake as he watched Speed from his left. "I wanna give him another kind of salute, Penny!"
"Does it involve that middle finger?" purred Penny.
"Yeah, so what?"
"Better not," she purred. "The judges are watching us. Do you, Race Captain of the Car Acrobatic Team, want to get us disqualified for unsportsmanlike conduct?"
"Only if they ain't watchin!" snapped Snake.
Beside Snake's car sat a car with the number 43 in British Racing Green that made Speed take notice.
"Trixie, look at that driver! He doesn't have a navigator; like Racer X…"
"Racer X never uses a navigator," said Trixie. "Who is he?"
Speed looked hard at the other racer. He had on a dark green helmet that bore a white rose, and, as he adjusted the helmet faceplate and flipped it up, Speed suddenly figured out who it was.
"Trixie! My God! I knew him from Vietnam! How did he end up racing, much less with the Abrogado Team?"
"Who?" whispered Trixie.
"Trixie, that's Lieutenant Dave Forrester! My platoon leader from Vietnam!" Speed flicked his eyes in disbelief at the young man. Yes, it was the same young man, with his rather interesting, thoughtful face, dark brown eyes, fine nose, and wire-rimmed granny glasses. A bit of his honey blonde hair stuck out of his green helmet. "What's he doing here? I thought he was still in the Army!"
"Apparently, he's not," said Trixie.
"One minute to race time!" snapped the announcer. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, START YOUR ENGINES!"
"Enough philosophizing, time to race," muttered Speed. He turned the key and started the Mach Five. Its twelve-cylinder engine started, kicked in, and began to purr as if it had never left the racetrack. It was 1969 again, and Vietnam and those two years were now a distant memory for Speed.
A girl in a one-piece swimsuit, feathered headdress, and high-heeled sandals got up on a platform, waved, and stood with the checkered flag at her side, furled, smiling as powerful race-car engines accelerated and howled all around her.
"THIRTY SECONDS TO START!" snapped the announcer.
The first yellow light flickered to life at the top of the Christmas Tree light standard near the pole.
"There's going to be one heck of a mixup when we start, Speed," said Trixie.
"I'm going to make sure I'm one of the first ones off the line," replied Speed as he revved the Mach Five's engine with his right foot. His left stood ready to punch in the clutch, and his right hand sat waiting on the gearshift.
"FIFTEEN SECONDS TO START!" snapped the announcer.
The Christmas Tree lights began to count down from Fifteen with a loud beep for each light.
"I got Racer in the bag," muttered Snake as he prepared to downshift himself as he prepared to snap his steering wheel just a little to the right…
The lights counted down. 10…9…8..7…6…
When they reached One, the green light then went off, and the swimsuit-clad girl waved the checkered flag from her platform.
Speed punched the clutch, shifted down to First, and expertly gave gas to the Mach Five.
He was off a moment later, racing along as everything turned into a blur around him as the Mach Five's speedometer and tach burst to life. Second at redline, Third at redline again a moment later as the Mach Five gathered speed and began to roar towards the first turn with no one near him while the crowd cheered.
Cars bunched behind the Mach Five a moment later. Trixie caught a laughing face in the rear view mirror.
"Speed! Watch out for Snake! He's trying something dirty!"
"Not if I can damn well help it," snapped Speed as he heel and toe shifted down into Second for a sharp turn, and then kicked back into Third and Fourth for the first long straightway.
Nudge of the brake, and them Snake was neck and neck with Speed, laughing as he shot Speed a vile middle finger. "Heyyyyy RAAAACER!" he yelled over the roar of the engines. "Anthrax just took out Stan Parsons!" he screamed as Speed saw the fireball of an exploding car in his rear view mirror. "Now it's your turn, SHITFACE!"
The New GRX screeched insanely as he tried to bash Speed into the wall early, hopefully wrecking the Mach Five's front end beyond easy repair as the two cars slammed into each other, screeching together with a show of sparks and squeal of grinding metal.
Speed heard the crowd groaning at that.
Up in the stands, Mom Racer dropped her field glasses. "Pops! Speed's in trouble!"
"Oh, great!" muttered Pops. "Just in the first lap, too! That Snake Oiler is insane! What's that jackass trying to do, kill everyone?"
"Where's Spritle and Chim-Chim?" said Mom. "I haven't seen them since we left them in the pits!"
"Sparky was supposed to keep an eye on them," growled Pops. "Where the hell did they go?"
The Mach Five scraped the wall as Snake slammed in again while Speed struggled to keep control.
In the meantime, the Mach Five's trunk lid popped open, just a hair, from the inside.
"Got the marbles?" whispered Spritle.
Chim-Chim grunted once as he handed Spritle a marble.
"Looks like the doctor has to operate," whispered Spritle as he readied his slingshot. "Right in Snakie's nose…that'll get him off Speedy's tail!"
Chim-Chim nodded as Spritle fired the slingshot.
"YARRGH!" Snake yelled as a little object flicked onto the Deathcard GRX's windscreen, hitting him painfully in the nose.
"Stones!" yelled Penny Laine as the Deathcard GRX began to skid, just enough for the Mach Five to get free from Snake's trap and rocket into the next straightway, taking the lead.
A moment later, while snarling at the Mach Five, Snake felt a car in British Racing Green smashing into his own car.
"Damn you, Team Abrogado!" yelled Snake as David Forrester's car smashed into his own.
"Don't screw with my buddy from 'Nam!" snapped Lieutenant David Forrester, US Army Reserve, as he shook a fist at Snake as he took second. A moment later, the Shooting Star and Racer X dropped Snake down to fourth.
"I'll get them," muttered Snake as he went for the glove compartment.
"Not here!" yelled Penny.
"Why not?"
"Witnesses, stupid! Witnesses!" said Penny as she made sure Snake kept the Walther right where it belonged; for now, anyway.
"Yeah, right," said Snake. He undid his radio mike and snapped, "ACROBATS! Hold off from tryin' to kill anyone, for now! We're bein' watched!"
"Boss, I got a perfect opportunity to knock Guts Wheeler offa da track!" said Smelly over the speakers.
"Save Guts Wheeler for later!" snapped Snake. "That goes for all of you! Ten lashes for anyone who disobeys my orders! Got that?"
The other Acrobats responded with sneering "Yeahs" as the race went into its second lap.
AN HOUR LATER….
A few kilometers away from the track, on the cleared Autobahn, the Mercedes pace car pulled off to the side as Olde Codger, in the front seat beside his driver, got a report by radio from a spotter.
"They're out of the city limits now, Judge. Fair race, only two crashes."
"Not bad, for the start," muttered Olde Codger. "Heimwald, get the camera ready."
"Yessir," said the IRC driver as he got a Nikon F and its tripod and telephoto lens out of the trunk of the Mercedes. "Ready for first photo…high shutter speed…"
Not far away, Speed was engaged in another round of slam-and-bash with another old nemesis, his "friend" Skull Duggery from Alpha Team, racing his familiar blood-red Ferrarri with its usual number 2 on the side. Speed was a little more content with this battle, knowing all that old Duggery wanted to do was drive dirty as usual and take him out of this race until their next meeting, when he'd do it all over again. Duggery's as predictable as the Viet Cong, thought Speed. And almost as annoying.
Duggery's navigator, a man with a beard named Snuff Raglan, said, "Now, wait until we hit that guardrail. We can slam him over that…"
"If I can catch him!" said Duggery. "I thought you and Junkins said you put a new turbocharger in this heap!"
Then, a moment later, Duggery was slammed, himself, by another car, in British racing green.
"That guy again!" said Raglan.
"Damn him!" hissed Duggery as he turned the Ferrari's wheel hard. "How much money did Go Team pay those Abrogardo weirdoes to be their enforcer? Who runs Team Abrogardo, anyway?"
"A nine-year old girl," said Raglan with a chuckle.
"What?" said Duggery.
"Team Abrogardo has been owned ever since 1952 by a wealthy family from Colorado called the Forresters," said Raglan. "I used to work for 'em until Wiley gave me a higher offer to jump to Alpha Team. This family is an extended clan of ranchers and lawyers and stuff. The Abrogardo patriarch always places the team in the name of his oldest daughter as a sentimental gesture. Right now, old man Forrester's oldest daughter Vanessa, who is ten, legally owns Abrogardo Team. Their emblem is a white rose and a yellow star. Usually, a business manager or guardian runs the team for the child. They also have a side business as a horse racing team. Rumor has it they're gonna put their Army brat kid in at Indy next year. They're a weird bunch. Too honorable for me. Family's part Japanese or something. They're as weird as Captain Terror's crazy bunch. They also have some kind of alliance with this other team that shows up every now and then called Omega Team. They say Omega Team is filled with weird drivers. One time, in the Post Club at Watkins Glen, I heard some kind of weird story that Omega Team had this crazy old man racing for them once."
"What was so weird about that?" said Duggery.
"The old man was supposed to be from outer space," said Raglan. "Everyone was scared of him. There was weird stuff going on in that TransAmerica Race back in July of '68. The one that ended at the border of Kapetopac at the last minute?"
"Were you guys all drunk or something during that race?" said Duggery. "I didn't qualify, so they stuck my wacko cousin Zoomer Slick in the race instead. Damn Wiley. I'd love to kick Zoomer's butt one of these days, Rags…"
"You're more wacko than Zoomer," said Raglan with a grin.
"No, I am the greater sociopath!" said Duggery. "We was also in the top of the class in reform school!"
"Hoo boy," said Raglan. "This is gonna be a loooong race…"
III. ABROGARDO TEAM LIVES!
Wednesday, September 5, 2210
Japan/Great Island
The Tokyo Megalopolis
Abrogardo Team Headquarters Suite
1200 Hours (Local Time)
In the meantime; if one can call jumping two hundred and thirty-eight odd years into the future in a different age and time the meantime, that is, a harried administrator sat behind his desk fielding video phone calls as he sat in his office suit in the Capital City of a now-united Earth.
On a wall, behind glass, was preserved a photo gallery of every racer who had ever raced for Abrogardo Team in the past two hundred and sixty years. David Forrester would have been very pleased to see that his picture was on the wall; a picture of him holding up the trophy at Le Mans in 1979; a race he hadn't even raced in yet back in his own time.
Racing had changed a lot in two hundred and thirty-eight years. Although wheeled cars were making a comeback now for civilian use, the major circuits had gone to aircars around 2179. Only a few racing seasons later, circuit and rally racing had come to a stop when the Gamilons had begun planet-bombing Earth and making its surface unlivable. Team Abrogardo had gone into hibernation until the shortened 2201 season. The reason that the 2201 season had been shortened was because of another space war; the barely-thwarted invasion of Earth by the Comet Empire. The 2202 season had a delayed start because of the Rikashan and Technomugar wars. The 2203 and '04 seasons had been normal, but the 2205 season had been shortened when a renewed threat from the resurgent Comet Empire had caused so many aircar/swoop racers to be drafted and stuck into Astro Fighter training (In those days, swoop racers were easy to retrain as fighter pilots) that it was impossible to get a decent field.
Many good racers had died in the latest war, but enough had come home as veterans by the end of 2207 so that the Federation IRC was able to set up a 2208 season. The 2208, '09, and this season had gone off like clockwork. No problems.
Yet.
We're back in the racing business, thought Duncan Fife, the sixty-nine old Administrator of Abrogardo Team, as he threw down the phone. I should be very glad that we're busy again, he thought as he sat behind his huge desk in the Federation Insurance Building. Abrogardo Team had always been a smaller boutique-type team; bigger than Go Team had once been, but smaller than Alpha Team (which had somehow survived into this century, like a cockroach) or the other outfits like Tongukan or even that huge abomination that had risen up in the 1970's and then had withered in the late 80's. Yet, I'm not the actual boss, and I know it. But, she's not here very often, he thought as he opened a photo album and looked over the history of some of the Forrester daughters who had headed Abrogardo Team ever since the 1950's.
Fife looked over a number of names, usually always taken of the girls when they had been small. Felicia, Vanessa, Staci, Patrice, Samantha, Yuriko…
Yuriko, known as "The White Rose" was a terror of the circuit herself around 2042 as the one Forrester girl so far who had taken her perogative to race herself. She had been a pure honey-blonde girl, just like David, and just like one other member of the family. Her eternal nemesis had been Spritle Racer, by then a veteran of the circuits himself like his brother had been. Yuriko had a fiery appearance, wit, and was a terror behind the wheel, as well as a writer, musician, pilot, doctor, cosmonaut, and United States Senator and almost President towards the end of her life…
Fife looked through the book. The Forrester family had then continued, growing, changing, and evolving. It had produced other girls, but it had not yet spawned another historical figure like Yuriko.
Not until the end of the last century, that is. Not until the current figurehead owner of Team Abrogardo had been born in 2178.
Fife flipped to the end of his scrapbook, looking at her picture. By tradition, it was also enshrined in the office on the wall, near the windows.
You look so much like Yuriko that it is frightening, thought Fife. But you've only been up here twice with your father. You looked over some of the pictures, some of the race stuff, and left. Who can blame you, though? You've got more to worry about than a little racing team…
Fife got up, adjusted his glasses, and puffed for a bit on his pipe, looking over the painting of the current eldest Forrester daughter that took up the wall. White EDF uniform, red ascot, far too many medals on that white jacket for a young lady of 33. A small gold plaque on the frame of the portait simply read:
Born 2178
Nova Forrester-Wildstar
The next Yuriko
Then, a moment later, a dark-haired young lady with glasses, an an elegant dark suit, striped tie, and open-toe pumps ran into Fife's office.
"Administrator!" she said.
"Yes, Mariko?" he barked.
"The IRC needs a signoff on the name of the racer we are putting in the field at the Andes Rally, sir!"
"Well, that's not so bad," said Fife. "Why are you panicking?"
"A rules change for the Andes Rally, sir. Appended Rule 35.23(a): to wit: "A Team Administrator cannot sign for a legal team owner for this race unless he or she is a minor…""
"I have a Power of Attorney for Her Nibs," snapped Fife. "I can do it."
"Not the way the rules committee is interpreting this, sir."
Fife sighed. "When do they need the entry documents executed?"
"Forty hours from now, sir. They'd prefer it today, but…"
"NOT today," said Fife. "Today, they're all out at Heroes' Hill having their great ceremony. She leaves for a vacation in Germany tomorrow morning. We can get a messenger to her before she leaves with the husband and kids."
"Who, sir?" said Mariko. "Me?"
"No, call the tin can on the 'Net. He has wireless, now!"
"The tin can, sir?"
"Her stupid pet robot! The obsolete old Ninth Class one that she thinks is alive. The Tinwit I tried to recruit as a swoop driver once until they made it illegal! He'll do anything for Her Nibs. Probably even helps her brush her teeth!"
"Yessir," said Mariko as she took the contracts. "Where do I find the IQ unit?"
"He has a little office in their house. Fax him the documents."
"Yessir."
Fife sat down at his desk, huffed, and looked at Yuriko Forrester's picture again. He compared it to Nova's. They do look alike, he thought. I need a drink…
Then, Fife got a bottle of Scotch and a glass, and he began to drink.
He didn't know that, in just a few days, the past and present would end up colliding like two aircars in a crash.
And, like most accidents, the result would not be pretty…
The Racers Are Now Racing in the 20th Century
What are the mad scientists planning?
Will Snake carry out Captain Terror's plan?
Will Skull Duggery get Speed before Snake does?
What does Racer X have to do with the Tenth Doctor?
What Does Abrogardo Team of 2210 have to do with Abrogardo Team of 1971?
Do we have a Grandfather Paradox here?
Can we trust Duncan Fife?
Who will survive the race?
Stay tuned for Chapter Four: "Back to the Alps (Part Three)"