The Inhumane Race

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Children Stories  |  House: Booksie Classic
The third story in the Secret Earth Army/SEA series.

The Secret Earth Army are aided by an unlikely soldier in the absence of one of their own, leading to a day at the races they will never forget...

Submitted: November 20, 2016

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Submitted: November 20, 2016



The Authority stood resolute in the highest room of the Aquarius as the Stella Salvation landed in the landing dock. They had heard about the events of the Poseidon earlier that day and fully expected Commander O’Neill and his merry band of misfits to arrive on the most advanced space base in the whole cosmos.
The Aquarius was like a floating skyscraper which patrolled the Solar System with the greatest of ease. It loosely resembled two pyramids joined together by the bases and then painted in the deepest shades of black imaginable. Aquarius was the capital of the IGC’s defences and as a result it was armed to the teeth with all kind of salvaged alien technology.
In the highest point of the Aquarius lived The Authority, a council of twelve humans who had surrendered their identity to become the dozen which made the toughest choices on behalf of humanity in the war they were fighting with the Galacticon Falls.
The head of The Authority was an elderly-yet-strong lady, obviously named Number 1. She stood head-to-toe in an immaculate white robe whilst her eleven colleagues were robes the same shade of black as the Aquarius. She had the pearliest white eyes, which glared at the door Red O’Neill marched through, closely followed by Dallas Buchanan, Floyd Mercury, Oscar Brake and Captain Henry Hart.
Red stormed with the purpose of a man fuelled solely by anger and adrenaline, but Number 1 would not be as easily as intimidated as most were in his presence.
“Lady, you better have some news for me as to why the Hell my base was attacked this afternoon or else...”
“Or else, what? Commander O’Neill,” Number 1 interrupted. Red was stunned into an unsettling silence, before squaring up to the little lady some ten inches smaller than him. His breathing hot and furiously consistent, he looked every inch like he was about to bite her head off before Dallas and Oscar pulled him back.
“Cool it, Red,” cautioned Oscar, “we don’t need any more casualties today.” The final sentence was said looking directly at Red, so no one was under any illusion as to who he was addressing it towards.
“I quite agree, Brake,” Number 1 chimed in again, “although that might be easier said than done. I understand that Mallory Clock is incapacitated for what might be quite some time, but you have a mission and I have gone ahead and selected a replacement for him.”
A replacement?!” bellowed Red, “Listen lady...”
“Number 1,” she corrected.
“I don’t give a damn about your number!” hollered Red, “one of my men is injured. Because the security you provided for my ship allowed some ridiculous alien on board. If you need us to go on a mission, I hand select a soldier and we go when we’re ready!”
Captain Hart grabbed Red and tried to usher him back, “Your Grace, please excuse my colleague, he’s somewhat disturbed by the events of today,” he said towards The Authority.
“It’s quite alright Captain Hart. But this is war, and in war casualties are to be expected,” Number 1 replied in a shrill, sharp tone. She allowed the situation a few moments to dissolve whilst everyone absorbed what she had just said. As much as Red did not want to admit it, she was right.
  “Now, without any further ado, please allow me to introduce the temporary member of the Secret Earth Army who shall be accompanying you on this mission.” Number 1 gestured with her left arm and The Authority Numbers 3-7 parted behind her, revealing something which left the people in the room astounded.
There stood a blue skinned humanoid, with luxurious long-flowing red hair and kitted out in the special SEA armour, the pleated onyx grey body suit that was fitted to the wearer’s frame. The blue skinned humanoid was unmistakably female even with her alien appearance, her elfin face and ruby eyes making her equally unmistakably beautiful.
“Please welcome the Lady Gal-Mor-Gordo; first class soldier from the assembled Tyl-Hovian forces in the Western Wars. She will be your fifth for this mission” announced Number 1, not even trying to mask the delight in her voice.
SEA were dumbfounded. Eventually, Red broke the awkward silence, “Ma’am, with about as much due respect as I can manage right now. You cannot be serious.”
Whilst Red could be hot-headed and very, very ignorant towards the aliens which occasionally helped out humanity in their cause for fear of being invaded themselves once the Galacticon Fall grew too big, on this occasion all members of SEA agreed with him.
“Our man is in a hospital bed, unsure if he’s ever gonna wake up and you want us to work with, with” Oscar struggled hopelessly to find the least offensive word possible, before eventually giving up and asking her directly, “what the Hell are you meant to be anyways?”
The Lady Gal-Mor-Gordo stood unflinching, immune to all of the dubious suspicions being cast towards her. “I am the Lady Gal-Mor-Gordo,” she stated in an angelic yet authoritarian voice, “From the House Mor-Gordo of the Tyl-Ho cluster. My people are the Dymolian, and I am next in line to the throne. When we in the Tyl-Ho cluster saw the growth of the Galacticon Fall, we knew we must do the right thing and join humanity in their quest to extinguish them from existence. My people fear the Galacticon Fall just as much as you do and if they were to overthrow you, we are certain we would be next.”
“Okay, first things first, we are not scared  of the Galacticon Fall,” Red bravely lied, “we battle them and we beat them. It’s what we do. Number 1,” he said, turning his attention to the leader of humanity’s defences, “we cannot possibly work with her. Especially after today, I don’t trust them things at the best of times, never mind today.”
“Number 1,” interrupted Captain Hart, “usually I believe that you act in the best interests of our people, but even I must agree with Commander O’Neill on this one. I thought the Secret Earth Army were set up to represent the best of Earth’s defences, not the galaxy’s?”
“Your objections are duly noted, Captain Hart, but we here at The Authority believed that by incorporating the assembled forces of all those soldiers working for the IGC would only serve to improve the relations between planets,” Number 1 answered, now completely revelling in the discomfort of the men.
“Isn’t the whole point of this dang operation that we were meant to be secret? Ya know, the Secret Earth Army,” queried Dallas, “how the hell is this thing coming with us meant to improve our relations with the aliens if they don’t even know about our existence.”
“An excellent point, Buchanan, but your reputation is legendary now. You people are now almost a fable for the soldiers in the front line. You’re a myth and you give these soldiers, people like Gal-Mor-Gordo and her massive fleet hope and inspiration that whilst they fight, you people give them the courage they need to fight for us.” A tense pause reverberated around the room. Finally, Number 1 announced, “well, there’s no point dwelling on this, it’s happening.”
Floyd finally spoke up, having finally taken in the sheer enormity of his first time on the Aquarius, “so, what’s the mission.”
A sly grin crept across the face of Number 1, “you’re going to the races!”

The nineteenth race of the Galactic Grand Prix season was to be staged on the dwarf planet of Vasenin, somewhere out well past the outer reaches of the Solar System. The touring race meet drew in support from all over the galaxy, but the final race of the series saw aliens from far and wide flock to this little planet where the finest racers in the Galaxy where set to battle it out.
The Championship could go three ways: the crowd-favourite and relative new racer on the block Underdog, the old veteran and previous champion Velociraptor or the dastardly genetically engineered robot Soapbox.
Underdog was a Backludon, a three-headed dog-beast with enormous muscular strength, making him one of the paciest competitors in the race. As he ran through pure purpose and needed no enhancements and had an enormously likeable personality the crowd lapped up like a cat with a saucer of refreshing milk.
However, he was five points behind Velociraptor. Velociraptor was exactly that; a flesh-eating, green skinned dinosaur with a penchant for speed. Velociraptor had been created by the mad scientist Von Barron shortly before his arrest for bending the rules of nature, but was taken on by the Olmex Oil Company in a sponsorship deal to race for them. Added to this his genetically enhanced robo-legs in place of his natural ones and it was little wonder why Velociraptor had won the championship two times previous.
However, they were both behind Soapbox. A robot built by the SpeedStar Corporation to show their new engines in practice, Soapbox was effectively human on top (if you discounted the fact he was grey and made of steel and very much a robot) and then had what resembled mini tank tracks on his lower half. In here was house the latest nuclear engine the SpeedStar Corporation had provided him with and he was very sure he was going to win. The problem was his arrogance and bolshy behaviour which made him very unlikeable indeed.
On this final race day, the crowd were very much behind Underdog. But deep in the hidden engineers garages at the race way, as the crowd of excited people began to filter into the crammed seats of the racing circuit, a truly dodgy deal was unfolding.
Two engineers stood in the corridor, pacing agitatedly. Eventually the younger of the two, displayed by his eagerness and impatience, broke the silence, “where are they? They said they should be here by now.”
“Calm down, Joe,” the elder man replied, “they said they’d be here. They’ll be here.”
As if on cue, two hooded figures emerged at the end of the corridor. Joe was not sure where they had come from, where had they come from? It was almost like they had just appeared. The two figures walked towards the mechanics, there black silk robes floating around them giving them the appearance of gliding shadows. They stopped about three feet away from the mechanics, just close enough so Joe could make out the letters “GF” in embroidered gold lettering in small font across the top left of the robe.
One of the figures produced a small oak box, seemingly from nowhere, thought Joe. He wouldn’t admit it but he was feeling incredibly worried now, what had he let himself in for? Mack had assured him in was all for the greater good. Pose as a mechanic in the final race of the Galactic Grand Prix and set of the bomb. Simple enough in theory.
Make a statement they will remember forever, Mack had said. Surely they’ll remember an act like this. Attacking all manner of peaceful members of the galaxy, as well as hundreds of humans would make a statement like no other. If they made the pacifists realise that indifference was not the answer, they could rally a whole host of different species to join the Galacticon Fall and fight against humanity.
As a human himself, he had to be certain he was doing the right thing. As part of H.A.H.A. (Humans Against Human Atrocities) Joe had risen to a position of almost absolute power as there was absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do to stop humanity from wrecking the galaxy with their violence. But now, he had to be prepared to accept he was no longer a freedom-fighter. After today, he would be labelled as all manner of things. A Terrorist. A Traitor. An Alien-Lover. And he would most certainly be dead. But this was the first time he felt scared about this fact. Talking about it was one thing but doing it was another thing entirely.
He snapped out of this state to see Mack turning the oak box over and over in his hand, before clicking the switch to see what was inside. The dingy corridor was filled with a pulsating green glow, before the figure which handed him the box slammed the lid closed.
“Fool!” it growled, in a low, menacing burr, “you will only activate the radiation bomb once it is primed in the host’s engine. When the racer crosses the finish line, it shall send this course into oblivion.”
“It is then we will reveal your names to the galactic media,” the second figure began, “your names have already been expunged from the Humans Against Human Atrocities data base. This will look purely like a human attack on innocent alien civilians. Their species will enter the Galacticon Fall and we will have a whole new army at our disposable.”
Mack nodded solemnly, nervous himself, “understood. After today we will help stop the human race spread their poison across the galaxy.” He turned to look at Joe, who stared back at him coldly. Mack then turned to address the representatives of the Galacticon Fall, who had suddenly vanished away without so much as a warning.
A couple of moments passed before Mack gathered Joe, “come on, let’s go get this thing primed. If the masses don’t like him already, they’ll hate him by the time he crosses the finish line today.”
With that, they turned and walked away. The plan was in motion.

SEA had arrived at the race with about half an hour to spare. The journey was utterly unbearable, with almost half a day of travelling in between leaving the Aquarius and them arriving at the track. No one had slept, and the attack on Mallory at the Poseidon still lingered over them like a storm cloud. There was also the issue of Gal-Mor-Gordo having travelled with them and no one even wanted to pretend that she existed.
In a bit to fit in, they were not allowed to wear their standard armour, and had to have small, concealed weapons as opposed to their usual unsubtle plasma rifles. Very out of their comfort zone but they should have been used to it by now, that was almost exclusively why they existed.
Eventually, Gal-Mor-Gordo broke the silence, “shall we not at least have a run through of the plan?”
Floyd, being the newest member of SEA half-sympathised with her, and decided to afford her an answer, “we know the plan. We’re breaking into the engineers pit and assassinating Soapbox’s team before they can detonate this bomb. Then he’s going to arrive and we’re gonna destroy him before he can blow up the race track. Anything I’ve missed out?”
“No, let’s go,” signed Gal-Mor-Gordo, resigned to the fact this group wanted nothing to do with her.
SEA arrived at a door towards the back of the race track, clearly labelled “RACE TEAMS ONLY” in massive black lettering.
Red decided to finally construct a plan, “okay, here’s what we’re doing. Floyd, you and me are going to scout out the engineers pit. Oscar, you’re going into the crowd, we need you to cover us should things go wrong. Dal, we need you to cover us in the pit, once we’re there make sure no one comes in until we take out the engineers and that stupid Soapbox piece of junk. Everyone clear?”
“What about me?” Gal-Mor-Gordo asked icely.
“What about you?” sneered Red.
“Do you just think I’m going to sit here and take this?” Gal-Mor-Gordo snapped, “how dare you treat me like this. I’m trying to help you, and you just look at me like I’m nothing. Your precious humans are the reason we’re here today, they’re the ones trying to destroy this place.”
“Listen,” barked Red, “I don’t give a damn about your kind. Never have, never will. Now my team have their mission, just don’t get in our way.” With that, he booted the door open with a kick infused with anger, smashing it clean off its hinges. SEA entered the building and walked off to do their respective jobs. Gal-Mor-Gordo just stood there, deflated.

The race itself was a fierce and insane affair. Missiles flew in every direction, bullets flew, lasers were flying. The competitors tried to mangle each other at any chance they got. The Skull Brothers tried to roast Underdog with their flamethrower, but the beastly dog ripped the weapon from their motorcycle sidecar, before disposing of the Brothers in a brutal fashion. The blood-thirsty crowd lapped it up like it was going out of fashion.
Oscar sat their calmly, an outsider in a crowd of people baying for blood. If these idiots were that desperate for violence, they could come join our war, he thought. Eventually his transceiver crackled some ten laps from the races conclusion, informing him that his team had ‘taken control and neutralised’ Soapbox’s engineer pit, and when the robot docked two laps from now before his final push they would destroy him also.

Two laps passed and Soapbox was second in the race, behind that wretched Underdog. He would pull into the pit, get Damo to recalibrate his speed core, tell Micky to sort out his weapon system and he would blast that hound to pieces!
As Soapbox pulled in, he began electronically barking the orders he had planned, without even proposing something might be wrong. It was only when he came to a complete standstill, and the three strangers stood watching him, armed with a multitude of tools did he appreciate that things were about to go not exactly how he planned.
“Who are you? Where is my crew?” if a robot could sound panicked, Soapbox sounded panicked.
“Don’t worry about the crew,” boomed the bruising human being that stood at the centre of the three, “you’re about to be joining them on the scrapheap.”
And with that they set about dismantling the robot racer.

Some thirty seconds later, the mighty voice of the race commentator sounded from the tannoy system, echoing over the noise of the race itself. Due to technical difficulties, Soapbox’s team have told us he will be unable to finish the race.
The crowd were going ballistic when they realised their antagonist was not going to emerge from the pit lane. Their anointed champion, Underdog was going to be unchallenged with four laps to go, only Velociraptor was anywhere near and he could not catch him, surely.
Whilst all of this was going on, SEA were desperately hiding their handiwork. Dallas was contently radioing Oscar Brake telling him how Soapbox was no more and they could get themselves out of there.
Oscar was relieved by this, and began to exit the crowd. He did not care about the race. He just wanted to get out of there and see how Mallory was doing. As he descended through the unruly masses, he thought he would stop to get himself a soda before reconvening with his team, after all, it had been a long few days.
Oscar joined the queue behind some funny looking humans. They did not look like the kind of humans which would enjoy this kind of ferocious sport, more like the kind which would stage protests outside of senates preaching peace and love and whatever else was the flavour of the month. Other than that, Oscar mostly disregarded them, trying to ignore whatever it was they were chatting about; the way this kind of sport was degrading to the real problems in the world, the way that these sodas were disgustingly overpriced, they way none of that would matter in two laps time, they way...
Oscar’s consciousness snapped back into that of a brilliant soldier, focusing on whatever it was those two females had said to one another. “Excuse me,” he interjected, grabbing one of the young men by the arm, spinning him so that he stood face-to-covered in glittering gold sparkles face with him, “what was that about none of this mattering in two laps time?”
The young man scoffed, “Well...”
“Don’t,” interrupted the other young man, “you’ll ruin the surprise.”
Both of the young hippies giggled with childlike glee. Oscar was quickly beginning to realise what was happening. He swung a meaty punch at the man he was holding, shattering his nose with supreme force before flinging the other one against the wall.
“You better tell me what the hell is going on,” Brake commanded, “we took out that damn Soapbox robot. Nothing is gonna happen in two laps time.”
The young man, in obvious discomfort as he remaining pinned against the concrete wall by his throat, began to rapturously laugh in Brake’s face, “Soapbox? What’s he got to do with anything? When Velociraptor crosses that line, this place will be no more!” The hippy’s laughter was silenced as Brake lightning quick fists send his jaw spinning.
Brake hurried for his transceiver, “Guys, we’ve got a problem! We got the wrong car.”

Only one lap now remained in the race. Underdog was fractionally leading with the veteran Velociraptor bearing down on him. In the pit lane, Joe and Mack stood flanked by every other engineer on Velociraptor’s team, their plan was about to become reality.
The engineers stood silently, watching their champion edged closer to the finish line, cheering him on as he was bearing down on Underdog. All of a sudden, three new figures burst through the pit lane door, guns bearing down on all the engineers.
Red, Dallas and Floyd were ready for this.
Red took command of the situation, “one of you had better tell us how to disarm this bomb or else!” The majority of the engineers cowered in the corner, looking at one another with terrified confusion on their face. Floyd noticed one of the youngest of the group of engineers did not look as scared as the rest, more frustrated. Frustrated that his plan was about to come to an end.
“You,” said Floyd, thrusting his gun towards the man, “tell us how to disarm the bomb!” Joe began to laugh at Floyd, and Mack flung himself towards Floyd’s outstretched arm. Before he could connect with the young soldier, the sound of a single gunshot echoed around the room, with Mack’s head exploding with the impact as the bullet from Dallas’ gun tore straight through him.
“Answer the question, worm!” screamed Dallas, grabbing Joe and smashing him against the wall of the garage.
Joe continued to laugh at them, “you’re too late, whoever you are. You have about a minute left before Velociraptor crosses that finish line and blows this whole place sky high.” Joe laughed for another couple of milliseconds before Dallas rearranged his face with the butt of his gun. He turned to address his leader, “Red, what the Hell are we gonna do?”
Red was thinking, faster than his brain cells would let him. His face contorted into a mesh of thought and fury, rapidly running out of all ideas. Eventually, the only good plan he had was, “we need to stop him crossing that line.” He picked up a scrawny engineer with his massive hand and flung him against a wall, “is there any way we can stop him from here?”
“N-n-n-no,” the engineer stuttered, clearly terrified and confused at what was happening. Red’s eyes pulsated fire.
“Only one thing for it then ain’t there?” said Dallas, a bit too blasé for a man about to do what he was about to do.
“Don’t even think about it!” yelled Red, turning to Dallas, but by that point Dallas was already running as fast as his legs could carry him towards the finish line.
There was only about fifteen seconds of the race left and Dallas wasn’t exactly sure if he could run the entire length of the pit lane in time to stop Velociraptor. About five seconds later he was absolutely sure he wouldn’t. That wouldn’t stop him from trying though, and he continued to bare down on the finish line.
The crowd were completely thunderous now. Screaming their hero, Underdog, over the finish line. Thousands of people were in euphoric celebration, pandemonium was sweeping through the crowd and fear and despair was now prevalent in SEA. As a result of this, next to no-one, including Dallas and the remainder of SEA even noticed the blue-skinned Dymolian stood fractions before the finish line.
Velociraptor was almost past the line when Gal-Mor-Gordo charged at him, a double-ended sword her weapon of choice. Her timing had to be perfect, and how perfect it was. She swung the blade exactly right so it hooked the reptilian creature and sent him spinning backwards, flinging herself into the attack to be sure that Velociraptor went back away from the line.
Before Velociraptor even had a chance to react, Gal-Mor-Gordo swung her sword down on the massive lizards neck, removing the head clean from the body.
The blood-thirsty crowd lapped it up in waves, their beloved Underdog had romped home to victory. Jubilant celebration came spilling from the stands, even more enjoyment at the fact a brawl had broken out on the battered tarmac of the course. Gal-Mor-Gordo lifted Velociraptor’s head high above hers, and let out a mighty war-cry, which was met by even more raucous cheer from the audience.
Typical sporting types, thought Oscar whilst he stood amongst the braying hordes, they’re all okay with blood as long as it belongs to someone else. As he gazed down at Gal-Mor-Gordo, he couldn’t help but feel impressed by her. It should be a much easier ride home.

Outside of the racing track, the Stella Salvation stood amongst several hundred parked spaceships. Red O’Neill smashed Joe the mechanic’s head square off the left wing of the vehicle, splattering crimson everywhere.
“Please,” Joe gulped, “no more, I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” mocked Red, “well ain’t that dandy? Do you have any idea the inquest we’re gonna get for a disaster like this? That stupid girl might have saved this place, but she straight up murdered Galactic Grand Prix racer in front of an audience of millions whilst acting in the name of SEA. Do you have any idea what you’ve done, you traitor?” The final words were punctuated by Red drilling his fist once more into Joe’s skull. “Where the Hell is she anyways?”
“Right here,” said a voice not to far away. Gal-Mor-Gordo sauntered round the corner and whilst Red wouldn’t admit it, she knew he was impressed with her.
“Damn, little lady, those were some impressive moves out there!” gushed Dallas. He, Floyd and Oscar cooed around her, giving her congratulatory pats on the back and signing her praises. Red’s eyes never moved from Joe.
“Come on, we can celebrate when we’re back at Aquarius”  Red commanded, “and then we can have some fun with this traitor on the way.” He flung Joe into the Stella Salvation’s cargo hold whilst the other members of SEA grinned and chuckled at the interrogation they would get to carry out in the coming days.
Back on board the Stella Salvation, the crew weren’t exactly happy, but things were certainly looking up for SEA. As they begin their journey back towards Aquarius, Red produced a little bottle of whiskey from his locker, placing his ship on temporary auto-pilot whilst he joined his crew for a few moments. He rarely shared his whisky with his crew, unless it was a special occasion, or like today they had absolutely prevented an intergalactic catastrophy.
“Here,” he said, handing the bottle to Gal-Mor-Gordo, “I think you’ve earned this.”

© Copyright 2018 L94. All rights reserved.

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