Bed should have been one of the best time of the day. I used to love curling up in my blankets. Back at home, I'd spend half the morning in denial. The sun wasn't up. It wasn't time to go and look for a job. I had everything I needed beneath the covers. Soft pillows, a comfortable mattress and plenty of money. If my parents hadn't cut me off, I would've still been living in their rather large basement. I felt the blankets warmth about me and slipped into one of my greatest fears.
The Beast gave a happy hum. All systems were working to their full efficiency, with nothing at all to worry about. The flight plan of this race wasn't high stakes. Bex had said something about it being a practice run, and had jabbered on a good length about how they were important. Especially when it came to checking the safety of the equipment and technology that made the hovercraft important. But nevertheless, I'd make sure we won the race simulation, whether Bex liked it or not.
"Shields activated," Bex parroted, his usual cheerful self. I blinked. Where were our enemies? I couldn't see them on radar and as Bex had said, this wasn't a race we were supposed to be 'winning' in the direct sense of the word. "Get ready to fire in three..."
Wait? What was I firing at? These people were goddamn insane. It was like trying to figure out what a schizophrenic was thinking. I know what most people thought about them was just another urban legend, but in all seriousness Bex shouldn't be preparing to fire when he didn't have those controls. As the onboard navigator, he knew what every little detail of the ship meant. He had control of the controls and equipment. I just drove the Beast and fired weapons. I'd fire a weapon if I figured out where my target was, at any rate.
"Bex!" I shouted through the earpiece. "What the hell am I firing at?"
It was too late. The ship had winked into full view. Through my windscreen I could tell that it was in position for a direct hit. My heart leapt to my throat. For a practice run it looked pretty serious. I hoped our pods were up to scratch. They'd be taking us to Control, should something go wrong. I slammed my fist down hard on the trigger. That's when the system started squealing at me. In the old timer jet planes, all the bells and whistles would go off as warning signs before imminent death. The pilots would be given the smallest of chances to battle it out against whatever force was pulling them down, and the in-flight data's bells and whistles would do little to help. Within a hovercraft, those same bells and whistles were telling me that something was wrong. Only instead of things like altitude we were running out of a little something called fuel, oxygen, and the very stuff that made me able to breath the artificial air. Within minutes the initial shut down phase began to set in motion. The life-preserving sequence burst into life as all technology that needed power to run disappeared one by one. This had happened to me only once before, on the Saint. Except the Saint hadn't decided to let me down this badly, with the attack brief and the technology alive just enough to get us to the finish line. My breaths became harsh and ragged, struggling to find even the tiniest drop of oxygen that a human being could safely breathe.
"Sam, Control, someone ..." But barely did I get the last word out when the last piece of oxygen left the ship.
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