Robert Appleton's Author Website

The Campbell family racing legacy: 

Click on the photos to learn more about Charlie's famous ancestors, British speed legends Malcolm and Donald Campbell...

EXCERPT:

For a few moments, all was blue—the side panels and the ceiling and the Pacific Ocean filling the left window. He reached the jog spot and immediately restarted his warm-up cycle.

“Lap seven—fourteenth position.”

His eyes widened against his furrowed brow until they ached—riveted and focused. Thump, thump. The cyclic conveyer adapted to his quickening steps in kind. Much easier, automatic breaths now kept his stamina-sucking adrenaline about his shoulders and away from his legs. Faster and faster and...

Now! He pressed a small green button on his wristwatch. The track ahead quickly curled up and retracted toward him, segment by segment, with a series of metallic claps and clicks. This shortening of the conveyor precipitated a shift in the angle of the gravity revolver. The track folded itself up until it was a smooth curvature, from floor to ceiling, directly in front of him. When he stepped onto the curve, the gravity field shifted with him, rotating slowly until he could jog horizontally. His stomach felt a twist and a twinge, nothing more, as the poles flipped. Soon he found himself running upside down, his weight just the same as a minute ago. Only the speed of the track had changed. With the cyclic conveyer folded, it had now shortened by a third, which meant the same running pace would rotate it that much quicker. Conversely, it felt like running uphill, and required far more effort to keep said pace. RAM physics in action. While the track’s full cycle mitigated the resistance of the Pei-McMillan field, this shortened circuit, with its higher propulsion rate, bore the brunt of that resistance. Hence Charlie had to run harder. A distinct advantage could be gained, though, if he managed to keep a steady rpm on this shorter track. The energy build-up transferred through the Psammeticum propellers and ratcheted the anti-matter output up several notches. It was all about acceleration and this was the steepest, toughest curve.

Charlie gritted his teeth and focused on the RAM propulsion unit at the Bluebird’s tail. Silver aluminum casing, four feet wide, five high. Through a small elliptical grid he watched the purple light created by Psammeticum energy crossing through the Pei-McMillan field. Beautiful. Crucial. The more intense it grew, the more it crackled and the more energy he was creating. Cyclic conveyer coolant wafted through his hair. Upside down? It might be showy, but the fresh perspective always did wonders for his resolve. The crowd would be going nuts. To hell with ‘em. The only things that mattered were the whir of the track, the RAM crackle and the thump, thump of his trainers driving him on to infinity. No finishing line. Only speed mattered.

Thump, thump.

Lactic acid tore his left shoulder to shreds. He slackened for a minute, long enough to massage the pain, discover his second wind, and hated himself for letting the purple light wane even a single watt.

“This time—to the death.”

A one-way trip. He kicked into a punishing rhythm. The roar of his gasps drowned out the computer’s lap update. His next was the gravest orbit of his life. Charlie knew that if this superhuman effort didn’t win him the race, he would probably fail. The inversion was usually a runner’s last throw of the dice—digging in for a spectacular dash to the finish. Charlie had inverted very early, and he had spared no effort for the final laps.

* * * *

Metallic shapes whooshed by on either side. One or two reflected the sun dazzlingly, like flares through a camera lens. He had to be lapping people, but whom? How many? Was he in pole? If so, how far ahead was he? He didn’t even know how many laps he’d spent inverted. The reserves of energy he’d summoned had been staggering.

He was spent. His heart thrashed like a whale floundering on coral. The thuds pulsed through his arms and rang through his brain. He staggered sideways for a moment, almost blacked out, before he slowed to a walk and, finding the green button on his wristwatch, maneuvered himself backward onto the curve of the track. Gravity lifted his stomach through the one-eighty, returning him to his upright position. Very pleasant. Being centred—just what he’d needed. Then, like clockwork, the cyclic conveyer unfolded into its original shape, as if nothing had happened.

If only it were that easy for Charlie.

With his hands on his knees, while gathering breath, he let the conveyer carry him back to his respite at the rear. Upside down, he’d had no opportunity to refresh. Now he could make up for it. He’d just been through hell inverted. The blackcurrant juice went down sublimely, making him shudder with delight. He coughed. It went everywhere.

Wiping his face, neck, legs and armpits with the towel, he felt dizzy but still determined. He muttered, “That was insane.” The purple Psammeticum light barely flickered, let alone crackled. He made his way forward on rubber legs with crepe joints. A gigantic breath precipitated the biggest sigh of his life. He wiped his eyes and checked the computer monitor. Garbled. He rubbed his eyes. Still garbled.

“Okay, what’s happening?”

He tapped the screen and tried every function on the keypad.

“What the hell?”

A brilliant orange glow lit the windows, forcing him to shield his face. The tinted glass filtered out harmful sunlight, so it had to be something far brighter. Jesus, it had imprinted on his retinas—an iridescent splodge with tentacles.

“Blue...there’s...nex...emerge...quick!” Someone tried to warn him over the com-link. But what of? It was a staggered, panicked message. The frightened voice and his temporary blindness clicked his brain into gear.

“What was he saying? Nex...next...nexus? I’ve never seen anything like it.” Charlie opened his eyes but kept them focused on the floor.

The orange light had enveloped the Bluebird.

 Go to CHARLIE RUNS RINGS AROUND THE EARTH official webpage.