Racers of the Night: Science Fiction Stories by Brad R. Torgersen by Brad R. Torgersen Page B

crater and follow the trail along the rim wall to where the hooches sat.
    I set the pallet down and Lisa leapt off, running into Ivarsen’s hooch to get his cot. It wasn’t a perfect stretcher, but we managed to get him onto it, moving him into his hooch so he’d be out of the sun. Lisa helped me rummage through the first aid locker and apply a more suitable bandage to the head wound. Next I checked his pupils with a flashlight, and was alarmed to see that one of them had gone as wide as the iris would allow.
    “Damn,” I said.
    “Is it that bad?” Lisa asked.
    “Bad enough. We need Ivarsen’s satellite phone. If he doesn’t get a medevac soon, he’s as good as dead.”
    “I think the phone was in the cab of the dumper,” Lisa said. “He always kept it there when we were working.”
    Lisa and I looked at each other. Neither of us needed to say what was on our minds.
    When the SWAT guys got here, it wouldn’t matter what story we told them. All they’d find was a dead Corrections officer, and two live prisoners. And that would be that. Meaning me and Lisa. Done. And Godfrey, when they tracked him down, as surely they would. We’d all be lucky if they sent us back to The Island. More probably, we’d be shot.
    I stood up from Ivarsen’s side and stomped out into the glaring sunlight, sweat making my shirt damp and my eyes squinting in spite of my sunglasses. I screamed and kicked the treads on the shovel. Years of patient effort. Down the toilet. Thanks to a dumb kid. I’d have kept screaming, except that I thought of Ivarsen, and how he’d deserved this even less. Me, I’d lost my life a long time ago. And deservedly so. But Ivarsen had been a decent man. Such a waste!
    I went back inside to find Lisa rummaging furiously through Ivarsen’s other things. Our patient’s breaths had become quicker, more shallow, and a sheen of sweat covered the exposed areas of his skin. I unzipped his sleeping bag and threw it over him for a blanket, then went to help Lisa. She was obviously looking for a backup phone. Surely they wouldn’t issue Ivarsen just the single unit?
    The only thing we found was the remote for the mirrors in the crater.
    Lisa threw the remote to the floor in disgust, but I picked it up and walked outside, staring up into the cerulean sky. Lisa came out and looked up with me.
    “What?”
    “How many satellites watch this region?” I asked.
    “Heck if I know.”
    I kept looking. Then I quickly strode to the crater’s rim wall and scrambled up its side until I was standing on the top and staring down into the circular field of mirrors.
    The remote had several preset codes. I chose the toggle for manual movement. The circular thumb pad in the middle illuminated, and I depressed it, pushing first to the north, then to the south. Out in the field, the little servos on the base of each mirror began to whine. The mirrors obediently leaned to the south, then back to the north.
    Okay …
    I programmed in a repeating series of motions, pressed the SEND button, and then dropped the remote into my pocket and watched the mirrors begin their slow dance.
    Lisa nodded, catching on. “I hope someone is paying attention, Lee.”
    • • •
    The day wore on, and we stayed in the guard’s tent. Lisa occasionally sponged Ivarsen down with a wet rag, and I ran checks on his vitals every fifteen minutes, as well as checking his pupils. The dilated one stayed dilated, and I wondered if the man wasn’t just a vegetable already.
    Out in the crater, the mirrors kept spinning and swiveling.
    There was no sound, other than the occasional wind across the camp.
    Evening came quickly. When I checked the supply bunker I discovered that Godfrey had been there before us and taken most of the cases of microwave meals. He’d at least been that smart. But without water I knew he’d be getting thirsty soon. And unless he found a natural spring, or we got some rain, he’d be in a bad way before the following day was out.
    I