Pandora's Chase

Chapter Seven

After breakfast, Chase found himself trying to head down to the storage room to go outside. He paused at the kitchen door afraid to see the evidence of last night's happenings.

Just go. He urged himself. Do something.

Waiting for his father to meet his friend in town was more of a chore than cleaning up the fallen nicknacks on the storage room floor. He hated the act of cleaning but that feeling felt so selfish now. So, childish.

He was afraid of having to leave but he wanted to get on with it. Somehow waiting made it worse so he ducked outside. He needed busywork. There, his bike was due for a cleaning and a tune up so he decided that would be a great distraction. He thought about packing his backpack for his...he paused. What do I call it? A trip, a mission, a quest? None of them felt fitting. Then he realized he had no idea what he would pack to bring anyway.

He thought about that as he grabbed his small tool kit and started working on his bike. The usual things he took camping mostly would be of no use on a ship but could come in handy if they had to travel on a planet so his backpack in its current packed state would probably be okay for that. Then he would need some clothes. The clothes he had on were pretty good for a start. His all-purpose boots would work fine on a ship or on land. The cargo pants, though incredibly dated and a great source for ridicule at school, were found by him to be perfectly utilitarian as he might need. A typical tee shirt and his riding jacket were fine too, although he guessed a shit would be relatively cold all the time so he figured a hoodie would be good to bring. Probably would need some spare socks and underwear, pants and another shirt.

Simple. Just the way he liked things.

By the time his father came down to leave for the meeting, Chase was putting the last piece back on his speed-bike from his quick tune up. Now he had to wash it.

Chase stood up as his father approached him holding something under his arm. It was a neatly wrapped towel, tightly hugging something within.

Father gave Chase a good long look and saw a worried young man. It reminded him of himself before he'd left for IPAC boot camp.

"Chase," he said, "from now until I come back from this meeting, I want you to look deep inside yourself." He used a stern voice, and Chase felt like he was entering boot camp himself. "When I return, I expect to see a young man ready to take on his responsibilities and do what needs to be done." He put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "We're going to get Jax back, you get me?"

Chase gave his father a nod, accepting his instruction.

"There are few moments in a man's life that register in the extraordinary. You should take none of them lightly and you should commit to them entirely from within your heart." Chase soaked in his father's stare. "It is the very foundation of character, son."

Father gave a hint of a smile and handed Chase the towel-wrapped object. "I'd like you to have this. Wear it at all times after we leave." Father turned and climbed into his cruiser parked at the side of the house.

His father then drove off disappearing from sight, heading towards town, and Chase glanced down at the neatly folded towel. He began to unravel it. Inside, he found his father's favorite handgun. A 9mm piece with a fifteen-bullet cartridge and a box of ammunition. With the gun still nestled inside its snug leather holster, Chase felt empowered holding it even like this. Awe struck him when he realized what this meant. His father giving him this gun was a rite of passage.

Chase closed his eyes and pretended that he was the bravest and most courageous man on the planet. What that meant. What that felt like. For a moment, a longing to go on this journey welled up deep inside him—the desire to find his brother with his father. He made the moment last as long as possible. But as time moved on, so did the feeling, so did the counter on that paper folded up inside the storage room. So did the disk as it continued to race deeper into space. It was the key to finding Jax, and Chase knew it. He knew he needed to find it.

When he opened his eyes, he made a decision. If this were his last day on Earth, he would spend it riding his bike fast and hard one last time and find the young man ready to take on his responsibilities that his father spoke of. He strapped on the gun and holster, then donned his riding jacket. There was nothing he could do at the moment, while Father was out planning the mission, so he jumped on his bike, fired up the engine, and took off through the back yard into Brighton Forest.

Once running, the bike itself was rather quiet; it was the wind rushing past his ears that was not. Before long, that was the only sound. Once all other sounds were drowned out by it, silence began to arrest the wind whipping around his head to a quiet hum. Even the plants smacking the underside of the bike were silent. In moments like this is where Chase finds the source of his love of riding through the forest. All was quiet, and a blurred peripheral formed a tunnel of freedom as he raced forward through it.

He flew through Brighton Forest and into the Terracon Valley below. A small creek snaked through the bottom of the valley, and when he flew over it, he felt a true sense of flying. This creek went on forever, and Chase was prepared to go the distance today. Finally, a smile crept onto his face. Worry seemed to blow off his mind with the rushing wind and disappeared behind him. This was his freedom.

As if his new responsibility tightened its leash on him, a loud pop rang out from the engine. Smoke hissed from under his seat. The split second of distraction pulled his attention away from the bend in the river and the tree line dead ahead. He saw the danger just in time and leaned left, turning the bike on its side.

But it wasn't enough.

He and his bike flew sideways and the underside of the bike slammed into a large fir tree. Chase was thrown to the ground, his bike crashing down on top of him. The speed-bike was lightweight, but it was heavy enough to pin Chase in place. Especially with the handlebar jammed into the ground next to his leg.

Struggling, he managed to shimmy out from underneath the bike. After he was free, he paused to catch his breath and looked up at the tree to see the only evidence of his visit was a tiny scratch. It was as if the tree had brushed him off like a burdensome fly.

"Ya know what, bike?" Chase yelled, "you suck!" He kicked it and then picked it up. He looked it over and saw no real structural damage, other than a small dent in the chassis. The engine housing seemed intact, but he noticed the fuel line had popped.

"Oh, great. Can't fix that way out here!" he shouted.

He toggled the hover switch, and the bike growled to life as it normally did. Immediately after, it began to hover.

"At least you can support yourself," he said to the bike.

When he tried the engine ignition and throttle, it only hissed and spewed out fuel. The bike didn't start and, hence, didn't move.

"Crud!" he yelled. He looked around for a moment to get his bearings. "Well, let's go see Jimmy. He'll know what to do with you."

With the bike hovering, Chase pushed it towards town, heading for Jimmy's shop. He was the only mechanic in Iron Lake but he could fix almost anything.