Previously: The cosmic Gamesmaster has compelled the galaxy’s races to compete in his Transworlds Challenge for a glittering prize or sudden annihilation. Earth’s team – Hatman, CrazySugarFreakBoy!, Trickshot, Nats, Goldeneyed, Visionary, and Amazing Guy – are now undertaking the first leg of the race in their sentient vehicle Aunt Sally.

Who’s Who in the Transworlds Challenge



    On TV screens across the planet – across the Parodyverse – the highest-rated show for the last ten thousand years was about to begin. The Transworlds Challenge, the cosmic Gamesmaster’s great and compulsory contest to win a glittering destiny or face ignominious genocide, was broadcast live to every civilised race whether they wanted it or not.
    Of course, the terrestrial networks wanted it. The live feeds could be combined with studio commentary, with slow-motion playback, with all the treatment usually afforded major sporting events. Better yet, the material was uncensored in all its bloody tragedy, and it was free.
    Now the first great leg of the interstellar race was about to begin, and the cameras panned across the nine thousand star-faring vessels that housed the sixty-four thousand contestants. The ships hung in the void without even any stars behind them. That was because they waited at the very edge of the Dead Galaxy, an area of ruined space where nothing remained except crumbled planetary debris. Every sun was snuffed.
    The challenge was to travel one hundred and fifteen light years to a desolate planetoid on the perimeter of the void and complete the final thousand miles in contact with the planet’s surface along a marked route. The ships undertaking the race were a diverse collection of vessels, from the sleek black assassin-ship of the Z’Sox Collective and the gunmetal-chunky war platform of the Skree Star Empire to the organic crystal technology of the Crystaxians and the trained space-whales of the Moomi. Some were no more than eight feet long, sacrificing power and defences for speed and manoeuvrability. Others were vast, like the nine mile long worldship of the Shee-Yar Empire’s Imperium Guard.
    In millions of homes across the Earth families watched the crafts line up ready for the starter’s signal.
    “This sucks,” complained Kerry Shepherdson. “Can’t we turn over to MTV?”
    “No,” said Asil, babysitting the Junior Lair Legion. “This is educational. Learn.”
    “Learn what?” Ham-Boy asked reasonably. “For the last thirty minutes they’ve just been going over the bios of our team, like we didn’t know that stuff already. Most of it was wrong anyway.”
    “How long has Goldeneyed been black?” Fashion Accessory wondered. “He doesn’t seem to have much natural rhythm.”
    “Tis most unjust that I art not allowed to join yon fray,” sulked Harlagaz. “I art a quarter of Earth, by mine grandmother Gail. I shouldst have been allowed to taketh part.”
    “But you weren’t born on Earth,” Glory signalled, keying her words by paw into a voice synthesiser. “It is the same reason Yo and Finny could not be on the team.”
    “Mine grandmother was the Earth,” grumbled the demihemigod of thunder. “Stupid rules committee.”
    “Is it me,” Kerry asked, “or does Visionary look even dumber than usual on camera?”
    The Juniors checked. Asil gripped the edges of Vizh’s desk and wondered if he’d mind if the class was culled a little.
    “He just looks ordinarily dumb to me,” Fashion Accessory admitted. “Nothing special.”
    “At least they got the CrazySugarFreakBoy! stuff right,” Ham-Boy went on. “It pays to have a PR department behind you.” The wired wonder was being sponsored by Odyssey Enterprises, billionaire Gideon Book’s massive global corporation. The marketing department was capitalising on a world upswell of CrazySugarInterest to launch a whole host of new CrazySugarMechandise. “Nobody’s ever launched a Ham-Boy condom,” he said wistfully.
    “Ew ew ew ew ew,” shuddered FA.
    “Pft. Those CrazySugarFreakJohnies would be more interesting if they were really made out of Impossibilitium,” shrugged Kerry.
    “Mr Epitome says the media’s infatuation with the champions will serve to make the Lair Legion’s future development program more robust,” Glory said helpfully.
    “Media infatuation?” Ham-Boy snorted. “You mean that hotline number for women that Nats has abused to call up and tell their stories on air?”
    “Twould appear yon flying phenomenon hast been most prodigiously busy,” admitted Harlagaz. “Tis possible he art quarter goat.”
    “That does it,” Kerry snarled, grabbing the remote control from Ham-Boy. “MTV.”
    The screen flashed before Asil could stop it, and suddenly a youthful and kewl relevant presenter told the audience, “And now, in an exclusive bootleg from Mangatown back in the karaoke years, here we present the legendary Visionary singing “I’m Henry the Eighth I Am I Am…”
    Asil smugly confiscated the remote control as Kerry screamed.



    The signal was a nova-flash reaching the waiting spacecraft. With a blur of transwarp engines the various vessels seared away into the Dead Galaxy towards the first marker beacon.
    “And they’re off,” the commentator called in the voice reserved for sports presenters everywhere. “We’re looking now at a live feed from the command deck of Aunt Sally. That’s Nats you see in the front there, in the leather jacket with the flying goggles. Nats is along as chief courier of Extraordinary Endeavour Enterprises, a major new name in transport logistics, and that’s their badge you see on his shoulder. EEE is sponsored today by Bautista International.”
    “Oh sure,” hissed Bethany Shellett, watching in her Paradopolis flat. “The world’s at risk, so spend time on product placement.”
    Laurie Leyton, sitting cross-legged on a cushion beside her shook her head. “Believe me, EEE needs all the product placement it can get.”
    “Behind and to Nats’ left at the Navigation console you see Amazing Guy, said by some to be the protector of the Parodyverse,” the commentator went on. “Amazing Guy isn’t the highest-profile of the heroes here, although he’s an honorary member of the Lair Legion. But our sources from off-planet networks tell a different story. Seems our AG has quite a rep out and about in the cosmos, and many of the other races have lodged complaints about him being able to take a place on the Earth team. There’s been bad feeling because AG apparently has some kind of cosmic awareness that makes him hot stuff navigating through the stellar void. Those objections have been over-ruled because Amazing Guy is baseline human and acting in a purely private capacity on this mission.”
    “Plus who’s going to argue with that Living Omelette boss of his?” Lisette asked.
    “Besides, they were profiling some of the other races earlier,” Beth pointed out. “That Yasmin of Clan Klayhog has some kind of telepathic affinity for space travel, and the Heralds of Galactivac have the Crimson Cyclist and he can sense the very contours of timespace.”
    “Over Nats’ right shoulder you see Visionary, another controversial team member. Although the rules committee was unable to determine his absolute fakeness and therefore gave him the benefit of the doubt as an Earth resident, many people back here at home have questioned whether the apparently powerless former leader of the Lair Legion should have a place amongst the champions. We spoke to one source close to the Legion who said, and I quote, ‘There is absolutely no reason at all why they should pick dweebo to be part of that team, unless perhaps they’re hoping he’ll get accidentally offed. I suppose that could be it.’”
    “Plus he’s about the most experienced member of the team,” Beth pointed out.
    “Scary, isn’t it?” Lisette agreed.
    “Now we’re looking at the Starboard Gunnery Nacelle,” the commentator informed his audience. “That’s Trickshot the Marksman manning one of Aunt Sally’s heavy-duty gravity accelerator cannons. Although Trickshot usually uses less technological missiles I’m told he’s an expert shot with virtually anything he touches.”
    “Plus he could irritate the hell out of the enemy from half a galaxy away,” Laurie noted. “Fact.”
    “And there on the Port Gunnery Nacelle we see CrazySugarFreakBoy! Er, CrazySugarFreakBoy! appears to be performing a handstand at nine-tenths the speed of light and waving at the cameras.”
    “You have to love him or hate him,” Beth admitted with an affectionate grin.
    “And here’s Aunt Sally’s engineering deck, and there we have Hatman and Goldeneyed, the final two members of our crew of champions.”
    “At last,” Beth declared to the TV. “Go, Bry!”
    “While Hatman has been honoured by his nation and the Commonwealth for his participation in this Transworlds Challenge, Goldeneyed has been the butt of the Daily Trombone’s ‘Get G-Eyed Off the Squad’ campaign, with publisher J Jonah Jerkson urging his readership to demand the immediate removal of the teleporting superhero as ‘unfit to be allowed out of the house without a muzzle and straight-jacket’.”
    “That’s because J. Jonah Jerkson needs his head shaving and painting blue,” muttered Beth Shellett savagely.
    Laurie Leyton raised her eyebrows. It was very rare to hear her flatmate ever say anything bad about anybody. Then she glanced again at the screen where Bry Katz was operating the quantum transfer thrust propulsion engines and back to Beth as she huddled on the sofa watching him.
    “Beth,” Lisette said slowly. “Are you in love with Bry?”



    “Okay, how are they doing so far?” Falcon demanded, peering over the Librarian’s shoulder at the multi-screen console where Lee Bookman was monitoring Aunt Sally’s progress on two dozen video feeds at once.
    “We’re not going to win,” the Librarian answered simply. “There’s too many big ships out there, and this leg of the race favours them.”
    “We should have used that special circuitry,” worried Nitz the Bloody, High Priest of Zeku. “We can’t afford to be all moral and high-groundy here.”
    “Says the clergyman,” snorted Amy Aston.
    “We are having to be winning,” Yo insisted, “else cute-ing Sorceress is to be being forfeited to death!”
    “It would be hard for a vehicle the size of Aunt Sally to do too well on this leg of the contest,” Ebony of Nubilia noted. “Denied the opportunity of subspace skimming or the use of space-folds because of the nature of the area, the most largest and most powerful ships can generate the biggest lightspeed variation fields, and thus move the fastest.”
    “Which is why we should have used that Light Constant Shift Circuit pirated from the Z’Sox,” Princess Uhunalura objected. “Half the other contestants have it by now. It’s not cheating to do what everyone else does!”
    “Well, technically it is,” Miss Framlicker pointed out. “But who cares? We need to win.”
    “Yo is still to be saying no,” Yo insisted.
    “You do want us to win this race, right?” Falcon demanded angrily.
    “Oh yes. Yo is to be backing cute-humans. Yo Planet is not to be competing in Transworlding Challenge, because we are to be not liking uncute Gamesmaster.”
    “It’s not too bad,” Amy Aston consoled the support crew who were monitoring the race from the Gamesmaster’s gameship. “Those big machines may have the edge in the deep space light-speed stuff, but a lot of them are going to have serious problems on that ground-based last thousand miles. Our guys can make up time there.”
    “They have to be in the first five hundred to stay in the race,” Nitz reminded them.
    “They have to finish the leg for our planet not to get wiped out,” Falcon pointed out.
    “Where are we now?” Uhuna demanded.
    “About eleven hundredth,” the Librarian calculated, “and dropping back.”
    “We should have used the Z’Sox circuit,” Uhuna sulked.
    Al B Harper looked up from his workbench. “I’m not so sure, guys,” he warned his comrades. “Miss F, Amy, take a look at this…”



    “The best thing,” Hacker Nine declared, shovelling more buttered exploded grain into his mouth, “the very best thing about this dimension is popcorn!”
    Lindy Wilson re-entered Falcon’s living room with a fresh bucket of the stuff and placed one hand on her hip challengingly. “Really?” she demanded.
    “Er, well except for you of course, right?” Zack Zelnitz corrected himself hastily. “Right?”
    “You bet,” Lindy told him. “And don’t you forget it.”
    Having skirted that particular relationship reef Hacker Nine gestured to the TV set. “I think there’s something odd going on.”
    Lindy peered at the tube. “You mean apart from you modifying Sam’s TV to project holograms and run galactic sensor sweeps? You better put it back the way it was before he wants to watch Baywatch reruns.”
    “I mean there’s thousands of ships out there all with the same slip-field signature,” H9 pointed out. “As if they’re all using the same technology to generate light constant shifts to surf through space.”
    “Are our guys doing that?” Lindy wondered.
    “Aunt Sally’s doing it,” Zack agreed, “but in a different way. Her harmonics are more distinctive – and less efficient. But look at the readouts on all these others. Apart from the size of the field which depends on engine capacity the harmonics are exactly the same.”
    “So?”
    “So somebody’s given out some very useful tech,” Hacker Nine frowned. “And nothing’s for free.”
    “Is that why we’re losing?” Lindy Wilson wondered. “All those ships with that harmony thingy seem to be pressing ahead.”
    “Yeah. But look at the signatures those ships are putting out. Those fields they’re generating all have the same tiny flaw in them.”
    “A flaw? What kind of flaw?”
    But Hacker Nine was already hacking away at his palmtop. “A vulnerability to a particular energy frequency, looks like. You hit their field with a wave of that amplitude and there’s a cataclysmic feedback that’ll wreck your engines, maybe worse.”
    “A design flaw?”
    “A designed feature,” H9 concluded. “A deliberate backdoor. Y’know, if I could find a way to generate a pulse from one of the big ships out there I could take down half the opposition.”
    Lindy folded her arms determinedly. “No,” she insisted. “If you start interfering like that… no more popcorn.”
    “But Lindy…”
    “I mean it. And no more sugar, either.”
    But just then the Z’Sox Assassin Ship released a pulse of exactly the right amplitude exactly as Hacker Nine has posited. A thousand vessels exploded in roses of flame, and three thousand more span helpless as their engines degenerated to slag.



    “You saw it! This is Challengewatch breaking news, and right this moment there’s been some kind of chain explosion that’s destroyed more vessels than I can count. It’s kind of hard to see what’s going on…”
    “Cut that dumbo off!” barked Dan Drury on the main deck of the SPUD helicarrier. “We don’t need inane-prattle-boy ta tell us something’s happened.”
    “Right,” agreed Pigeon, leaning over the console where NTU-150 was clattering away at two keyboards simultaneously. “We need tin-breeches here.”
    “A trap, I think,” Jamie Bautista advised the Director of the Super-menace Principal Undercover Division. “Everybody was using the same circuitry with the same critical flaw in it.”
    “It was a set-up,” Contessa Natalia Romanza interjected. “It had to be. Circuitry stolen from the Z’Nox Assassin-Ship? Come on. And does anybody want to bet that their pulse that caused all the devastation was a purely technical transmission that in no way violated the no-weapons rules on this leg of the contest?”
    “No bet,” Pigeon frowned. “but our guys weren’t using the circuit, were they?”
    NTU-150 checked the trajectories of the remaining competitors. “No,” he answered, “but they were damned close to the Crystaxian starspinner when it went up.”



    “Beware!” thundered Donar, acting All-Pappy of Ausgard. “Quell yon flames lest thou fallest to the tempest!” And he hammered the Orb of All-Probing to try and improve the picture.
    “Calm down, Donar,” Queen Annj advised her husband. “If you shake it too much you’ll have to send it back to the dwarves again, and Mr Swavrtalfgitt said you’d well and truly shot the warranty last time when you hurled it at Hoki.”
    “But see!” the hemigod gestured to the image in the glass, “yon detonating vehicle of glass hath sprayed the decks of Aunt Sally, sundering for a moment the protective force fields that doth protect her crew, and now art Goldeneyed and Visionary bleedething and the vessel falters!”
    “I know. But there’s nothing we can do.”
    “I couldst just take mine goat-chariot and happeneth to be in the vicinity…”
    “We’re not allowed to interfere, Donar.”
    “Mayhap I couldst wear some kind of disguise, such as a faketh moustache…? And mine war-goats too couldst wearest disguising moustaches…?”
    “Donar. Sit down.”
    “They art my boon companions, and I musteth helpeth them!”
    “Donar.” The icy tones warned of impending matrimonial acrimony if the lord of storms didn’t do as he was told.
    “That’s right, muscles,” Lisa agreed from the door to the great chamber of Hugedhamhjall. “Save your strength. You’ve got visitors.”
    “Lisa?” Donar gasped, rising to his feet to greet the first Lady of the First Legion and her companion. “And Dancer?”
    Annj looked up in interest on hearing the names of her guests.
    “What bringeth thou to fabled Ausgard?” Donar asked his old comrades. “I art married now,” he said pre-emptively to Lisa.
    “Oh, we’re just passing through,” Dancer noted casually. “And we thought you could probably help us get to the Chronicler of Stories. And, y’know, take out the Gamesmaster.”



    “And that’s all she wrote!” groaned Security Chief Flaherty as he watched Aunt Sally spinning away through space with a cold fusion cycle failure. “We’re out of the race and doomed to die.”
    Edward Westwood, the Governor of the Safe metahuman confinement facility, was looking grave too. “Not necessarily,” he said in measured, concerned tones. A man given to panic and despair would have lasted long as Warden of the most dangerous supervillains on the planet – and since the fall of Badripoor the place has been crowded to the seams. “We know so little about the Austernal technology that operates Aunt Sally. Perhaps she can repair the damage?”
    “Well I sure hope so,” Flaherty admitted. “At the moment things are looking a little shaky for our boys even finishing. If it wasn’t for CrazySugarFreakBoy! and that Trickshot joker keeping all the flying debris at bay with those ray gun things…” He slammed his fist down on the table and yelped when he got a splinter of wood in his finger.
    The Governor was oblivious to his security chief’s minor injury. “And look at Nats concentrating. I think he’s trying to keep the vessel moving forward telekinetically.”
    “I hope Visionary and Goldeneyed aren’t badly hurt. Hatman’s got some kind of nurse’s cap on to strap them up,” Flaherty observed, sucking his fingertip.
    “But I admit it’s not looking good for our chances,” Warden Westwood admitted. “I think we’d better consider a full lockdown, just to make sure there’s no trouble when the prisoners see this.”
    “Agreed,” admitted Flaherty. “I’ll see what I can… what I can…” He yawned mightily. “I’ll see what I can…” Then he slumped to the floor in a deep slumber.
    “Flaherty?” Westwood asked, but didn’t stay awake to see if there was any reply.
    All around the Safe every guard and inmate drifted off to sleep. Then the wall of thorns rose up around the outside of the grey-walled prison, scrambling with accelerated growth to coat the exterior with an impenetrable tangle of cruel briars.
    Xander the Improbable picked one errant rose from the barrier and popped it in his buttonhole. “Very good, Wendy,” he told the high-level reality-reordering telepath who had just taken down the most secure prison on Earth.
    “And traditional,” Cleonie approved. “One of the classics.”
    “Oh sure,” breathed ManMan as he followed the others into the Safe to free the Yurt to join their band. “As long as you’re not the one who has to kiss the Warden to wake everybody up.”



    “We have to do something,” Sorceress demanded as she saw Aunt Sally tumbling in space. “They’re in trouble and hurt. We have to get to them!”
    “No, we don’t,” Blackhearted answered coldly. “That’s not the mission.”
    “Not your mission, maybe,” Whitney Darkness warned him. “But I’m not going to stand by while…”
    “You are,” Keiko warned her. “You have to. Interfere and your planet is forfeit. Try to interfere and I’ll have to stop you.”
    “She means she’ll stab you,” Killer Shrike explained. “She likes that.”
    Sorceress glared at her companions. “Those men are risking their lives for all of us.”
    “Yeah, what bozos,” snorted Shrike. “They’re not even getting paid for it!”
    “We don’t get involved,” Blackhearted insisted. “We stay hidden, we bide our time, and when the moment’s right we interfere to stop others interfering. That’s the deal.” He gestured around the alien architecture of the strange racing vessel they had stowed away upon. “What did you think we could do to help them anyway?”
    “You could teleport…” Whitney began.
    “Hero-boy Goldeneyed over there, my bright-eyed and bushy-tailed alternate self can teleport,” Blackhearted snorted. “If he’s still alive.”
    A thought occurred to Keiko. “Is that why you’re doing this?” she wondered. “To make sure your other self doesn’t survive? So you don’t have to be dependent upon the Hooded Hood constantly retconning you into existence for the rest of your life?”
    “No,” lied Blackhearted. “Look, we don’t get involved, okay?”
    “No need anyhow,” Killer Shrike observed, watching the play on a pocket-sized monitor unit. “Looks like one of the other contestants has decided to polish our guys off.”
    “What?” Sorceress demanded. “Show me! Quickly!” The screen yanked itself from Shrike’s hand and flew to Whitney’s.
    The Clan Klayhog Transport Cruiser loomed above Aunt Sally and fired down on it.
    “No!” Whitney shrieked, but it was too late.



    “Damn good show!” muttered Sir Mumphrey Wilton, watching with Flapjack and the Manga Shoggoth in the Lair Legion Living Room. “Damn fine!”
    The Klayhog transport cruiser ‘s tractor beam latched on to Aunt Sally and dragged her along, away from the lethal debris field.
    “Thanks, guys,” Hatman called across the intercom to their rescuers.
    “There is nothing in the rules against helping each other,” Seeress Yesmin answered. “You are worthy, and we could aid you. There is nothing more to say.”
    “Boy do I have a bridge I could sell those Klayhog guys,” Flapjack whistled.
    “Damned fine,” Mumphrey said again.



    “And in other news, in Gothametropolis today, new Mayor Velma Klein announced the implementation of her new Anti-Vigilante Act, and the commissioning of a new force of tough hard-line crimestoppers who will put an end to what she described as ‘a tidal wave of fascist anarchy that has stifled commerce in the city for too long’…”
    Messenger turned away from the storefront window where a score of TVs showed the triumphant face of Ms Klein holding up her legislation. He had people to kill.



    “So the first priorities are to establish diplomatic and trade agreements with the US, invite a team of trained administrators to take on pro-tem governance while new systems are set in place, and then gradually phase in an education program of democratic values and principles so that the people of Badripoor can… are you listening to me, President Hopkins?” Mr Epitome demanded.
    “Not really, no,” spiffy admitted. “You lost me about ten minutes back in your curtailing liberties to ensure freedom speech. I was watching, y’know, the life and death cosmic space race on the TV here?”
    “The Clan Klayhog are towing our team towards the destination,” Beverly Campbell, spiffy’s new secretary, explained. “But the Klayhog transport is old and broken-down. They’ll never make it into the five hundred.”
    “A shame,” Mr Epitome admitted, “Still, one has to applaud their sense of sportsmanship and decency. Now, about the trade barriers…”
    “Don’t you care that your team-mates are hurt and we might lose Sorceress?” demanded spiffy angrily.
    “Of course I care, President Hopkins,” the man of might answered. “I just can’t do anything about it, and observing will not change the outcome. What I can do is advise you on how to deal with the confused multiple problems you are facing domestically now you are the de-facto leader of Badripoor, so that…”
    “Lost me again,” spiffy assured him. “Hey, look, Amazing Guy’s dragging a power feed from the Klayhog ship to Aunt Sally. They’re trying to restart the cold fusion reactors.”
    “Will that work?” Bev wondered.
    “Don’t ask me,” Mark Hopkins shrugged, “but if there’s a way to get Aunt Sally running again, I believe our guys will find it.”
    Mr Epitome managed to keep his face grave and concerned about the diplomatic issues.



    “They are not giving in,” the Chairman noted as he watched the feed on the giant monitor screen over the Board Room table.
    “Well, that’s kind of a good thing, right?” his Marketing Consultant pointed out. “I mean, if they don’t actually finish this bit of the race, Earth gets blown up and we have to relocate the whole operation, and you know that’s going to cut into our profit margin.”
    “Whereas if they do well, the whole universe sees this Extraordinary Endeavour Enterprises achieve what they set out to do,” the new CEO of the Interdimensional Transportation Company pointed out. “Already Framlicker is out there cutting trade deals, establishing routes, interfering with our business. If EEE manage to support the Earth team to victory then they will secure a foothold in the offworld and offplane transportation market and threaten our monopoly.”
    “Ah, that don’t matter,” the marketing expert shrugged. “Let ‘em wheel and deal at the other side of the galaxy. Let ‘em breathe easier because Bautista Enterprises has bailed them out for another week or two. The fact remains,” (and here his face screwed up with wicked anticipation) “that they’ve all run off and left a fire-station full of very valuable, delicate equipment all alone. Equipment that they couldn’t run their business without.”
    “Ah,” breathed the Chairman. “I see. Yes, very true. Equipment that is not insured or replaceable.”
    “Exactly,” agreed ITC’s Marketing Consultant, polishing the hook where his hand used to be. “I’ll send someone to make sure it’s safe, shall I?”
    “With extreme prejudice,” instructed the Chairman. “I want EEE to be a forgotten footnote in business history. See to it.”
    Roni Y. Avis made a phone call.



    “It’s working,” Aunt Sally told her crew. “The Klayhog vessel’s power feed is sparking my own systems.”
    “Keep going then,” Hatman urged her, wearing his engineer’s helmet. “We could still be in with a chance since so many of the leading vehicles were crippled or destroyed when the Z’Sox played their dirty trick.”
    “There’s a problem, though,” Aunt Sally warned them. “If I pull all the power I need to restart my reactors I’ll snuff out the Klayhogs’ engines. They’re nothing like as powerful as mine, and they’ll be drained dry.”
    “Do it,” Visionary told her, shifting painfully where his arm had been strapped up to stop the bleeding. “Whatever you have to do to get running again, do it!”
    “Hey, hold on!” Trickshot objected. “These guys helped us and we turn round an’ stab ‘em in the back? I don’t think so.”
    “Yeah, it’s kind of scuzzy,” Nats agreed. “But then again, they’ve got no chance of making it to the second round, whereas we might just do it if we could get going.”
    “But if we wipe their power out they won’t even finish, and then they’re dead,” Amazing Guy argued.
    “Just do it, Aunt Sally,” Visionary ordered. “It doesn’t matter if we drain their engines, because once we can go…”
    “We can tow them!” CrazySugarFreakBoy! caught on. “They helped us, we help them. We both qualify!”
    “It would jeopardise our already-diminished chances of making the five hundred, boys” Aunt Sally warned.
    “But does anyone here think this is a bad idea?” CSFB! challenged.
    There were no takers.
    “Go for it then,” Hatman agreed. “AG, fill Yesmin and the Klayhoggers in on the plan. Let’s make it happen!”



    “The Lair Legion and Aunt Sally are moving again!” the commentator screamed. “They’re shifting forward, establishing their lightspeed constant alteration envelope. And… they’re towing the Clan Klayhog!”
    “That’s right,” the secondary, female commentator there to add a touch of glamour to the coverage agreed, “And they appear to be… to be singing! The riff from Bat out of Hell if I’m not mistaken.”
    “Look at them go! The navigation there is flawless, better even than it was before. Say… you don’t suppose AG is working in tandem with the Klayhog’s space seeress, do you?”
    “They’re overtaking the Dramatis… the Prospecti… the Draumids… look at those boys go!”
    “The planetoid’s straight ahead. They’re slowing down for a solid landing, because this last part’s got to be done in contact with the ground. A lot of the big ships just scraped a fin through the earth there, so the terrain’s pretty ploughed up.”
    “And by my count Aunt Sally’s now risen to seven hundred and ninth position. They’ve got a lot to make up and a very short time to…”
    “They’re down! They’ve gone to wheeled mode, and separated from the Klayhog vessel, and they’re shifting over the terrain like there’s no tomorrow…”
    “Get it wrong and there won’t be. They’re cutting around the J’Rondri, on the inside of the Shrub, literally underneath the massive Jodlar Haulage Transport…”
    “Overtaking the multi-legged Skunk all-terrain chameleon…”
    “Ooh, some neat driving there, avoiding the Shankaru-Zitznit collision…”
    “The mud and dust are blinding, but Amazing Guy is shielding the worst of it with his force constructs…”
    “It’s official, they’re now in five hundredth place… four hundred and ninetieth… four hundred and eighty-third…
    “Look out! The Skree War-Platform veering towards them!”
    “They see it, but they’re turning in towards the massive vessel! They’re… oh, they’ve dived right down into the channel it’s dorsal fin is digging to qualify as land travel and they’re using it for cover. And there they are, through the finishing line, Aunt Sally and the LL coming in at four hundred and seventy-sixth position and qualifying to continue into round two with one contest point for completing the track…”
    “And as the team pull into the pit stop to get their damage seen to the last few qualifiers are coming across the post… and yes, there’s those plucky Klayhog travellers scraping through as the five hundredth contestants, to a hearty round of applause.”
    “What an exciting finish that was. And now over to our panel of experts for the commentary…”
    The Hooded Hood flicked the TV off. He’d seen enough.



Next Issue: the Transworld Challenge’s second leg proves literally challenging to our heroes as they navigate some of the hardest terrains in the multiverse and take their first casualties; but it’s harder still for the Hood’s conscripts as they take on the agents of the Hellraisers – a little group called the Heralds of Galactivac. All this plus unwelcome visitors at EEE, coming your way in Untold Tales of the Transworlds Challenge: Obstacles

There are some CrazySugarFreakBoy! tie ins to this at Transworlds Tie-In: Moving into the Mansion and April Alice Apple's Q&A