The Kirkbridge Legacy

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Miles was pacing the hospital corridor, white faced and strained. Prince bought three coffees from a vending machine taking a gulp out of one. He poured a liberal quantity of brandy into the cup, and gave it to Miles, who drank it oblivious of the flavour. Teetotal Prince kept drinks in his caravan for such occasions; whilst safety was improving by leaps and bounds, motorsport was cruel; serious, sometimes fatal accidents still occurred, mistakes, driver error, mechanical failure, possible causes. Shepherd told Prince, “Ken’s lost both legs below the knee.” Turning, Jeff said, “I’m sorry Miles, how is he otherwise?” “They’re keeping him sedated to minimise the shock; it’s not life threatening. He won’t accept life in a wheelchair.” “Miles; Ken has the character to adjust to anything. He may need a wheelchair for a while, but modern prosthetic legs are excellent, you or he can afford the best. He’ll walk. We must encourage him.” “The surgeon faxed a chap in Switzerland; he’s flying here as we speak. They’ll discuss options on his arrival. Because it’s Ken, I’m squeamish; I’ve given him carte blanche to sort it.” “I can understand that.” “By the way champ, congratulations,” he said shaking his hand. “Thanks, it feels hollow. Ken should have won that race, and his first championship.” “We both know, if he couldn’t be champion, there’s no-one other than you he would rather see champion.” Turning to Shepherd, “Have we determined the cause?” Shepherd acquainted him of their conversation. The experimental frame was nowhere to be found. Miles paled further, and Jeff forced a quantity of brandy into him, whilst he digested the information. After a short period of thought, he told them he would have someone find the cause; because of Ken’s accident, and Jeff’s departure to race cars, he wouldn’t run a team next year. Five years would elapse before Miles returned.

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