As they shove me into the lane three box, I'm assaulted by the smell of sour milk. It's the stink craynes give off when they're scared, which is most of the time.

I'm not talking about birds. Craynes are what I call these lanky, leggy aliens I race against sometimes. They're chickenshit cowards and slow starters, but wicked fast once they find their stride. If I want a shot at the win today, I can't let that crayne get ahead of me.

I'll cheat a little left at the gun. It won't be a problem.

The crayne must be in the very next lane because damn that stink is potent. And it must be to my left because I can hear the baar on my right roaring like a freakin' T-rex. Again, not a real bear. I have no idea what their species is actually called, but they're huge, barely able to fit into a starting box. Their stamina sucks, but they're a rocket ship for fifty meters and notorious for not only beating their opponents but eating them as well. Another good reason to stay left out of the gate.

A little farther down in that direction, I hear something that sounds like a donkey. I think. I was a physics teacher before being abducted, and never spent any time around farm animals. I’m sure when the gates open, something way weirder than a donkey will come out. I’ve never raced against anything else from Earth.

As the countdown starts, I bend down and scoop up a handful of dirt, rubbing it between my hands Gladiator-style. It's a little ritual of mine that helps with the self-delusion. Winning this, or at least surviving it, will take more than a physics teacher.

At the sound of the gun, I launch myself out of the box. One step out and one step over, and I'm already tangled up with the crayne. It goes down in a pile. It won't have anything worse than a skinned-up knee, but it won't get up. Craynes never do.

I start running.

I scan over the neighboring lanes. There are always five runners per race and with the crayne back there crying in the dirt, I should still have three others to contend with. I only see two—at first. But just as the last of it disappears, I glimpse something fuzzy and unfortunate. Whatever it was, it must have been tiny for the baar to have gobbled it down so quickly. I mean… damn.

If I was feeling bad at all about tripping the crayne, I'm over it now. Sure, it might have won. Or it might have ended up the baar's second course. Or it might have ended up stung or trampled to death by the… octopion?

And by that, I mean half octopus and half scorpion. Thus… octopion. Yep, that's what I'm going with.

The thing is nearly as big as the baar, but built low to the ground, its flat armored back like a tabletop. It's crab-walking at a brisk pace and angling toward the middle of the track, where I assume it intends to discourage anyone from passing it. If so, it's working. I'm discouraged.

I can barely see the jointed legs the octopion is carrying itself on, but its dozen or so suction cup-covered tentacles, all waggling around like hungry eels searching for a snack in the dark, are impossible to miss. They encircle the thing's whole body except at the very back, where its short, stinger-tipped tail swings back and forth in time with its strides.

I settle into second place, moving at a fast jog, doing my best to avoid the ruts and bones that mar the track. I look for my chance to challenge the leader, but the thing shifts immediately to match my every move. It must have eyes in the back of its carapace.

And then I'm out of time.

The baar roars at my heels, giving me a split-second to escape its snapping jaws. I hit the adrenaline jets and surge forward in a pure-panic maneuver. I jump-step as the octopion's tail swooshes through the air at my feet, fancy-dance through a tangle of flapping tentacles, and somehow end up standing in the middle of its back.

Unbelievable.

The baar continues to roar, swatting the octopion's tail and tentacles, none of which can quite reach me. It's like I'm standing on second base—safe as long as I don't move.

Unbelievable.

Eventually, the baar backs away, crouching down as my ride continues to carry me toward the finish line. Then it charges forward again, straight toward us with a full head of steam.

I watch in terror as it comes but do nothing because there's nothing I can do. I don't dare hope for yet another miracle, but that's what it's going to take.

Incredibly, that's what I get.

As the baar lunges, the octopian spins, swinging its stinger with pinpoint accuracy. The baar's eyes glaze over instantly, but its momentum carries it forward. It displaces me as it crashes down, making an audible crunch as its massive body literally crushes the competition.

I find myself lying on the track, the long bone of some long-dead alien jabbing me in the back. My goal is within sight, but I'm stuck with one foot caught beneath the edge of the octopion's shell.

It's time to call upon my sole superpower: physics! I dig the bone out from beneath me and use it as a lever to free my throbbing ankle. And the kids say you never use this stuff in real life!

As the baar's eyes begin to flutter, I roll the rest of the way across the finish line. I've won.

The crowd's cheers lift me unsteadily to my feet, where I raise my fists in victory, secure in my status as the most badass physics teacher in the galaxy.