Under the Slats

A heavy pine cargo pallet sat grounded on the delivery bay concrete. Center opening: two and a half inches of vertical clearance. A direct tunnel. High above, an amber security floodlight cut through the slatted gaps, casting alternating bands of gold and deep shadow across the floor. Detour? Negative. Throttle locked at half-power. Orange tires gripped the gritty concrete, shooting me straight beneath the first pine crossbeam. My front splitter bumped a stray bent staple aside as I glided twenty inches into the covered runway. Hard brake engaged. Amber downlight pierced through my transparent shell, stamping sharp chartreuse zebra stripes onto the dust. Drive motors offline. Station secured.