Chapter 1

“I’m such a big fan. You’re the fastest, most handsome, coolest racer on the track.” Gwen simpered, entwining her hair around her bunny ear coquettishly.

The speed-racer grinned, taking a deep satisfied breath — Nate wasn’t sure how he did it, given that the garage on the side of the track, built into the red rock cliff, was a nauseating stench of fuselarium, oil and engine fumes.

“Well, maybe I can show you my trophies after the race, I’ve won a lot—”

Nate grimaced as Sofia slipped her arms around the racer’s neck and slowly choked him out.

Gwen squeaked.

Sofia looked at them as she dropped his limp body to the ground and dragged it into a tools closet. “What? He’ll be fine in an hour or five.”

“Couldn’t we have found a guy with a smaller head?” Nate complained as he tried the guy’s helmet on it. It felt like his head had space to bounce around in it — and if his head had space to bounce, so did his brain.

“We’ve got like five minutes before the race starts, how many guys do you want me to choke?” Sofia frowned.

Nate shook his hands, running on the spot to keep his heart rate up. Nerves were getting to him — what seemed like a good idea five minutes ago now seemed like a really fast route to an early grave.

“Any tips, Gwen?”

The Lops woman just shook her head. “I think it’s a race of survival, more than speed. Try not to die.”

“Good tips.”

Gwen gave him an anxious smile.

“Good luck. We’ll be watching. Try not to die, please.” Sofia pressed a kiss to his helmet and turned on a dime, graceful as ever, even in heels. Nate watched the girls leave — he’d told them to stay out of sight, in case Xavier caught sight of Sofia and realized their subterfuge.

“Jerry-boy, you ready to fly?” A Lops engineer clapped his oil-blackened hands together, dressed in faded blue overalls. “We gotta move, son!”

Nate just gave him a thumbs up and followed the guy out to the race track. Outside the garage, the sheer scale of the speedrace was evident. Scores of stands built into the rocks for a solid mile, stretching up so high that the moon struggled to rise above the cheering crowds. And on the other side of the track, the royal stands, more grandiose, but holding less people, only those with money.

In that stand, somewhere, was Xavier. Xavier, who had to have an antidote on him.

Winning was the only way he could get into the royal stand, so he’d have to win. He deliberately didn’t look up at the roaring crowds, concentrating on the racer ships of his competitors.

Some had gone classic — a little cockpit pod slung behind two fat fizzling engines. Others had gone for more safety, sitting their pods directly between hulking cross-shaped engine radiators, using their weight as both a shield and, Nate imagined, as a ramming threat.

Carlito, the race’s previous winner, had outfitted his fusecables, the whipping sizzling power lines between the cockpit and the engine, with sharp fang-like blades.

But as Nate walked to his own racer, he noted that all the pilots’ eyes were on one ship and one man. Melios, an old scarred and grizzled pilot, black ears to match his black ship. His ship was insane — the cockpit pod was shaped like a ramp on both sides, so trying to slam him would instead mean one was simply lifted into the air. And in front, his engines were shaped like old war circular pillboxes, with gun turrets poking out of small holes.

“Don’t worry, Jerry.” Nate’s engineer patted him on the back. “Old Melly looks scary but he’s been retired a while. Won’t be as fast as he used to be.”

Nate stayed silent — he didn’t want his voice to give it away.

“Surprised they brought him back, though. Probably ‘cos they brought weapons back too — that fucker only wants to see blood.”

Nate rolled his eyes. He was going to be racing against a psychopath, great.

The engineer brought him to his own ship, which looked…less impressive than he’d hoped.

Bare bones, slimmer than all the others — the engines were long and tubular, stripped of paint to reveal their metal components. The cockpit was striped red and Nate climbed gingerly into it, wincing. It was tight, uncomfortable, with no space for his knees to even move.

The heavy smoker’s breath of his engineer washed over him. “Now, you know the drill. Speed on both throttles, pull back on either one to corner, touch her like a woman, not a whore. But today we’ve built in what we spoke about. The weapons are good to go — feel the little trigger above your right hand? That’s the gatling gun on the right engine.”

Nate frowned, looking down at his cockpit. A throttle under his right hand — it felt chunky. The console in front showed five lines — they’d light up green if he went to full throttle, he figured. But he wasn’t used to pulling back on one of the two throttles to corner — usually ships had joysticks.

He looked at his left hand.

The engineer grinned. “On the left trigger, we’ve got the detonator mines, just like you requested. Once to drop, once more to blow. Remember, weapons unlock after a quarter lap, so the race doesn’t end too early. With me?”

Nate nodded.

“Good. We’re small but fast, boy. Sleek and slick. Swift and sexy. That’s the way — don’t let the big boys bully you and slide on through.”

Nate just looked up at him silently. He’d feel a lot better if he had the weapons of the other pilots — already he could see and feel them being tested. The crowd roared as one pilot spat a huge burst of flame from the front of his pod.

“Good luck, Jerry. Remember, speed is king but survival is queen.” The engineer grinned, his ears flopping in delight. He spat on his hand, rubbed it on Nate’s helmet and then departed.

“The fuck am I doing?” Nate muttered to himself, staring at the track in front of him. The engineers and entourages were leaving — the ships had been positioned in a two-to-a-row format, perhaps based on points or a qualification speed or votes.

Nate didn’t know. It didn’t matter. He was tenth in a race of twenty. He’d get to number one, somehow.

A Lops girl cheerfully jumped about in front of the ships, bouncing tits and ears, holding the biggest of flags.

*With me, Izzy?* Nate thought.

*Always.*

The crowd roared. The flag rose up.

And came down.

Throttles down.

Nate gasped as he was flattened back in his chair. The ship seared forward, brutally fast. The track was a blur. The announcer’s words melted together. His ship rumbled, but he could barely move his neck, let alone his hands. The forces too insane.

For a moment, he felt every bit his age. The pilots were trained for this, built for this — his only exercise was throwing his girls around the bed.

*Easy, Nate. Helping where I can. Widening field of vision, reducing fear receptors, cycling your breath into a regulated rhythm.*

Nate breathed.

And the track came into view.

Feeling returned.

Senses swam back into focus — his hearing unblocked.

“…and what a start! Melios and Carlito battling it out at the front, and Carlito’s fang-cables have scraped ol’ Melly’s ship already! Behind, the group’s getting messy with debris flying everywhere. Jerry’s like a rocket, but he’s already skinned his ship across Bastito’s side, and the old fan-favorite doesn’t look happy—”

Nate blinked the voice out and focused on the track in front of him. The ships were dipping around and between towering red-rock pillars, thin spires of rock, strange rock formations that must have been shaped by the race-organizers.

And he realized why — on the track, dips in the rock sped ships up, while shimmering metal strips flickered bright lights. The lights were shaped like arrows — speed boosts.

Nate flew straight like an arrow — but it was faster to use the dip-ramps or speed boosts to fly.

He swerved to find one, pulling back on one throttle slightly to career to the left. Just in time. A shadow grew on his face just before a large hustler-like ship crashed down, kicking up a thick cloud of dust. The pilot grinned at him — Nate realized the fucker had used one of the many sculpted rock formations to get airborne.

*Focus, Nate.* Isabelle chided.

Nate shook himself. He wasn’t racing well, but the ship was plenty fast. But the other racers were getting ahead, before the weapons systems were even unlocked.

Already, two ships had crashed out — one smashed into splinters from a hard ram, the other simply faltering due to engine troubles.

But ahead, the first corner, a hard right to stop from hitting a cliff head on. Nate didn’t need to be a racing expert to know that the first corner was always trouble. Gaps between ships were narrowed, paint scrapes — and there was always one big crash.

He had to make sure it wasn’t him — but he wasn’t used to the strange two-throttle turning system. He eased the left throttle back to reduce the power in the left engine — but too much, and he ended up almost clipping a rock pillar.

“Jerry’s all the over the place out there!” The announcer laughed.

Nate swore. Ahead, everyone was drifting smoothly around the first corner with consumnate ease, sometimes nudging into each other to break easy — they didn’t so much turn as slid around the sharp bend.

He tried again, and the back end of his pod turned, grinding nastily against the rock-cliff, but he was so slow. He cranked the throttle down but the others were way ahead.

How the fuck did they do that?

*Power-sliding is the preferred method.* Isabelle narrated. *Pull back on the throttle to arrange the angle, pause for a split second, then carefully push it forward. Done correctly, the ship will enter a power slide, allowing the pilot to corner at high speeds.*

“The fuck are you telling me this now?” Nate grumbled.

*Well, sorry, I didn’t have much time to read up on speed-racing before you randomly decided you’d recklessly enter—*

“Okay, okay, sorry, sorry.” Nate winced, thrown back into the seat as he pushed the throttle as hard as he could.

The other ships were still in sight — he could do this.

A speed boost made his cheeks pillow and his teeth grind, but he was an arrow through the air, sharp and swift.

*Avoid their racing lines, they’re expelling dirty air which will slow you down.*

“Roger that.” Nate muttered. Another turn to slide into a rock valley, the red-rock cliffs enveloping them from sight, but not from the camera drones that followed eagerly. This time, his corner was much neater, hitting the throttle after a second’s pause — it was a terrifying maneuver to essentially let the ship loose control, before feathering the throttle once he was sort of facing the right way.

His palms were sweaty.

But he was catching up.

“Weapons locks released!” The announcer declared with glee.

Nate’s eyes went wide as ahead, sheer carnage unleashed. A thunderous rattling spray of bullets, richochet on the metal. Flame-cloud in the air. A rock pillar fell but not before he could angle his ship upward and slam the button to turn off the stickiness of the hover-thrusters beneath his ship.

High in the valley, his ship in the air and heart in his stomach, he could see all beneath him. Carlito using his fang-cables to rip up the power cables of another, sending one poor fool into a wild spin. Melios’s ship was vibrating with the sheer thunder of the fire cracking from his engine pillboxes.

And behind them, brave pilots revealed their own mad weapons. It looked deadly.

But Nate wasn’t going to win by staying behind it. He flopped back onto the ground, held his breath as he sailed through the wreck of a flaming racer, and held the throttle firmly down.

His jaunt into the air had given him a good view of the track ahead — and the little black gap as the valley turned to the caves of a mountain ahead. A razer thin slit in the mountain, like a pussy carved in stone. The wide track was going to become narrow — and not everyone was going to make it through.

He caught up by taking advantage of the speed boosts on the left and the right. Nate grinned as he tried his own weapon, his whole ship shuddering as he unleashed his own gatling gun. The cracks shredded the engine of the ship ahead, but it also slowed him down.

Nate frowned — he had to balance it. He just wished his leftside weapon was something more useful than mines. Mines were only useful if he was ahead, and he was going to spend the whole race playing catch-up.

The cave gap neared. Nate swallowed as he saw how narrow it was, how those ahead went through. They turned their whole ship sideways, a suspended barrel-roll to make it through. But as Nate tried to do the same with a short, sharp, jerk of his throttle, he ground against a competitor. He looked to his right and received a smirk from a pasty-looking fella, who jerked his own ship into Nate’s, pushing him away from the gap — and into nearing oblivion.

“Fuck!” Nate growled, jerking back right at the pilot, but while their ships were swivelled, one engine inches from the ground, the other high in the air, neither ship was making it through as they pushed and pulled.

Nate blinked to orient himself — his helmet so close to the other pilot that it was almost touching.

Almost touching.

Nate took his hands off the throttle and smashed the other pilot’s helmet forward into the console. Hard.

He took hold of his own throttles just in time to push the bleary pilot out of the way and sail through the cave-gap.

Outside the cave, something exploded. The cave shook. Rocks fell from the cave. The crowd cheered — and the announcer chortled from a drone inside the cave.

“Have you ever seen that, ladies and gentleman? Jerry just dunked Satenza into his throttles, and dunked Satenza out of the race! Oof, let’s hope he has health insurance, am I right?”

Nate grinned and took a deep breath. Inside the cave, the lumniscent pearls in the rock wall illuminated the way, and if that wasn’t enough, hovering drones shined with torches. But after rescuing Sofia, he’d had enough of alien caves for a lifetime, and he sped up.

Only to immediately slow down — the cave was a narrow track, split with stalactites and ‘mites — one pilot dangled from a low-hanging stalactite, his helmet impaled straight through — it looked like his ship had carried on without him!

Nate whistled as he rolled and slid his way through the cave, doing his best to pilot through. He had to deactivate his hover-stickiness just to climb above the stalagmites, but it was hard going. Every scrape of his engine slowed him down, and if he drove too aggressively, his pod cockpit would thunk down and smack against the cave floor.

Ahead, the light of the cave’s exit. Freedom, finally.

Something flashed red ahead.

*Mine!* Isabelle cried.

Nate jerked his ship around, but the tail end of his cockpit still rumbled over it. Beep-beep-beep — and the mine blew. The cave exploded into splinters, but Nate was already gone. Rockdust showered him, but he was out of the cave and into a thick forest.

His ship was whining, the console lit up red with warnings, but Nate didn’t have time to worry about it.

Isabelle did. *Left engine damaged, right engine overheated, cockpit sensors disintegrated so I’m unsure as to the damage. Safety warnings are…I have disabled safety warnings.*

“Thank you, honey.” Nate muttered. He didn’t have time to worry — he had to race.

“And the racers are into the forest of the doomed! Only ten left now and Carlito and Melios are still fighting tooth and nail at the top. There’s a meaty pack behind them and old melee-meteor Jerry coming up the rear. Lovers and losers, Lops one and all, are youuuu hearing me?”

Nate could hear the cry of the crowd through the drones.

Before he delved into the dense clutch of trees ahead, he rose high, taking in the track. It looked like the racers preferred to dust over the trees, taking the safety of the open air over the narrow gaps of the forest below. But…Nate realized he could see flickering lights below the leafy canopy.

Speed boosts among the trees…and if there were speed boosts, it meant it was possible.

He had no choice. He had to catch up and this was the way.

He careered down and took a deep breath as the forest line approached.

“Jerry’s going into the trees! He’s gonna use the boosts to haul his way back into the action…or more likely, to speed up an imminent death!” The announcer declared.

*Nate, are you sure about this?* Isabelle worried.

“Nope!” He chuckled. But if any ship could do it, his could. It was thin, narrow, more slender than any of the others.

His fingers clenched hard on the throttle. “You saw the trees from above, create a topographical map and then plot a path through, avoiding the densest array of trees. Light my vision up in greens and reds from nearest to path to furthest.”

Isabelle choked audibly. *What am I, a super advanced ancient AI? Oh, yeah…on it!*

Nate snorted as he flew into the forest. It was scarily dark — the only light was the thin beams of moonlight and the glimpse of the racers above, and below, the flickering arrows of the speedboosts. The tree trunks came from nowhere, black silohuettes of certain death.

While Izzy worked, Nate rolled, rose, dove and slid his way through the forest. Branches thwacked at his head. Engines spat up plants and mossy mulch. Bark splintered from the trees he grinded the ship against.

But now and again, he found a speed boost — which was a ten second gasp of flying freedom, a stretch of cleared forest where he could speed easily through. And above, the light of the racers was coming closer.

He blinked and his vision was red and green. Izzy had done it. A path through the forest. He didn’t need to question it, his girl never let him down.

He slid his ship into an odd angle and set off towards the greens. Sweat poured down his back and pooled at his ass. His lips were bitter from the taste of sweat and blood. His hands were clenched so tight they were white.

But the forest trees came and came, and while he had more than a few near-misses, the trees suddenly…went.

He was through the forest and on a gleaming moonlit lake, behind Carlito and Melios. Above, the pack descended from the trees. He’d caught up to be with the second tier, and together they skated a path on the lake, lines of water spray kicking from their ships.

But with the pack came the danger. Nate growled as he saw a plasma shot sear through the side of his engine — he lost only a panel but now the blue-orange light of his right engine was bare, unprotected. The lost panel smacked back and hit someone behind him, to Nate’s amusement, but he didn’t have time to gloat.

The reflections in the lake warned him of coming flame-thrower and he angled high. A squeeze of his left trigger to drop some mines and his pursuer had their engines clogged with sticky mines. Nate squeezed the left trigger and the mines blew, creating a firework above the lake.

“Jerry’s out for blood today!” The announcer cheered. “Don’t take him to the beach because this boy’s a shark!”

Ahead, man-made floating rigs displayed arrows to point the pilots in the right way. The rigs had pylons, electrical frames for the drones to charge themselves on after they were done filming the race.

But after the day’s racing, the pylons were bent and broken, odd angles and shimmering with the debris of unlucky racers, so the new racers had to dip under or soar above them.

Nate’s gaze flickered between the pylons and the water beneath him. The pylons were the obstacles, but the reflections in the water showed the danger behind.

A barrel roll to dodge a spray of gunfire. A mine to block a propelled torpedo. Another blast of flame threatened, but this time Nate was ready — he dipped into the lake’s water to create a huge gout of water to block the flame — and blind the pilots behind.

Two of them collided in a explosive tangle of cables and chassis. Nate roared along with the crowd — he could get used to this. The adrenaline of it, his thumping heart, it made him feel good. Alive.

But Carlito and Melios only stretched further ahead — they were having their own private race, and Nate was getting stuck with the depleting pack of runner-ups.

On the other side of the lake, another forest awaited. But the two ahead instead dipped suddenly, out of sight.

Nate frowned.

“Into the famous farm of fellwater fish — this abandoned fish farm was never completed once those Federation fucks decided our famous fish was full of fatal fungicides! No more exports of our beloved fish! Is that too many ‘F’s for you, dear crowd? I’m sorry, I have no more effs to give!”

Nate had no time for the announcer’s microphone-fellating, because he had to dip just as suddenly, into a unsighted hole in the lake that the water streamed into. It was like a glass tunnel that streamed underwater, a cylinder of streaming water, too narrow for them all. Outside the glass tube, the lake’s underwater, dark and hazy with the creepy blink of fish’s eyes. But inside, the obstacles weren’t stopping.

“First the fish were cleaned.” The announcer squealed. Ahead, a ugly spray of purple liquid jetted from the side, impenetrable. Nate let off the throttle but one of the others wasn’t cautious enough — the huge jet of purple cleaning spray smacked his ship against the glass-sides.

The spray stopped and they raced forth again.

“Then the fish were diced!”

A giant propeller in front — instead of racing through the gaps, someone blew it up with a missile. Nate held his breath as he flew through the explosion — and cheekily dropped another mine in the fiery carnage for an unsuspecting sucker.

“Finally, they were separated for packing!”

The tunnel split in two. Nate went right and the others went left. Not others, Nate realized. Other.

There were only four racers left — and to get to the top two, Nate needed to dispatch with this guy quickly.

He slid through the tunnels at top speed, doing his best to glance at the other glass-tunnel through the murky lake’s underwater, where a green ship was shooting swiftly through. Isabelle enhanced his vision, allowing him to see the sheer focused determination of his competitor.

And the weld ahead where the tunnels merged back together.

Nate eased back on the throttle.

Feathered the trigger of his weapons.

*Pre-fire.* Isabelle realized.

As the tunnels merged back into one, the green ship shot ahead.

But Nate shot first.

A burst of fire from his gatling gun that riddled the man’s engines with porous holes. The pilot tried his throttles to turn, but it didn’t respond — his ship painted the walls of the tunnels as Nate flew by.

Out of the fish farm, up toward the glinting array of stars.

“Three remain, and who woulda thought it? Jerry’s coming up the rear, and he means business, folks! We thought him pack-fodder, we thought him just another of the home-grown mechanic champion wannabes, but Jerry’s out for blood, like a dirty Voor!”

*Sofia’s not going to like that.* Isabelle smirked.

Nate didn’t like what he was seeing, never mind Sofia. A rock canyon again, smoldering with the crashes of former races, riddled with ramps and pillars, and at its long end, the finish line. The stadium stands, the crowds ready to welcome the victor.

He stabbed the throttle down as hard as he could, eyes laser-locked on the two pilots ahead. Thankfully, Carlito and Melios were battling it out, ramming into each other, slowed by their constant back and forth. Melios’ ship was full of embedded fangs from Carlito’s deliberate attempts to grind his power-cables against him. But Carlito’s ship looked worse for wear, riddled with bullet holes.

Everytime Carlito tried to ram him, he’d slide up the ramp-design of the veteran champion’s cockpit pod, and even a moment of air-time meant slowing down. Instead, the winner of the previous race was trying to ram into the man’s engines, but that meant making himself vulnerable to turrets poking out of the windows of the pillbox-like engines.

All of this let Nate catch up, using the speedboosts of the canyon. Carlito had a heavy rectangular plate-metal attached to the back of his pod, a bullet shield that looked like it had already come in handy.

That meant Nate’s weapons were better off used on Melios. He held his trigger — but his spray of bullets were easily avoided by the experienced pilot. The veteran then just slid into Carlito, scooping the ship onto his ramp-pod as he hit a speed boost. Melios sped ahead and Carlito was deposited behind him, with a thunk.

Nate’s gunfire was absorbed by Carlito’s bullet-shield.

*Wow, these guys are pros.* Isabelle hummed.

Nate bit his lip. He was going to have to get creative. The night wind whistled by his ears, and if he let himself pay attention to his senses, he’d hear the rising buzz of the crowd and the frantic commentary of the announcer. The throat-filling scent of the fuel, the taste of the fumes on his tongue.

And so far he couldn’t reach out and touch it, victory.

He didn’t have time to second-guess himself. The two ahead were too entangled, embroiled in their fight, to head toward the speed boosts, so Nate took full advantage, building up steam, so fast that he felt like just blinking would make him crash.

When he was good and fast, nosing up behind the tails of the two pods ahead, he knew this was his chance.

Can’t hit them from behind, so time to go high.

He hit a sculpted rock-ramp. Air-time. A long breathless second where he was suspended above Melios, looking down at the two speed racers below. Nate squeezed his left trigger and dropped a mine below.

Only a second of airtime was an eternity on the ground, and Melios rammed against Carlito, making the man slide up Melios’ ramped cockpit. The mine that should have dropped into Melios’ cockpit instead dropped neatly on Carlito’s lap.

Nate didn’t hesitate. A second trigger blew Carlito’s ship into a fiery supernova of debris and ship parts. The wrenching shriek of metal resounded in his ears as Nate thudded back onto the canyon’s bumpy surface.

Carlito’s ship was bouncing along next to them as it disnintegrated, propelled by the explosive force. One bounce and an engine smacked into Melios’ pillbox. Two bounces and the glass shards embedded into Nate’s joystick, an inch from his hand.

Three bounces and the long fang cables were spiraling, loose and whipping everywhere, like they were wielded by an angry ghost. The fanged fuel-cables wrapped around Nate’s engine, a long bladed fang piercing his engine.

Nate gasped as another fang smashed through his cockpit, grazing against his thigh.

A second later and Carlito’s ship was gone, though the fangs remained. They’d made a hole in his cockpit that the wind screeched through.

Worse, Nate found himself out of the frying pan and into the fire. He’d landed in the only place he could have as he launched himself over Melios — between Melios’ own power cables.

To the left and right, Nate’s slender speedracer was imprisoned by the thick blue sizzling cables between Melios’ cockpit and engines.

Nate was in the lead, technically, but he was completely stuck, an embrace from a grizzled old serial killer.

Fuck.

Left and he’d be entangled. Right and he’d be entangled. Ahead was freedom, but he didn’t have the speed to burst between the twin engines of Melios.

But behind, Melios was in his cockpit, in the only part that wouldn’t be shielded, the part he had to see through.

Nate grinned and hit his left trigger.

The console beeped red.

“Fuck!”

He was out of mines.

He could almost feel Melios’ amusement as the gun turrets from his engines vibrated to attention. Their fire would rip through Nate’s engines, through his cockpit, through Nate.

He could not hide, avoid, dodge or delay.

His only weapon, his gatling guns, pointed ahead. Ahead, where the finishing line was visible, a long red ribbon to burst through. A crowd going wild, on their feet, cheering, gasping, holding each other.

If only he could turn on a dime, like graceful Sofia.

Not just turn…Spin on a dime.

Nate jerked the throttle and sent his ship hard to the right. His hissing power cables entangled with Melios, wrapping, entwining, two snakes knotting.

The power cables held him as he pulled hard on his left throttle, a too-hard turn — but held taut by Melios’ cables, he slid in a hard turn, spinning on a dime.

To face a defenceless Melios. Nate savored his shock, his wide eyes, skin paling, ears tipped hard.

He pulled the trigger.

He couldn’t miss.

Rat-at-at-at! His rounds shredded through Melios and his cockpit, his ship reduced to shredded cheese. Melios fell forward onto his controls, dead. But his ship still flew forward…and Nate was stuck, trapped.

Pushed backward.

Nate let out an unmanly squeak of fear and glanced behind him, just in time to see the victory ribbon split.

Nate blinked.

“…and Jerry’s done it! I cannot believe it! The first ever champion to win flying backwards. That is a win, isn’t it? Yes, and though I’m being glared at by several angry gambling cartels, the rules are clear. The first cockpit through the line wins! That and well, dead people cannot triumph, can they?” The announcer chortled to himself, barely audible over the massive cheers of the crowd. “Jerry the Jolt-spark has won it! Have you ever seen such racing? Such brilliance, such out of the box thinking.”

Nate swallowed several times. His heart was in his throat, and beating so fast that it felt like a bomb ticking down at thrice the speed.

But he’d done it.

He’d won.

*Uh, Nate?* Isabelle poked. *You aren’t slowing.*

Nate lost his smile.

Melios’ ship just kept pushing him, even slowed as it was by the tangled power-cables. They were still going fucking fast. The dead man still held the throttles forward firmly. And behind, the wall of the crowd. Certain death.

“Oh shit!” Nate frantically unlatched his seatbelt, clambered onto his seat and threw himself from his racer. He smacked into the red-rock track with a heavy crack of his shoulder, his whole body alight with agony.

He rolled, taking a mouthful of dirt, and looked up. Both ships hit the wall and blew up in a cloud of orange and blue searing flame. Simultaneously, the victory fireworks exploded from the tops of the stadium, sparks of rockets and wheels shooting into the night sky.

“Fucking hell.” Nate held his chest. “My heart isn’t too slow, it’s too high. Am I having a heart attack?”

*Though your heart rate is highly elevated, it is not near dangerous levels. Although, given your age, you may more susceptible—*

“Fuck off!” Nate griped, but he was laughing.

*Congratulations, Master.* Isabelle said cheekily.

Nate stumbled to his feet, taking in the sights and sounds. Sofia and Gwen cheered wildly from the garage — Sofia had cut her own cheeks with her fingernails in her panic, bless her. Nate did his best not to leer at Gwen as she bounced happily, and her assets bounced with her.

The whole crowd, hundreds of thousands strong, stood on their feet, chanting for Jerry, clapping their hands, waving flags. Green flares in the crowd streamed smoke into the sky.

In the royal stand, the King clapped enthusiastically.

Nate took a moment to enjoy it, holding his arms aloft. The race was a sick barbaric ritual, the type that was practiced in non-Council worlds, the type written about in the history books, the sort of thing more suited to Acropolis than any civilized society. But he’d won.

He had another chance to make it back to Ana and the girls, and for them to make it back to him.

“Bring down the elevator so this champion may rise up to meet the King in the Royal Stand!” The announcer declared.

Nate stared as a drone-powered platform descended slowly from the high Royal Stand, climbing at a leisurely place down the cliffs — presumably because the royals could never be at risk of having a hair out of place.

He grimaced — his heart rate was out of control but if he had to get to the Royal Stand in that thing, his heart rate might just plummet from boredom.

*Izzy, do you think I can ask for a lovely Lops fluffer to keep my heart rate up while I go up there?*

Isabelle smirked in his mind. *I shall have the Princess of the Lunari make an official request when I see her. Please wait two to four weeks.*

Nate grinned. That was okay, he could keep his heart rate up. Maybe he’d jog on the spot.

Because he knew that soon, he wouldn’t have to.

His eyes narrowed, under his helmet. Up there, near the King, was Xavier, and his antidote.

Nate just had to figure out a way to get it…under the watchful eyes of over a hundred thousand people.