Race to the Finish

by Craig Martelle

  The engine chugged to a stop. The propeller stopped turning. Silence pressed in on her like a crowd of reverent admirers. She took a deep breath and climbed out of her seat, taking the ladder steps two at a time.

  “Dixie, wait. Let me help you down,” Sledge said.

  She let go and fell farther than she had anticipated. Her feet hit, she overbalanced, then tumbled backward. When Sledge helped her up, he was laughing.

  “A gentleman wouldn’t laugh at a lady,” she said.

  He stifled his mirth. “You are a beautiful, amazing woman, Dixie. And a lady. Of course you are a lady.”

  She smoothed her skirt and her blouse, then set off across the meadow with no clue where she was going. Sledge followed with a picnic basket and a blanket. Wildflowers swayed as they passed through them. The sun climbed to mid-afternoon.

  Sledge selected a clearing that overlooked the lower valley where the biplane awaited their return.

  She studied a meandering river and pine trees that reminded her of Melborn…pictures of Melborn, rather. She’d never been to the center of the galaxy.

  The brutish SagCon SI spread a checkered blanket and served her food and wine. He told her jokes and she found herself laughing.

  “Ah, Sledge you're not half-bad." She leaned forward and stared into his eyes. "Why are you here, Mister Hammer?"

  "I'm here for you, Miss Dixie.”

  She savored the fantasy for several moments. It wasn't implausible. She knew he was infatuated with her body and her snarky personality, although that didn't keep him from entertaining her girls. The problem was who and what he was. No one as capable as Sledge went gallivanting around after a woman, even a clever and beautiful woman like she was.

  “Why are you really here?" She softened the demanding question by touching him on the knee and smiling with all her charm. "You can tell me. You can trust me.”

  His face changed and she wasn't sure she liked it. Suddenly, he was on guard and all business. She read regret in his eyes and thought that he genuinely regretted where the conversation was going.

  "Some of your girls have, how shall we say it, checkered pasts.”

  Dixie sat up straight and locked eyes with him. "My girls are the only thing that matter to me. You be careful, Mister Hammer.”

  "The only thing? What about your peach groves and bootleg Tigi operation?"

  She didn't answer.

  He relented with a huge sigh, spreading his hands in a planned apology. "Dixie, I have orders. There are certain SagCon stockholders who want their only child protected.”

  "Well…" She sniffed, folding her hands into her lap and leaning away from him even farther.

  “Dixie,” he said, reaching to comfort her.

  "Don't you touch me, Mister Hammer. How can you come here looking for one of my girls and pretend like we are just having a nice picnic?”

  "I'm not here for one of them and I'm not here to take them away or do anything to them. I need information and I need cooperation," he said.

  "Aren't you a little big and hairy to be a spy?" Dixie asked.

  "We could work together on this. What if a group of your girls weren't who you think they are? Wouldn't you want to protect the others?"

  Dixie didn't like his logic. Heat rushed to her face. She stared across the meadow and thought about what he was saying.

  * * *

  “I can fix it, Miss Dixie. If it rolls or flies in the atmosphere of a planet, I can fix it,” Sledge said.

  Dixie twisted a strand of blonde hair around her finger as she watched him crawl under the biplane fuselage. “They teach you that at the special investigator academy?”

  Sledge laughed as he worked but didn’t answer. “I wonder what you think of me, Miss Dixie.”

  She shrugged and spun her umbrella, fully aware that he couldn’t see it. Just because they were completely alone, it didn’t mean she shouldn’t imagine someone was watching her. What could be a better time to work on her presentation skills? Practice made perfect and she practiced a lot. Not as much as she used to when it meant life and death for a young runaway, but a lot.

  Bored, she sat on a stump and watched Sledge work. His big hands were more dexterous than they appeared. Every movement was quick and confident. She could admire that—never tell him, of course—kind of skill.

  “Almost done,” Sledge said. He crawled out and climbed up a tiny set of rungs leading to the top of the engine compartment. “Ancient design. Do you know what a carburetor is?”

  “I am sure that I don’t,” Dixie said.

  “Well, they are finicky.” He clambered down and wiped his hands on a dirty red towel. “All set. Let me clean up and we’ll be off.”

  Dixie shrugged, partially closing her eyes to maximize her disinterest.

  Sledge went to the edge of the natural runway and peeled down the top half of his jumpsuit to wash up with three small bottles of water. His back was a landscape of muscle, thick and well-defined. And not as hairy as she thought it would be. The scars, however, were another story.

  She looked away before he finished and came back to the biplane.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Hate This Guy

  Thaddeus spun in a circle, careful not to trip over his feet, and let the hammer fly across his exercise yard. The massive block of metal had never been designed for human use, but as part of a mechanized assembly line. Picking it up was a challenge. Throwing it was a test of skill and will.

  Maximus scrambled out of the way and ran to a new napping location with his tail between his legs. The grunts and snorts sounded like curses and complaints.

  “That is very strongly done,” Mast Jotham said, pausing in his efforts to reassemble his blaster. “I do not know why you wish me to clean this weapon. It seems muchly functional already.”

  Thad ignored his deputy and stalked to the hammer. He gripped it, re-gripped it, and finally decided he was ready for another go. He heaved it up and spun in a circle, releasing it with more precision than his previous throw. “Take that!”

  “Very well done,” Mast said.

  “Snort, snort, snort,” Maximus intoned as he circled the furthest corner of the lot.

  Someone slowly clapped behind Thad—clap, clap, clap. He turned around and saw LeClerc walking forward with a smirk spread across his stupid face.

  "Impressive, Thaddeus,” LeClerc said.

  "Get the hell off my yard," Thaddeus said.

  LeClerc stopped, theatrically drawing one of his feet back a step. He had both hands up as though to ward off a blow despite the distance between them. "Hold on, Sheriff. I think you've got me all wrong. Didn't Shaunte tell you about my medication?”

  "She told me." Thaddeus stared at him, struggling to bring his breathing under control. He wanted to fight the hotshot LAR pilot right then and there. He also knew he wasn't ready. The man was half his age, a Galactic Olympiad-caliber athlete, and had twenty pounds on Thaddeus—all of it muscle. He’d gotten the drop on the man in their first scrap. "You’re a real son-of-a-bitch and the sooner you leave Darklanding the better."

  LeClerc opened his mouth to speak, but Thaddeus interrupted him.

  "And while we're on the subject of you getting out of town, I want you to understand that I will criminally charge you the second I have enough evidence to make it stick.”

  "You mean when you have witnesses," LeClerc said with a smile. “Who don’t like getting paid for their work.”

  Mast approached, standing with one hand toward each of them to keep them from moving toward each other. "I would not be muchly pushing your luck, Mister LeClerc.”

  “Listen to the Unglok,” Thaddeus said, never taking his eyes from the playboy.

  LeClerc shrugged. "I didn't have to come to Darklanding. SagCon wants me here. My family—prominent shareholders in SagCon, incidentally—want me here. I bring excitement to dreary lives full of hard labor and bad pay."

  "You are a paragon of charity and goodwill," Thaddeus said dryly.
/>   LeClerc walked across the yard and looked down at the hammer. "You are literally doing a hammer throw. How quaint." He bent down and picked up the heavy object with one hand. It was obvious he'd never attempted a hammer throw but was using basic body dynamics. He kept his back straight and lifted with his legs, letting the handle hang along the length of his right thigh. Every movement, each detail of how he placed his feet, and his confident expression spoke of a man who could master physical skills quickly.

  "How’s it go? Something like this?" He took a step forward, then another sideways, and quickly spun into a circle with both hands on the industrial hammer. On the third revolution, he released it, sending it all the way to the street. Ungloks and humans jumped back in alarm.

  "I really hate this guy," Thaddeus muttered.

  "I am also hating him as well," Mast said. "But why does his throwing the hammer farther than you cause you even greater emotional sharpness?"

  Thaddeus shook his head and walked over to the hammer. He addressed the pedestrians on the sidewalk. "Sorry, folks." He dragged the heavy chunk of metal back to the center of his workout area and let it fall.

  "Why are you here, LeClerc?” Thaddeus asked.

  "I told you. SagCon thinks it will boost productivity. Or discourage labor riots. Or whatever. All I know is they equate my showmanship with all the glory of a Roman Coliseum," LeClrec said.

  "It wasn't the Coliseum that people were interested in. It was the killing and dying," Thaddeus said.

  "Well, that's grim. No wonder the workers hate it here. You're just a thousand rays of sunshine," LeClerc said.

  "I'm here for law and order. Just because Dixie's girls work in a brothel doesn't mean you can rape and torture them," Thaddeus said.

  LeClrec stared at him deadpan. "You know I'm untouchable.”

  Mast stepped in front of Thaddeus and pushed both of his hands forward to stop his advance. "Sheriff, I think he must be provoking you.”

  "I'm too valuable for company morale," LeClrec said. "Unlike you. You're the sheriff. You're basically the asshole everybody hates.”

  “You only win because no one can afford to train like you train. They don’t have access to state of the art ships, or race courses, or about a thousand other things that make low-altitude racing pilots great,” Thaddeus said.

  “You sound like a fan,” LeClerc said. His eyes widened. “You’ve competed in a LAR! Ha! That’s rich. Some washed-up, farm-league nobody is telling me how to do my job.”

  Thaddeus turned his back on the man and went to his stack of tractor tires.

  “That’s why you’ve lost your ability to be impartial. You’re jealous. Probably never won a race.”

  Thad spun around, breathing hard and staring down the prima donna pretty-boy like he was the Devil himself. “Impartiality has nothing to do with it. You know what you did to Tia. How much are you paying her to keep quiet?”

  LeClerc waved the comment away. “You’re a loser, Sheriff. From what I hear, you can’t even keep a woman happy.”

  “What they hell are you jabbering about?”

  “Shaunte’s not impressed with you, Sheriff. We had a long talk. She thinks it’s ridiculous how many times you’ve been married,” LeClerc said.

  “I muchly doubt she stated her opinion on this matter. No one has heard her comment on your marital status,” Mast said.

  “Thanks, Mast. I’ve got this,” Thad said.

  LeClerc shook his head, laughing. “You’re pathetic, Fry. Why don’t you just do it? You know you want to challenge me. Prove your stuff. Show Shaunte and everyone else who the better man is.”

  “Shouldn’t take much proving.”

  “Great.” LeClerc leaned forward and hissed a challenge. “Let’s race.”

  “I’ve got no reason to race you, LeClerc.”

  “Oh, really. How about a wager? If I lose, you can interview me with or without a lawyer. I might even confess to something. A misdemeanor that would get me banned from Darklanding, let’s say. If I win, you expunge my record…completely erase your report about my activities at the Mother Lode.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Leslie and Chelsie

  “I do not understand. Why are we interviewing these women if you are going to obtain a confession by winning a race against LeClerc? Who is far better a LAR pilot than you and will surely win. I am very confused,” Mast said.

  “That’s not what I’m doing. Beating him on the race track is a matter of principal. He won’t honor his bet. Tia is young and new. Leslie and her friends are tough. They’re not afraid to testify,” Thad said.

  “Tough?” Leslie said from the top of the stairs.

  “I meant it in the best possible way,” Thad said, climbing the stairs. Mast followed.

  “Uh-huh.” Leslie put one hand on her hip.

  Chelsie appeared at her side. “Are you going to race LeClerc?” She grabbed Leslie’s arm. “We should race LeClerc.”

  “That’s dumb.”

  “No, really. Think about the possibilities,” Chelsie said. The two young women stared into each other’s eyes and started to smile.

  “You girls are going to cause me more trouble than this visit is worth,” Thad said.

  “Oh, Sheriff. We can make it worth your while. First visit’s free,” the two women said in near perfect unison.

  “Since when?” Thad asked.

  “Since right now, for you. We have to comply, right? You’re the Sheriff,” Leslie said.

  “Yeah, stop resisting or you’ll get handcuffed,” Chelsie said.

  “If they were Unglok women, I would be muchly afraid of whatever is going through their minds,” Mast said.

  “Hey, we ain’t Gloks.” Chelsie stepped back from Mast, looking him up and down as though he was covered with street filth.

  “Never mind that,” Thad said. “I need to talk to you about LeClerc.”

  Leslie backed into a bedroom, her arms held wide to display all that she and the establishment had to offer. Chelsie ran and jumped on the four-poster bed.

  “I will wait here,” Mast said.

  “Leave the door open,” Thad said. He stood at the foot of the bed, looking around for a desk or a table to conduct the interview. “Just sit on the edge of the bed. We need to talk.”

  Leslie crossed her legs to reveal her long, pale thigh. Chelsie laid on her stomach with her feet up and hugged a pillow.

  “LeClerc thinks he’s above the law. Sooner or later, he’s going to hurt someone,” Thad said.

  “Sooner or later?” Leslie asked. “Try every damn night.”

  Thad took off his hat and twisted it. He knew both of these women. They teased him and flirted. Dixie complained they were always drunk and prone to fighting. She said Leslie and Chelsie bullied the other girls, then put them in charge of the other girls when she was away on business.

  “That’s what I figured. I came to you because the other girls are afraid to testify.”

  “Afraid of not getting paid,” Chelsie said.

  Thad swore. “That’s what LeClerc said.”

  “He ain’t wrong,” Chelsie said.

  “Isn’t,” Leslie corrected.

  Chelsie rolled away on the bed, twisting her blouse and skirts into disarray. “Whatever.”

  “We’re not your girls, Sheriff. I mean we are, if you want the discount, but if you want us to get blacklisted from every establishment in the galaxy, look for some other witnesses,” Leslie said.

  “Sooner or later, he’s going to take it too far,” Thad said.

  “Do you think we haven’t dealt with his type before?”

  * * *

  Thaddeus checked every system of his airship, the same craft he had basically stolen not so long ago. He walked under the short wings, checked thrusters, antigrav modulators, and heat sinks. “She’s a diamond in the rough.”

  Mast looked up from the owner’s manual. “Of course.”

  “Low-altitude racing rules require every airship have two pilots, e
ven if one of them lacks certifications,” Thad said.

  “You want me to be a passenger on your way to a fiery death in Transport Canyon? I think my answer must be no,” Mast said. “I am too tall. Unless you try to use the biplane Sledge and Dixie took on their picnic. And even then, I would be muchly terrified.”

  “Airplanes are too sloppy for LAR,” Thad said, only half-listening to his deputy. “I have a pretty good idea who my copilot is going to be. He doesn’t know it yet, but I think he’ll be a natural.”

  “A natural pilot?”

  Thad shrugged. “Below the weight limit.”

  “That is a curious qualification.” Mast put away the manual and walked several strides toward the runway. “Dixie’s girls are really serious about racing.”

  Thad put away his checklist and joined Mast. “Where did they get that airship?”

  “It looks muchly newer than yours,” Mast said.

  “I wonder if they would loan it to me.” Thad rubbed his jaw as they taxied toward the end of the launch pad, hit the throttle, and blasted into the air.

  “That was very impressive!” Mast said.

  “No, it wasn’t. Overpowering a takeoff is a rookie mistake. They’re afraid of the airship and terrified of crashing.”

  Mast looked down. “Is that how you were when you made rookie mistakes?”

  Thad marched toward his ship. “I know what I’m doing. Flying isn’t hard with computer-assisted controls. Racing is another monster.”

  “That is a curious thing to say. Is that a metaphor?” Mast asked.

  “Sure.”

  “That is not helpful,” Mast said. “A definite answer would be like a diamond in the rough.”

  “Get in,” Thad said.

  “I cannot be part of your LAR madness.”

  “You won’t be in the race. I only need you to look at the race course. We’ll fly slowly.”

  Mast backed away. “No, no. I can’t do muchly dangerous aeronautical things with you today. I need to…see a man about a horse.”