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“I can see you.”
I spoke not with my voice, but whispered the words directly from my mind. The message traveled though my teleneural patch and directly into the EM Flow. The Flow carried my coded thoughts to the intended recipient – Roxy Jones.
As my streamlined ~dart emerged from the red, pink and gold plumes of the Dawn Dancer Nebula, I eased forward on the throttle ever so slightly and picked up speed. This open region on the other side of my short cut would be a perfect place to gain the ground I’d lost.
“Only in your dreams,” came the eventual reply. “I’m at least a half parsec ahead of you by now,” she messaged.
“Don’t be so sure,” I thought back. “Check your scan.”
After a few moments, her delayed message entered my mind’s receiver. “How in the name of Jupiter did you catch up? I saw you disintegrate.”
I smiled. Even through the code translation, I could sense her astonishment. She knew I was going to catch up.
After all, I was faster.
“I danced through a nebula,” I thought to her. “Face it, Jones. There’s no stopping me.”
Before I could receive her reply, my proximity alert sounded in my head, and the ~dart’s autostabilizer kicked in. The manual controls grew suddenly sluggish and withdrew into the console as the system’s liveware took over, weaving the ~dart through an uncharted band of asteroids.
My restraint harnesses automatically tightened under the torsion stresses. I could feel the snug belts across my body as the forces pulled my guts around my ribcage. Suddenly the spacious cockpit felt much smaller.
I spoke aloud to my liveware. “Where’d this mess come from?”
“uncharted”
The liveware’s voice sounded like a bored teenage boy speaking through a metal tube - probably the voice of the designer.
“No kidding,” I said, bracing myself as the ~dart made a hard bank to the left followed by an equally sharp rightward maneuver. “Any theories on the origin?”
“category seven dwarf planet 67543 is not scanning – evidence suggests this asteroid field previously existed as that planet”
“Theories on what destroyed the rock?”
“negative”
The liveware was a heck of an autopilot, but not much of a strategic thinker. Or a conversationalist.
“Scan debris for foreign elements – identify any fragments that are not indigenous.”
“debris is 99.998% indigenous material – balance comprised primarily of tertanium alloy and trace particles of Roentgenium Y-26 isotope”
David.
“Stop.”
My ~dart came to relative stop within three seconds of my command.
My brother David’s ~dart was the only one in the league with a tertanium alloy fuselage, and we all ran on RY-26 fuel cells.
And he was no longer showing up on my scan display.
The question was, if David had hit the dwarf planet, and his fuel cell had ignited and destroyed his ~dart and the planetoid along with it, why hadn’t his restoration kicked in? Could the failsafe have been knocked offline in the blast?
I hardly had time to investigate, but I couldn’t exactly leave my brother’s atoms to float around this debris field.
“Activate matter collector,” I said.
“specify parameters”
“Collect all carbon-based matter in a five hundred thousand kilometer radius on all axes. Commence now.”
A hum filled the cabin as the ~dart’s onboard matter collector drew all carbon-based molecules into a container in the aft storage compartment where my spare parts and waste matter closet were located. After about three minutes, the hum stopped.
“matter collected”
“Resume vector.”
I was plastered into the back of my seat as the ~dart shot back to half-max velocity – the best it could manage in this debris field. Soon we were clear of the floating rocks and picked back up to max velocity.
“Initiate microscan of collected matter,” I said. “Compare quantum level readings to database file Harrison, David.”
“microscan and cross analysis complete”
“And?”
“collected matter matches specified file 99.63%”
I closed my eyes. Took a ragged breath. Swallowed hard.
My older brother. Dead.
And not coming back this time.
Unfortunately, I had no time to mourn right now.
“Placement report.”
“five ~darts ahead, three behind”
Great. I’d lost two positions while scooping up the remains of my brother.
If I fell in the last half of the field, I’d be joining him soon.
Those were the stakes.
As a race slave, it was my lot to run marathon after marathon. My only goal was to not fall into the losing half of the field.
Winners lived to race again, and had a chance at winning their freedom after a hundred races. Losers were placed in the mining colonies where life expectancy was about six months, tops.
All for the gambling pleasure of the Elite.
I’d placed in the top half of all ninety-nine of my races (since I’d first started racing nearly four years ago). If I survived this one, I’d be free.
If I fell into the lower half, I’d die in the deep, dark shafts of some border moon.
I looked at the field display, a green grid with glowing blue dots. There she was, not too far ahead of me.
Roxy Jones was a friend of mine. Sort of. We had a friendly rivalry going on. This was also her freedom race. Although we hated each other in a competitive environment, off-track there was a chemistry neither of us could deny. I secretly hoped that we’d both win our freedom this day and have a chance at a life together. If she wanted it too.
I considered the mathematics of the field, and sent a message to Jones.
“How did you fall into fifth place?”
After a few moments, “I slowed down when you hit the debris field and stopped. I was trying to figure out what you were up to. I didn’t see Marshall or Hunt coming from behind. They blew past me and left me in the stellar dust.”
“It’s David,” I messaged. “He’s dead.”
“His restoration failed?”
“Apparently.”
In the ensuing silence, a terrible thought occurred to me. Now that Jones had lost her third and fourth place spot, I’d have to pass her in order to move into the top half of the field and win my freedom. And that would send Jones into the bottom half.
And to the death mines.
A quick look at the field showed that Jones had no way to catch Marshall or Hunt at this point.
But I could still catch her.
The local stars rushed by, the distant ones seemed to hang immovably around me, as if I were standing still. I was soon within range of Jones, with only six parsecs left in the race.
“Well, you’ve seen the field,” she messaged to my mind. “It’s you or me, now.”
I didn’t reply at first. Finally, I thought, “I know. I’m trying to figure out how to make this work.”
“Maybe you should just be trying to figure out how to win.”
“Roxy.”
She didn’t answer.
I checked the ~dart’s backup power reserves and shunted it all to the engine. As I slipped forward at a hundred and ten percent velocity, my mind raced with equal speed to figure a way through this dilemma.
It was like experiencing a grief cycle. My first instinct was to deny the reality of the choice I was being forced to make. I told myself that maybe if we tied, the Elite would grant us both our freedom.
Not likely. Such a thing was unprecedented, and the Elite were not known for their compassion or generosity. Most likely they’d send us both off to the mines, or make us race one-on-one to break the tie.
Escape was impossible.
Like the return signal that reas
sembled the ~darts, our bodies were infused with cell-level restraint processors that disabled our ability to travel outside the general race track parameters. Any attempt to do so would instantly put us in a paralyzed coma and send us back to the finish line under liveware control.
A part of me I didn’t want to acknowledge wanted to just blow past Jones and win. I quickly pushed that ugly part back down below the surface.
As I came within ten kilometers of her aft thruster wake, my heart grew soft and I eased off the power, slowing to ninety-five percent max and dropping back from her ~dart.
After a moment, I heard her in my mind. “What’s the matter, Harrison? Push your ~dart too hard?”
How could she be so cold? Was this her way of dealing with the situation, to pretend this is just another race? To imagine that the result of this race was not going to be freedom for one of us, and a lonely, miserable death for the other?
Such cruel fates!
I chose to not answer Jones. Instead, I continued to tackle the logistics – to find some way to beat this game.
Perhaps there was a way I could disable (or even destroy, if necessary) one of the leaders – make room in the top half of the field for both of us.
The ~dart was equipped with a proton vaporizer – not a weapon – a tool for clearing obstacles on the circuit. If I could get within range of Marshall or Hunt, I could maybe knock out one of their engine clusters with a quick jolt from the PV. Even if I could make it look like it was a malfunction, I’d be docked ten wins for violating the rules, thus having to win ten more races to gain my freedom - but that was a small price to pay.
There wasn’t much time left for deliberation, so I made a determined effort to catch the other racers and do the deed.
I pushed my ~dart to the max, then used my power-shunting method to get it up to a hundred and ten percent again. At that rate, I shot past Jones like she was standing still.
She didn’t send me a message.
Probably surprised at my bold move.
Or maybe she hates me now.
I checked the field display, and I was approaching Hunt, but not fast enough. I wouldn’t be in range in time to change the standings. I needed more power. For more power, I’d need more –
Matter.
“Convert matter sample Harrison, David to replace fuel reserve. Shunt additional power created to engines.”
“complying”
David would be glad to know I was making use of his atoms.
My velocity increased to one hundred twenty percent.
Still not enough.
I quickly dropped back, and Jones shot past me, back into fifth place.
As we neared the final parsec stretch of the race – a straight run between two huge nebulae, the answer struck me like a laser.
When a race slave won his freedom, he was granted one material possession with which to start his new life. Most chose their ~dart, as it could be sold in the trading colonies for parts and converted into useful items such as food, clothing, passage on a freighter, or even a piece of land on a planet in a safe star system.
If I won, I could claim my ~dart, then find out which mining moon they took Jones to, and when she died, I could use the ~dart’s restoration technology to bring her back to life after she was discarded by the Energy Consortium. As long as I could get to her body within three days of her death, I could whisk her away, restore her, and we’d be free together.
With new determination, I sent my ~dart rushing headlong down the nebular corridor, quickly gaining on Jones.
I pulled alongside her – I was so close I could see her through her starboard panel.
She looked over at me.
I thrust forward, ready to put my plan into action, but just as I started to creep ahead, I thought I saw her face change. I thought I saw a tear in her eye.
It was crazy – there was no way I could’ve seen anything from that distance.
But then I thought – what if my plan didn’t work? What if I couldn’t find out what moon she was sent to? What if I couldn’t get to her body within three days of her death?
And most of all, how could I consign her to that pain and misery?
No.
I couldn’t go through with it – the risk was too great, the price too high.
I pulled back on the throttle and dropped to eighty percent.
Jones disappeared in front of me like a flash.
Too bad the last time I’d see her face, it had that look of pain.
I breathed a long, heavy sigh. I’d done the right thing. I’d rather she lived – rather she was free.
I watched the field display as, one by one, the leaders crossed the finish line. Looking out the front of my ~dart, I saw the distant flash of light at the end of the nebular corridor as Jones passed into safety and freedom, and the finish line force field was snapped into place behind her.
Our connection through the Flow was severed. It was over.
Terrelium mines, here I come.
A Slave to Race Page 2