“Well said, Martin. Now, let’s look at the grid for a moment. Qualifying was gut-wrenching, as we barely saw Team Gideon take the pole position in the last lap of the final qualifying session. They were followed very closely by Head Hunter and sitting in third is Team Ajax.”
“Well, Jules, if there’s one thing I’ve noticed, it’s that I’m always seeing these teams up in the grid pretty regularly, Head Hunter being past champions, so it’s not much of a surprise for me.”
“Well, here’s something that I think shocked us all,” Jules said. “If anyone is paying attention to the Prime Standings, Team Martian Greys is already a fan favorite with the recent winning of the Sol-Fate game, but we see them dead last in the grid below, starting this race at the twenty-fourth position, having missed qualifying completely due to chassis issues. But the most shocking part is that the driver for this team is none other than the Circuit Enforcer, an Interpol Enforcer from up above, as we’ve found out.”
“And I’ve heard stories. The illegal racers of the streets absolutely hate this man and they’ve never even seen his face! He made hundreds of arrests and certainly put a dent in the illegal street race scenes and operations. But it’s without question that he has quite the pair of bollocks to keep up with some of these speed demons. If he wants to get a shot at the lead, he’ll have to be very aggressive in his approach, which will not be easy for him.”
“Well, I think that just about does it for us for now. Let’s tune into the starting grid to the first engine revs and, most importantly, the start of Warp One here in Red Sector.”
Dill sat in the cockpit within the bike, looking at his surrounding competitors. The other bikes were impressive, but the one Rossberg had delivered on was absolutely beautiful to him, one of the most aerodynamically built and one of the best looking in the race with its dark matte silver and black-accented chassis. The race was soon to start as the other racers began revving their engines, high pitched and violent as the high RPM turbine designs burned jet fuel and air.
He ran through his readouts and got a good check on everything. The bike couldn’t be in more perfect standing. Dill placed his hand on his steering controls to see it shaking. He tried to take a deep breath, but his hand wasn’t any better. Reaching into his jumpsuit’s pocket, he grabbed another syringe. Being in Red Sector had him dosing more than he’d ever done before, but he had to shake the tremor. He jabbed the syringe into his arm and put his hands back on the wheel.
But, as he waited, he didn’t feel the sensation, to his panic. The constant dosing would cause the effects to be less than positive. He clenched his fist and held it to his forehead, trying to shake the feeling.
Suddenly the countdown timer began blinking above at the race tree. The lights flashed red then pulsed yellow. Dillon revved the engine as the other racers did the same, eagerly awaiting the green start. His foot hovered just barely on the clutch, ready to throttle up. His breathing picked up as he saw the race tree flash yellow and then finally green. The crowds roared as the engines whined and filled the stadium.
Dill released his foot from the limiter clutch and slammed on the accelerator, shifting past the first two burn stages almost instantaneously. The bike was more responsive than any pursuit bike he’d been on. The vehicle shot forward like a bullet. He narrowly dodged other bikes as he instantly gained ten positions, his reaction time being top notch. It was a mess of bikes scrambling and weaving between each other in efforts to gain as many positions as possible before the first turn, dangerous by any standard. Dill dodged a pair of bikes that slammed into each other as a result of the dubious and aggressive strategy. It wasn’t long before he pulled out and gained speed, only over ten drivers ahead of him as they all banked the first corner.
He had studied the track as best he could before the race, but with no practice lap and no qualifying laps, he was going off of shallow memory, like he was just barely keeping up. Time slowed down for him. Every rev was blistering loud, every stage shift popped violently in his ears. The numerous readouts on his console taxed his eyes but, to his amazement, he was doing better than he thought. His reaction time was steady; he became focused.
He shifted up to another engine stage and overtook another driver on the following hairpin. The bike was unbelievably fast, a sensation he hadn’t felt in years. The controls were instantaneously responsive as he banked yet another corner, and the shift timing was perfect. As he gained more speed, he took position behind another driver, drafting him for even more speed before pulling ahead and overtaking him. He shifted up again as he passed the other driver, smiling at the sensation of the high-speed race.
McKenna watched the monitors as Dill sped down the track. He was relieved that Dill had already managed to gain so many positions so quickly; however, he was beginning to worry his teammates albeit slightly.
“Easy on the throttle, Roberts,” Rossberg said into his headset. “You’re out of the pack but we’ll need the vector plates to last until the third lap. We’ll swap all four during your pit.” The vector plates located at the bottom of the bike gave it extra thrust maneuverability while turning and braking but wore quickly due to the intense speeds.
“Bike’s holding fine, vector plates are barely warming up. We’re good,” Dill said over the radio. Rossberg shook his head at Hugo before covering his earpiece to not be heard by the driver.
“He’s reckless,” Rossberg said.
“He’s racing,” Hugo shot back. Rossberg smiled. In all honesty, he saw Dill had what it took to win the race. Hugo saw the first straight approaching and, more importantly, the moment of truth to see if the warp core could sustain its speed and distance. “Dill, you’re coming up on straight. Get your path locked and when you see a gap, engage the warp.”
Dill rounded the next turn and saw the straight coming up in front of him. He looked down to a panel beside him, indicating the warp was ready and prepped; all it needed was his go ahead.
“Hugo, you’re sure about this?!” Dill said.
“You either hit that warp or you can call it quits right now,” Hugo said.
“That’s not what I meant! What if it doesn’t work? What if you got something wrong in the design? It’s my bleeding ass here!”
“Only two things will happen when you engage, either you’ll shock to one point three times faster than light speed to the end of that strip or the engine core will buckle in on itself and your ass will get warped somewhere only God knows, and we suffer a cataclysmic explosion. Accept it, bro.”
“Why, I oughtta…” Dill groaned as he lined up with a narrow gap of bikes in front of him. He saw them engage in warp and instantly propel a mile down the track. He took a breath, but it didn’t help as his heart was beating faster than ever before.
He slammed the warp panel and instantly he felt his stomach empty; he felt weightless for the slightest of moments as his bike warped an entire mile instantly. The bike made a loud and deep boom when he came out of warp and suddenly the next corner appeared in front of him. He quickly downshifted and barely banked the corner. Another bike came out of warp just beside him, but failed to react to the corner and instead slammed into the wall, creating a violent blue explosion. Suddenly three more bikes came out of warp and were caught in the new wreckage, causing a nasty multi-bike accident. Dill let out a sigh of relief and laughed, seeing that his life was still intact. He shifted up and accelerated again, the engine whining with power.
“Oh, a pity. Our first major accident of the race, Jules,” Martin said over the broadcast. “That corner is absolutely treacherous, justly named Hell’s Corner, I’d say. That’s just lap one and corners like that are going to put serious wear on the vector plates. I’m not sure the bikes can last the estimated two laps with them.”
“Luckily, we do have a few drivers who made it out unscathed, namely our top three with Team Head Hunter in first and Ajax and Gideon in second and third respectively. Shockingly, the Circuit Enforcer of Martian Greys has moved very far up
in the grid, sitting comfortably in sixth place already in the first lap. Truly outstanding, Martin!”
Hugo and Rossberg began breathing again as Dill came out of the warp and narrowly made the corner. They had a perfect view of the track, coming from bots scanning the track from above. As they watched Dill make turn after turn, he formed a gap between the drivers behind him and his own bike, clearly separating the veterans from the novices as well as the sheer dominance of the bike’s engineering. The gap was large with Dill holding over twenty-five seconds over them right as he reached the second lap. The gap would only continue to grow as Dill set his sights on the leaders of the pack.
“Hugo, where’s Head Hunter?” Dill said over the radio, the engine practically overpowering his voice.
“He’s leading the pack, has a fifteen-second gap on you. Gideon is right behind him with—”
“I don’t care about Gideon, I want the leader.”
“Don’t you dare make any sort of push already, Roberts,” Rossberg said. “You’ve barely made it to the second lap. Hold your position until your pit stop in lap three, then make your move.”
“You want to win, don’t you, Rossberg? I can grab these muppets in front of me just fine. Watch me!”
“Roberts!”
Dill accelerated alongside the next racer in front of him and glanced at the driver only to see him pull ahead. He shifted up and matched the other racer’s speed before the might of his own engine slowly overpowered his opponent, dangerously cutting him off at the next turn. The other racer backed off reluctantly as Dill made his way down the track approaching another straightaway.
Mister Click of Team Head Hunter was focused on the track as his commanding lead ahead of Gideon was only increasing. He engaged his warp and shot ahead on the straightaway and, as he came out of the warp, he immediately turned the next corner. He was a vile and unwavering man and was a veteran of racing, leading the most renowned illegal race gang in Freedom. But each warp made him nervous to a degree. He looked to his panel to view a grid position holoscreen and saw a racer from far behind quickly moving up the ranks, quickly overtaking the others. He had his eye on him for the first lap and knew that he wasn’t some undercity gang racer he knew.
“BabyFace, who’s in position five?” Click said into his radio.
“Martian Greys’ wheelman, they calls ‘em the Circuit Enforcer. He’s a wild man, that’s fo’ true.”
“Wasn’t the Circuit Enforcer some kind of cop?”
“Right-O, he was. Just stay on your line and keep the plates cool. You’ve got a good lead right now.”
“The rate he’s gaining positions, he’ll be on me like this Gideon maggot on my ass.”
“Letting the Blue Man’s team get to ya, Click? Your engine’s cool, plates moderate temps, and the warp core is purring. Gideon don’t stand a chance. And if he gets a little close? Well, this is Red Sector. Have a little fun.”
“Just keep an eye on that Circuit Enforcer, yeah?” Click sped along the track almost in peace, as the Gideon racer was over ten seconds behind. Click just had to keep a level head and ride out the laps to ensure his victory.
Team Gideon’s driver, West, exited his warp phase and looked behind him to see the Ajax racer closely behind. He knew the warps easily eliminated the inexperienced racers, as was proven from the previous crash. He had his eye on the Circuit Enforcer as he gained yet another position, settling in fourth place. He couldn’t figure how the racer was so fast. As a Hasker affiliate racer, he had top engineering on his side and an even better pit crew, but the Circuit Enforcer was something else. He continued his course just as he past the new lap marker and into the third lap.
“West, you’re doing great,” his crew chief said. “You’re 2.7 seconds faster than your last lap. Keep it up and remember to make your stop—” The crew chief cut out unexpectedly, the microphone shuffling violently.
“Come again, you cut off,” West said.
“West, it’s Peyton. Listen, I just got orders from a Wordhunter.”
“A Wordhunter?”
“From Lindsey. He wants that Circuit Enforcer out of the race.”
“Great, Peyton, what does that have to do with me?!”
“Take him out, idiot! He put a gun to your head, remember?”
“Hey, watch that lip, Peyton! Don’t be sore because you lost your little card game. I’m sitting second and I’m closing the gap with that Wargame bastard, so how about you shut your mouth and put my crew chief back on!”
“This comes straight from the top, West! The Boss Man himself wants that Martian Grey chump out of here!”
“What about the race?! I’ll blow it!”
“You think Hasker cares if we win or lose?! He has his eye on something bigger! Orders!”
“Shit! Well, what am I supposed to do? I can’t take him out purposely! Any intentional harm to another player is a forfeit from the Prime Point chase.”
“This is our house! Make it unintentional if you have to, West. You act like your trigger finger ain’t slipped before! That’s enough of this. See it done!”
“Son of a bitch…” West groaned. He began to ease up as the Circuit Enforcer approached, but his orders were clear. Warp One was dangerous enough just driving the uber-fast vehicles, and accidents happened every race.
Dill closed in, weaving from side to side trying to find a gap to overtake the Ajax racer, but his defense was good. Even after the most recent warp, the Ajax driver managed to keep Dill from finding a way around. The engine whined as he tried to accelerate past, only to be denied once again.
“I can’t get around this bloody tosser!” Dill shouted into his earpiece. Rossberg and Hugo were looking at an SI analysis of Ajax’s driver, trying to find a weakness.
“Roberts, he cuts his corners wide after the warp straights,” Rossberg said. “You’ll have to take him in the next.”
“You want me to overtake him on the inside corner of a hairpin, right after warp?! I’ll buckle the goddamn manifold with a cut like that!”
“It’s your only chance unless you want to dance and look at his ass for the rest of the race.”
“Fine, wish me luck. What’s Head Hunter’s position?”
“He’s still sitting in first,” Hugo said. “Why do you keep—?”
“Good.”
Hugo and Rossberg both lifted their microphones to avoid being heard by Dill and both looked to each other in confusion wondering why Dill had such an interest in only one driver for the whole race.
“Just who the hell is this Head Hunter racer to Roberts? Mister Click?” Rossberg knew well who he was, but Dill’s interest grew to concern.
“No se, man. He’s one of Wargame’s lieutenants. He was champion a couple of years ago by default after a crash. I don’t see anything special…”
“What’s got your racer so anxious to beat him?”
“Wouldn’t you be? Click is in the lead, he’s the one to beat.”
“Not what I meant, Hugo. He was asking me about him after we left the club, in private. He didn’t seem to want his partner to know, either. That’s why he’s been so anxious at the wheel, pushing those vector plates and your engine to max. If he’s up to something—”
“Hey, he hasn’t done anything to compromise the race. No one would blow this race. I’m sure it’s nothing, man.” Hugo turned around to see McKenna and the rest of his team looking at a viewing terminal in the back of the paddock. He wanted his engine to win, as he’d be looked at in a new light from Rossberg and many others, but he was beginning to suspect the racer whether he admitted it or not. “You think I should tell his partner? That McKenna fellow?” Rossberg nodded his head.
Dill rounded another corner. The engine popped as he downshifted a stage and then whined as he sped up again. The Ajax driver was closely in front, the nose of the bike almost touching. When he saw the straight ahead of him, he aligned his bike on the right side of the track. He saw the Ajax racer on the outside, just as Rossberg
said. Dill engaged the warp, feeling his stomach dip as he propelled forward. He immediately braked and downshifted all the way to the first engine stage, slowing his speed down immensely. He immediately accelerated through the corner, the Ajax driver caught off guard as Dill overtook him. Dill pulled the wheel hard to the left, trying to overcome the tight turn while Ajax’s driver backed off to let him pass in order to avoid a crash. Dill accelerated and began to leave the Ajax racer safely behind; his superior engine was impossible to catch now that his opponent was behind. He looked at a blinking red light on his instrument panel that indicated the status of his vector plates.
“Your plates are red hot, Roberts,” Rossberg said. “That turn put them over our expectations. The bike will get slippery until we can swap them out. Pit this lap.”
“Okay, I’m coming in after the next straight.” Dill set his sights forward, his heart pumping faster and faster. He was close.
Hugo walked up to McKenna, who was sitting with his dog, Kimmy and Humphries. Hugo gently tapped his shoulder.
“McKenna, you got a second?” Hugo asked. McKenna stood up, also getting the attention of his teammates. “A word in private, maybe?” McKenna nodded his head as the two walked to an empty space in the paddock past some of the pit crew members.
“What’s the problem?”
“It’s your teammate, Roberts.”
“He’s doing pretty good, third place! Your bike ain’t bad, Hugo.” McKenna was more than pleased, but he noticed Hugo was not.
“Better than any of us expected, but we have concerns. What do you know of Click?”
“Team Head Hunter? Wargame’s crew?”
“Roberts seems to have a particular interest in him and I’m thinking it’s not competitive rivalry. He’s been asking about Click since the nightclub. No other team. Just him.”
“I don’t…” McKenna stopped to think back and then he remembered the name Click, mentioned by Dill only once. Everything made sense to McKenna.
The Bloodlust: (Volume Three of the Virion Series) Page 11