This story is based off of a very strange dream that I had…hopefully this will make more sense then the dream did. I know it doesn’t seem as good as some of my other stories, but that is because this is being written very early in the morning.

Well…here it goes.

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Race-Way

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Chapter 1

Let the Race Begin

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Laura Fredrickson clawed her way away from the burning, twisted pile of wreckage that had been her scout ship, barely seeing what was happening through the haze in her mind. She couldn’t breathe! Something was crushing her chest and keeping her from drawing breath! She flipped onto her back and released her flak-jacket, leaving it behind as she slid away from the burning crater.

All she had left on her was the grey tank-top and black pants that she had worn under her flight-suit. Her black boots were completely intact, as they had been encased inside the control plates on the floor of the cockpit.

Laura took one look back at her ship and knew it was never to fly again; the wings had been torn off, the engine was drifting away as glowing blue gas, having been completely vaporized, and the cockpit…well…it was a miracle she wasn’t a puddle of gore right now. She turned and dragged herself further from the burning, blackened mess that had been an Imperial scout vessel, through the twisted and destroyed remains of a forest, and to a tree that had fallen over next to an area of woodlands. She put her back to it and looked back to her ship.

That was it…as the compressed gases exploded in their tanks from the heat, and the energy coils shrieked as they tried to remain active, she knew she was hearing the final death-throes of a once fabulous craft. The Torque had been her home for the last week as she drifted aimlessly about the rim worlds, searching for some sign of the Channel, a group of mercenaries that had been causing problems for years.

An engine failure had brought an end to her search, and she and the Torque had plummeted to the surface of this green and blue planet. She tried to remember what she could about this world; it was Alton, a small Orion-arm world with nothing interesting about it other than the fact that it supported life. It had nothing to export, nothing worthy of note. The only reason why she was here is because it seemed to be a likely hiding place for Channel mercenaries.

She would have to find some way to get off the planet, however.

Without warning a black mist rose up from the bottom of her vision, engulfing her completely.

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“Ladies, gentlemen, and null gender of all ages!” The voice announced loudly over old, dusty speakers. “Welcome to the one-thousandth annual STAV race! One lap, around the planet by the Antioch Belt, to return to this very spot in one week’s time! If you would turn your attention to the track, I would like to introduce the lucky eight racers that have been chosen for this event!” The announcer apparently didn’t mention a key detail; these were the only racers left alive for the event.

Kalnol Verra looked up from the engine of his STAV (which was now spouting orange smoke) to look up at the hundreds of cameras that were bolted to poles or floated around on anti-gravity devices. He was one of two native Altons in this race…the rest were different species from all over the galaxy.

The twin suns (one red and one yellow) gleamed in the light-blue sky, the noon heat almost suffocating both the racers and their vehicles. The rolling hills in the area effectively blocked the wind, making it all the more unbearable. But yet, each and every one of them (except the one robot that was racing) exalted in it.

The STAV vehicles…there were eight of them in a long line across the white strip that marked the starting and finishing point. They were like the fighter-jets used some millennia ago in atmospheric battle, but their wings were swept forward and they slowly bobbed a few feet above the ground. The air below them shimmered with the power of their ancient anti-gravity systems, and the air behind was lit by their massive ion engines.

Except that Kalnol’s engines refused to start. He looked down at his craft from where he stood on the starboard wing, admiring its beauty.

Ten years ago this was the most incredible racer ever seen; it was black as deep space with swirling patterns of blood red that gracefully curved across its sleek body. The fuselage was long and narrow, and the wings swept forward slightly more than the standard STAV racer.

But that was ten years ago. Now the hull was marred with pits and carbon-scoring, the heat-resistant paint fading away quickly, and already the gray metal of the hull was visible at the tip of its nose. The craft was shuddering on its anti-grav pocket, and Kalnol thought it might drop to the ground soon if he didn’t get the engine working.

“On the far left we have ‘Dread’, the current champion of STAV racing!” The announcer went on. “Next we have the racers ‘Haven’, ‘Slice’, ‘Flame’ and his partner ‘Frost’, ‘Blackout’, ‘Slipstream’, ‘Firestorm’, and finally ‘Smokescreen’!

Kalnol flinched. He had earned the name ‘Smokescreen’ last year because his STAV had gouted smoke the entire race, and finally had crossed the finish line in sixth place. He had gotten into sixth because those behind him hadn’t been able to see anything, and had simply piloted their craft into the ground or a building.

Kalnol was a native Alton, a feline race that was known for being stubborn and rash. There were two kinds of Altons; the silver and the gold. Kalnol was a gold, and his fur would have gleamed where it showed from his black flight-suit had it been clean…but he hadn’t bothered bathing this morning. The other Alton that was racing was Frost, a female silver that flew with a lizardman nicknamed Flame.

“The race will begin in approximately one minute! Racers, prepare your STAVs!” The speakers went silent and Kalnol swallowed, glaring at the grimy engine of his vehicle.

“Alright, Birdie, don’t fail me now.” He muttered to the craft, dropping to his knees over the engine. He unplugged several hoses and plugged them back in, then opened the cockpit and climbed inside.

He had removed the back wall dividing the cargo space and cockpit to remove some weight, and so there was a gap behind him in the chair. To pilot a STAV you had to straddle a seat like that of a hoverbike, and grasp two control gauntlets under the dashboard with the instruments. One’s feet would be placed in foot plates that locked you into place to control the rear stabilizers. The entire time one was lying on their stomach, with a limited view of things just ahead of them.

Kalnol sat quickly in the seat and flipped switches madly, trying to get his craft to start. He had only tried them around ten times when the Birdie, as it had been named, gave a shudder and a groan, and finally roared like a beast that was furious at having been woken up so early. Kalnol smiled and locked his arms and legs into place, just as the timer was being called out.

“Ten…nine…eight…seven…”

He could see the asphalt road that extended beyond his vision into the hills, where it would continue until it hit the plains…then the desert.

“…four…three…”

The Birdie was making an alarming number of clicking noises, and began to whine as secondary anti-gravity systems kicked in, steadying its bobbing.

“…two…one…”

Kalnol blinked.

“Ignite!”

All at once the world exploded into noise as the long-unused engines roared, turning the asphalt behind them into puddles of molten rock before they adjusted to minimize the heat. With a shudder the Birdie took off behind the other racers.

The race had begun.

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Meh…not my best work. At least this isn’t a major project.

Review!