The Bright Black Sea (88 page)

I'd be giving the wrong impression if I neglected to
mention St Bleyth. They may not be omnipresent, but I was certain
they had agents on Plyra, since it was a major distribution point
for the drifts. Rafe says that the destruction of the two drones
and the
Sister Sinister
could leave traces that could be
picked up over the static in the reef, but he doubted that they'd
be able to identify exactly what happened or find any trace of our
escape. Still, our escape couldn't be ruled out either. So the
question was – how would they react? They've paid a steep price in
lives and equipment already. Would they decide to cut their losses
and write us off, or would they double down and expend even more
resources to make certain we were dead? Would they monitor Min
& Co and our families for radio packets to see if we contacted
them? Would they have all their agents and offices investigating
every ship and crew of our general description? While it would be
very hard to identify us as the former
Lost Star
, if they
were searching down to individual crew members, our new names alone
wouldn't disguise us.

I've grown a short beard which, I think, gives me a
more rakish, drifteer air. (Molaye says I look like a young
ol'Capt'n Crofter.) It might fool an agent, but not a security
machine. So the question was, what sort of effort, if any, was St
Bleyth making to discover our fate? Plyra was going to be a test of
that question, since if they identified us, they probably could do
something about it here. And if they did something, I could only
hope they did it to me. It was an unavoidable risk that I'd have to
live with.

04

'Hi Captain. I confirmed our participation in the
Florka's Bonanza Cup Race,' said Molaye, looking into my office
after returning from Plyra several days after our arrival.

'Huh? What?'

'Said of course we'd participate in the Bonanza Race.
You know, the race where all the captains and their first mates
race tri-bikes against each other. Remember? We received notice
several days ago. Some of the captains at the club were wondering
why we hadn't confirmed our entry, since it's only three days away.
Told them you'd a lot on your mind, what with dealing with owners
who had hoped we were lost and all. Probably just forgot to
reply.'

I had, indeed, conveniently managed to forget about
it. 'And you said, yes?'

'Of course. It's an ancient tradition for every ship,
large and small to enter. Every other ship, even the CTC liners
have entered. It'd look bad if we didn't. So of course I apologized
and signed us up.'

'Was your com link out of order, or didn't you think
I needed to be consulted?' I asked, deciding to cut to the heart of
the matter.

She pantomimed thinking about it for a moment and
said, 'The latter. It's a local tradition and everyone expected us
to participate. I knew you'd not want to appear unsocial or
unsporting in front of them, and all those shipping agents with
boxes for Baidora. Don't want to give anyone the wrong impression.
And I could hardly give some lame excuse about having to consult
you when it's a given that we'd enter, like everyone else. Honor of
the ship and all that.'

'Did you happen to mention that you're a
semi-professional moon buggy racer, junior moon buggy champion,
rocket sled racer, and who knows what else? It might not be fair
for us to compete with a professional racer,' I said, half
seriously, looking for a way to slide out. I was the other half of
the team and had no desire to race tri-bikes.

'Gosh Captain, you're right. Didn't occur to me at
the time. But , I've never raced tri-bikes. Complete amateur in
that sport, so I'm sure it's ethical. Too late anyway, to back out
now. And since you've brought it up, Riv asked me to remind you
that, ethical or not, it's probably best that you didn't say
anything about my racing experience. You'd not want the other
captains getting mad at you...'

'No... of course not,' I sighed. 'I don't suppose I
have any say in this, do I?' I asked with hard look which only made
her smile wider.

'Of course you do. I just cut to the chase and said
Yes, as you would've. Eventually,' she explained patiently.
'Besides, we'll show these drifteers and CTC cargo liner poshes
what tramp ship captains and mates are made out of!'

'Is there any chance that we might really show them
what we're made of? I seem to recall moon buggy racing was pretty
cut-throat.'

'Pfff! They're just the usual two seat tadpole bikes
you see on any moon. A few bumps and bruises, maybe a broken bone
if you land wrong. Nothing to worry about. I had a chance to race
them when I was 7, but they're too slow and boring to bother
with.'

The two and four seat tri-bikes are a popular form of
transportation in low gee moon societies. It has a T frame with two
steerable wheels in front and the seats slung on either side stem
of the T and the trailing rear wheel. Both seats have pedals
driving the forward wheels. The starboard seat has a steering
wheel, gear shifters and brakes. The port seat occupant just
pedals. It has two light roll bars and slight fenders on each side
that would offer some slight protection if one tipped over.

The race course was a trail snaking through a hilly,
wooded section of the central park that wraps around the interior
midway between the two cities. The trail isn't much wider than two
bikes and is paved with a soft mesh giving it something like a dirt
feeling. It was built for thrills, with lots of humps and bumps to
set you soaring in the light gravity. We spent an hour getting to
know it the following day. Between the lightly built tri-bikes and
the light gravity, we could clip along, even up hills – for about
ten minutes. After that my legs started to ache and I was drawing
deep breaths, silently cursing Florka and his Bonanza Cup.

There were plenty of captains and mates out for a
spin as well, so we were quickly schooled in how the race is run –
very much in the spirit of those moon buggy races on Lontria. Which
is to say, with good natured mayhem. If there are any rules at all,
they ended just after outlawing weapons and outright murder.

Molaye was, of course, in command of the tri-bike.
Our hour of practice provided all the insight she needed to chart
our course for the race. All that remained was to get in shape. We
had to last the four races if we wanted to win and Molaye –
surprise – wanted to win. She insisted on a rigorous course of
training on the ship's recumbent bikes for stamina and taking extra
electro-simulant treatments to strengthen our leg muscles. I
stopped in at the medic bay after each session to dull the
aches.

On race day we were not in the first several heats,
so we had a chance to watch the races. There were twelve tri-bikes
in each heat and within seconds of the start, several were flying
through the air. The race consisted of two laps, with the first six
advancing to the next round.

I was standing about, captain-like, hands in my
jacket pockets, watching Molaye go over our bike, making sure it
had been properly attended to after the last race, when Captain Jyn
Storie of the
Astro Prince
, one of the CTC ships, wandered
over.

'Have your race charted, Wil?'

'Aye. Close my eyes and pedal like the blazes. I'm
signed on as chief engineer for this cruise. Or rather, the engine.
My First will pilot us.'

She gave me a searching look, 'Word has it you only
practiced once. You don't seem too concerned. You're either pretty
cocky, or you don't care.'

'Well, I'm pretty indifferent, and I doubt practice
will matter much.' I replied with a shrug. 'We entered only because
my First said it was expected – most likely to serve as a target,
seeing how the race is run. Don't need practice for that. My
strategy would be to get banged up quickly and safely trail the
pack. However, I doubt M'Ley here will let me chart that
course.'

'I should hope not! We're Guild ships and we've Guild
honor to uphold. You'll not let these drifteers intimidate you,
will you?' she said, half seriously.

'Well, yes, maybe. I've been in the drifts long
enough to discover their taste for feuds. I'm not anxious to ruffle
drifteer feathers.'

'Well, if you don't they'll take merciless advantage
of you. Besides, this is all clean fun. Any feud stays on the
course, to be settled next year or the year after that...'

'Neb forbid! I'm hoping this is a one-off
appearance.'

Captain Storie shook her head, 'You need some more of
that Unity gloss rubbed off you, Wil.'

'I've had enough rubbed off already,' I replied
glumly. 'But like it or not, I'm certain to get a bit more rubbed
off shortly.'

'Aye, you will,' she laughed. 'Just remember, the
Guild sticks together in these races. That's expected. It's us
against the drifteers.'

'Aye. Did you hear that M'Ley?' I asked turning to
Molaye. 'Drive Captain Storie's bike off the cliff with the
greatest reluctance.'

'Yes, Captain,' she replied brightly. 'I'll be ever
so polite, and even call out Sorry! as they go over.'

Luckily, the warning horn sounded for our race,
sending Storie back to her tri-bike with a rather insincere Good
luck. We donned our gear and climbed aboard.

The race started from the tri-bike lot, with the
twelve bikes lined up in a row. The access drive to the track was
only as wide as the track – two bikes wide, so there's an initial
sorting right out of the starting gate.

'Hold back, a second,' muttered Molaye. 'Give
everyone a chance to clear before we move.'

'Ah, good. Taking my plan to heart. That's the
spirit.'

'Oh, to some extent...' she replied with a cheery
grin, as the flag went down.

We didn't move as the line surged ahead, aiming for
the narrow access drive ahead. As soon as the bikes had cleared to
starboard, Molaye said 'Now!' and we surged ahead, steering not for
the pack at the access drive, but for the far corner of the
lot.

'Off course!' I exclaimed, but she ignored me.

The shallow curb had us airborne for a bit, but we
quickly crossed the grass median to strike the track, nosing our
way into the thin line of bikes as they trickled out of the battle
royal in the access drive.

'Was that allowed?' I asked, as we surged down the
track.

'Nothing in the rules says you can't,' she replied as
we bounded along the track in a thin cloud of dust raised through
the mesh roadbed by the bikes ahead.

'The race has rules?' I gasped, pedaling away.

'Some. Save your breath. You're going to need it,'
she replied tartly.

We found ourselves third or forth – up with the
leaders anyway. The pace was pretty easy – those behind the first
six fought to improve their position, but the first six just kept
their places – first or sixth didn't matter in this race. The
regulars knew who they had to beat and bided their time. For us, or
at least me – Molaye likely did a great deal more homework on this
– they were all contenders, and at the moment, mostly behind us. By
the end of the first lap, the contenders had closed and were
nipping at our heels, as Molaye wove along, taking our half of the
track out of the middle to keep them at our heels.

The race heated up in the final lap as everyone
started making their moves. It got wild in the back half of the
course, where the track snaked through wooded hills and rough
ground. The surviving bikes had all closed into a tightly packed
scrum, bumper to bumper, and as we soared off of the series of
steep bumps to land five, ten meters down course, the drivers began
using their bikes as weapons, trying to hit their rivals to send
them soaring out of control and off the track and into the trees,
bushes, or ravines – whatever happened to be handy. Everyone tried
to take their half of the trail out of the middle, weaving back and
forth – so to get by them, you either had to bump them off or steer
around them, whenever it was briefly free of the trees, high banks
and steep ravines and bump'em off the track when you came back in
again. The old hands knew the course blindfolded – just where you
could go off the track to get by a competitor, and they turned
those stretches into a wild melee of flying bikes.

My share of the race involved holding tight to the
bar in front of me, shifting this way and that to keep us upright,
and doing my share of the pedaling. Molaye steered, braked and
played the game. When you weren't soaring over the bumps big and
small, the other bikes were knocking you about so much that I'd
have been tossed clear if it wasn't for the seat belt. As for the
roll bars and bumpers – they were simply weapons to brush you
aside, and when they didn't work, elbows and hands were used to
muscle you out of the way, or to grab your steering wheel or arm to
send you into the ditch, or a tree. Short of murder, everything was
allowed. Which was all viewed with wild abandon by the spectators –
spaceers and natives alike – who lined the track beyond the rope
barriers as it wove through the forested park, cheering and jeering
the racers as they passed. A larger crowd had gathered in the open
picnic areas near the start/finish line who watched the race on
large screens. Everyone gambled on every heat, but I was told the
final was heavily wagered – since many of the likely contestants
were regulars whose form was known enough for odds to be set.

One good thing was that the pace of the race was
pretty mellow – more of a battle royal than a race, so we kept
pace, weaving back and fourth to defend out position, but making no
effort to advance. Since we were in the first six, I suspected,
Molaye was playing her old game of keeping expectations low. We
were in forth place at the start of the final lap, and fought off
all but one contender – Captain Storie's bike – who managed to slip
by us towards the end of the hill section, slamming into us with a
desperate lunge as we crested a small bump. We landed off the
track, but luckily avoided the trees, and Molaye had us back on the
track before another bike could get by, keeping us in fifth place.
So much for Guild solidarity. She allowed one final bike to pass us
on the final straight, as we raced flat out, but not, I think, at
the optimal gearing, so it looked like we were going at our max,
but weren't. We finished sixth – just enough to continue on towards
the championship race. Captain Storie finished fourth.