THE ENTRANT
Chapter One
Zane Silvering was already twelve years old when he first saw them live. The galactic Antigravity Racing League had come to their home planet, Amera, and his mother, though reluctant, had taken him along.
They received VIP treatment with a luxurious shuttle transit from their home—though Zane couldn’t appreciate it at the time—and got to meet the Andor team in the pits. Zane was looking forward to seeing his father after such a long time. Deion Silvering had been on a tour with the Andor team’s massive space cruiser that served as his home during the racing season, and now it was the last race of the season, after which he would be home.
Zane held his mother’s hand as they walked across the massive indoor space that held the pits of all the racing teams. The red colour drew his attention to the Andor team’s pit.
‘Mom! Let’s go, that’s Daddy’s craft!’ he shouted, and tried to pull his mother to come along.
‘Be careful, there’s too many people around.’
Zane didn’t like that his mother tried to slow him down, but she might have been right. All around the pits, the crews moved at speed servicing the craft, making everything ready for the race. Robots whizzed by, and one almost bumped into Zane.
‘What did I just say?’ his mother said.
Zane slowed down, and a familiar figure caught his eye. It wasn’t his father, but someone he knew, Hermes. He was a grey-haired man, who had been a famous racer and was now working with his father to help him win the championship. Hermes was the oldest person Zane knew.
‘Little Zane boy! Are you here to race?’ Hermes said and leaned closer. He smelled weird as he leaned in to whisper, ‘If you ask me, these guys could use some help.’
Zane nodded, to which Hermes chuckled and tousled his hair. ‘Good lad.’
His mother seemed unimpressed.
‘Kira,’ Hermes said. ‘Good to see you on a race day. It’s been a long time. I hope it will help him. Because we need all the help we can get.’
‘How’s that?’ she said.
His eyebrows furrowed, and he seemed to be lost for words. ‘He’s been a bit off in the past week. It’s probably just the end of the season, and the pressure. He’s the favourite to win the championship, but it won’t be easy.’
Zane looked at him, thinking that Father was the best racer, and he would be the champ again, regardless of what Hermes said. He quickly lost interest in the discussion between his mother and Hermes, because the craft were much more interesting. The closest one was his father’s, and it looked like a gleaming arrow of fire. It had a triangular shape, and was painted in fiery red, with black accents that matched the inactive polarity indicators that went around the craft on both sides. An identical craft, with a different number, stood beside it. It was his father’s team mate’s. Numbers one and two.
In the next pit loomed a black craft with a rounded front and three tubes in the back, the exhausts of the propulsion engines. That was the Reckoner, the most successful team in the league’s history. And on the other side was Amera Stars team with their Y-shaped craft that had two noses side-by-side coloured in red, white, and blue. His father’s craft was the coolest, but the Amera Stars came a close second.
A pilot walked in through the backroom door, a short-haired Yoonan woman, Father’s team mate. A pale and short Zetramain man with a bulging belly and a fancy suit followed her. He came directly over to them.
‘You must be Kira Silvering,’ he said, ‘and Deion Junior. Benno Avardeur, at your service.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Mother.
‘The pleasure is all mine, Mrs Silvering. Any trouble with the team, let me know.’ He pulled up a wide smile, and winked at Mother, who seemed to blush, then walked away, belly-first, towards the track.
‘Mr Avardeur owns the Andor team,’ Hermes said to Zane’s mother.
‘Oh,’ she said.
‘Where’s Dad?’ Zane said.
‘I’m sorry,’ Hermes said. ‘Let me take you in; he’ll be happy to see you.’
Holding his mother’s hand, Zane followed Hermes past the craft towards the room where the team was preparing with the help of several screens full of data. But more interesting to him was the wide propulsion exhaust in the back of his father’s craft. It promised such a speed for the ten-metre craft that it made him grin.
‘Deion! Look who’s here,’ Hermes said.
A fit dark-skinned man in racing overalls—Zane’s father—turned away from the screen and tapped a crew member on the shoulder. A big smile appeared on his face as he rushed to Zane and lifted him up. ‘Zane, are you here to race?’
‘Ha, ha,’ Mother said, but Zane didn’t pay her any attention.
‘Can I?’
His father chuckled. ‘I’ll take you to the cockpit, all right?’
‘Yes!’ Zane couldn’t hold his excitement and ran towards the craft.
A woman with a boxy device in her hands came by and said something to his father. He spoke with her for a moment and stepped up to Zane. ‘This woman’s recording my story. Let’s give her a quick pose.’
He kneeled beside Zane and put his arm around him. The woman squatted down and recorded a brief clip of them in front of the craft. ‘Love you, son.’
‘I love you, too,’ Zane said. ‘Will you win the championship again?’
‘I hope so,’ he said. ‘I’ll do my best, follow the plan, and I might win. There are things I can’t control, but I have a good chance of making it. And I’m glad to have you here giving me the extra boost.’
‘Just be safe,’ Zane’s mother said.
His father chuckled. ‘Last serious accident in the league was in season 665 when Hector Escrow’s g-negator spiral failed, and that’s thirty years ago. Don’t worry.’
Mother said nothing.
Someone drove a compact cart beside them. His father jumped onto the platform on the back and pulled Zane up, too. The cart rolled forward, and the platform rose so that they were beside the open cockpit.
His father lifted him up and Zane clambered into the seat. The cockpit smelled of something, maybe oil or leather, and was stuffed with screens and switches. Zane craned his head around, smiling, taking it all in.
The screens came on with colourful lights and a lot of numbers that Zane didn’t understand.
‘They show stuff about the race, like the standing and lap times, but through the windscreen you see the most important thing: the track before you.’
Zane looked through the screen, but sitting so low limited his view to the roof of the massive hangar. He grabbed the control stick, which also had buttons. On the left side was another stick. ‘Is this for the spiral?’
‘That’s right,’ his father said. ‘But it’s also the yaw; together they control the craft’s turning and hover.’
Zane was about to touch it, but refrained, and instead looked down at the pedals he couldn’t reach.
‘You can touch anything; I’ve set it up so you can’t break it.’
Zane grinned and grabbed both of the sticks; they were far too wide for him and too heavy to move, but it was all right: they weren’t toys, they controlled a super-fast racer. Zane imagined being in control, zooming through the racetrack with a team mate . . . ‘Where’s the light tow?’
‘You press both polarity buttons.’
Zane had expected a big green button that would activate the bright shimmers of light racers used to pull their teammates, sometimes deciding the race at the last moment. He put his thumbs on the smooth buttons on the sticks, and pressed down, but nothing happened. He wasn’t in a race. Still, they were the real buttons.
Everything in the craft was smooth, powerful, and exciting, and Zane could have spent the entire day admiring just the cockpit.
‘Deion!’ someone shouted, and his father turned.
‘I’m sorry, Zane,’ he said. ‘We have to set up for the race and get you to the grandstand; I’ve made sure you have the best seats.’
As he lifted Zane up, the boy was sold. He wanted to be back in an elite racing craft’s cockpit as soon as possible.
* * *
The race was ready to start. All the craft were ready in the starting grid right below the grandstand where Zane sat with his mother. A massive construction, the track rolled up and down and coiled like a snake. A long stretch of the main straight continued far to the right and rose vertically before turning into a corkscrew. Most of the track was invisible from where they were sitting, but big screens all around showed what was happening, and the seats included personal screens.
Zane set his screen to follow his father’s craft, Andor Arrow One, which gleamed brilliant red in the sunshine.
His father was on the second line beside a red, white, and blue Amera Stars craft, and the only ones in front of him were a black craft, Reckoner X1, and a yellow one that was with the Sterotech team.
Zane glanced at her mother’s screen to see what she was focusing on, but the screen was black. ‘Why don’t you have your screen on?’
His mother took a long breath. ‘If it’s important, they’ll show it on the big screen.’
Zane couldn’t understand his mother. Dad was a racer. Racing was the best thing ever. How could she not enjoy it?
The announcer introduced the teams and pilots as their faces flashed on one screen, ‘ . . . and in third position, Amera’s own Deion Silvering racing for Andor.’ The crowd cheered, as the announcer continued, ‘Followed by the number one craft of the team we’re all cheering for, Tina Arnau and Amera Stars.’ She got an even bigger reaction from the Amera crowd.
Soon every craft was ready and introduced. Zane’s excitement grew—this was the first time he had seen them live on the grid. Low bass notes rumbled out from the craft’s engines as they waited for the signal.
The start lights lit up. Zane held his breath. And once the lights went out, the craft were off.
They shot across the main straight, accelerating with engines screaming in purple. The hairs on Zane’s arms stood up, but he remembered to breathe again.
His father got an impressive start. He passed the black craft and went into second place right after the yellow one.
In a tight line, they streamed through the curves, hills and valleys, close to each other. For the first lap, the order of the craft remained the same as they streamed past the grandstand, rumbling in front of the cheering crowd.
‘He’s in second place!’ Zane said. Watching them live was more than he had expected. The sounds vibrated through his body. And their speed was amazing.
Zane squeezed his seat with both hands as he followed his father tailing the yellow craft. He was so close, and could pass any moment, but the yellow craft always blocked him.
Zane released his grip, but then his father made his move. He inched to the yellow craft’s side.
Zane inched forward on his seat as his father braked early for the curve, letting the yellow one go ahead, and then switched to the outside.
‘He’s doing the dummy!’ Zane shouted. Zane knew it was a risky move, but one that could surprise the opponent.
Zane was right: using late braking and the polarity swap techniques, Deion passed the yellow craft on the outside.
The crowds roared, some in standing ovations, all around him. That’s my father!
Zane couldn’t stay still. He stood up. ‘He’s leading!’
His mother flashed a quick smile. She might have enjoyed it after all.
His father led the pack now, but the others were right behind him. In just a few laps, the black craft, Reckoner X1, got close behind his father.
Zane tapped his feet. Hang on! Just a few laps to go!
His mother put her hand on his. ‘Stay still, sit down.’
Zane tried, but it was impossible as the craft flew back-to-back. His father used every defensive blocking technique from changing direction under braking to slowing in the apexes. This went on for a number of laps.
He’s going to win!
Then, on a fast left-hand corner, the Reckoner X1 got beside Father’s craft.
Zane gasped.
The two craft ran side-by-side as they approached the main straight.
A slower craft they needed to overtake appeared in front of them.
Zane held his breath.
As they closed in, something flashed over the slow craft, and it went dark and fell. The slow craft hit the bottom of the track and skidded to a stop in the middle of the final corner.
Zane gulped.
Reckoner X1 banked hard to the left to avoid hitting the stopped craft.
His father had to pass from the right. With a hard bank, he avoided the stopped craft, but the move forced him sharply against the side of the track.
‘No! That’s not right—’
The crowd gasped as the red Andor craft bounced off the curved side railing and spun off the track in an uncontrollable tumble.
The craft rolled over, spinning in the air, and hit a tall building. It went right through its glassy wall.
Zane whimpered. His mother put a hand to her mouth.
Without warning, where the craft had entered the building, an explosion blasted glass and metal in all directions.
Zane gasped. As the grandstand shuddered under him, he hoped his father was safe, that the shields of his craft would hold.
But then the top of the tall building jerked.
Zane stared, mouth open.
The top jerked again, but now it continued its way down with increasing speed, and in seconds, the whole thing collapsed onto itself in a massive earth-shaking rumble.
Emergency lights lit up all around the track, and vehicles with blinking blue lights arrived.
Zane glanced up at his mother. Tears fell down her cheeks as she gazed wide-eyed at where Father had been.
The retreating dust and smoke revealed that the entire building had been reduced to a smouldering heap of rubble. Zane stared at the flames. His father was somewhere underneath, his craft in bits.
Zane crumpled down and cried.
His father wouldn’t come out of the rubble. No shield could’ve saved him.
It was the end of the world.
Chapter Two
Zane exited a fast curve, and, before the lateral g-forces eased, floored the accelerator to surge to maximum speed for the straight. He eased the throttle, and sent the craft sideways to the pinpoint corner before maxing out the engine for the final straight.
This was the practice before the last race of the Amera League’s season 451, in which Zane had a good chance to finish in the top three. Amera League was one of dozens of local leagues that fed the galactic league—prosaically called the Antigravity Racing League, or ARL—and the last race was going to be his chance.
As he eased into the pits, he said to himself, you’re a born racer, you can do this. He had a chance, and he was going to take it.
Ever since the first and the last time he saw his father on the racetrack, racing had consumed him. Now that he was seventeen and graduated from Dawnia West High, he didn’t have to worry about school. Making it to the ARL—leaving the planet and joining the galactic circuit—had become his only priority. Making it would be a speedway to galactic fame and immense fortune, and winning it, a racing dream come true.
He landed the craft gently on platform six, the one designated to the Konba team, and stepped out of the cockpit.
His team mate, Gunnar, had also just finished his laps, and popped off his helmet, letting his long blond hair out. ‘Nice cornering, Zane.’
‘Thanks, you weren’t too bad yourself. We can do this.’
Gunnar stared past him. ‘I hope so.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’m still too far behind.’
Zane looked him in the eye. ‘We’ll make it to the top three. I believe in you, and you need to do the same.’
Gunnar nodded, but Zane wasn’t sure if he had the confidence. Gunnar was already in his early twenties, a good racer, but during this past year Zane had surpassed him with his speed, and helped raise Konba to compete for the Amera championships.
Zane went over to mission control and set his helmet down. His mechanic, Ant, was peering at the numbers on the screen.
‘Pretty good run, eh?’ Zane said. ‘You did some magic with the yaw; it had a perfect response.’
Ant turned around. As a stocky Yoonan fellow with pale grey skin and a bald head, he was almost the complete opposite to Zane, who was skinny with a brown complexion—a mix of his pale Zetramain mother and dark-skinned Human father—complete with a round head and child-like features. His black hair was always messy, but even worse when it came out of the helmet after an intense session. One thing they shared, though: they were about the same height—small compared to other humanoids; almost a head below an average Human, and even smaller compared to the tall Elandra folks.
Zane had known Ant since childhood, when they had played with toy race craft. Ant was passionate about craft, but not so much about racing them than tweaking them to make them go faster. He performed such wizardry with the tech that Zane couldn’t understand.
‘It was all right,’ Ant said, furrowing his brows, ‘but there’s something with the stabilisers that I can’t get my head around.’
‘Zane!’ called a crunchy voice from behind him: Hermes. ‘Watch your entry speeds—the tighter the corner, the more you float, and once you pass the threshold, you will hit the railings. Patience. You need patience.’
His father’s old coach, Hermes, had retired after the accident. But, as a former racer whose lungs pushed out racing fumes instead of carbon dioxide, he hadn’t been happy staying still; he helped get Zane started on hover bikes, then Litec Series, and when Zane reached the Amera League, Hermes came along as his coach. The Konba team’s manager, Rick Rush, was only too happy to get him on board.
‘Patience,’ Zane said. ‘Yes, I know.’
‘The scouts will watch us on race day. They look for racers with potential—more important than the result of one race. And patience, my boy, is one of the key attributes of a successful racer. I should know, I was scouting talent for the big league before you were born!’
Hermes, with his white hair and long beard, could have been at least a hundred years old—Zane didn’t even know his age, he’d looked exactly the same ever since he remembered. He used to joke that if he wore a pointy hat, he’d be mistaken for the wizard from the Lore of the Lands.
‘Yes, I know,’ Zane repeated. Hermes had told him the story of his days as a racer and a coach—and all those tales of strife on and off the track—so many times, that if he ever lost his memory, Zane could tell him. ‘I feel good about tomorrow.’
Hermes squinted. ‘That’s good. But don’t get cocky. It’s a fine line.’
‘No worry about that,’ Zane said. He had been cocky once but was no more, unlike Accel team’s Tim Roome, who had won the Amera League last year. But sometimes Zane wished he had some of Tim’s assertiveness.
‘Remember, there’s no substitute for clean racing.’
‘Always.’
‘Sounds like there are no worries, then.’
Ant coughed. ‘Well, there is the problem with the stabilisers, and it might be difficult.’
‘What is it?’ Hermes said.
‘You want the short or the long explanation?’
‘The one we can understand,’ Zane said.
‘The short of it is that something is loose in the stabiliser control sequence, causing the controls to slip, which makes the steering shaky.’
‘I noticed some of that,’ Zane said.
‘I saw it,’ Ant said, and pointed at the screen. ‘Practice is short, but the race is long, and the further the race goes, the bigger the stabilisers slip. Unless I fix it, the craft might lose its ability for precision steering.’
The stabilisers balanced the craft’s roll, and having piloted craft without active stabilisers, Zane appreciated the predictability they provided. ‘But you can fix it, can’t you?’
‘I think so, but it will take some time—the sequence has many parts without an obvious culprit. I need a break now. Wanna join me in the tower?’
It was a sunny afternoon, and the race was the next day. Ant had been working hard ever since the qualifying and still had a lot of work to do, but if he needed a break, he should have one.
‘Sure thing. I need you sharp.’
* * *
The tower was a tall structure that arched over the raceway like a bridge. It held spectator seats with magnificent views, but now it was empty. Zane sat on a seat and lifted his legs onto a railing. The window curved under them, so they had an almost unobstructed view to the main straight from about seventy metres above it. On the right, the whole Dawnia race track was visible with its curves and hills. It was his team’s home circuit and Zane’s favourite.
‘Wonder if Matt Clay will win the ARL 701?’ Ant said.
Matt Clay was one of the youngest racers in the Antigravity Racing League, and in his second year, at a mere twenty years old, was about to win the season 701 championship with his team, The Reckoner.
‘He’s got a good chance,’ Zane said.
‘I’m still envious of him, whether he wins or not. Joanna Locksloe, man, I’d be in heaven if that angel dated me.’
Zane turned his eyes up to the sky. Joanna Locksloe raced with Kispeed, a mid-list team in the ARL, but because of her looks, she gained more media attention than anyone else. She was the stuff of fantasy for every racing nerd in the galaxy, and as out of reach as the ARL championship trophy.
Ant chuckled.
‘What?’
‘Clay’s in the same situation as you are—in a different league, of course, and you don’t have a supermodel racer as a girlfriend—but still.’
‘As if. Reckoner is in a league of its own; you know how much money they’ve got?’
‘Too much,’ Ant said.
Reckoner were a fairly new team with only fifteen seasons in the League (compared to Methusoth’s 168-season running record) and were backed by the successful Clay-family-owned R-Industries shuttle business. Racing with them one day would be a dream come true.
‘But if it’s any consolation, my guess is that Joanna Locksloe and Matt Clay are together only as long as it’s useful for their teams.’
‘Think so?’ TheARL teams did anything to gain an edge, but Zane wanted to believe they were real.
‘Time will tell; maybe she’s in it for industrial espionage, or maybe he is. Who knows?’ Ant said with a shrug. ‘But you know, the scouts are coming . . . ’
‘I wouldn’t hold my breath for the scouts,’ Zane said.
‘Why’s that?’
‘It’s been years since anyone’s gone up from Amera League. Besides, I’ve been lucky, that’s all. Hermes is right. I need more practice. My father got into the ARL only in his mid-twenties, but still rose to legendary status.’
Zane swallowed. If only his father could’ve been there to see him race. How different things might have been without the stupid accident. He sighed.
‘I’m sorry, mate.’
‘It’s just it would’ve been his birthday tomorrow,’ Zane said, and watched their competitors’ craft whizzing past below them.
‘That’s why you need to make the best of it in the race.’
‘I will,’ Zane said, and grinned. ‘And when they pick me for the ARL, I’ll be sure to take you along.’
It was Ant’s turn to look down.
Zane hit his shoulder. ‘You’re a brilliant mechanic; one day you’re going to be the chief engineer of a race team.’
‘I’m just a self-taught hack . . . those teams employ established scientists.’
‘Perhaps they do, but what they really need is a talented mechanic.’
* * *
Later that evening, Zane stepped off a taxi shuttle before a high-rise. After his father had died, they’d had to move away from the lakeside house, and lived now on the forty-second floor of one of the older buildings in the Leena zone on the south side of Dawnia.
Deion Silvering had made a lot of money during his career, but apparently he had also had a lot of debt; Zane didn’t know the details. He only knew that the Andor team had left his mother with nothing, and since then they’d had to make do with the basic.
The ARL had run a thorough investigation on the accident, and while they found no signs of malicious conduct, they found the Andor team guilty of neglect in adhering to safety protocols. The league slapped them with a hefty fine and banned them from racing in the league for two consecutive seasons.
Entering the apartment, he hung his coat on the rack, greeted by a scent that seemed like lamb stew—a popular dish because of the sheep population on Amera, but when his mother made it, it was especially delicious.
He tried telling himself he wasn’t nervous, but the thought of the next day’s race made him jittery. He hoped the warm stew would calm his nerves.
His mother, Kira, limped out of the kitchen, wearing a red apron. ‘Thought I’d do the cooking for once.’
Zane pulled his hand from behind his back and presented a bouquet of colourful flowers.
‘Oh, they’re beautiful—why?’
‘I just thought you’d need a bit of cheering up.’
‘That’s so kind of you,’ she said, as she hobbled forward and gave him a half-hug. ‘I’ll get a vase; you take it easy, the dinner will be ready in a few minutes.’
The sofa looked relaxing, but Zane couldn’t sit still. ‘You need help?’
‘You could set the table.’
His mother suffered from a rare disease that made her muscles lose their flexibility. She could walk and do things all right, but recently she had become slower in her movement. A Zetramain woman in her forties should’ve been nimble, not stiff like a human in their eighties. Of course, a cure was available via genome therapy, but it was prohibitively expensive and their insurance hadn’t covered it and now it was a pre-existing condition. His mother was saving from the basic, but it was too slow. If Zane could just get to the ARL, he’d be able to make enough money to take care of her.
The stew ready, she lifted the casserole and almost dropped it.
‘Let me,’ Zane said, and helped carry it to the table.
The stew was just as he remembered. It had been a while since the last time, but it was as delicious as before.
‘I’m dedicating my race to Deion tomorrow,’ Zane said.
His mother nodded. ‘It’s his birthday.’
‘I was wondering if you’d like to come.’
She took a spoonful. ‘To the race?’
‘It’s here in Dawnia, and—’
‘No.’
His mother had a weird relationship with racing. Even when Zane’s father had been alive, she didn’t enjoy racing, but at least she was supportive of him. Still, Zane wondered why she had married a racer. She must have known what it would be like.
‘It’s a special occasion, and I would very much like to see you there,’ Zane said, and took some soup. ‘I hear that talent scouts from the ARL are coming to evaluate us.’
For a moment she said nothing, and her face seemed to grow darker.
‘You know I’m not into that world.’
‘Yet you married a racer—’
‘I loved your father; I still do . . . but in the end, racing took him away from me. I don’t want it to take you, too.’
Zane sighed. ‘If you come and see me race only once, this is the time.’
She shook her head.
‘Why?’ Zane asked.
‘You know what I think about it.’
‘Nobody’s died in an ARL race since Father,’ Zane said, ‘and in Amera League nobody’s died during my lifetime. It’s completely safe.’
‘I’m not talking about that.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You, Zane, are a smart and talented young man. You could be creating, and using your gifts to make the world a better place,’ she said with a sigh. ‘But instead you’re running around in circles in a real life imitation of some ancient children's video game.’
She was right, and perhaps that was the reason it was so exciting. A long time ago Sterocorp had invented the spiral-based antigravity technology, which enabled vehicles to hover at between one to ten metres above the ground. It was used for pedestrian purposes until a fellow called Ural Melon, a billionaire technologist and an avid retro-gamer, had an idea. Inspired by his favourite racing game, he put a powerful spiral in a ten-metre rocketship and created a massive rollercoaster of a track similar to the ones in the game. It had been crude, but it had the basics: a fast one-person craft with antigravity spirals and polarised propulsion engines. At first, only techno enthusiasts cared for his contraptions, but soon he gathered an audience online, and it grew . . . to the biggest sport in the galaxy. Waste of time? Or a life’s purpose?
Explaining it to his mother would be a waste of time. She had made up her mind.
Zane wanted to understand how she could be so negative towards racing, and why she had always been, but he never received a clear answer. So Zane gave up asking, and deduced that she deemed it dangerous (because his father had died) and pointless (racers didn’t make useful things, only made more money for the richest people in the galaxy).
After dinner, Zane washed the dishes, and they talked about all kinds of things except racing: his mates’ holiday plans, new paintbrushes, the cute furry dog next door.
Later, while his mother watched the Amera symphony orchestra’s concert feed, Zane lounged in his room, playing melancholic tunes on his father’s old guitar—it was the best way to relax and take his mind off the looming race.
Regardless of what his mother thought, he was a racer. He had always been. He couldn’t explain it. Perhaps his father’s death had only stoked the fire inside him. Nothing could’ve kept him from racing hover bikes in the local pit, then joining a local Litec Series team—the first step to real antigravity racing—and then getting his break in the planet-wide Amera League.
At the controls of a race craft he felt more alive than anywhere else.
He went to bed early, thinking about the upcoming race, the scouts, the problem with the craft, Father’s birthday, his chance to make it, how his mother would change her mind, and brought it all along to his restless dreams.
END OF PREVIEW
