Racer Trek - sci fi racing short story

Trek leapt into his racer chair, cursing, and clicked his wrist and ankle connectors into their receptacles. The vibration in his nerves let him know the connection was good. The cyberhelm lowered over his head and holographic photons danced across his retinas. Engines and race fans roared through the helm's speakers. Fast now or he would lose his distant rocketbike, robot, and pit crew. All were financed with a crypto-loan with a micropayment due from making something off this race. A race he'd get nothing for if he missed the start!

Power and data surged up his spine and his consciousness merged with the quantum net. Many star systems away his silver robot racer body came to life and stood up. His pit crew waved frantically. The pit boss, her raven hair gleaming in the gold/orange glow of Aldebaran, scowled. She was young and pretty for a Pit Boss, but some kind of engineering savant. He'd been lucky to get her. Luckier still if he could keep her.

"60 seconds to race," announced the Racerchain computer. "Late competitors will be disqualified." That was surely aimed at him. The race computer saw everything.

He ran to his rocketbike and jumped on. The engine was already humming, warmed up. He thumbed up the lift jets and twisted the accelerator grip hard. Flames shot from the main rocket nozzle on the bike's rear and his robot body was almost left behind by the force. It was only as strong as it needed to be for racing. Light as possible.

Trek swerved to miss a pit maintenance vehicle, then another. A third blocked his way. He hit his retro rockets to keep from colliding with its huge dented bumper. It matched his attempts to dodge it. Four more maintenance vehicles joined ahead of it in a tight vee formation, blocking him. They slowed to a crawl.

"50 seconds to race."

This close to start time, racers were assumed to be at the starting line and pit vehicles were free to maneuver in the pit area til the race began. With top finisher Trek out of the race, all the other teams would gain in the ranks. They were working together to make that happen. Ahead, more pit crews dragged hoses and equipment out to block his way.

"To hell with this," Trek muttered and spun his bike around. He twisted the accelerator and tapped the afterburner, scorching the utility beds of the blocking vehicles and speeding away. He came to an onramp and pulled up onto the raceway but until the checkered gate lifted at the race start, he wouldn't be able to get to the right side of the starting line. By then it would be too late.

"40 seconds."

The fastest lap he'd ever run here was 40 seconds. Now he'd have to do better.

He turned away from the starting gate and hit full afterburners. Ferocious acceleration amost stripped his robot fingers from the handlebars. Speed spun up fast til air friction became a factor around 300 kilometers per hour.

Trek approached the first turn and started it early to draw the widest arc. With no other racers he could do that.

"30 seconds."

He'd never come into the hairpin turn so hot. They didn't call that back wall the widowmaker for nothing. Of course in the Robot Racing League death wasn't an issue. But loss of this racer robot would take him out for the season. He'd barely been able to finance its tritanium body and atom-forged reflex circuits. No way he could afford another this year.

He fired retro rockets and the bike nosed down and oscillated. The wall rose up before him and he couldn't avoid an impact. He popped the bike up into the air. SCRAAAPE! A shower of sparks ground the bike's skid plates as he banked off the wall, then launched back onto the raceway intact. Full throttle, then through the straightaway.

Turns 3 and 4 were a blaze of speed. It was starting to challenge the frame rate of his racer bot's eyes (he'd had to cheap out on those), and there was a strobing flicker.

The finish line was ahead. He'd achieved incredible speed. But could he stop in time? To start the race legally you had to be within a meter of the starting line and not past it. And you had to start from a complete stop...

He deployed the braking chute and fired the retrorockets. The speed was coming off too slow.

He cut the lift jets and let the bike fall to the racetrack surface. Sparks showered off the skidplates. He was almost there. All the other robot racers turned their silver heads to watch his approach. Still too fast.

Trek laid the bike down on its side and the fairing dug into the raceway. He pushed his leg hard into the surface. A grinding shriek reverberated through his robot skeleton as the leg's tritanium shell abraded away. Pink and red ensconsed him in dancing particles.

Then he was still. Half a meter from the start line. He righted his bike and looked it over. Smoke but no major damage. Nothing fell off. His leg still worked.

He pressed the release button and the braking chute detached. It drifted a moment, withered to the raceway surface. With no braking chute it would take awhile to slow down once the race was over. So be it. No rules against that.

"3... 2.. 1..."

The race klaxon sounded. Lights flashed. The checkered race gate dropped down flush to the raceway. Rocketbikes and race fans roared as the scent of rocketfuel and adrenaline filled the air like musk.

Trek's Pit Boss spoke over the comlink, her voice velvety smooth. "Great start, now make it count!"

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