Maximus plodded forward and nuzzled Chelsie’s legs until she petted him.
Thad continued to stare Leslie down.
She shrugged. “Go with your deputy’s theory. Or consider how much money you would have to pay two officers of TerroCom to accept a mission like this.”
“TerroCom wasn’t created when you two came to Darklanding,” Thad said.
“It was just an example,” Leslie said. “Good luck, Sheriff. You can have second place, right behind us.”
“I bet he likes being behind us,” Chelsie said, then blew Thad a kiss. “Your copilot is so cute!”
Thad, Mast, and Maximus watched them walk away.
“I do not think they are deserters. Would that be muchly bad if they were?” Mast asked.
Thad didn’t answer. He finished his pre-flight check with clenched teeth and frequent grumbling.
* * *
Sledge stopped under the short wing of the LAR airship he’d built for Dixie’s girls. As far as Leslie and Chelsea knew, it was the one they had ordered with some of their stockpiled wealth. Neither of the women had paid for anything since they arrived on the planet. He wasn't sure how good they were at their new profession, only that they were dangerous and probably justified for what they had done.
Their ship, the Pink Revenge, had actually been shipped directly from SagCon along with his orders. He had followed them to the letter, using all of his skill and several late-night conference calls to create the fastest, toughest, most agile LAR airship ever to compete in a sanctioned event. In fact, it violated about twenty-five rules of the Galactic LAR League.
"Hell, I could probably win this race in this ship," Sledge muttered as he watched Thaddeus spank Chelsie. “Oh, come on, Fry-man. You can do better than that! What a wasted opportunity.”
He reached up and grabbed a strip of tape, then pulled it as he walked along the length of the ship to reveal a wide pink stripe with the ship's name painted on it. Several of the miners and dockworkers in the crowd laughed and clapped appreciatively. “It's not what you think, gentlemen. And I use the term loosely.”
More laughter.
"Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week. Don't forget to tip your waitress," Sledge said.
Leslie and Chelsie saw him watching their approach and started strutting.
What are you two up to?
They arrived back at the Pink Revenge to cheers from their fans.
“Take it off!” a man shouted.
“Take it all off!” a woman shouted.
"How's our ship, Sledge?" Leslie asked.
"Let's take a walk around her and go down the list." He handed her his tablet. "Like I told you yesterday after your practice, everything looks brand new, because it is. I don't know where you got the money to afford this type of airship kit, but I'm jealous. Maybe you would let me fly it after you're done with it.”
Both of Dixie's girls laughed.
"What's so funny?"
Leslie touched one of his huge arms. "Sledge, you know there won't be anything left of the ship by the time were done.”
“I’m Raymond D. freaking LeClerc!” Leslie and Chelsie shouted in unison as they grabbed their groins like a man might, then spit over their shoulders.
Chelsie’s imitation man voice was especially deep and dumb-sounding. “I'm gonna win this race. No stupid girls can beat me.”
“I’m the galactic LAR champion!” Leslie said in her best man voice.
“I can do whatever I want. These whores want my big thang! I’m untouchable,” Chelsie shouted, then stage whispered, “It’s not really that big, that’s just what he’d say.”
"TMI," Sledge said dryly. "I think I'm going to regret helping you two."
"Says every man we've ever met," Leslie said. "Are you going to watch the race from the stands or on a monitor?”
Sledge hesitated. He was starting to think he needed to record the race, but figured that would be done by the spyware in the SagCon LAR airship Leslie and Chelsie thought they had ordered online from a black marketeer of ShadEcon.
"Dixie will be in the stands," Leslie said.
Sledge laughed awkwardly and smiled. "I suppose she will be in the stands. I might as well head up there if you two are all good here.”
"We were never all good," Chelsie said.
* * *
Thad strapped Maximus into the copilot’s seat, then initiated the engine startup sequence. The antigrav bundles came on last, sending a shudder through the entire ship.
Maximus looked at him with big, concerned eyes. His nose sniffed quietly, which couldn’t be a good sign. The animal was never subtle.
“No worries, partner, we are in the best compilation of spare parts that could be slapped together at the last minute by amateur airship mechanics who probably want me to crash,” Thad said.
Maximus gulped. “Snort. Squeak. Snoooorrrt.”
"The starting line will be the hardest part…except for all the canyon racing and possible underground acrobatics, but I digress," Thaddeus said. He looked at the pig-dog. "I get the impression you're not feeling very reassured.”
“Snort.”
"Really? That bad?" Thaddeus said.
“Ruff, rauuff! Snort.” Maximus wagged his tail in his seat despite the tight five-point harness that held him in place.
"No, I'm not going to rub your belly," Thaddeus said.
He gained altitude and stared at the starting area. The roar of antigrav bundles and wing turbines turned toward the ground could be heard even through his soundproof cockpit. He felt the vibrations of his own ship and that of others waiting nearby. This was a part of the race that often resulted in fatalities. According to the rules, the LAR pilots had to arrange their ships almost wingtip to wingtip.
It was a test of skill and a necessary photo op for the sports channels. Since half the pilots in this race were amateurs or semi-professionals, it was extraordinarily dangerous. He thought he could see LeClerc and the other pros sweating through their cockpit windows. It was kind of like sparring with a white belt in a karate class. They often did random things and lacked the control necessary to pull a punch.
A familiar voice came across his helmet headphones.
"This is Shaunte Plastes, Company Man of Darklanding and honorary referee of this final exhibition race. Ladies and gentlemen, and pig-dogs, ready your engines.” There was an appropriate pause before Shaunte continued. “Three, two, one…go!”
Thaddeus eased the controls forward, accelerating cautiously. One of the other amateurs he didn't know by name bumped a pro and they both spiraled toward the surface. The pro pilot recovered. The amateur, one of the local assayers when he wasn’t flying, couldn't pull up in time. He didn't hit hard, but his ship landed with a sickening thump that suggested it wouldn’t fly again that day.
The spectator feed in his left headphone blossomed with the crowd’s excitement. Many women roared and shouted into blue megaphones. Thaddeus lowered the volume. He didn't want to turn it off because that was also the channel that the LAR commentators used. Their updates could provide him valuable information about his competition as the race continued.
He found himself in the middle of the pack as they raced toward the canyon mazes. LeClerc, another professional, and Dixie’s Girls dropped to a much lower altitude than the rest of the competitors and moved farther ahead of the pack.
“I don't know, that seems counterintuitive," Thaddeus said to Maximus. "I like to keep my altitude so maybe I can see a little piece of the maze before I dive into it."
Maximus farted and looked away. Thad gagged and fought to maintain his composure. His eyes started to water, but he blinked away the tears. The fun part was about to begin.
Hesitantly, Thad dropped his altitude and sped after the lead group. It wasn't a good policy to chase first place. He knew that from his amateur LAR career. One by one, the other ships imitated the tactic until the entire squadron was kicking up dust. Two ships he didn't recognize hit their afterbur
ners and blasted past LeClerc to take the lead. They probably just wanted a photo op and didn't really believe they could maintain that type of pace or navigate the maze canyons at that speed.
One of the new leaders veered off and cut speed at the last moment, seemingly content to drop almost to the back of the pack. The other slammed into a wall and burst into flames.
Maximus barked angrily.
“LAR contests are inherently dangerous. It's in the contract you signed," Thaddeus said.
Maximus stared at him, then looked away in disgust. He hadn’t signed anything and they both knew it.
Thad worked the double control sticks and the double foot pedals to adjust his acceleration, yaw, and the antigrav pulses. He glanced over at his copilot, who couldn't reach the sticks and pedals if he wanted to. The controls mirrored Thaddeus’s movements as though a ghost was flying from the right seat.
He looked back to the course, turned into the first left-hand corridor, and dropped back in the cluster of airships. LeClerc pulled farther ahead. No one tried to keep up with him.
The maze threw up a pillar of rocks that nearly wrecked several of the leaders. Thaddeus, benefiting from seeing the other ships maneuver around the obstacles, steered smoothly into place and emerged from the first major set of obstacles safely. He stayed in the middle of the pack, which was now a race of its own. LeClerc, Dixie’s Girls, and two other airships had a significant lead. The race commentators discussed this in detail, ignoring the competitors, both amateur and professional, who were hanging back.
Thaddeus banked around the corner and accelerated through a long valley that everyone knew was part of the course. Ships raced him on both sides, while others tried to pass above and below, but no one seemed to have enough power to get in front of him.
“I may have judged you poorly, Dickles, you and your people. This thing is a beast.”
He saw the leaders near the end of the valley flying so low they were throwing up spray from a major river.
Sun slashed into his eyes and he adjusted the tint. Maximus nodded enthusiastically, as though enjoying this part of the race. He snorted and huffed and if Thaddeus didn't know better, he thought the animal was talking trash to their competitors.
Curious, but lacking time to decipher the animal’s monologue, Thaddeus slowly shifted to his right until he was almost scraping the wall. If memory served him, there was going to be a hard left turn with dangerous cliff protrusions.
Airships raced ahead of him when he slowed. He rounded the corner. Two fireballs and a cloud of ship parts pelted him. He pushed through it, remembering Centauri Prime and artillery fire. Without thinking about it, he started practicing his combat breathing to calm himself.
Race commentators went wild.
"Well, Phil, this has been an exceptionally deadly race. I wasn't thinking we'd get this kind of action from a field of pilots that are mostly amateurs.”
"Candy, that's where you've got it all wrong. Of course we would see more wrecks. I've said for years that allowing amateur pilots to race against the pros is a mistake. How many people have to die before we get a rule change?”
"We'll see, Phil. Don't be a drama queen. Everyone knows those cockpits are crash-proof and we have safety crews with state-of-the-art equipment standing by," Candy said.
Thaddeus pushed ahead of the pack and found himself alone between the leaders and the main group. "I need to be by myself when we take the tunnel shortcut.”
Maximus shook his dog-pig head violently. "Snort, snort, snort!"
"Relax, partner. We’re not there yet. Trust me, I don't want to use a shortcut any more than you do."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
What the Girls Do
Dixie ignored Sledge as thoroughly as possible. She knew he had been down on the flight line fine-tuning the ship Leslie and Chelsie had purchased with their own money. She'd been a bit surprised they had that much money squirreled away and made a note to look into that. It wouldn't do for her girls to become too independent, or worse yet, buy a competing franchise and venture off on their own.
She could handle competition, but didn't want them to make mistakes and get people hurt. Or so she told herself. She also realized Sledge had somehow managed to take a shower and apply cologne she actually liked. How had he learned her favorite brand?
"Can I get you something to drink, Miss Dixie?" Sledge offered.
She pretended not to hear. He went to the concession stand and brought back two beers.
She looked at him almost involuntarily when he offered one to her. "A beer, really? You know how to charm a girl."
"I was going to buy you wine, but I didn't want to fly all the way back to Darklanding," Sledge said. "I would, for you.”
"I know you would." Dixie wasn't sure why she acknowledged his statement. The problem was, she had no doubt he would do about anything for her. Their conversation during the picnic still bothered her. He acted like he was interested in her, but he was on a mission and that mission involved her girls. “But that would be a waste of your time and mine.”
She watched the nearest jumbo screen and flinched when LeClerc’s red and white ship—modestly named the LeClerc—dove between pillars of rocks with the Pink Revenge right behind him. The third ship providing this view was some new hotshot out of Melborn, practically a child by Dixie’s reckoning.
The screen switched to a view from the Pink Revenge. She leaned back, eyes strained from the extreme closeup of LeClerc’s afterburners. “They are too close.”
Annoyed on multiple fronts, she glanced over her shoulder and gasped. Sledge was still standing there with a beer in each hand. “Give me one of those before you embarrass yourself.”
He handed her a rather large beer, sat down beside her, and smiled as though they had been arguing and he’d won.
“Be careful, Mister Hammer. I’m not a one-beer girl,” she said.
“Lovely day for a LAR. Look how far you can see without all the dust and A19 in the air. Foothills climbing up the distant mountains. Rolling hills and flatlands off that way where no one goes,” Sledge said.
“Who would want to go out there?”
“I’d go out there,” Sledge said, staring away from the racetrack.
“Well, I certainly would not.” Dixie sipped her beer. “It is a very nice view, Mister Hammer. Thank you for the beer.” She paused to look at the plastic cup. “This isn’t Darklanding beer. I could get used to this.”
“Only the best for my sweet Dixie.”
“That’s enough of that,” she declared. When his attention drifted back to his cloud gazing, she checked the jumbo screens to be sure her girls hadn’t fallen too far behind after their obviously foolhardy attempt to win it all, then glanced the other direction at the Darklanding mesa. That was where the money was, there and the mines.
“How is Thad doing? I haven’t seen him for a while,” Sledge said.
Dixie scanned a row of smaller screens near her viewing booth. “He’s in the middle of the pack. I don’t think that’s safe. They are so close together. How do they not smash into each other? Oh, look! I saw Maximus in the cockpit. That filthy creature was licking the window!”
“That’s…amazing,” Sledge said.
Dixie shuddered, doubting she would ever get the image of that large purple tongue out of her mind. “I can’t believe we just saw that.”
“I know,” Sledge agreed. “Most of the closeups have been through the canopy glass of the Pink Revenge. Not that I’m complaining.”
Dixie elbowed him. “Don’t be a creep.”
Images jumped right, left, up, and down with such unfocused violence, the crowd swayed in their seats and groaned collectively. “Ooooooh!”
“Who crashed?” Sledge asked.
“Not sure.” Dixie waved one of the cheaply made but extremely expensive stadium fans in front of her face. “Not my girls, thank God. Where’s Thad?”
* * *
Thaddeus held his breath as a ship called the
Sure Thing clipped the bottom of a stone arch and went down hard, disappearing from his lower rear cameras in a flash. He glanced at the spectator’s feed on a small screen below the others and saw the ship sitting in a cloud of dust. Commentators sounded bored.
“Relax, Phil. He’s all right. I’m sorry you lost a bet. I know you had money on him to finish,” a woman commentator said.
Phil grunted out a canned laugh for the audience.
Thad banked around a cliff and saw the race leaders, only two of them now. The Pink Revenge and the LeClerc flew wingtip to wingtip faster than any sane pilot would dare. It didn’t look like a race, it looked like a battle.
Thad laughed. “Should have checked their resumes before you messed with them, LeClerc.”
Maximus barked agreement.
“They might not win in a race, but they’d win if this was combat,” Thad said, then swore. “You crazy broads!”
Maximus looked at him questioningly.
“They’re not in it to win it,” Thad said. “They’re just trying to make sure LeClerc loses. Or worse.”
Maximus shrugged, leaned to one side, and gifted Thad with a long fart.
“This is our last race together,” Thad said as he stuffed his nose under the collar of his jumpsuit.
Maximus snorted and chuckled, then turned to sniff the window he’d licked earlier.
Thad used the straightaway to speed ahead of the pack, burning more fuel than his computer recommended. Other LAR pilots had the same idea, following close behind him. At one point, there were amateur and professional racers off his right and left wings, edging forward as though this was the final stretch of the race.
The pack approached the end of this straight canyon with Thad in the lead by half a length. He kept his control sticks pressed forward. The other ships fell back dramatically as they correctly estimated he was entering the new section of the maze too fast.
“Hold on, Maximus! This is where we separate the pigs from the piglets!”
“Arooooooh!”
Thad jammed his left hand forward simultaneously with his right foot, forcing the Calico to jump, then fall hard to the right. Up on one wingtip, he sliced into the next section of the race maze well ahead of the pack. Some of the ships stopped completely to hover near the frightening terrain and draw up a plan of attack. The commentators and the crowd booed them.
Race to the Finish Page 7
