Most of what she’d learned in the meeting had been just the song and dance on the way to the bribe for access to the station. She’d had a feeling there was something major going on in orbit. All the signs pointed to it if you knew where to look for them. From the constant network interruptions to various orbital traffic rerouting announcements. The key things she’d learned were where to find the station, how to get onto the station, and when the station was intended to be the most secure. Just as she’d suspected, the times of highest security coincided with uncharacteristically large sections blocked out on the schedule of some of the higher-ranking members of both Operlo Entertainment and Patel Construction.
This station had Nick Patel’s fingerprints all over it, just like everything else on this planet. And that he wanted it to be a secret meant it was downright tantalizing. She’d be putting Lex’s ship to excellent use tomorrow.
Chapter 2
Early the next morning, Lex brought his personal hoversled to a stop outside a headquarters building so pristine and grand it was physically painful to view it in the sun.
He popped open the gullwing door and stepped into the blast furnace of a morning. Squee hopped down to the ground, yelped, and immediately abandoned the searing surface for the safety of Lex’s shoulder. There were two things that made a planet worth colonizing. The first was an environment that either was similar to or could quickly be made similar to Earth in one way or another. That’s how places like Tessera or Golana became so populous so quickly. Less than a generation of massaging the atmospheric balance or seeding the soil with the appropriate vegetation and they were more or less identical to Earth. Operlo technically fulfilled this requirement. There was enough oxygen and enough pressure to keep a human alive. Gravity was quite near one g. The temperature ranges in the habitable zones were just barely survivable if exposure was kept to a minimum. Much closer to the equator and human life required protective suits. Much farther north and the temperature swings made permanent settlement inadvisable. In an earlier stage in space exploration, it would have been a miracle to find something so well suited to human colonization, but advanced terraforming and increased superluminal speeds meant finding a better planet would have been the proper course of action, barring something on Operlo that made up for the mediocre habitability.
Fortunately for those who laid claim to the smoldering little rock, Operlo handily satisfied the other big reason to settle a planet. Resources. Solar collectors made energy effectively free, and the veins of elements crucial for everything from superconductors to high-temperature fusion regulators meant virtually everyone who set foot there in its earliest days had gotten filthy rich.
Like any other gold rush, only the first to arrive and the first to leave actually stayed rich. Latecomers missed out on the better land, and people who stayed too long saw prices drop and mines run dry. This left the scrappy and the crazy to fight over the leftovers. Couple that with the off-the-beaten-track position with respect to travel corridors and Operlo may as well have been a designated mob planet from the start.
But the glorious new headquarters sheltered beneath its roof-mounted solar array wasn’t some sort of mafia don’s pleasure palace or a relic of the mining barons. Against all odds, this shining jewel was a brand-new one in Operlo’s crown. League headquarters for the Operlo Racing Intersystem Circuit, or ORIC.
A humming drone darted out from the entryway and deployed a silvered parasol to shield Lex and Squee from the sun. “Welcome, Lex,” came a voice from a speaker installed in the base of the drone as it hovered over his head.
“Preethy?” he said.
“Yes. What do you think of the escort drones? Uncle insists on race days we use actual parasol bearers, but for less overtly glamorous occasions I thought these would be more efficient.”
“It certainly beats getting sunstroke.”
“You should see the bioluminescent lampposts. Cost-free, self-maintaining lighting. But that is a discussion for a later time. You are a bit early. I’m due back in a meeting. In a moment we will be discussing something you should have some insight into, if you’d care to sit in.”
“Sure. I’ll be right up.”
He hurried to the entryway. As he slipped inside, the drone clicked its parasol shut and drifted over to a grid of identical devices to mount itself like a wall sconce until it would be needed again.
Despite the fact that they’d yet to have their first official race of the first official season, the lobby of the ORIC HQ looked like it belonged to an organization with a decades-long history. Columns housing holographic emitters displayed slickly produced videos of everything from track tours to racer interviews. They’d gotten a fair amount of press already, thanks in no small part to Lex’s involvement. His past celebrity in racing combined with his more recent fame as a “hero of the day” was enough to put the league on the radar of some of the better-established news sources in the area, so they were spoiled for choice when it came to showing footage of sharp-dressed talking heads reading from press releases.
One of the larger holoscreens looped around to the beginning of a video package that had been shown so frequently, Lex was certain the public must be sick of it.
“The rebel that started it all, Trevor ‘Lex’ Alexander,” proclaimed a silky-voiced narrator. “Fresh out of college, Lex was already burning up the tracks. He was one of the youngest racers to become a household name on the bustling planet of Golana. By earning his way to the Tremor Grand Prix, Lex’s place in history was all but assured. But a poor decision and a zero-tolerance policy cost him not only his place in the winner’s circle, but his entire career. Lex wasn’t one to let destiny pass him by, though. For years he sharpened his talents, dancing on the ragged edge of any and all jobs that could push the limits of speed. When an act of heroism during the now infamous Westin University Terror Attack spared the lives of countless citizens, Preethy Misra felt the time had come for a chance at redemption. And so, ORIC was born. ORIC is a rebel league, a place of second chances. ORIC racers don’t let limits define them.”
The video switched to a shot of Lex.
“We push the limits until they break,” he said in unison with his recording.
The advertisement continued on to list off the prospective schedule and to encourage fans to view, visit, like, favorite, thumbs-up, and otherwise lavish engagement upon ORIC in the weeks to come.
He trotted up the glossy black steps to the executive offices on the second-floor landing and scanned across the glass-walled conference rooms. He found the one where Preethy stood before a table of investors, pointing out this figure or that on a chart displayed behind her.
Preethy’s Indian descent was plainly obvious at first glance, but her poise and diction screamed “expensive business school.” Any trace of an accent of any kind had been ruthlessly drilled out of her. It produced an almost mechanical tone and delivery as she worked through dizzying gauntlets of business terminology. It was the sort of sterile homogenization of executives that made investors feel more comfortable, even if it left the average boardroom rather flavorless.
Lex had first met Preethy when her role had still been limited to the secretarial requirements of her uncle, Nicholas Patel. In those days she’d tended toward a wardrobe that teetered on the precipice of risqué, a rare bit of rebellion that did a remarkable job of destabilizing the largely male clientele she did her day-to-day dealings with. Something about being elevated to the chief executive level of her own organization had persuaded her to temper her fashion decisions just a bit.
She buzzed the door open and Lex slipped inside.
“We’ll discuss the countermeasures in greater detail later, but I’m sure you’ll all be quite satisfied,” Preethy said, concluding the current point of business. “But, gentlemen, I’m sure you know Trevor Alexander, one of our premier racers and advisers.”
“Fellas,” he said with a wave.
“Ah,” Preethy said, a warm smile
coming to a face that until that moment had been nothing but serious. “I see you’ve brought our mascot.”
Lex gave Squee a scratch. “She can’t be trusted by herself,” he said, pulling out an expensive mesh-backed office chair. “And frankly, I’d feel like a heel leaving her alone besides.”
“I take it Ms. Modane is not in your apartment then.”
“She found some work to do,” he said.
The warmth faded from her expression. “Lovely. Well, since you are here, I was just about to discuss the safety measures in our vehicles. As you know them better than anyone, would you care to give your summary and assessment?”
“Um, sure,” he said. “Do you have any slides you want to put up?”
An exploded diagram of the hoversled appeared on the main display. Lex stood and paced past Preethy. Along the way, Squee eyed up the boss’s shoulder and made ready to jump to it. With reflexes that suggested considerable experience with the funk’s proclivities, Preethy caught her out of the air and carried her over to the doorway. A young man stepped into view as if magically conjured. He was carrying a crystal bowl and a bottle of spring water. As Lex got started, she filled the bowl for Squee.
“As I hope most of you know, this is my second professional league. I’ve been at or near the top of this sport twice, and I can say without a shadow of a doubt that the sort of commitment to safety you see in this sled design is unprecedented. And trust me, I’ve put it to the test…”
#
Lex oozed charisma during the meeting in a way that only someone who lived and breathed racing could. He worked his way through dry topics like the very same TymFlex safety system that had saved his life. He talked up the crumple zones, reactive repulsors, and other little details that allowed him to push the performance of the sled well past the point of sanity without risking his life. Each time interest drifted, he wrapped this feature or that into an anecdote that started with screeching metal and ended with him without a scratch on him. He did an impressive job illustrating how making the sleds safer for the drivers gave the drivers the freedom to, if they had the intestinal fortitude, make the races much more exciting.
“… And that’s what it really comes down to, isn’t it? More excitement means more butts in seats. More butts in seats means more money,” he said.
“But, surely, all of this comes at a cost,” opined one of the business types at the far corner of the table.
“For budget, you talk to Preethy. But in my biased opinion, the most valuable part of a hoversled is the person at the controls.”
Preethy stepped up. “Price, at this stage, is no object. We have had six exhibition races. In other leagues these are lightly attended and lightly viewed. In our case the ticket and on-demand revenue alone has recouped nearly seventy-five percent of the cost outlay per race. Advertisers are lining up for air time, product placement, and logo placement. We can guarantee you that the very first official race will be fully solvent, and as the season progresses, that income will only grow.”
“But the official races will have more racers,” countered the naysayer as he glanced at a datapad. “In these six races alone, six sleds have been totaled, and a further four have been damaged enough to be removed from rotation. Multiply that by the proportionate increase in racers, and equipment costs alone will be ruinous.”
Lex rolled his eyes. “Speaking as the guy who was piloting half of those totaled sleds, let me make one thing clear. Those crashes? Those are the things people pay to see. Sure, we all love to see good racing done right, but every last person in those stands is secretly hoping to see a wreck. It’s human nature,” Lex said.
Preethy clicked to a complex chart. “Lex is correct. We have found that audience attention spikes considerably during crashes. Our drivers are more aggressive than in other leagues, and if we can give people this sort of excitement while simultaneously guaranteeing the safety of the drivers, the increase in viewership and the loyalty of the fanbase will more than offset the equipment costs.” She clicked to another slide. “We are even preparing Quarry 6 to serve as a demolition derby track to reuse damaged sleds that cannot be made safe to move at racing speeds.”
The potential investor seemed reluctantly mollified.
“If there are no more questions, I think that will conclude our meeting for today. I will be unavailable for calls between 4 and 10 p.m., but if you have any questions, contact my staff and we’ll be sure to have answers for you by the next meeting.”
One by one, the suit-wearing executives stood. Lex quickly snagged Squee, who was already waggling her butt in preparation to cover some very expensive suits with her fur. He tucked her under his arm while shaking hands with the procession of investors. When they were gone, Preethy led the way from the conference room toward her office.
“You are a natural salesman, Lex,” she said. “Yet another entry on a long list of your talents.”
“It helps that I’m the product,” he said. “It really lights a fire under you to get people excited about something when, if they don’t, you’re out of a job.”
“Indeed. And may I say I was pleased, though confused, to see you draw the attention so swiftly to the danger aspect of our league. As you saw, I had the data to suggest our audience is, in a word, bloodthirsty. But I was reluctant to emphasize this aspect out of respect for you. It hardly seems appropriate to underscore those parts of the sport that put your life in danger.”
“Heh, trust me. This isn’t putting my life in danger. I’ve been through stuff that makes this look like a walk in the park.”
“I am well aware,” she said.
“And you don’t know the half of it. Honestly, while we’re on the subject of safety, is there any way we can drop the safety locator requirement? Or at least make it a radio thing instead of a siren? My ears are still ringing.”
“I’m afraid it’s non-negotiable. If you’d like to avoid having your ears assaulted by our safety features, I would recommend you stop crashing hoversleds.”
He stopped walking for a moment and tapped his chest. Squee took the moment of distraction to wriggle free and climb to his shoulder.
“Are you not feeling well?” she asked.
He blew out a breath. “I spite-ate most of a cake last night,” he said. “It’s repeating on me.”
“How you spend your off time is your own business, but you have some curious habits, Lex,” she said.
Her slidepad bleeped. She slid it from her pocket and clucked her tongue before dismissing the notification.
“Something bad?” he asked.
“Sandstorm watch. The weather service sends them out at the drop of a hat at this time of year.”
“I saw a few of those. Should we be worried? The winds on the open fields are bad enough on a normal day.”
“Sandstorms are effectively the only natural weather phenomena on Operlo. I can assure you that they won’t come as a surprise. I’ll have more to say on the subject when we are alone, but for now, suffice it to say that if one is likely to interrupt a race, the race will be postponed.”
“Postponed… Oh! Is there any chance we can make some reservations for 8 p.m. tonight? I should have asked sooner, but you’re a hard woman to get ahold of.”
“Of course. Anytime. I’m frankly surprised you didn’t go last night, after the race. It would have been a fine time.”
“Yeah, it would have. I was thinking about it.”
“Is there a reason you didn’t?”
Lex’s expression hardened a bit. “Guess.”
“Ah. More ‘work’ for Ms. Modane. From her dedicated interest, one would think that Operlo is the only planet in the galaxy with any potential news. I’d think she’d have perhaps gone to investigate those reports about a supposed ‘missing star,’ or the convention fiasco on Tessera. I understand there is a bribery scandal back on Golana that is precisely the sort of thing she would investigate, rather than our little world.”
> “I’m really sorry about that.”
Preethy raised a hand. “No, no. There is nothing wrong with a bit of rigor. I am confident that she will find no criminality at any level within this organization, because there is no criminality to find. I only wish the investigation itself wasn’t so disruptive. There are some crimes for which an accusation is enough to color public opinion. The money-laundering episode was not without its consequences.”
“Yeah…” Lex muttered.
Michella had been investigating the league from the moment Lex had signed on. She tackled it with her usual fervor, but something she’d done that was quite unlike her was, after spotting some potential inconsistencies, reporting on her speculation without solid evidence of its truth. She was professional enough to never claim she could prove her claims, but the funny thing about news audiences is they don’t withhold their outrage until they’re sure it’s warranted.
“I cannot help that my uncle’s construction firm is the only on-planet firm. And I can certainly see how one might easily turn that into a money-laundering scheme. But the fact that every credit of our budget was perfectly accounted for was not enough to counter the negative press we received,” Preethy said.
“There was a huge chunk funneled into research and development.”
“Which should come as no surprise, as we are currently researching and developing quite a few new technologies and properties. Regardless, that news cycle is mercifully over. Taking on contracts from outside—and unnecessary—contracting firms was a costly solution, but it was a solution. I just hope this new bit of work she is doing doesn’t necessitate another one.”
“She’s just… when she catches a scent, she’s like a bloodhound,” Lex said.
“I was under the impression that a bloodhound finds a scent and follows it, rather than starting where they suspect a scent will be and refusing to look elsewhere despite its absence.” Preethy shut her eyes. “I apologize. I am being undiplomatic, and the pressure I have been under is no excuse.”
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