The display lit up with a soft buzz, framing the twinkling sphere of Gemheart. Points of light bloomed uniformly across the planet’s slate-coloured surface, marking the land like a patient awaiting surgery. To say the Starbreaker Empire was thorough would be an insult that paid no respect to the soon-to-be-dead planet. Within the next fifty to one hundred years, every precious mineral, gemstone, and natural gas would be gutted from the stone and dirt and sent back home to Brightstone. 

That inevitable obsolescence could sour the minds and spirits of many people, but the inhabitants of Gemheart took it as license for a generational bender. Spotlights cut aimlessly through the sky, luring would be revelers to the site of the latest blowout. Young dwarves eager to brandish their new wealth hosted parties where the booze, drugs, and music were free and plentiful. Closer to Brightstone, the excess might be frowned upon, but distance from home was the death of restraint. 

Speaking of people without restraint… Zenith keyed a passcode into her terminal and opened a channel only two other people knew of. She didn’t expect an answer, not for weeks anyway, but that was the nature of their relationship. She took a breath, then hit record.

“Hey dad. Long time no talk. I’m not sure what corner of the galaxy you’ve hidden yourself in, but it would be nice to get your help with a few things. First, Harlow. He’s left the Materia military and joined up with a psycho named Vaelor. That will be hitting your news feed in the next few weeks. You’re probably wondering why I’m asking for help with Harlow, given that he hates you, well-”

Zenith sighed, “Ozzy, edit out that last bit.”

“Done.”

“Harlow has his issues with you, but that’s why I want you to talk to him. If anyone can put him back in his usual frame of mind, it’s you. Second, I need some money for medical bills. Don’t worry, it’s not for me. A couple of my friends were badly hurt aboard Levisia. I know what you’re going to say, ‘Money stays within the family,’ but I need these people. With you, mom and Harlow so far apart, this crew is the closest thing I have to family. I hope you can meet them one day. Talk soon, dad.”

“Is that the end, ZT?”

“Yeah, attach my deposit info and send. How’s our docking order going?”

“It’ll be another hour before there’s a space for us.”

“Should have told them our hold was full of whiskey and opioids.”

“They tend to prefer stimulants over downers,” Odybrix said, walking onto the bridge. “Fractal and Drift are the popular ones these days.”

“Have you come here to add new entries to the AIs’ databases, or is there something I can help you with,” Zenith said, not turning from her control panel.

“No, just letting you know that I’ve lined up a clinic for BOB and Buddy.”

“You have?” Zenith asked, spinning in her chair to face the halfling, “With what money? We’re broke. Wait, do I want to know?”

“Blue Wings often have chapters in places like this,” she said, hand drifting up to rub the tattoo on her shoulder. “We’re going to owe them a favour.”

“Ugh.”

“I know.”

“The last favour we did for them ended with us fleeing three gunships on foot. The time before that, we were nearly obliterated by a planetary defense system.”

“Yeah, but we got two decent crew mates and the Sunrunner out of those. The favour won’t be any worse than what we’re already doing.”

“You hope.”

“Hope is for the delusional and ignorant. I’m reasonably certain mutants and giant death rays are as bad as it gets.”

Zenith raised a hand, “Please stop inviting the universe to prove you wrong.”

“You’re right. It could always get worse.” Odybrix paused for a moment, then said, “About your brother…”

“It’s fine. I know what you’re like when you go without coffee, or whiskey, or a fight. Any vice, really.”

“Yeah.”

An alert trilled from the cockpit and Ozzy appeared on Zenith’s monitor.

“We’ve got a message coming in,” the AI said.

“I take it that’s not our docking order,” Zenith said, punching in a command to locate the sender. “No one should know we’re here.”

“Remington?” Odybrix asked, cracking her knuckles.

“No way. They couldn’t have known where we were going. The message is coming from a carrack class ship in parallel orbit.”

“I’ll raise shields,” Ozzy said 

“Wait,” Zenith said, tapping her terminal, “the message is encrypted. Huh.”

“Well don’t leave us in fucking suspense,” Odybrix said.

Zenith opened a new comms channel. “Adam, I think your new friend wants to talk.”

—

Lights crowded the either side of the street, reflecting rich colours off the wet pavement. The click of the crew’s boots was muffled under the din of raucous workers coming off their shifts and music booming from every other building. The mortal tableau they strode through was almost algorithmic. In the span of seconds, any of the following events occurred: hearty laugh, swig of whiskey, string of expletives, punch in the face, projectile vomit. 

Adam was out of his depth in places like this. Members of his RC security detail would occasionally invite him out to blow off steam. He’d accept the offers out of a sense of professional obligation, but proceed to spend the night more on edge than if he were in a firefight. His preferred remedies for the mental and physical rigors of his occupation were, well, additional physical rigors—nothing beat exercise as a stress reliever. Now, light years away from the life he knew, and pursued by the people he once called allies, he felt that awkward social pressure once again. 

“I can’t help but observe how we are once again going into a seedy bar to speak with a guy we hardly know about a clandestine operation,” Odybrix said to no one in particular.

After a moment of uncomfortable glances among the crew, Hoxley opted to take the brunt of Odybrix’ protest, “You’re concerned we’re going to be locked in an acid gas room with a killer robot?”

“While I never had cause to be concerned about it in the past, it is now near the top of my list, yes.”

“You know the probability of that happening again is infinitesimal, right?”

“No, actually, it isn’t. If we’re talking probabilities, acid-gas-room-killer-robot shouldn’t have happened to begin with, but it did. Among the vast aisles of the supermarket of shittiness, we somehow always pick the worst one.”

“Things could have been worse.”

Odybrix fixed Hoxley with an incredulous stare that effortlessly conveyed the word dumbass without speaking it.

“Yes, there could have been mutated monsters, turbo charged mechs, or giant death rays that split space stations in half—oh wait.”

“So are you saying we shouldn’t meet this guy at the bar?”

“I’m saying that the common denominator for all these things is us sticking our fucking noses into this particular situation.”

“You’re falling into the post hoc ergo propter hoc fallacy,” Hoxley said. “Causal factors are rarely so narrow.”

“I think that was an attempt at speaking words. Did you just have a mild seizure?”

“Okay,” Hoxley sighed, switching gears from philosophy to reason, “do you not want to go meet this person?”

“I think we should do it on our terms, so we don’t get played again.”

“He’s not going to play us,” Adam said.

“Oh, he speaks. I thought you were too occupied scanning the crowd for threats,” Odybrix said.

“Why do you say that?” Zenith asked Adam.

“To quote Buddy, ‘I’ve got a good feeling about him.’ Besides,” he continued before Odybrix could inject her predictable snark, “there’ll be whiskey.”

“Oh, you think I can be pacified with liquor, kid? Well, you’re right, but I still don’t like the situation.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Adam said, reassuringly.

The rendezvous location was called The Felspar Dryad. The club could have been missed amongst the myriad of similar establishments, but there was one distinguishing feature. A grim figure towered over the predominantly dwarven foot traffic. Some kept their distance, treating him as they would a potentially dangerous animal,  others walked passed obliviously, treating him like a lamp post. 

Kron clocked Adam almost as quickly as Adam spotted him. The stern professionalism melted from his expression and a broad smile spread across his face. He strode through the busy street to meet the crew, causing startled revelers to scatter from his path. Adam found himself smiling back at the orc. He raised his arm for a handshake; Kron spread out his arms.

“Uh, oh,” Adam said, mirroring the gesture.

Kron simultaneously switched to a handshake. Before Adam could grab the hand, the orc opened his arms again and wrapped him in an embrace.

“I’m a hugger,” Kron said.

Adam awkwardly patted the orc’s back before pulling away.

“Now we have time for a proper introduction. Kron val Kron, captain in the Grolvar navy. You’re all looking pretty good for having survived an RC flagship.” Kron paused, taking note of the absences in the group. “The rest are back aboard your ship, I hope.”

“Getting medical attention,” Adam replied, speeding past the recent trauma, “they’ll be in fighting shape soon. We’re hoping you have some information for us.”

Kron clasped Adam’s shoulder and led him toward the bar, “Information? Yes. Answers? Probably not. Let’s get out of the street.”

—

Zenith cocked an eyebrow from behind her helmet. Light years away from any naturally occurring vegetation, yet The Diamond Dryad had somehow procured an El’adir. The red leaves of the Elven tree hung in stark contrast to its pristine white bark. Nano-lights had been implanted on the trunk, creating the illusion of a shimmering exterior. That, and the other collected foliage, cemented the theme.

She dismissed the flashy decor and focused her attention on Sturdy. The assassin turned ally sat across from her in the semi-circle booth. Hoxley sat to his left, visibly uncomfortable in the role of chaperone. The infernum would have to deal with it. The Lendaren operative needed to be watched at all times until he could be dealt with. 

I thought you scared him straight? 

For a while. I don’t think change comes easily to our new friend.

Adam worked for Remington. We trust him.

Adam wasn’t tasked with killing one of us.

But he’s certainly changed since joining the crew. You can’t deny we have a unique effect on people.

If there were more time, you might be right. We don’t have time.

So…

We keep him around for now. When an opportunity presents itself-

We ditch him.

We kill him.

She leaned back in her seat, frowning at the remembered conversation. The helmet kept her displeasure private. She didn’t enjoy killing people, though it was becoming a frequent necessity. Part of her wondered if she was precluding forgiveness and redemption because of her brother—hardening herself for what was to come.

The server arrived and set a staggering number of drinks on the table. Shockingly, it was the orc who ordered them and not Odybrix. She removed the frown from her face before tapping the underside of the helmet. The faceplate slid away, revealing her mouth. She took a slip from the nearest glass and the frown returned.

“You don’t like it?” Kron asked.

“What is it?” She asked in reply.

“Elfsbane.”

“That sounds about right.”

“It’s made with juniper berries and aged in dwarven whiskey casks.”

“Juniper tastes like ass to most elves,” Odybrix chimed in. 

“Acid,” Zenith corrected.

“Oh, you’re an elf. Couldn’t tell, what with the helmet situation,” Kron said, waving a loose hand in front of his face. “I guess there’s some truth to the name.”

She took another sip from the glass. “I’ve had worse.”

“Before we get down to business,” Kron said,  raising a mug of ale, “to the fallen of Levisia. I’m not big on vengeance, but that psycho Vaelor needs to be taken down.”

Everyone at the table raised a glass except Adam, who offered a supportive “Hear hear.”

Kron took a swig of his ale and stopped when he noticed Adam.

“You want me to order something else?” Kron asked.

“No thank you, I don’t really drink.”

“Our boy is a teetotaller,” Odybrix said, knocking back a glass of whiskey. “He also enjoys crochet and painting flowers.”

Adam frowned.

“Hey, everybody loosens up in their own way. Some people choose not to indulge the common vices. No judgement here,” Kron said, waving to a server. “You want a coffee?”

“No,” Adam said, eyeing the table. His lip twitched into something that could have been a sneer and he grabbed an ale. The crew watched in silence as he knocked back the drink in seconds. 

Kron let out a clipped laugh and threw back his own ale. Setting his mug down he said, “Also, nothing wrong with crocheting. I sew, myself.”

The orc’s hands were each half the size of Zenith’s head. “You sew?” She asked incredulously.

“Gotta fill your spare time with more than exercise. Keeps the brain healthy.”

“If we’re done sharing life tips, maybe we can get down to business,” Sturdy said. 

Zenith noted that, while he raised his glass, he hadn’t drunk from it. Not a bad idea to stay sober when meeting a new contact, but it was just as likely that he was getting ready to run if things went sideways. On edge because of the orc or because of me, Mr. Spy? 

Kron clasped both hands and set them on the table, then said, “Here’s the rundown of why I’m involved in this. Several weeks ago a masked individual broke into the most secure vault on Grolvar. This thief, Vaelor, materialized in front of the vault door completely undetected by multi-spectrum cameras. Defenses were immediately activated when he appeared; the vault locked down, auto-cannons came online, and oxygen was vented out of the room. Normally, these countermeasures would result in a well-perforated and suffocated thief, but…”

“Not for Vaelor,” Zenith said.

“Lightning shot out of his hands and disabled the cannons, and the lack of air didn’t seem to be a problem for him. Then he raised a hand and slammed it against the vault door. I need you to understand that this vault is supposed to be impenetrable. It’s a multi-factor lock keyed to the biology of the High Warlord; only she can open it. Moreover, it’s on a 30 minute time delay. Yet this guy simply slaps it and it pops open.”

“Are you allowed to tell us what he took?”

“Probably not, but secrets aren’t going to help the hunt. That vault contains any number of things that someone could sell for a big payday: classified docs with military and government secrets, prototypes for new weapons, recovered tech from unexplained sources. Our guy didn’t take any of those. The other category the vault houses is relics from the age of myth. He took one of those.”

Kron paused as the server came by with another round of drinks. At this point, the crew was leaning in to hear the story. Even Sturdy seemed to lose some of the tension in his shoulders as he focused on the orc’s words. The server left and he continued.

“The relic was a six-sided cube made of a material that Grolvar scientists haven’t been able to identify. Each side has a unique symbol. We have no idea what it is, but we do know where it was found.”

Kron paused again.

“Well don’t keep us in suspense,” Adam said, urging him to continue.

“You heard of Mt. Kologar?”

“It’s an active volcano in the middle of the Cresting Sea on Materia,” Hoxley offered. “The volcano erupts every four-hundred years or so.”

“Nerd,” Odybrix said.

“That’s almost correct,” Kron said, nodding once.

“About the volcano or Hoxley being an encyclopedia?” Adam asked.

“The volcano. It erupts every four-hundred years on the dot.”

“That’s ludicrously improbable,” Hoxley said, “How would you even know the dates beyond the first two to three repetitions? Historical records are notoriously spotty before the Exodus.”

“If you go searching for dates online, you’ll find multiple answers. That, from what we’ve learned, is intentional. The cube was found hovering on top of a bed of lava.”

“It hovers?” Odybrix asked.

“Not since it left the volcano.”

“How long has Glovar had this relic?” Sturdy asked.

“Pre-Exodus. One of our ancestors brought it with them when we took to the stars.”

“So you have no idea what it does?” Adam asked.

“No, but it came to us with a warning written on a scrap of paper, ‘Keep it sealed away.’”

“I suspect Vaelor knows what it is,” Sturdy said, finally taking an actual sip from a whiskey glass.

“My thoughts exactly,” Kron concurred. “So, what can you tell me about your involvement?”

Adam took the lead on the explanation. He covered the initial job from Remington, their first encounter with a mutant, the derelict ship and the monster within. There was a noticeable pause when the story veered towards Harlow. Zenith picked up the story at those points, not wanting to shy away from the reality of the situation.

“So he stole a dangerous artifact from Remington,” Kron said, picking up a glass and swirling the amber liquid inside, “Want to wager he’s here for another relic?”

“It’s a safe bet,” Adam said. 

“How are we going to find him?” Hoxley asked. “It’s a big planet and we have no leads.”

Kron smiled, then pointed to a group of dwarves entering the club. Ten in all. They were adorned with silver: studs, chokers, and rings. Their skin was an eclectic tableau of tattoos with a single unifying image on their necks, a chunk of metal wreathed in flame. 

“My contact on Gemheart led me towards these guys. They’re called the Slags, and they’re the reason I chose this spot. Vaelor’s had dealings with criminals in the past.”

“He killed an information broker aboard Levisia,” Adam said, “so it’s as good a guess as any that he’ll reach out to someone here.”

“I’m hoping the Slags will point us in the right direction,” Kron said.

“That, or they’ll point a pistol at your head and tell you too fuck off. If you’re lucky,” Odybrix said.

“Maybe they’d be most receptive to someone like you,” Hoxley said.

“Is that prejudicial suggestion because of my size or my tattoos?” Odybrix asked, shooting the infernum a harsh look.

“Attitude,” Sturdy said. 

Zenith stood up, cutting off Odybrix. She briefly looked at Hoxley, hoping to convey that he keep an eye on Sturdy, then said, “I’ll handle this.”

“No offense, but maybe the kid or Mr. Serious should go,“ Odybrix said, jabbing a thumb at Sturdy. ”You’re not exactly our best negotiator.”

“No, but I am the best dancer.”

Zenith turned and strode towards the dwarves’ table, hearing Adam’s words drift through the din.

“So he gets a cool nickname and I’m stuck with ‘the kid?’”

The band on stage was an eclectic assortment of races, which was uncommon on a predominantly dwarven planet. A slender elf with dirty blonde hair and tattered clothes provided the backbeat, hammering a drum kit with her eyes closed. Two infernum stood opposite each other. One has a red complexion, the other, a very rare ivory. They played synth and bass respectively. Fronting the band was a young dwarf woman with wild red hair and an acoustic guitar slung around her shoulders. 

If circumstances were less pressing, Zenith might have given herself time to enjoy the set. Instead, she strode to the Slags’ table and sized the gang up at glance. The semi circle booth was capped at both ends with muscle—three on each side. Sitting at the centre was a pale-skinned dwarf with a low fade Mohawk and red shades that covered a quarter of his face—the boss. His arm was draped over the shoulder of a black-haired dwarf woman. She had more piercings on her face than the Sunrunner had rivets.

Of the two that were left, only one caught Zenith’s eye. She was younger than the rest, with purple hair and silver studs around the collar of her leather jacket. Close enough to the gang leader to be someone important, but lacking the hard edges of someone with criminal experience. A cousin or sister of the boss.

Hard eyes and scowls greeted her as she approached the table. Two goons stood and let their hands slide to the guns obviously hidden at their waists. Zenith paid the hostility no heed, instead focusing her attention on the purple haired dwarf. 

“Want to dance?”

The dwarf glanced at the boss, who responded with a mild shrug. 

“And why would I want to dance with you?” she asked.

Zenith pulled off her helmet and shook her head, letting her white hair fall to her shoulders.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

The dwarf sized her up, pausing to sip from her lowball. After a few uncomfortable seconds of silence, she smirked and said, “You’re ballsy. Terna, Gully, move your asses. I need to stretch my legs.”

Zenith clocked a flicker in the gang leader’s glasses as her dance partner slid out of the booth. Tech specs. He’s probably running my face against a database right now. Good luck, pal. She slid her helmet across the table. He casually slapped a hand down to stop it, then lowered his shades and gave her a questioning, likely threatening, look.

“You look like someone with good taste. Have a look.”

Without another word she spun and walked onto the empty dance floor with her partner. The tiles in front of the stage were audiokinetic, faintly shifting in colour to the music. Each step sent out a small chromatic ripple that mingled with the ever-swirling colours. She looked at the band, at her partner, then shoved down the simmering fear that came whenever she took off her helmet. No reason I can’t enjoy this.

They started slow, moving to the melody cut out by the synth. Zenith took the lead, swaying close to her partner, but not enough to be intimidating. The dwarf followed along, raising her arms and shaking her hips to the steady beat of the drums. She circled around Zenith with smooth graceful steps, never out of sync with the music.

“Got a name?” Zenith asked.

“Raelah,” she said, “but if you’re around them, it’s Rally.”

“Zenith. ZT if you get to know me.”

“And the T stands for… tenacious? Testy? Trigger-happy?”

“Any of those work depending on the time of day,” Zenith said, opting not to give any hints about her parentage. “I think that’s enough of a warm-up.”

“Warm-up?” Raelah said, raising an eyebrow.

“One second,” Zenith said, turning to the band and shouting, “That all you got?”

The front woman looked down at the pair and chuckled. She improvised a quick bridge on her guitar, and quickly spurred the band into a faster tempo. A dozen people stood up from nearby tables and made their way to the dance floor. Within a minute, the pair were surrounded by dancers drawn in by the increasingly frenetic sound.

Zenith grabbed Raelah’s hand and guided her to the centre of the floor. For ten wonderful minutes, music and movement washed her problems away. It was easy to get lost amidst the dancers and the cascade of lights. When the song came to an end, Raelah let out an exhausted sigh and wiped her glistening brow.

“Alright,” she said, smiling, “I like you. Now what are you after?”

“Do I have to be after something?”

“I’ve had an eye on you and your gang. You’ve got a purposeful look about you. And, while I know I’m nicer than most to look at, normal people don’t walk up to a fucking gang and ask for a dance.”

“We’re looking for somebody. He’s come to Gemheart in search of something rare and valuable. Know anything about it?”

“And here I was hoping you’d double down and say you were after me. Well, come on over to the table. I’ll put in a good word with Torq.”

“Red glasses?”

“Yes. My brother. He’ll want something from you, but the price varies with his mood.”

“Does asking his sister to dance ever put him in a good mood?”

“Historically, no. Though you’re a bit different from the usual chaff.”

Zenith caught Odybrix’ eye as she approached the Slags’ table. The look simultaneously conveyed skepticism and an assurance that she was ready to jump out of her seat and knock some heads. It was comforting to know that she had someone ready to fight for her—die for her, even. Though this time, Zenith believed blood wasn’t going to be spilled. Every outing didn’t need to end in a firefight.

Raelah motioned for some of her compatriots to exit the booth, then slid close to Torq. The gang leader leaned his head to his sister and she whispered something that Zenith couldn’t hear over the din. The dwarf’s expression was unreadable behind the large red shades. It forced Zenith to wonder if her helmet gave others similar frustration.

Torq examined her silently for an uncomfortable period of time. Without warning, he shoved her helmet across the table towards her. She grabbed it with one hand and tucked it against her hip, then stared the dwarf down. The thought of the Sunrunner crew quietly drawing their guns came unbidden, forcing her to acknowledge that this endeavor might lead to a bloodbath.

“Nice helmet,” Torq said.

“Nice shades,” she replied.

“Rally says you’re looking for someone.”

“That’s right. And he’s here looking for something valuable.”

A nearly imperceptible light flickered from inside Torq’s glasses. He smirked.

“Anything valuable that doesn’t come from the ground goes through Gregor.”

“And how would I find Gregor?”

Torq took a sip from a whiskey glass, then said, “Information isn’t free.”

“How many credits are you looking for?”

“None. You and I are going to race,” he said, rising from his seat. “You win, I tell you what you need to know. I win, I get your helmet. That shouldn’t be a problem for the daughter of Stereo Tachnova, should it?”

Zenith tightened her grip on the helmet.

—

As the crew followed the Slags through busy streets, Zenith ran through the scarce list of ways she could be identified and landed on the nickname. It was a stretch, but more likely than someone obtaining closed circuit video of her without her helmet. It meant that, one, Raelah and Torq were more clever than she’d expected from gangbangers, and two, they were fans of her mother. It would be the last time she gave out her nickname to someone.

“The next time I say you’re a bad negotiator, slap me,” Odybrix said.

“In your defense,” Hoxley said, “no one could have anticipated dance as an effective means of parley.”

“There are shorter ways to say ‘nice work,’ Hox,” Odybrix said.

“Nice work,” Hoxley said, “and great moves.”

“We’re not done yet,” Zenith said, “I still need to win the race.”

“That’s not going to be a problem for you,” Adam said with certainty. “You’re the best pilot I’ve flown with, and I’ve been in dozens of dogfights.”

The Slags rounded a corner into an alleyway and brought the crew to a large object covered with a tarp. Torq grabbed the thick fabric and yanked it off with a single motion. The object was, in fact, several objects. Ten skycycles, each of custom design, sat before them.

Zenith scanned the bikes, silently judging the mostly poor choices of mods and chassis. Poorly aligned boosters, bad aerodynamics, and some truly heinous colour choices—even for criminals. Three stood out as decent builds. A ruby sport bike with a body similar to ones popular on Materia, a black cruiser with enhanced stabilizers and blade-like design—probably Remington, and a yellow racer with a perfectly balanced mod package. Torq put a hand on the yellow bike.

“I’m assuming you don’t have one handy,” he said.

“Safe assumption,” Zenith said.

“You can ride any but mine.”

There was a grumble amongst the Slags that was immediately curtailed by a swift elbow to the gut by Raelah. Zenith looked over the remaining two options again. The cruiser would be heavier, and stabilizers were a crutch for those lacking skill. The ruby sport bike didn’t come with many mods, but that might mean it was a more reliable ride. She put a hand on it.

“Now I really like you,” Raelah said, “that’s mine.”

Zenith turned back, retracted the visor from her helmet, and gave the dwarf a wink.

“With that settled,” Torq said, straddling his seat, “let’s get this started.”

Torq hit the ignition and, with a rush of air, the skycycle began hovering. Zenith hopped on Raelah’s ride and did the same. It had been months since she’d flown anything other than the Sunrunner or the drop ship. Circumstances hadn’t left her any time for joyrides. She should have been nervous about that, but any apprehension she had melted away with the rev of the engine. 

Raelah stepped forward and laid out the parameters of the race, “Your rides are kept on hover; you toggle full flight and you’re disqualified. The course starts here in the skids. You’ll fly across rooftops till you reach the skyway. There’s a support pillar you can use to jump it. If you manage not to die, you’ll cut through the streets of the financial district to the Starbreaker tower, then-”

“You go up,” Torq said, finishing the sentence.

“Straight up the south side of the building,” Raelah continued, “In the unlikely event you’ve survived, the next leg takes you on the A27 Southbound skyway. Jump off into the Glasswater Bay before the skyway veers west and ride the waves back to the skids. First one here,” she brought up a holo of two dockside buildings, “wins. Questions?”

Torq adjusted his red shades and light pulsed at the sides of his head—temporal implants to lock them in place. Zenith formed an assumption which quickly became a certainty. If he’s this into mods and augments, he’s got psionics. She mentally prepared herself for inexplicable turbulence when this guy inevitably got rough. 

“Hope you’ve enjoyed your helmet,” Torq called out over the rumbling engines, “I know a pawn shop that will sell you a halfway decent replacement.”

“Get a good look at it now,” Zenith shouted back, taking her place, “you’ll be staring at my ass for the rest of the race.”

Hoots and jeers erupted from the Slags. Not to be outdone, Odybrix shoved one of the dwarves away and yelled out her expletive-laden encouragement. Raelah stood in front of the two racers and raised a hand, eyes settling on Zenith. Zenith’s grip tightened on the throttle and she focused on the vacant alleyway—the track. The hand came down like an axe and they shot away from the starting line like bullets.

Buildings sped by like strobing lights, with each potentially deadly intersection allowing a sliver of the city’s glow to spill in. A single dwarf drunkenly searching for a wall to piss on could end it all for both of them. Fortunately, there wasn’t much time to worry about death in the claustrophobic alleyways. A shoddy ramp made up of rusted metal sheets awaited them at a dead end—large enough for one of them.

Torq flipped a red switch on the bike’s handle and rocketed forward taking the lead. Zenith grimaced as the dwarf flew up the ramp and into the sky. She took the ramp seconds later and was launched above the building. Dazzling lights bombarded her as the breadth of the city rushed into view. 

Her helmet automatically filtered out the brightness and she set her sights on Torq flying through the air. Half a block away, a down ramp had been constructed on another roof. The boost bought her opponent a slight lead, but he was going to overshoot the ramp. Not a fatal mistake, but one she could take advantage of.

She tilted the nose of the bike down as she plummeted. Torq hit the rooftop and missed the ramp. The stabilizers he had installed quickly adjusted for the sudden change of direction, but not fast enough. Zenith hit the ramp at the perfect angle, shooting her ahead of the dwarf. She had clawed her way into a lead.

Torq cursed loud enough to be heard over the roaring engines. Not intent on letting her break away, he maneuvered himself behind her. He’d draft in that position until an opportunity presented itself, letting her act as a windbreaker. Zenith saw that opportunity swiftly approaching in the distance.

They flew across rooftops, eliciting startled shouts from the people below. Ahead, the lights of the skyway swam across the breadth of the city like glowing arterial flow. The bikes leapt off the last roof in the skids and sped towards the towering support pillar. From here they’d need to gun their engines in order to make it across the skyway.

Zenith hit the wide base of the pillar and rocketed up its curve with Torq following closely behind. Halfway up the pillar she caught a glimpse of the dwarf raising his hand in her rearview mirror. Her bike lurched as if a gust of wind had hit it. Zenith strained against the handlebars as she drifted towards the edge of the pillar. The psionic push stopped the moment she was able to rein the bike in. The bike wobbled as she regained control, and Torq pulled up beside her.

They raced upward, neck and neck on the narrowing arch. The tumult of speeding cars and shouting people faded and gave way to a glittering field of static stars. A sudden weightlessness overtook Zenith as the pillar disappeared beneath her and she took to the sky. Gravity asserted its eternal dominance a moment later as the bikes crested over the skyway and the thousands of vehicles below.

The pair landed on the opposite pillar simultaneously. Zenith curled her head into her ride to combat the fierce resistance of the wind, pushing for more speed. The base of the pillar widened on the rapid descent, and she pulled ahead by a hair. With a jarring jolt, the bikes hit the clean streets of the financial district.

Unlike the chaotic scene behind them, this section of the city was all but bereft of pedestrians and vehicles. It was as if Gemheart had only two modes: work and party. A great tower in the distance loomed above the other buildings. Crowning the top of it was the holographic projection of a shattered star.

The riders tore towards the monolith, taking advantage of the empty stretch. Zenith scanned the intersections as they whipped past, ready to swerve if a car crossed her path, but nothing came. It was as if the life had bled out of this district and into the others. The peace didn’t last long. A flicker of light in the mirror caught Zenith’s attention.  Accompanying the strobing lights was a telltale siren that broke through the din of the battling engines. The police had joined the race.

Three squad cars tailed the bikes, one following at street level, and two trying to box them in from above. Despite their sudden appearance, the police quickly lost ground. Skycycles were too agile to overtake, and, unless Zenith or her opponent pulled a gun, there was no reason to shoot them down. With the Starbreaker tower moments away, the police slowed their pursuit.

Zenith shared a brief look with Torq before hitting the brake and forcing the front end of the bike vertical. The force of the anti-grav shattered the windows of the ground floor before both skycycles shot upward. Zenith shifted forward, digging her feet into the footrests as gravity and speed tried to rip her from her seat. The flexible glass of the building’s exterior shuttered under the force of the bikes. The pair ascended towards the sky.

Below, the bewildered police of Gemheart began a steady ascent. The sirens’ wails grew distant, leaving the racers with the harmony of their dueling engines. The starscape above widened as she approached the top and Zenith took note of her opponent. He wasn’t slowing down, which meant he was planning on clearing the tower and plummeting down the other side. 

She gently pressed the brakes, letting Torq overtake her. He was airborne in seconds, drifting up into the night sky. Zenith’s hand hovered over the power regulator for the front of the bike, ready to do someone incredibly fatal or incredibly slick. When she reached the edge of the roof, she cut power to the front of the bike and swiftly switched it back on. The back of the bike shot up, forcing the front end down. An instant before the front collided with the building, the anti-grav kicked in, gripping the concrete and pulling her forward.

While Torq was still sailing through the air, Zenith cut across the roof and launched herself off the tower. A stream of skyway lights lit up the next leg of the race as she descended. The bike jolted and rumbled when it reached street level, its engine labouring under demand of the track. Ahead, the empty skyway onramp beckoning her forward—a chance to widen her lead.

She sped up the ramp and into the revving lifeblood of Gemheart. Cars and trucks passed by in a flash as she weaved a path through the traffic. Her shoulders relaxed and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The race was exhilarating, but her body began to relax despite the exertion. Cruising along the skyway she allowed herself to forget the crew, the mission, even her brother, if only for a moment.

A flicker in her mirror snapped her out of the reverie. Moment’s over. Torq emerged from behind, cutting furiously through the traffic. He must have taken a shortcut through the streets and gone up another ramp. 

With her lead shortening, Zenith tucked her head low and got back to business. Cars blared their indignation as the racers carved treacherous paths through the skyway. Having acclimated to Raelah’s bike, Zenith was able to slip in and out of lanes, leaving mere inches between cars. A string of unfortunate merges from trucks slowed her and allowed Torq to get within drafting distance. If she didn’t find a way to gain ground, he could use his psionics to hold her back. Worse, he could shove her into another vehicle.

An opportunity presented itself when a delivery van pulled out of the lane ahead of her—a truck with an empty bed and ramp for vehicle transport. She hammered the accelerator and aimed the bike at the center of the bed. At the last second, she boosted power to the front of the bike, rearing back and pulling on the handlebars. The bike growled as it leapt onto the bed, then flew forward up the ramp and over the truck.

She arced above the skyway traffic and landed on a clear stretch of road. With the glut of trucks mostly behind her, it was a straight shot towards the point where the skyway veered West. The comfort of the lead quickly vanished as she approached the curve. The sides of the skyway were lined with particle barriers. She wouldn’t be able to go through them and there was no timely transport truck she could use to sail over them. Moreover, if she engaged the bike’s flight mode, she would forfeit the race.

Her eyes flitted about the road, looking for an exit, and she released the accelerator. Torq emerged in her mirror once again and he wasn’t slowing down. As the road began to curve she noticed the lights on a section of the barrier were out. Cursing, she drove straight for the wall.

If her hunch was wrong, and the dead light was only a dead light, she would slam head first into a fiery, violent death. The smart thing to do would be to fall behind Torq and see what he did, which was likely what he was counting on. From the skyway it was a straight shot along the coastline to the finish line. It would be nearly impossible for even a skilled racer to pull ahead, let alone against a cheating psionic. 

For better or worse, Zenith never let an opponent have their way if she could help it. She made her choice and gunned the engine. As the dim section of wall grew near, the telltale motes of light of the particle barrier didn’t appear. In a blink, she sailed over the raised edge of the skyway and out onto the ocean with a splash.

The skycycle bobbed as it displaced the water, its stabilizers struggling to adjust to the liquid surface. From behind, the loud splash of Torq’s bike announced his arrival on the last leg of the race. With no police in sight, the coastline was theirs alone. 

The cityscape reflected off the shifting water, painting their path with undulating lights. Pedestrians dotted the oceanside, pointing, cheering, or flipping off the racers as they passed.

Torq wasted little time in trying to cement a win. Through the spray the bike kicked up, Zenith once again caught him raising a hand. 

Not this time. She eased the accelerator and let him close the gap. At the last second, she let the back end drop and kiss the surface. The targeted deluge hit Torq squarely in the face. Had he been holding onto both handlebars, he might have weathered the blast. What Zenith glimpsed in the mirror was a comical flailing of limbs, followed by an unceremonious plunge into the waves.

Zenith’s body felt electric as she exulted in the approaching victory. It had been so long since she had felt the thrill of a race, let alone the pure euphoria of a victory. She let herself get lost in the feeling, taking in the sights and sounds as she raced towards the finish line. If only there were more time for things like this.

Something glinted from the top of a building near the shore. With a gesture from her eyes, her helmet isolated the object and enlarged it. A mech stood atop the roof, looking out at the water—at her. The build of the mech, heavily armored and armed, was worrying enough, but not so much as the colour. Muted gold.

—

An alleyway entrance nestled between water treatment facilities marked the finish line. Zenith roared into the alley to the cheers of the Sunrunner crew. The Slags scowled and sneered as she dismounted from the skycycle. Well, all except Raelah, who smirked as she glided towards Zenith.

“How’d you like the ride?” Raelah asked.

“Smooth and reliable,” Zenith replied, “Your brother should have picked it.”

“Hah, he’s always been too obsessed with bells and whistles. I prefer quality over gimmicks,” she said with a wink. “Well, go collect the praise from your mates. I’m sure we’ve got a while before Torq fishes himself out of the ocean.”

The crew received her jubilantly. Adam stuck out a hand for a shake, Hoxley blathered his congratulations, Sturdy gave a nod, Odybrix slapped her ass. Evidently, Torq’s bike had a cam system and they had watched the entire race. Well, up until he took a non-optional swim.

“Ship’s pilot, executive negotiator, and premier racer. Looking to add any more titles?” Hoxley asked.

“Yeah, crew lookout. I think we’ve got trouble.”