Chapter 10 - The Swoop Race

"You ready?" Carth asked. After a full day of testing the swoop, practicing for the race and fine-tuning the mechanics of the bike, they were finally at the Tarisian Opener.

Amira, who was lazing against her swoop bike, nodded. Then a sly look entered her features. "Worried about me? Oh, how sweet!"

Carth rolled his eyes. "Geez, woman, what is it with you?"

She laughed, obviously relishing his irritation.

"Yo, you're up soon. Get ready to roll!" a Twi'lek Hidden Bek technician called.

Amira checked her appearance once over. Her hair was tied in a tight bun, and she had pinned back her side fringe so it was off her forehead. The two stubborn collar-length locks of hair that normally fell on either side of her face were also pinned securely to keep them out of the way. Amira wore the new clothes she had bought the day before – fingerless gloves, soft brown pants that weren't particularly tight, but weren't loose either, and a black tank top with a similar style of not lose, but not really tight. Her well worn, faded gray jacket remained, though the sleeves were rolled up to her elbows. A pair of knee-high black leather boots completed the look. The primary reason for her different appearance was so it would be harder, though certainly not impossible, to recognise her. That and Amira knew how dangerous it was to have loose hair or clothing while racing.

Carth shook his head. Women, he thought as Amira decided she had time to double check her hair and make sure her tank top hung 'just right' over her trousers.

"Get ready, human!" the Twi'lek shouted.

"Am I going to get a kiss for good luck?" Amira asked with a smirk, clearly mocking the bad cliché found in so many holovids.

They both knew she had no intention of getting within three feet of him and was just trying to be annoying.

"Just get out there," he growled.

A false look of shock and pain spasmed across her face and she held a hand to her chest. "I'm hurt!"

"Go."

Amira snickered as she hopped in the swoop.

"Remember everything?" the Twi'lek asked, standing beside the bike.

"Yep. I've done this before, remember?"

"I assume you know how racing works, then."

"Yep. Go by instincts – by the time you think, it's too late."

He laughed and reached up to clap her shoulder. "Just remember to win."

Amira fired up the engine and drove to the starting line as the announcer stated her name and who she was representing.

The red light changed to yellow. The yellow changed to green. Amira didn't bother flattening it, as there was no need for anything really fast until the next round. So she cruised around the course, soaring over the accelerator pads when they appeared and changing gears when she had to. Amira passed over the finish line one second faster than the best time.

As Amira swaggered up the pit, she noticed a cage; inside was the Jedi she was trying to win. Bastila Shan looked much younger in real life than she did in the holovids, Amira noted. It seemed strange that such a youthful Jedi had the talent she was famous for. . . let alone being dressed like a slut and shoved in a cage as a prize.

Amira fought back a grimace as her eyes narrowed. The Vulkars had gone overkill on the joy girl ensemble, complete with a bustier that she suspected had an inbuilt push-up bra, the tightest leather pants Amira had ever seen, cheap bangles and approximately four kilograms of makeup.

Amira studied the Jedi closer, watching how she swayed as if drunk. Her eyes drifted to the neural disruptor collar clasped firmly around the Jedi's alabaster neck. Well, that was going to be a problem. She glared at it, as if her gaze alone could break the disruptor. Bastila's head tilted up slightly as her half-open eyes rose to meet Amira's.

Amira suppressed a flinch and wiped her face clean of any emotion. There was no way she could be aware of anyone. . . was there? Amira looked into the Jedi's clouded gray eyes and wondered.

"Move along!" the Vulkar guard barked, breaking the spell. He waved his double-bladed vibroblade menacingly as Amira made a rude hand gesture and turned away. She ambled back to the Bek's area and lazed down on the nearest bench. Amira glanced around for Carth, and when she couldn't see his eye-searing jacket she realised he had probably been kicked out, since only riders, engineers and the race organizers were allowed in the racing pits.

"Good flying," said a pretty Twi'lek racer Amira knew to be Anglu. She sat down next to Amira. "Just like your practices. Keep a clear head in the next heat, though. That's when things'll get tough."

Amira nodded obediently. She didn't really like it when people told her what to do, but knew the survival of the Beks rested on their victory or loss at this race. So Amira didn't snap any smartass retort.

Over the next hour various riders from many different swoop gangs raced. Not all of them were good, but the best time was slowly whittled down millisecond by millisecond. The Vulkar riders, and sometimes their allying gang riders, would come over to taunt and goad the Beks. Amira sent all of them away with verbal bruises and wounded egos. One particular rider, Redros, got on her nerves as he tried to provoke her with sexist comments. To Amira's disappointment, it was his turn to race right as she was getting ready to smash him in the face.

Amira imagined all the ways she could get her revenge while he participated in his heat, and didn't even notice Redros' time until the Beks around her groaned. She scowled and swore when she saw the time: 24:38 seconds. Two seconds faster than the last racer.

"And now we have to wait for our turn," Anglu said, practically hissing in her frustration.

"Let's see how many people crash," Phirk, the rider sitting on her other side, replied.

"Yeah, but it won't be entertaining until we're assured our victory," Amira muttered. And she was right: none of them derived any amusement form the many riders that crashed and burned on the track. The times between each heat grew as the remains of riders were scraped off the track by cleaning droids and a few of the bikes were repositioned as new obstacles.

Eventually Anglu was called for her heat. Amira clapped her on the shoulder as the Twi'lek rose. "Good luck. Don't turn yourself into a pancake."

Anglu rolled her eyes. "Thanks so much." She raced superbly, only coming two milliseconds behind the current record, to her extreme annoyance. It took a lot of congratulations and soothing from the Bek riders and mechanics to smooth her ruffled feathers.

Finally Amira's turn came around. Every Bek had something to say to her as she made her way towards her bike.

"Good luck."

"You better win or I'll beat the crap out of you."

"Don't turn yourself into a pancake." Amira narrowed her eyes at Anglu, who smirked back.

Amira vaulted over the door and was fastening the clasps on her safety harness when the head mechanic rumbled, "Don't screw up."

"The only thing getting screwed up is the Vulkars," Amira replied, sharper than she normally would have.

She drove her bike to the starting line and waited impatiently for the countdown.

Amira knew she was going to have to fly like a maniac, and fly like a maniac she did. The air bit into any exposed skin like a thousand tiny knives as she floored it. Everything was a blur as she made last-second dodges around the debris scattered along the track. Every time a smudge of colour was approaching Amira left her instincts to decide whether it was an obstacle or not. Her stomach dropped and flipped at every accelerator pad she flew over. But the thrill, the sheer feeling of truly flying, was the best high she had ever gotten.

By the end of it, Amira wasn't sure how she even survived. As she sailed over the finish line, Amira eased on the break and fishtailed around to avoid careening into the back wall that was approaching too fast. When the swoop finally screeched to a standstill, she let out her breath and lolled her head back against the headrest. Every nerve in her body was tingling and twisting and she felt like she had left her stomach somewhere on the track. Amira sucked in a breath as the tiny microphone squawked in her ear. She couldn't make out the words, still too far in shock, but did take note of the unbelieving tone.

The panels that were the exit off the track slid apart. Amira started up the engine again, thankful that it hadn't overloaded, and slowly directed the swoop through the opening and back to the Bek territory in the pits. Every pair of eyes watched as she parked her bike and hopped out, legs buckling as they hit the permacrete. Amira fell back against her bike, needing the support more than she'd admit. Her nerves were completely frayed, but it was totally worth it. Amira's world narrowed to her shallow gasping, oblivious to the overjoyed praise being poured over her by the Beks.

Carth had somehow made his way back into the pits, this time with Mission and Zaalbar in tow. They raced over as the other gangs in the pit recovered from their shock and started cheering.

"Can I do that again?" she asked breathlessly, a grin splitting her face in half.

"If you do, I think you'll make both of these guys go prematurely gray," Mission replied with a snicker, gesturing to the men behind her.

Amira appraised both Carth and Zaalbar and smirked. There was a second of silence, and then Mission grabbed Amira in a tight hug. "That was totally awesome, the way you rode! I can't believe it! How the hell did you not kill yourself?"

She laughed as the teenager abruptly skipped back, looking a tad embarrassed. "Natural talent."

Zaalbar stepped forward and rested one large paw on her slim shoulder. "You rode with skill, Amira, though I must admit I was concerned for your life."

Amira lightly patted his furry paw. "Thanks, Big Z, and don't worry." She looked down at her swoop bike. Black smoke was beginning to spew from under the bonnet and Amira was sure she'd fried the wiring. She hoped the prototype accelerator wasn't beyond repair. "I don't think the bike could handle another heat like that." She looked over at Carth and smirked again. "So, am I going to get that kiss?"

"In your dreams, sister."

She snorted. "In my nightmares."

Carth was about to retort, but the head mechanic raced up and clapped Amira on the shoulder. "That was amazing! You flew better than people who have been doing it for years!"

"Thank you," Amira said cockily, bowing.

"Nobody will beat that time," he continued. "Nobody! You should go find a good seat. There'll be some entertainment watching everyone trying to beat your record."

She grinned. "Indeed there will be." Amira carefully eased herself off the bike, glad her legs would finally hold her up, then went hunting for a good bench. Her first few steps were a bit wobbly, but then she was fine. The crowd also parted deferentially for her, which was a bonus. Amira's companions were promptly kicked out of the pits by the head mechanic when they tried to follow.

"Over here!"

Amira glanced around and saw Anglu waving an arm, sitting on one of the best benches with some other riders. She made a beeline for them and smiled. "Hey, guys."

There were several excited greetings and congratulations as everyone came up to either shake her hand or clap her on the shoulder.

"You did great!" Phirk praised. "We're gonna win now!"

Amira grinned. "We most definitely are!"

"Hey, hey," a Rodian said, catching her attention. "You want a drink?"

Amira accepted the canteen from him with a word of thanks. She took a large gulp and choked. It wasn't water, it was juma juice. The Beks around her all howled with laughter as she gagged and spluttered. Amira indignantly flipped the bird at the guywho had given her the canteen.

After a minute of laughing, the Rodian gained control of himself and looked at Amira. "Good trick, eh?"

"Asshat!"