The race's start was rather boring, from Vader's point of view.
The front swoops were first off the line, engines thundering, but the progression was sluggish as it dwindled down to the lesser racers. By the time it reached him, he started at an aggravating crawl before finally gaining speed. As the swoops gained some distance from one another, there was enough room for him to open up the throttle and begin to weave in and out between them. The tension was thick, full of cutting glares as the other racers with old rivalries and gang allegiances sized each other up. It was a temporary truce. Vader knew that at any moment the first shot would be fired - the first match into a powderkeg - and it would only be up to his skill and dexterity to keep him from becoming a charred smear of blood. That was completely discounting all other booby-traps and weaponry that they had managed to tack on to their speeders. Perhaps there was some unspoken rule that they would wait until the first hairpin - he wasn't sure. All he knew was that the course was long and twisting, going through the heart of the near-perpetual Taris city, and he was looking forward to every curve.
It took a moment's fiddling, but he did manage to tune in to the announcer's obnoxious commentary through the in-helm comm. "...a very exciting race for you today! Half the course is under construction so it's a playground for our racers, if they can dodge the debris! In addition, the course has been enhanced with several new obstacles, such the newest, coming up right around this next bend - the fire trap!"
There was half a second's pause as Vader squinted in thought and Leia leaned forward in her seat and clutched her armrests. Both father and daughter uttered the same phrase in the same indignant tone. "FIRE TRAP?"
The crowd gave an excited yell as the first pillar of fire came up, and Vader had dodged it even before he fully realized what had happened. The Force managed to steer him clear of it entirely. The other drivers were not so lucky as they entered the shining silver tunnel. Another large jet of fire leapt up at them, and a Bothan driver gave a shrill scream, unable to steer his heavy craft out of the way in time. He swerved in blind panic, catching another driver in the side; the spun out, and then more of the swoops were caught in the entanglement. While he could dodge in the nimble and light swoop, the heavier ones could not: it was a cruel test of shielding systems and of luck.
He could feel the heat of another jet even through the helmet. The plume of fire scorched the top of the gleaming silver tunnel, and another set of screams followed. By the time two more traps were triggered, Vader was sure he was in the upper third among the racers.
And suddenly the end of the tunnel was completely ablaze - a solid sheet of flames. Around him, racers desperately tried to pull up, and his heartbeat pounded in his throat: there was no stopping, not in time, and there was no dodging. There was only one thing to do, the same conclusion that others were reaching around him, but he didn't have the benefit of heavy shielding. Instead he just had his swoop.
...so he gunned it.
The flames rushed by him claustrophobically. Other riders thundered past, heavy engines growling.
Up in the skybox, Leia let out a heavy sigh of relief, flopping back into her chair. As she watched Vader take a few moments to realize his sleeve had caught on fire, she reached up to pinch her nose with a groan. Hadn't he learned anything since Coruscant? At least there wasn't any room on the swoop for a passenger...
A dizzying array of billboards greeted him as he roared out with the rest of the pack onto the open straight.
"...and just a reminder that the fire trap was brought to you by Initech Solutions! We're down to twenty-four racers now, and medical droids are being dispatched to clear the field! There are no refunds for bets as they were locked in during the parade lap! Right! Now we have the top two gang-backed racers duking it out for first, how long will this truce end?"
Vader took a moment to blink and shake his head at the blur of neon now crowding in around them on either side. A hologram billboard of a dancing girl gave him a saucy wink, and there was a dull screaming cheer from the sidelines - fans who couldn't afford better seats but still shelled out ridiculous amounts of money to catch a glimpse of the racers. Already the Volva and Bek racers were staring each other down - the truce hadn't yet been broken, but he could see the dull glow of weapons systems heating up along the sides of their fortified speeders. All they needed was for someone to break that truce.
Vader thought he could help with that.
He drew alongside one of the Volka racers - a Hrathi woman. Her fur whipped around her goggles, and her pupils narrowed as she glared at him. Careful not to actually make contact, he moved over, crowding her closer and closer to the edge. Her ears went flat back against her skull in aggravation, and she tried to fight back, scraping his swoop in return, kicking up sparks. Underneath his helmet, he grinned as one of her tails puffed in fury. He saw her reach over to flip one of the switches on her wide, complicated dash. He pulled back, giving her some distance before crowding her again - daring her, taunting her. It was too much. With an angry growl, she fired the full set of blaster cannons along the side of her heavy swoop.
...except when the bolts hit, Vader wasn't there.
Instead they hit the tank of a swoop and its rider, one of the Soushi gang - a small splinter group trying to make a name for itself. The driver gave a bellow of fury and immediately returned fire. First blood had been drawn, and immediately the racecourse became crisscrossed with different blaster bolt fire. For anyone else it would have become a web of certain death, but Vader let the engine of his swoop roar, pressing forward. He knew where each thread of the net was before it was there; he knew where to turn - where to serve - which lanes were safe, and which were not. There were no other distractions. There was just him, the swoop - built by his hands, where he knew every bolt, every wire - and the Force.
It was perfect. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and the engine roared. There was no malice, there was no complex matter of morality hanging over him. There was only the perfect simplicity of winning.
He slipped through the firefight with ease, pulling ahead of the small pack. Now all of the drivers were becoming defensive, taking shots where they could while paranoid about dodging the attacks of others. It meant that apart from the occasional swerve, Vader was free to hit the apex of every corner, steadily climbing up the rankings.
A familiar swoop was ahead - the Imperial racer. The boy was doing quite well for himself, Vader had to admit, but he made the mistake of looking back, flinching in fear as he saw Vader. Immediately he tried to pull away, trembling slightly in fear, making the swoop swerve on the track. Now as they continued on through the city, the glitz slid away into heavy construction. A crane with a plastisteel pipe swayed over them, looming, before it finally creaked. Vader saw it fall ahead of him - a Volta rider swerved too hastily, slamming into the Imperial swoop. The Imperial rider was thrown clear, but into the path of another speeder who had equipped intimidating-looking bladed struts to her vehicle: one of them cut cleanly through the man's arm, and he gave a shrill scream of pain.
It happened before Vader was even fully conscious of it: going for the handbrake, pulling the swoop into a sharp j-turn. The man was in the middle of another anguished scream when Vader reached down, scooping him up neatly with one arm, cutting off the scream with a grunt. There was no time to think, just time to act - the Force, purely and simply guiding him. The other racers dodged them by inches as Vader cut across the field, taking the man to the sidelines where he was safe.
There wasn't even time for a quip about how Aran should pilot more safely next time. There was just making sure the other man was safe, and then his mind was focused once more on the race.
For a brief moment the crowd was silent, as if considering that they should feel guilt for their turning swoop racing into a blood sport. But it was a new excitement they had not felt before.
"We have a HERO, ladies and gentlemen! I can bet you all the credits you like that the Imperial racer wouldn't do the same!" The crowd roared in excitement, cheering him on with a distinctly lighter and more earnest air. Being glad in life was entirely different, after all, than being glad in death. "Now let's see if the Rebel can make up for all that lost time!"
And it was a significant loss of time. He had been nearly in fifth place; now he had slid down to twelfth. Gritting his teeth, he urged the swoop onwards into the last part of the race - the tunnels.
The metal was far from shining; it was grungy after years of use and still smelled slightly of fuel, even if the tunnels had stood empty for decades. Each curve was blind, and blaster bolts ricocheted off the walls - it was taking more and more effort to dodge them as he whipped around the course, overtaking swoop after swoop. The dim lights illuminating the tunnel became streaks in his peripheral vision, each one blurring into the next. Fifth... fourth... third. The Volka rider gestured to him in what was undoubtedly a rude way, swerving so that he blocked every chance Vader got to pass - but managed to swerve directly into a pile of debris, making the swoop spin out. Fortunately at the start of the pack things were much more spaced out; there was little further danger to him.
And - another blind hairpin turn - overtaking quickly on the inside - second place.
Not that second place was good enough.
The first place swoop was a massive behemoth, the pride of the Volka gangs. It was halfway to a small fighter by now - certainly had more weaponry than a standard X-wing, as well as several heavy shield generators, all powered by a massive, roaring engine. The racer, a Toydarian, gave him a cutting glare out of the side of his goggles.
He was confident the Rebel wouldn't get past. The Volka were destined to win this race. Half a click and he would breeze past the finish line, and leave the Rebel to be forgotten, because nobody remembered runners-up. If the Rebel even tried to pass him, he had laser arrays ready to either side, to back, and to front -
...but not the ceiling.
Speed and gravitational force - perhaps with a little help from the Force proper - were enough to let Vader drive up the side of the tunnel to the very top. He spiraled around to land ahead of the Volka racer with a thump. Vader gave a small wince at the hard landing, sparks kicking up from where the swoop hit the metal floor. Oh, his back would definitely make him pay for that in the morning. But for now...
The Volka racer spat out curses, blaster bolts following, but it was mere child's play to dodge them. The flying cameras whirred around him, trying to catch a closeup of his face to display to the cheering masses. The tunnel widened - and widened -
Then sunlight blazed in his eyes - the loud cheering - and then - and then -
Finish line.
"HE'S WON! HE'S DONE IT! The Rebel has won! The plucky bastard in the half-assed swoop has done it!"
The announcer's voice was going hoarse in his hysteria. The crowd screamed in excitement, and all at once, the screens and the holobanners of the crowd blazed alight with the same picture. The Rebel Alliance's starbird, blazing red on white. Leia was on her feet, screaming hysterically, hugging Lando before she even knew what she was doing. She was almost ready to give him a kiss in excitement before she remembered that she was a Princess and therefore had to be the most dignified one in the room full of riffraff.
They had done it. They had won.
Taris was the Rebellion's.