There really was no 'crack of dawn' in the Lower City due to the towering buildings rising higher than the naked eye could see. Someone standing in the streets of the Upper City would be able to make out the telltale pink horizon signaling the coming sun, but it would be a few more hours before the any rays of sunlight filtered down into the lower streets. It was like the upper towers were miserly hoarding all the sunlight away for themselves, and in that regard they matched their inhabitants perfectly.
Mission chuckled quietly as she watched the mechanics push Seth's swoop bike into its place in the pits with the rest of the Bek bikes. Seth wasn't kidding when he said he wanted his swoop in black, and fortunately, he got exactly what he'd asked for. Gadon had his painters -a must for any racing team- work on it through the night. It was now pitch black with streaks of orange and yellow lightning running down the bike's two pontoons from the engines. Ninety-five -the bike's number- was superimposed in aurebesh over the twin bolts. It would fit in with the other bikes just fine. The single difference could only be seen if one were to closely inspect it – a cylindrical canister, small by comparison, hooked up near the main engine- the prototype accelerator. The one thing that could give Seth a chance of winning the coming race. The thing that could explode at any time during that race and engulf Seth's freshly painted bike in flames.
With Seth inside.
Gadon had tried to reassure her that there were only the smallest of chances it would explode, but it still boiled down to that one fact: it could.
The thought reminding her of the reason she had come down here, Mission cast her head about, brown eyes searching for him. She had been woken back at the Bek base to learn that he'd already left for the track. When they'd arrived at the stadium, she'd left Carth and Zaalbar, who were reserving their seats, to come down here and look for Seth.
She spotted the fearless rookie pilot lying across a stack of crates storing spare parts for the swoops on the far side on the Beks' pit area. When she came closer, she saw that he was sleeping, not quite snoring but still breathing loudly. He'd shrugged off his standard issue gray jacket and heavy shirt, now left in just a tight-fitting white tank top. Mission had initially wanted to talk to him, but now she was unwilling to wake him. He had a lot of pressure on him, so he was entitled to a bit of sleep.
As she stood there, watching over him, she also noticed that Seth was in pretty good shape as well. His chest and arms bore plenty of well-toned muscles, unlike most boys his age who were still rather gangly.
No, as he had told her, he wasn't just another teenager anymore. He was a soldier. She wondered if he had seen any combat, and not just ones like the skirmishes they had dealt with in the Undercity and the Vulkar base, but battles she had heard stories about from the few war veterans among the Beks. With the explosions going off all around him, the blaster fire wizzing right past his head, the blood, the death and the uncertainty whether he would live or die. She wondered if he had seen friends killed.
Seth's eyes suddenly snapped open, sitting stock straight up in less than a second. Mission jumped with this sudden movement, then blushed as she realized her eyes had been roving over his body a bit too long.
"Oh sorry, trained reaction," he sheepishly apologized when he noticed the blue Twi'lek.
Mission shook her head, trying to pretend that the embarrassing moment hadn't happened. Maybe he wouldn't notice. "Nah, it's okay," she brushed off a bit too hurriedly. "Listen, I wanted to talk to you."
He quirked an eyebrow. "About what? Trying not to get my hide blown into orbit? Yeah, I think the Captain already covered that."
Mission smiled. "No, actually... well, okay. I guess that was the general message."
Seth nodded knowingly, but sighed. "I told you guys, I can do this. You don't need to work yourself into such a fuss."
She looked taken aback. "I am not 'working myself into a fuss!' I just wanted to make sure you'll be careful."
Another sigh. "All right, I'll be careful and do my best not to get myself killed."
Mission crossed her arms over her chest and looked critically down at Seth. "Actually I was talking about the bike, don't want you to mess up that paint job," she deadpanned.
He grinned. "Alright fine, I swear by my unparalleled collection of Hevlettica Core-World Tour data disks that I won't scratch the paint job. Oh wait... I guess that kinda went up with the Endar Spire." Seth's face twisted with displeasure. "Dang."
"Hevlettica?" Mission asked, suppressing a laugh about Seth's sudden revelation.
"Only the best Mythic-Metal band ever, but anyway..." he pushed himself off the crates and moved to peek out at the grandstands. They weren't too full yet, as it was several hours before the race's beginning, but a few die-hard fans had already found their seats and were eagerly awaiting the coming event. "What are the crowds like at the races?"
"Well, they get pretty excited, especially at the Season Opener." Mission gestured to the mostly empty grandstands. "In about two hours, these seats will be full up with screaming fans and there will be millions more watching in the cantinas or wherever the live feed is shown. And they're pretty freaking excited about you, specifically."
Seth looked suddenly flattered. "Why would that be?"
Mission's face on the other hand, was dead serious. "Because humans don't race swoops. The few who've tried haven't had a fast enough response time and have ended up in pieces all over the track. The crowd loves crashes, and you've been unanimously voted to have the most spectacular one."
All traces of humor on Seth's features were wiped away completely with Mission's statement. "I see."
"Look, you don't have to do this, I'm sure Gadon will understand, he can get another one of his riders..." Mission trailed off. Worry had returned to her tone.
Seth locked emerald eyes directly on hers. "Yes," he said, his voice steely. "I do."
Mission gave him a smile and reached into her pocket. "Here, Carth wanted me to give you this." She pulled out a thin chain, a small winged silver star dangling beneath her fingertips. "He says it's a pilot's good luck charm. Apparently he wore it on his flight exam and passed with flying colors."
Seth considered the charm for a moment before slipping it around his neck with a smile. "Thanks." He opened his mouth, seemingly intent on saying more to her, but was cut off before he'd even had the chance to speak by the sound of his name being called from across the garage. Seth turned his head and spotted Zaerdra waving him over to the other bikes and his fellow Bek riders.
Seth turned back to Mission. "Sorry, gotta go."
She nodded. "Good luck. We'll be cheering for you." She clapped him on the shoulder lightly before turning and walking toward the exit to rejoin Zaalbar and Carth up in the grandstands.
Seth watched her go for a few seconds, then turned and jogged over to join Gadon's bodyguard.
Zaerdra looked Seth up and down with an appraising eye. "Well, first thing's first, we're going to have to get a jumpsuit for you." She put a hand on her chin, considering his physique.
"He could use Kyudjai's suit," a Twi'lek rider offered. "It should fit him."
"Do you think he will mind?" Seth asked Zaerdra.
She gave him a look. "Dead men usually don't. The Vulkars killed him outside Javyyar's Cantina five days ago."
"Oh," Seth gulped uncomfortably.
"And that's another thing, watch your back on the track, the Vulkars will probably try to knock your bike into the wall and into our other riders."
"This just keeps getting better and better, don't it?"
Zaerdra ignored his sarcasm. "But be sure to return the favor when they do try, and preferably you try it before they do, that's the best way to make sure."
"So, watch out for the other riders attempts to kill me, but try to do them in as well and all the while trying not to get blown into a thousand pieces by my own engines."
She nodded. "In a nutshell, yes."
Seth's head fell back. "Well this sucks," he announced to no one in particular.
Nearly an hour and half later, Seth was sitting in the cockpit of his swoop. His new racing jumpsuit was rather comfortable, once he'd moved past the rather disturbing fact that its previous owner's visceral remains were probably only just recently scraped up from the streets of the Lower City. It was a dark grey with red highlighting along the chest, sleeves and legs. The Hidden Bek emblem was proudly displayed on the front and back.
By now spectators had begun to fill out the grandstands, the low rumble of their thousands of voices audible in the distant background. The other gang's racing teams had arrived much earlier. A line of guard droids kept the team's in their respective areas. They had put the Black Vulkars on the far side of the garage, opposite the Hidden Beks, just in case. However that did not stop them from hurling all manner of insults at each other.
Right now, the mechanics were in the process of performing the last couple tweaks and tune-ups to the bikes before the race. Seth was just trying to stay out of the way, opting to use the time to make some modifications to his swoop bike's sound system. Originally it was supposed to be for the pilot to be able receive and send radio transmissions. But since swoop racers had radios installed in their helmets, the on board system wasn't used. Seth was pretty sure he could rewire it to play the songs stored on his datapad.
He'd had that dream again. It was only slightly different from the last time. The Jedi and the Dark Jedi were still locked in combat. And he, as a little boy, was still cowering in the corner. But this time the Sith Lord was crouching over him, one gloved hand placed on his head. Fear had constricted his heart at that point, and Seth had woken up with a start at the Bek Base, covered in a thin layer of nervous sweat. He'd taken one look at Mission and Zaalbar dozing contentedly in the cots across from him and knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep much. So he'd chosen to join the mechanics team as they journeyed to the swoop track.
The nightmares haunted him. He felt the need to talk to someone about them, but Seth knew that none of his companions would understand. For now he would keep them to himself. He hoped that Bastila would be able to offer at least some small amount of insight, however. After all, she was a Jedi and there were Jedi in his nightmares. He shook the thoughts from his mind for the moment, trying hard to concentrate on the swoop bike instead.
Seth ran his hands back and forth over the controls, getting a feel for them. Mission's words still echoed in his head.
"Humans don't race swoops."
Except he'd never considered himself a 'normal' human. There had always been a part of him that knew what was going to happen next, a part that often took control in tight situations. It was like instinct; he didn't even need to think. A part of him so inhuman, it wasn't like any other species. The part of him that classified him as a 'freak'. But he knew, that being a freak, as he called himself, had saved his, Carth's, Zaalbar's and Mission's lives many times. And maybe it would be the answer to Mission's doubtful statement that continued to ring in his head.
His thoughts turned to the twi'lek for a moment curiously. Mission. She was one person that never ceased to throw him off balance. He'd had a sense of certainty about himself when talking to Carth or Zaalbar, but he always ended up self-conscious when talking to her. It frequently confounded him how he seemed so unskilled at socializing with the opposite sex. Even with one from a different species. He didn't know why, but he was determined to find out. Maybe Carth could give him some pointers – according to barracks scuttlebutt, he used to be married. Although Seth wasn't sure it was appropriate to ask his superior for advice on girls.
In combat, he frequently found himself covering her, despite the fact that he knew she could take care of herself in a fight. And she had a certain strength about her, a certain natural ease with her often dangerous surroundings. And although she didn't wear nearly as much make up as others of her species were known to wear, her face had a unique charm to it that Seth found rather attractive. It had a strange, almost controlling affect on him.
He didn't want to take things too seriously with a girl he'd just recently met, but the only comparable feeling Seth could remember was one he'd felt with one of the girls back at the Academy. The nervousness had faded in time as he'd gotten to know the girl, but then again, that girl happened to be his first kiss later on down the road. He couldn't help but link the feeling and the accompanying action, and wondered if it held true for his friendship with Mission.
Seth shook his head, clearing his thoughts. What was he doing? He needed to focus on the upcoming race. He turned his attention back to the swoop. After a quick inspection of the different meters on the control board that measured the vital components of the swoop bike, he spotted a small discrepancy in the measurements for two of the meters.
"Hey mechanic?" he called to the Ithorian who was checking the repulsors in the swoop's pontoons.
The flat-headed alien looked up at him. "[What is it, sir?]"
Seth held up his index finger. "Well first thing, don't call me sir. I'm not any officer yet,"
The Ithorian looked perplexed.
"Never mind, but anyway; you might want to check the power lining."
The mechanic stuck his head in to look at the glowing screens. Seth had to press himself a bit farther back into the seat to allow the Ithorian's broad head some room.
"[No, the meter says the power lining is in good condition.]"
"A correction, if I may. The power lining meter says the power lining is fine, but the engine and power cell meters say otherwise."
The Ithorian glanced at the meters Seth was pointing out. "[I'm afraid I don't understand.]"
Seth sighed, recalling both his short courses on starfighter mechanics at the Academy and his experience with the swoop riders back on Coruscant. "Tell me, have you altered the power lining at all since you installed the accelerator?"
"[No, the meter said it was fine all along.]"
"Have you worked on the engine or power cell?"
"[Just the engine.]"
"Then there you go," he said, folding his arms and quirking an eyebrow as the Ithorian's face remained as blank as it had been for the duration of the conversation.
"[I'm still confused.]"
Seth sighed exasperatedly and clambered out of the cockpit, swinging his legs over the side and jumping to the ground. He held his hand out expectantly. "Hydrospanner please."
The Ithorian obligingly handed Seth the requested tool and the soldier slid under the bike. After about a minute of tinkering, he started talking again. "Okay, I've adjusted the power cell to work in sync with the accelerator. What does the meter say now?"
"[It's the same.]"
"Then you've tweaked the engine a bit too much." Seth scooted over to the engine and got to work.
The Ithorian ducked down and brought his flat head near Seth's. "[The engine and power cell meters are rising and the power lining is dropping.]"
"That's because you can't just fix the accelerator to the power lining, the swoop won't react right. You have to fix the accelerator to work in sync with the engine and power cell, and then…" Seth paused to work on the power lining, adjusting components here and there into a different configuration, "…hook the power lining to the power cell and engine." He slid back out from under the swoop and looked at the meters again, all indicating that their respective components were operating a maximum efficiency. "See?" He grinned at the Ithorian, handing back the hydrospanner.
The mechanic looked back at him, and from what Seth could assume from Ithorian facial expressions, he looked pretty shocked. "[That's incredible!]"
Seth shrugged and wiped grease-stained hands on the trousers of his borrowed jumpsuit. "It's what I do."
In the pre-dawn gloom, it had been hard to appreciate the size of the swoop track. But by now, the sun was shining brightly down on the stadium and the crowd had already filled three quarters of the three-level stadium. The noise of the fans was steadily growing to a jubilant roar.
The shape of the track was no different than the Galactic Standard, with two parallel straightaways connected by a long turn at each end, making it roughly oval-shaped. It had a circumference of nearly five miles and was wide enough to comfortably accommodate over fifty swoop bikes set side by side – more than enough to allow the twenty-one other racers from seven different racing teams room enough to maneuver around each other with ease.
The bikes were being lined up for the start of the race – Seth's pitch black ride was easily recognized, standing out against the other bikes that were almost all painted a number of different, brighter colors.
Seth stood just a few feet away from where the other two Bek bikes besides his own were being lined up, looking around for Carth and the others in the stands. He spotted them sitting in the Bek's reserved section right above their team's pits. Mission was waving her arms wildly, trying to get his attention, and he waved back, acknowledging her. Seth could also see Gadon, with Zaerdra sitting right next to him, eyes unsurprisingly not looking at the track, but raking the crowd around her for any threats to her charge. Mission was trying to yell something that Seth couldn't make out. He just waved again in response.
A hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, and Seth found himself staring into the glaring eyes of a Nikto. He had an awful suspicion that Mission had actually been trying to warn him of the threat just seconds before. The rough skinned alien sniffed a few times, then twisted his face in disgust.
"So, you be new rider old Gadon gets," the Nikto said in rough basic, and Seth could tell simply by the way he said Gadon's name that this was the Black Vulkar rider he'd been warned about one too many times. "Little male huuuuman be stinking of fear..."
Seth didn't flinch. "Redros, I take it?"
The Nikto's lips peeled away from his teeth in a sardonic smirk. "So you hears of me huuuuman? What do others say about me, hm?"
Seth found the way he said 'human' to be quite grating. "Only the truth," he replied with a shrug.
Redros' grin widened. "That I be best rider on Taris?"
"No, that you are a cowardly, illegitimate son of a drooling Hutt and play with bantha droppings in your spare time." he replied casually. "And judging by the smell, I'd say that's pretty darn accurate."
Redros' demeanor quickly darkened, a low growl vibrating in the back of his throat, leaning in enough for their noses to be almost touching. "You talk big for human! You should know why humans don't race in Swoop Circuit – they always crash and burn! Maybe you brain not work so well?"
Seth made a show of reeling back and waving a hand in front of his face. "Yeah? Well too bad my nose works just fine."
The thought that he might have taken it a bit too far came across his mind when the Nikto racer clenched his green fists. "Well maybe me should break nose, as favor!" he snarled, spittle flying from his lips.
Seth's hand reached for his blaster before he woefully remembered he'd had to leave it with Carth. And Redros looked like he was prepared to use his fists. Fortunately, Seth knew he wasn't even remotely helpless in the event the Nikto decided to get violent. He'd trained in Phase 2 hand-to-hand back at the Academy, and was confident he could give the Vulkar a run for his credits in a fight.
"Redros!" A sharp voice whipped both of their heads around, and Seth spotted a dark-skinned human striding towards them. A set of beady eyes, which seemed to be placed just a bit too close together, glowered at both the Vulkar and Seth.
"You know that brawling before the race results in disqualification!" the man shouted in Redros' face. The Nikto's gaze fell to the ground, still fuming but taken down several notches. The Vulkar's apparent boss then turned his attention to Seth.
"You must be Mike Fure, Gadon's new meat," he said, looking down his nose at Seth, who was only half a head shorter than him. Seth and Carth had decided to have Gadon use the alias 'Mike Fure' as Seth's racing name in case the Sith, who were probably watching the race go down from the Upper City cantinas, had gotten their hands on a copy of the Endar Spire's crew roster.
"And you must be Brejik, head of the Vulkar gang. Pleased to finally make your acquaintance," Seth nodded his head towards him, remaining polite but still rather curt.
Brejik's expression was one of thinly veiled disdain. "The pleasure is all yours."
Seth's eyes flashed with anger, but he kept an outward calm. The rival swoop gang leader looked over at Seth's bike.
"You are the first human in a long time to attempt this race, you know. I won't be expecting to see you get through five laps, let alone complete the full two hundre-" Seth held up his hand, interrupting Brejik's monologue before it began.
"Well then... sir," Seth pronounced the 'sir' with borderline derision. "I guess you've got nothing to worry about, now if you'll kindly excuse me, I have a race to win and I prefer to throw my jabs in the winner's circle, not on the starting line."
An amused smirk tugged at the corners of Brejik's thin mouth. "You've got some guts boy, I'll give you that. I'd wish you good luck, but I guess your little blue Twi'lek squeeze already gave you more than your fair share." Seth gritted his teeth hard to prevent himself from taking any action that would result in his disqualification. Redros snorting a laugh at this, Brejik put a hand on the Nikto's shoulder. "Now this rider needs to get ready for the race the Vulkars will win, not the gang who choose a upstart, snot-nose rider with a death wish to ride for them." And with that final barb, he led his rider away from Seth and over to wherever the Vulkar bikes were.
Seth watched Brejik's dark head retreating, eyes blazing. His mind was vividly imagining wrenching the gang boss's head all the way around. Clenching and unclenching his fists, Seth took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. He could take a few jabs to his reputation, but when someone belittled Mission, or any of his friends, they had trouble coming.
"Brejik's right about one thing – you do have guts," a feminine voice said from behind him. Seth looked over his shoulder and spotted the two other Bek riders who'd be racing alongside him – a pale red female Twi'lek and a tall male Bith, a Krayt dragon tattooed on the left side of his bulbous head.
Turning to the two riders, Seth shrugged. "No more guts than it takes you guys to do this for a living."
The Twi'lek laughed. "I like you," she proclaimed and gave him a clap on the shoulder. "My name's Livana, and my companion," she gestured to the silent Bith. "Is Go'lung Shrookut. Don't ask for his full name, you can't hope to pronounce it."
Go'lung crossed his arms. "It's not my fault you two don't have the throat muscles my species does." His voice was rough by Bith standards.
Livana draped an arm across Seth's shoulders. "Oh come on, I don't know why you insist on introducing yourself by your full name!" She looked at Seth. "I keep telling him; popularity is not gained through confusing everyone you meet, wouldn't you agree?"
Seth, infected with the Twi'lek's chirpy attitude, couldn't help but smile. "Well Go'long-"
"Go'lung." he corrected.
Livana rolled her eyes. "See what I mean? You're confusing this poor boy just with your short name."
Go'lung threw his arms up in frustration. "If the boy can't pronounce my short name, that's his own frakking-" the Bith's rant was interrupted by a voice blaring through the stadium's PA system.
"Welcome ladies and gentlemen of all species to Taris to the seventy-fourth season opener of the Professional Swoop Racing League!" The crowd roared its jubilation wholeheartedly in response.
"Go on," Livana pushed Seth gently. "Get to your bike, it's show time!" she was grinning, and he could quickly tell that this was what she lived for.
Seth nodded, his heart rate picking up by the second. "Good luck." He gave them both a quick salute then quickly ran over to his bike, where a mechanic handed him his helmet. Seth thanked him and put it over his head, flipping down the heavily tinted visor.
Brejik stood next to Redros as the announcer worked his way up the ranks of racers that were competing, squinting his eyes as he looked down the line at the new Bek rider. Why would Gadon waste a spot on his team for this punk? He had no idea, but he knew there must have been something about the boy that Gadon liked, something to make him trust a human's abilities in the swoop circuit. Brejik knew Gadon was smart, and he knew that his rival wouldn't trust the boy's talent unless he wasn't like the other humans that had attempted to race in the Professional Leagues. And if that were true, that meant he probably stood a good chance of beating even Redros.
Brejik turned to his best rider. "If you don't win this one, you're bantha meat," he growled in warning.
The Nikto looked unfazed. "Why you be telling me this now Brejik?"
"The stakes just got a bit higher," Brejik pointed over at Seth.
Redros smiled confidently. "As you say, he be human and young human too. The race will kill him if I don't first. What be your trouble with him?"
"Exactly the reasons you mentioned; Gadon Thek is no fool, or we would've crushed his gang long ago. The very fact that he trusts this… boy to race for him makes me think he actually has a chance at succeeding."
Redros bared his teeth. "I will not let human child be beat me at what I do best."
"Make sure you don't, if not, I'm feeding you to the Rakghouls…" Brejik leaned in close to his champion's face. "In bite-sized chunks."
Seth's in-helmet radio clicked on, and he jumped a bit as it crackled with unexpected noise. "[Can you hear me, Avery?]" Tor-Fy's voice crackled in his ear, she was stationed in the pits, ready to do emergency services on the bikes throughout the race if need be.
Seth pressed a button down with his chin to reply. "Loud and clear."
"[Alright,]" she replied with an approving tone. "[They're going to introduce you soon. Wait for your name to be announced to get into your bike.]" He gave a little salute in the direction of the pits in response.
He took the opportunity to observe a swoop race crowd from trackside, something he'd never gotten to do before. The grandstands looked to be completely full, the entire crowd standing, jumping up and down, and generally cheering their lungs out. Seth was in awe.
"-And representing the Hidden Bek gang: Go'lungolano Shrookut'Skarrowei'Krrykushush-"
As the large-headed racer thumped his chest to the mixture of cheers, Seth found himself agreeing with Livana's previous assessment of the Bith's name.
"-Livana Dameos!-"
The Twi'lek sultrily blew kisses at the adoring spectators and by the sound of it, she had quite a large male following. Seth found that wholly unsurprising.
"-And finally, a rookie on the Bek racing team, indeed a newcomer to the Professional Racing Circut itself; Mike Fure!"
As his fake name was announced, Seth thrust his fists in the air, head thrown back as the delighted roar of the crowd overwhelmed him. Mission was right when she said they were excited about him.
"And representing the Crouching Nexu gang..." The sound of the announcer's voice was tuned out of Seth's concentration as he followed Livana and Go'lung's lead and climbed into the cockpit of his swoop. He threw the lever the closed that canopy, throwing a glance to his left and right, seeing Livana and Go'lung, helmets on, in their bike's cockpits. He gave them the thumbs-up sign, which they returned in kind. Seth's heart was hammering at a breakneck pace now.
The command to start his engine was given. Reaching across his body, Seth gave the ignition switch a good twist. The twin engines roared to life. His gloved hands held the twin steering sticks in a death-grip. He knew this was probably the most dangerous thing he'd done so far in his entire life. In fact, he was expecting his tragically short life to flash before his eyes. But as it was, Seth only felt a small bit of fear and hesitation that was quickly being overridden by a rush of excitement and adrenaline. He felt as if a swarm of broadwing-flies had made a sudden invasion of his stomach. His senses seemed heightened – he could make out the minute creases in the racing jumpsuit he wore, a testimony to years of use by the previous owner. He could see each small pit and crack in the tarmac of the track.
Seth turned his eyes upwards towards the four lights affixed to a metal strut jutting out over the line of swoop bikes.
"Hey, Seth," Livana said through his helmet speaker. "See you in the Winner's Circle."
Seth didn't know how she managed to sound so relaxed. "Do try and keep up Livana, I don't want to be turning back around to get you." He looked over at the Twi'lek's bike with a grin as he responded. She gunned her engines a bit louder in answer.
Seth turned his attention back to the starting lights, his foot pressing down on the accelerator and revving the engines.
The red starting light brightened.
Seth pressed down the accelerator pedal as far as it would go, the hum of the prototype barely noticeable.
The orange light.
The crowd fell silent, everyone fixing their eyes intensely on the starting line.
The yellow light.
Seth's hand rested on the lever that would switch the engine into gear.
Green light.
In less than a second and with a simple flick of his wrist, Seth's bike leaped forward, rocketing off the starting line at an incredible speed. He felt himself being pressed into the seat by the sheer velocity he was experiencing. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before, hardly comparable to the starfighting simulations he'd gone through back at the Academy. He took a hard swallow as the first curve grew closer and closer in distance.
The race was on.