Snake Charming
Posted: Tue Feb 09, 2010 12:10 am
It's going to be a short one, but this is just to whet your whistles...
**
Against the star pricked blackness of space, three sleek ships hung like pin badges on a cloak of black velvet. Three racing mambas, the technological pinnacle of their class, on the exterior, the shell of the hull matched the traditional wedge shape familiar to all space-goers, but underneath this thin veneer all resemblance to the standard forecourt model ended. Engines, barely legal and barely contained were squeezed into frames that were engineered and braced to hold onto the awesome power that would be unleashed at time zero, but only just, not one ounce more of duralium alloy was used that wasn't absolutely necessary...
...there was no safety margin built into a Ring Racer ship, win, or tear the ship apart trying to win, there was nothing else.
Diso was not on the racing calendar but it would seem the galaxy is full of puppets if you knew which strings to pull and Daddyhoggy had pulled them all. After all, one of his ships had made it to the final, he zoomed in the Holo-Vid feed that filled one wall of his quarters, marvelling at the living, bubbling lava pattern that adorned ship number 72, of the Magma Racing team, the custom paint job was one of his finest creations. He loved it so much that he had, secretly, bought the team.
In the cockpit of number 72, a gum-chewing Chad Stormbowl was going through his pre-race check and paused briefly when the light indicating the secondary impulse manifold was out of tolerance refused to go out. It didn't go out on a second initialisation despite a reboot and it didn't go out when he thumped the plexi-glass console where the warning light was. After a moments consideration Chad spat his gum onto the console and squished it over the light. No more light, no more problem – damn crappy secondary system anyway, don't need it, shouldn't even be there, if the primary goes, goddam race over anyways. Mandatory requirement my ass, don't need no freakin' Health and Safety rules for comin' in second.
The rest of the checks were finished in glowering, gum free, silence.
All done, he switched his cockpit camera to his left viewer to check on race rival number one, the number 11 ship from the Cosmorossi team. Chad was convinced the team spent longer waxing the red dart then they did fixing it to fly, but it was here, in the final, he had to give them that, but they were already beaten, Chad had mentally crushed the ship's pilot, Havok Flasheart (dick weed of a dumbass name if ever there was one) in the pre-race interviews. Sorted.
Chad flipped to the right viewer and glared at the Quasar Sports ship. It did not explode, nor did its pilot, Screelow, suddenly emit a blood curdling scream over the comms as he was suddenly consumed by an infestation of Trumbles. Wishful thinking, but Chad had wished real hard, just in case.
Chad scrunched up an eye, there was something odd about that QS ship, something not quite right with the line of its underbelly compared to the last race, the race Chad had won, and taken a one point lead in the championship and pole in the grand final. The Thirty second klaxon sounded in the cockpit and Chad snapped back into race mode, killing the side view camera, all lenses and sensors to the front.
What the hell, thought Chad, if his engineers have screwed him over all well and good, a little bulge like that, well hell, that'll add maybe point five to the time skimming Diso's atmosphere to take that tight racing line down through Ring Six.
Confidence renewed, at the twenty second klaxon, Chad punched up the light show.
On Holo-vid feeds all over the system money men, gamblers, and lovers of Ring Racing cast an appreciative eye over the three ships as they bucked and rocked and twisted on the invisible start line. Computers carefully, but not too carefully, balancing the surge in power from the engines against magnetic dampening fields as the ships pumped excess fuel from deliberately overfilled fuel tanks directly into the power manifolds of their engines, sending out explosive showers of visible light and sub-atomic particles that twisted like dragon's tails from the exhaust port of the engine's vent system.
In these final few seconds before the race started millions of extra credits from the bars and clubs in the Diso Constore and main orbital stations flooded into the electronic virtual vaults of the Galcop authorised bookmakers covering the race as punters convinced themselves that, from this display of extravagance, they'd nailed the winner and bagged themselves a dead-cert with odds too good to pass up.
Part II
As the computer display in the cockpit of Chad's ship reached the two second point, he scrunched up his eyes, gritted his teeth, took a deep breath and then tensioned all the muscles in his arms, legs and abdomen, in theory this would keep him together should the inertial dampers fail to keep up with the acceleration provided by his race tuned engine when the counter reached zero. In practice all the drivers knew that this was a pointless exercise, you just had to ask One-eye MacGraw of the Festus Flyers, whose monocular status and need of an eye-patch hadn't occurred until point two seconds into the start of Race Three of this season.
The rules of the Ring Racers categorically state that the pilot of the ship must fire the injector burn of the engine manually, this is supposed to be a test of reactions and skill not of cleverly written software. But rules were meant for bending which is why, the nanosecond the official race timer reached zero, the flight computer of Chad's ship electrocuted him, clamping his right hand tightly around the launch control of the engine in a horribly painful, but effective, spasm.
Number 72 instantly tore away from the invisible line leaving the Cosmorossi ship twisting in its wake as Chad took an aggressive line ready for Ring One and through the tears of pain as the acceleration tore at his internal organs Chad could see that he was already point oh five behind the Quasar Sports ship.
Nooooooo – freeeeeakin' – waaaaaaay!! screamed Chad in his head, unable to vocalise his incredulity through the pain of the initial acceleration.
The Quasar Sports ship took the perfect line through Ring One, tight on the inner left hand edge of the structure, Chad took as tight a line as he dared, just outside the disruptive wake zone of the ship in front, but it wasn't optimal and as they headed for Ring Two, he was point six five behind his nemesis. On the relative straight run to Ring Two he had chance to flick back to the rear viewer. The Cosmorossi ship was already a distant red dot surrounded by a halo of purple. He waited for the auto-tracker to lock on. The green read out displayed '+0.82', in Ring Racing, it was never about the distance, it was all about the time. He flicked back to the forward scanner, to note visually that the Quasar Sports ship was even further ahead, the auto-tracker confirmed what he already knew: '-0.7' as they screamed through Ring Two. A gum free Chad chewed on his tongue.
How? How? How?
Chad mentally ran through the course as they banked steadily left to line up for Ring Three, the Quasar ship precisely following the optimal racing line, Chad as close to it as he dared without falling into the invisible but particle rich wake of the lead Mamba's engine discharge.
Straight through three, hard right and climb to Ring Four, dive but straight to Five and then the tricky line through to Six. Too tight and the rarefied upper atmosphere would cling to the ship, drag it back, leech away the power reserves, use up the precious fuel being pumped into the injectors; Not tight enough and the curve would add precious clicks to the distance flown, diminish the effect of the gravitational slingshot. Hard right to seven, hard left to eight and then that long, long straight down to nine, round the star to ten, straight to eleven, loop back to twelve, the wiggle at thirteen to fourteen, tight right to fifteen and then straight through to sixteen and the finish line outside the Constore.
Chad had already calculated as they blasted through Ring Three and hauled hard right over to align with Ring Four that, given the Quasar's clear top speed and acceleration advantage, the atmospheric turn to Ring Six or the star loop to Ring Ten were the only places he had any chance of retaking the lead. He'd done it before, at Leesti, in race seven, slingshot effect compensating for drag on the non-optimal but shorter line, but he'd cooked quite badly and only some very expensive Reel-Skin ™ had restored his holo-vid hero good looks.
Decision made Chad made minute adjustments to his flight path for Ring Four, he ignored the '-0.72' from the autotracker and the delta reading -0.01, up from -0.007, losing point zero one of a second per second now was irrelevant, this was all about Ring Six now and his newly optimised path to his audacious undertake on the far side of Diso.
As they punched through Ring Four and nosed down to Ring Five, Chad was still drifting away from the original racing line and the Quasar Sports ship hadn't covered the new line.
Good, good thought Chad, You just fly like you've got me beat, because I've sussed you out now boy, you ain't got no heat shielding on that there snake of yours, that's why you're so freakin' quick, so try and block me and you're gonna burn up like... like a meteorite!
Part III
At Ring Five Chad was almost exactly a full second behind and although the ship was smooth as silk now he was away from even peripheral wake effects his non-optimal line between the rings was costing him valuable time.
On the run down to Ring Six though Chad's flight computer indicated that, for the first time, the Quasar Sports ship was off the optimal race line on a vector that would clearly take it high and wide of the planet and its clingy atmosphere.
Chad allowed himself a cautious smile, perhaps this was a test, a double bluff by Screelow, to see if Chad would move back on to the ideal race line for the turn to Ring Six, abandon his plans to undertake...
Screelow was a sneaky, vile rodent, he must know Chad's plan's now, because Chad hadn't slotted back to the optimal line when it was gifted to him. Chad wondered what Screelow's race computer was telling him in the Quasar Sports ship, because Chad's computer was telling him that the twitchy rodent wasn't far enough ahead on its current vector to stay ahead of Chad as he ripped through the upper atmosphere of Diso and on to unstoppable victory. But knowing the other pilot's plans and actually being able to do anything about them were two separate issues.
Chad would not be drawn, let the Cosmorossi ship have the perfect line that both the lead ships had now bequeathed, he had his plan, Screelow had had his but Chad's was going to be better, more stylish, and most importantly, a race winner.
Diso loomed large in the forward scanner.
Still on full burners the first wisps of atmosphere began to tug at the Magma Racing ship, the tiniest of slides was quickly and flawlessly corrected for by Chad's expert hands on the controls, the temperature gauge ticked over by a single extra point in the positive direction.
The purple dot with a purple streak of tail behind it was high on Chad's viewer as he finally began to bank over, digging still further into the thickening atmosphere.
...but not as high as he would have expected for a ship with no shielding...
...no...
It was obvious to Chad now that Screelow's ship was also turning in.
...he'll burn up!
If Screelow knew this his flight vector didn't indicate it to be so, not at least, according to Chad's own computer which was rapidly recalculating where it expected the two ships to be relative to each as they reached Ring Six. If Screelow's ship survived the dive through the atmosphere it would still be in the lead at Ring Six.
NO. FREAKIN'. WAY!
**
Part IV
Chad had to hold his nerve and his line and just pray that the Quasar Sports ship cooked its flight controls in its suicidal new flight path that would cut across Chad's own, or indeed that the festering rodent would cook in his own juices in the shield free cockpit.
Chad could feel beads of sweat prickle on his forehead and trickle down his cheeks as the cabin heated up, on the edge of his forward viewer he could see the glow of atmospheric heating and through that, the particle trail coming from the Quasar Sports ship as the leading edges of the ship were stripped away by Diso's atmosphere.
Cook you freakin' whisker-twitcher, cook...
The inevitable happened, the flight path of the Quasar Sports ship intercepted that of the Magma Racing one and then it did the strangest thing (as far as Chad was concerned), it adjusted its course very slightly to match that of Chad, it was now punching a hole through the atmosphere that Chad's ship now slipped through smooth as silk, he was suddenly catching up at an almost alarming rate, he could slip-stream the Quasar Sports ship and...
...a little warning bell went off in Chad's head, something was wrong with this situation, he was accelerating into Diso's atmosphere and the Quasar Sports ship was modifying that angle, if the Quasar Sports ship suddenly pulled up and survived the manoeuvre, Chad's greater velocity would mean he wouldn't be able to, he would suddenly find himself in thickening atmosphere, he would simply burn up...
Almost the instant he had that thought he cut the injectors, the ship, unbalanced by the loss of power, lurched and bounced around inside the tunnel cut into the atmosphere by the lead ship, a ship which was rapidly moving away...
...something tumbled away from the underside of the Quasar sports craft, that plating perhaps that Chad had noticed on the start line? Ha! Your ship's coming apart you freakin' twitchy-nosed, flea-infested, garbage-eating, parasitic rat!
The plating, as indeed it was, superheated, glowing white, spun and bounced around in the engine wake of the ship which had lost it and for a moment Chad thought it might hit him but drag and gravity pulled it downwards and, like a man-made shooting star, it fell towards its doom in Diso below, a trail of orange sparks marking its passage.
Ahead it appeared that the Quasar Sports ship and its pilot had bitten off more than they could chew and Chad whooped with delight as some of the ships internals (no doubt exposed by the missing plate) came loose from the underside of the leading ship.
But this object did not tumble, or spin, it seemed to move with purpose, with stability, it stayed directly in the path of Chad's ship and even without injectors the gap between him and it closed rapidly, Chad was certain it was going to hit him.
A mine? A freakin' mine! Chad spat into open Comms.
But Chad was wrong, it wasn't a mine, it was much more stylish than that...
Suddenly, Chad's universe was filled with a pale blue light.
NOOOOOO- he screamed over the comms and then the signal was gone.
Millions of Ring Racing fans watching the live holo-vid feeds stared opened mouthed at their displays.
They stared at the flat two-dimensional event horizon of an entrance to a witchspace tunnel, locked in space as Diso turned slowly underneath.
A pair of Vipers, close and on routine patrol cut through the atmosphere and fired up their Wormhole scanners as they approached the Disc, which rippled oddly in the upper atmosphere of the Diso, gases tumbling in and coming out...
...Riedquat, the lead viper pilot read off his display. “The exit point is in the Riedquat system,” the pilot announced over open comms. “Standby.”
Cut to narrow band the general public did not hear the discussion between the lead Viper pilot, a life-long Chad Stormbowl fan, and his Wingman, who didn't follow Ring Racing and was a Zero-G hockey man through and through. Which is why they didn't know why only one of the Vipers plunged through the entrance to the Witchspace tunnel before it had an opportunity to collapse, sustaining it further, indeed, enlarging it.
This heroic act on behalf of the Viper pilot gave Daddyhoggy time to scan Diso space and find an Anaconda and its escorts making final approach to one of Diso's main stations, an Anaconda whose captain had a liking for Leesti Hold'em and a long line in credit that was wholly owned by Daddyhoggy (or at least one of his many privately financed companies)...
Part V
Extract from the article “Ring Racing – will it ever be the same again?” published by the Tionisla Chronicle
...Chad never raced again after that, which is understandable, all things considered, nor has he ever been interviewed on the matter. Screelow was jailed of course, not for trying to kill Chad, because, as his defence council pointed out, such an act isn't actually banned in the Rules of Ring Racing, but for endangering the population of Diso by creating a wormhole within the atmospheric boundary of a planetary body and that was definitely not allowed. He was released in time for the start of the next season and viewing figures for Ring Racing did almost double for the rest of that season, and advertising revenues correspondingly increased four-fold, most of this attributed directly to sponsorship of Screelow himself. "To win at any cost" - is an oft quoted soundbite from a considerably longer interview with the rodent flyer on his early release from a Galcop penal colony . Reports by Snoopers that, while serving out his sentence, Screelow was actually working for the Galactic Navy refining the design of his hand-built micro wormhole generator technology was always denied by official sources and images published by us, of said work, labelled as fakes by all the authorities concerned.
Two new charity events, both held at Diso, have been added to the calendar. The first, the Jackson Cup, in memory of the Galcop Viper pilot who defended Chad's battered Mamba in the Riedquat system until help arrived, but who sadly died before he too could be rescued. The second, the Herclic Trophy named after the (alleged) brave Anaconda captain who (allegedly) selflessly threw his ship and escorts through the wormhole before it closed so it could open up another wormhole in the Riedquat system back to Diso for Chad to escape his seemingly inevitable fate.
Insinuations by Rooters that Daddyhoggy somehow forced Herclic into this act have always been strongly denied by both parties and no evidence that Daddyhoggy actually owns Herclic's ship has ever been satisfactorily presented to the public.
The Truth is, we just don't know.
**
Against the star pricked blackness of space, three sleek ships hung like pin badges on a cloak of black velvet. Three racing mambas, the technological pinnacle of their class, on the exterior, the shell of the hull matched the traditional wedge shape familiar to all space-goers, but underneath this thin veneer all resemblance to the standard forecourt model ended. Engines, barely legal and barely contained were squeezed into frames that were engineered and braced to hold onto the awesome power that would be unleashed at time zero, but only just, not one ounce more of duralium alloy was used that wasn't absolutely necessary...
...there was no safety margin built into a Ring Racer ship, win, or tear the ship apart trying to win, there was nothing else.
Diso was not on the racing calendar but it would seem the galaxy is full of puppets if you knew which strings to pull and Daddyhoggy had pulled them all. After all, one of his ships had made it to the final, he zoomed in the Holo-Vid feed that filled one wall of his quarters, marvelling at the living, bubbling lava pattern that adorned ship number 72, of the Magma Racing team, the custom paint job was one of his finest creations. He loved it so much that he had, secretly, bought the team.
In the cockpit of number 72, a gum-chewing Chad Stormbowl was going through his pre-race check and paused briefly when the light indicating the secondary impulse manifold was out of tolerance refused to go out. It didn't go out on a second initialisation despite a reboot and it didn't go out when he thumped the plexi-glass console where the warning light was. After a moments consideration Chad spat his gum onto the console and squished it over the light. No more light, no more problem – damn crappy secondary system anyway, don't need it, shouldn't even be there, if the primary goes, goddam race over anyways. Mandatory requirement my ass, don't need no freakin' Health and Safety rules for comin' in second.
The rest of the checks were finished in glowering, gum free, silence.
All done, he switched his cockpit camera to his left viewer to check on race rival number one, the number 11 ship from the Cosmorossi team. Chad was convinced the team spent longer waxing the red dart then they did fixing it to fly, but it was here, in the final, he had to give them that, but they were already beaten, Chad had mentally crushed the ship's pilot, Havok Flasheart (dick weed of a dumbass name if ever there was one) in the pre-race interviews. Sorted.
Chad flipped to the right viewer and glared at the Quasar Sports ship. It did not explode, nor did its pilot, Screelow, suddenly emit a blood curdling scream over the comms as he was suddenly consumed by an infestation of Trumbles. Wishful thinking, but Chad had wished real hard, just in case.
Chad scrunched up an eye, there was something odd about that QS ship, something not quite right with the line of its underbelly compared to the last race, the race Chad had won, and taken a one point lead in the championship and pole in the grand final. The Thirty second klaxon sounded in the cockpit and Chad snapped back into race mode, killing the side view camera, all lenses and sensors to the front.
What the hell, thought Chad, if his engineers have screwed him over all well and good, a little bulge like that, well hell, that'll add maybe point five to the time skimming Diso's atmosphere to take that tight racing line down through Ring Six.
Confidence renewed, at the twenty second klaxon, Chad punched up the light show.
On Holo-vid feeds all over the system money men, gamblers, and lovers of Ring Racing cast an appreciative eye over the three ships as they bucked and rocked and twisted on the invisible start line. Computers carefully, but not too carefully, balancing the surge in power from the engines against magnetic dampening fields as the ships pumped excess fuel from deliberately overfilled fuel tanks directly into the power manifolds of their engines, sending out explosive showers of visible light and sub-atomic particles that twisted like dragon's tails from the exhaust port of the engine's vent system.
In these final few seconds before the race started millions of extra credits from the bars and clubs in the Diso Constore and main orbital stations flooded into the electronic virtual vaults of the Galcop authorised bookmakers covering the race as punters convinced themselves that, from this display of extravagance, they'd nailed the winner and bagged themselves a dead-cert with odds too good to pass up.
Part II
As the computer display in the cockpit of Chad's ship reached the two second point, he scrunched up his eyes, gritted his teeth, took a deep breath and then tensioned all the muscles in his arms, legs and abdomen, in theory this would keep him together should the inertial dampers fail to keep up with the acceleration provided by his race tuned engine when the counter reached zero. In practice all the drivers knew that this was a pointless exercise, you just had to ask One-eye MacGraw of the Festus Flyers, whose monocular status and need of an eye-patch hadn't occurred until point two seconds into the start of Race Three of this season.
The rules of the Ring Racers categorically state that the pilot of the ship must fire the injector burn of the engine manually, this is supposed to be a test of reactions and skill not of cleverly written software. But rules were meant for bending which is why, the nanosecond the official race timer reached zero, the flight computer of Chad's ship electrocuted him, clamping his right hand tightly around the launch control of the engine in a horribly painful, but effective, spasm.
Number 72 instantly tore away from the invisible line leaving the Cosmorossi ship twisting in its wake as Chad took an aggressive line ready for Ring One and through the tears of pain as the acceleration tore at his internal organs Chad could see that he was already point oh five behind the Quasar Sports ship.
Nooooooo – freeeeeakin' – waaaaaaay!! screamed Chad in his head, unable to vocalise his incredulity through the pain of the initial acceleration.
The Quasar Sports ship took the perfect line through Ring One, tight on the inner left hand edge of the structure, Chad took as tight a line as he dared, just outside the disruptive wake zone of the ship in front, but it wasn't optimal and as they headed for Ring Two, he was point six five behind his nemesis. On the relative straight run to Ring Two he had chance to flick back to the rear viewer. The Cosmorossi ship was already a distant red dot surrounded by a halo of purple. He waited for the auto-tracker to lock on. The green read out displayed '+0.82', in Ring Racing, it was never about the distance, it was all about the time. He flicked back to the forward scanner, to note visually that the Quasar Sports ship was even further ahead, the auto-tracker confirmed what he already knew: '-0.7' as they screamed through Ring Two. A gum free Chad chewed on his tongue.
How? How? How?
Chad mentally ran through the course as they banked steadily left to line up for Ring Three, the Quasar ship precisely following the optimal racing line, Chad as close to it as he dared without falling into the invisible but particle rich wake of the lead Mamba's engine discharge.
Straight through three, hard right and climb to Ring Four, dive but straight to Five and then the tricky line through to Six. Too tight and the rarefied upper atmosphere would cling to the ship, drag it back, leech away the power reserves, use up the precious fuel being pumped into the injectors; Not tight enough and the curve would add precious clicks to the distance flown, diminish the effect of the gravitational slingshot. Hard right to seven, hard left to eight and then that long, long straight down to nine, round the star to ten, straight to eleven, loop back to twelve, the wiggle at thirteen to fourteen, tight right to fifteen and then straight through to sixteen and the finish line outside the Constore.
Chad had already calculated as they blasted through Ring Three and hauled hard right over to align with Ring Four that, given the Quasar's clear top speed and acceleration advantage, the atmospheric turn to Ring Six or the star loop to Ring Ten were the only places he had any chance of retaking the lead. He'd done it before, at Leesti, in race seven, slingshot effect compensating for drag on the non-optimal but shorter line, but he'd cooked quite badly and only some very expensive Reel-Skin ™ had restored his holo-vid hero good looks.
Decision made Chad made minute adjustments to his flight path for Ring Four, he ignored the '-0.72' from the autotracker and the delta reading -0.01, up from -0.007, losing point zero one of a second per second now was irrelevant, this was all about Ring Six now and his newly optimised path to his audacious undertake on the far side of Diso.
As they punched through Ring Four and nosed down to Ring Five, Chad was still drifting away from the original racing line and the Quasar Sports ship hadn't covered the new line.
Good, good thought Chad, You just fly like you've got me beat, because I've sussed you out now boy, you ain't got no heat shielding on that there snake of yours, that's why you're so freakin' quick, so try and block me and you're gonna burn up like... like a meteorite!
Part III
At Ring Five Chad was almost exactly a full second behind and although the ship was smooth as silk now he was away from even peripheral wake effects his non-optimal line between the rings was costing him valuable time.
On the run down to Ring Six though Chad's flight computer indicated that, for the first time, the Quasar Sports ship was off the optimal race line on a vector that would clearly take it high and wide of the planet and its clingy atmosphere.
Chad allowed himself a cautious smile, perhaps this was a test, a double bluff by Screelow, to see if Chad would move back on to the ideal race line for the turn to Ring Six, abandon his plans to undertake...
Screelow was a sneaky, vile rodent, he must know Chad's plan's now, because Chad hadn't slotted back to the optimal line when it was gifted to him. Chad wondered what Screelow's race computer was telling him in the Quasar Sports ship, because Chad's computer was telling him that the twitchy rodent wasn't far enough ahead on its current vector to stay ahead of Chad as he ripped through the upper atmosphere of Diso and on to unstoppable victory. But knowing the other pilot's plans and actually being able to do anything about them were two separate issues.
Chad would not be drawn, let the Cosmorossi ship have the perfect line that both the lead ships had now bequeathed, he had his plan, Screelow had had his but Chad's was going to be better, more stylish, and most importantly, a race winner.
Diso loomed large in the forward scanner.
Still on full burners the first wisps of atmosphere began to tug at the Magma Racing ship, the tiniest of slides was quickly and flawlessly corrected for by Chad's expert hands on the controls, the temperature gauge ticked over by a single extra point in the positive direction.
The purple dot with a purple streak of tail behind it was high on Chad's viewer as he finally began to bank over, digging still further into the thickening atmosphere.
...but not as high as he would have expected for a ship with no shielding...
...no...
It was obvious to Chad now that Screelow's ship was also turning in.
...he'll burn up!
If Screelow knew this his flight vector didn't indicate it to be so, not at least, according to Chad's own computer which was rapidly recalculating where it expected the two ships to be relative to each as they reached Ring Six. If Screelow's ship survived the dive through the atmosphere it would still be in the lead at Ring Six.
NO. FREAKIN'. WAY!
**
Part IV
Chad had to hold his nerve and his line and just pray that the Quasar Sports ship cooked its flight controls in its suicidal new flight path that would cut across Chad's own, or indeed that the festering rodent would cook in his own juices in the shield free cockpit.
Chad could feel beads of sweat prickle on his forehead and trickle down his cheeks as the cabin heated up, on the edge of his forward viewer he could see the glow of atmospheric heating and through that, the particle trail coming from the Quasar Sports ship as the leading edges of the ship were stripped away by Diso's atmosphere.
Cook you freakin' whisker-twitcher, cook...
The inevitable happened, the flight path of the Quasar Sports ship intercepted that of the Magma Racing one and then it did the strangest thing (as far as Chad was concerned), it adjusted its course very slightly to match that of Chad, it was now punching a hole through the atmosphere that Chad's ship now slipped through smooth as silk, he was suddenly catching up at an almost alarming rate, he could slip-stream the Quasar Sports ship and...
...a little warning bell went off in Chad's head, something was wrong with this situation, he was accelerating into Diso's atmosphere and the Quasar Sports ship was modifying that angle, if the Quasar Sports ship suddenly pulled up and survived the manoeuvre, Chad's greater velocity would mean he wouldn't be able to, he would suddenly find himself in thickening atmosphere, he would simply burn up...
Almost the instant he had that thought he cut the injectors, the ship, unbalanced by the loss of power, lurched and bounced around inside the tunnel cut into the atmosphere by the lead ship, a ship which was rapidly moving away...
...something tumbled away from the underside of the Quasar sports craft, that plating perhaps that Chad had noticed on the start line? Ha! Your ship's coming apart you freakin' twitchy-nosed, flea-infested, garbage-eating, parasitic rat!
The plating, as indeed it was, superheated, glowing white, spun and bounced around in the engine wake of the ship which had lost it and for a moment Chad thought it might hit him but drag and gravity pulled it downwards and, like a man-made shooting star, it fell towards its doom in Diso below, a trail of orange sparks marking its passage.
Ahead it appeared that the Quasar Sports ship and its pilot had bitten off more than they could chew and Chad whooped with delight as some of the ships internals (no doubt exposed by the missing plate) came loose from the underside of the leading ship.
But this object did not tumble, or spin, it seemed to move with purpose, with stability, it stayed directly in the path of Chad's ship and even without injectors the gap between him and it closed rapidly, Chad was certain it was going to hit him.
A mine? A freakin' mine! Chad spat into open Comms.
But Chad was wrong, it wasn't a mine, it was much more stylish than that...
Suddenly, Chad's universe was filled with a pale blue light.
NOOOOOO- he screamed over the comms and then the signal was gone.
Millions of Ring Racing fans watching the live holo-vid feeds stared opened mouthed at their displays.
They stared at the flat two-dimensional event horizon of an entrance to a witchspace tunnel, locked in space as Diso turned slowly underneath.
A pair of Vipers, close and on routine patrol cut through the atmosphere and fired up their Wormhole scanners as they approached the Disc, which rippled oddly in the upper atmosphere of the Diso, gases tumbling in and coming out...
...Riedquat, the lead viper pilot read off his display. “The exit point is in the Riedquat system,” the pilot announced over open comms. “Standby.”
Cut to narrow band the general public did not hear the discussion between the lead Viper pilot, a life-long Chad Stormbowl fan, and his Wingman, who didn't follow Ring Racing and was a Zero-G hockey man through and through. Which is why they didn't know why only one of the Vipers plunged through the entrance to the Witchspace tunnel before it had an opportunity to collapse, sustaining it further, indeed, enlarging it.
This heroic act on behalf of the Viper pilot gave Daddyhoggy time to scan Diso space and find an Anaconda and its escorts making final approach to one of Diso's main stations, an Anaconda whose captain had a liking for Leesti Hold'em and a long line in credit that was wholly owned by Daddyhoggy (or at least one of his many privately financed companies)...
Part V
Extract from the article “Ring Racing – will it ever be the same again?” published by the Tionisla Chronicle
...Chad never raced again after that, which is understandable, all things considered, nor has he ever been interviewed on the matter. Screelow was jailed of course, not for trying to kill Chad, because, as his defence council pointed out, such an act isn't actually banned in the Rules of Ring Racing, but for endangering the population of Diso by creating a wormhole within the atmospheric boundary of a planetary body and that was definitely not allowed. He was released in time for the start of the next season and viewing figures for Ring Racing did almost double for the rest of that season, and advertising revenues correspondingly increased four-fold, most of this attributed directly to sponsorship of Screelow himself. "To win at any cost" - is an oft quoted soundbite from a considerably longer interview with the rodent flyer on his early release from a Galcop penal colony . Reports by Snoopers that, while serving out his sentence, Screelow was actually working for the Galactic Navy refining the design of his hand-built micro wormhole generator technology was always denied by official sources and images published by us, of said work, labelled as fakes by all the authorities concerned.
Two new charity events, both held at Diso, have been added to the calendar. The first, the Jackson Cup, in memory of the Galcop Viper pilot who defended Chad's battered Mamba in the Riedquat system until help arrived, but who sadly died before he too could be rescued. The second, the Herclic Trophy named after the (alleged) brave Anaconda captain who (allegedly) selflessly threw his ship and escorts through the wormhole before it closed so it could open up another wormhole in the Riedquat system back to Diso for Chad to escape his seemingly inevitable fate.
Insinuations by Rooters that Daddyhoggy somehow forced Herclic into this act have always been strongly denied by both parties and no evidence that Daddyhoggy actually owns Herclic's ship has ever been satisfactorily presented to the public.
The Truth is, we just don't know.
Will be fixed in the update when part III goes up.