Gas Racers (Short Story)

[Radiant Dragon]

Completely raw and fresh off the keyboard:
(I didn't expect at all for this to go over 6k words)

GAS RACERS

by Drake Vato


"I've got it!" Leonid shouted as he entered the cantina, his voice full of unrestrained exultation. "I've got us a sponsor!"
Hezaa lifted her head, and beside her Cenutuk and Mairka did the same. "You did what?" she exclaimed, voice filled with both disbelief and joy. The three of them had been at their favorite meeting place on level thirty-three of the arcology for over an hour, already becoming sullen at having been called without knowing the reason. Now, though, Leonid's greeting words all but erased the accumulated boredom and irritation.
"I've got us a sponsor for our team!" he said triumphantly. "We have a sponsor!" he shouted again. There probably wasn't a single person left from the cantina's afternoon crowd who didn't hear the news, Hezaa thought. Yet her own spirit was soaring with happiness so she didn't say anything about Leonid's overflowing exuberance.
"That's wonderful!" Mairka said. "How did you convince them to sponsor us?"
"It wasn't easy," Leonid said as he pulled a hover chair to sit down at the table. The magnetic-powered furniture automatically adjusted for his height and weight. "Turns out, my fifth-gen grandpa knew some important dude from way back when they'd fought together in the Supremacy Wars. He asked him to consider sponsoring our team, however, the guy being a multi-century hardcore former soldier, of course wanted to see some spice before lending his support."
"And?" Hezaa asked, lashing her massive tail impatiently.
"We went into VR," Leonid said. "And the guy simply said if I beat him at a gas race, he'd sponsor us. So I did."
"You beat him just like that?" Hezaa asked incredulously. "A veteran from the Supremacy Wars?"
"Yeah," Leonid replied, wide grin spreading on his boyish face. "Don't forget, he may be a veteran, but we're the best when it comes to gas racing!"
"Completely true!" Mairka said merrily. "Oh, sweetie, I'm so proud of you!" She leaned and kissed Leonid on the lips. The two of them embraced for a couple of seconds in a quick display of affection. Their romance was hardly a secret, but they still felt self-conscious about it, since Leonid, unlike most residents in the arcology, was only a regular transhuman, and he and Mairka feared their relationship might attract the wrong kind of attention. Hezaa snorted. They should know better. One look at her appearance was enough to dispel all such notions.
"We've been asking around for almost a year," she groaned, "while running promotional campaigns, doing viral marketing on the Viirt, and once even paying some dim-witted hack to start a meme war in our favor – all this to get funding to finally participate in the real gas racing leagues on one of the local f-stars. Yet all it took you was to beat some influential old-timer in the simulator – and job done. I can't fucking believe it!"
"Yeah, right?" Leonid winked mischievously. "I should've complained to great-great-great-gramps about our failures earlier. Would've saved us a lot of time."
"And some embarrassing memes," Mairka added impishly. The three of them laughed.
"Who is our sponsor?" Cenutuk asked. The tall, lean Stonelander had remained silent so far during the conversation.
"Well, there's the good news," Leonid said. "My grandpa's buddy was none other than Kerto Asteriore himself – the Nexus system's CEO of Point Zero."
"Oh, Great Cosmos!" Mairka gasped. "That's awesome!"
"Damn," Hezaa said. "Getting sponsorship from an interstellar ultracorp. Leo, you're badass!"
"Just doing my part for the team," he said, though his proud tone belied the words.
"So, in which league are we going to race?" Mairka asked excitedly. "The Battle One Championship, the Terra Oceania's Tournament, the Skystar Megacircuit? Or something else?"
"Those are too big for us," Hezaa objected. "I bet we got a slot for one of the amateur events – either the Ice Pro Transhuman Race, or the Consortium Galactic Competition. No sponsor's gonna throw credits away for a new and unestablished team."
"Neither of you guessed right," Leonid said with a smirk. "You won't believe it – Point Zero is sending us straight to the Nexus Solar Cup!"
"WHAT!?" Hezaa roared.
"No way!" Mairka squealed with delight, covering her mouth. "The greatest gas race in the entire star system! Leo, I love you!"
"Love you too, little sunshine," he replied, and they kissed again. Scattered applause and shout-outs came from the other patrons in the cantina. Their team was going to get a lot of askpings in the Viirt tonight; perfect opportunity for some free PR. Probably foreseen and SAI-pre-planned by Point Zero. Hezaa felt lightheaded. They were going straight to the top! The cost of space travel, the registration fees, the racing equipment... all of it was going to be handled. This was too good to be true.
Again, Cenutuk cut in with a single line. "What are the sponsorship terms?" His voice was melodious and soft, in sharp contrast to his brooding demeanor.
Leonid's cheerful attitude vanished. He abruptly sobered up, and regarded his friends. "This is the part where I must explain the flipside," he sighed. The others grew quiet, anxiously waiting.
"Point Zero agreed to full sponsorship," Leonid continued, "but they won't provide us with h-gliders for the first race."
"Deusdammit!" Hezaa swore. "How they expect us to race then? Why they won't give us h-gliders for the first race?"
"Stellarr Asteriore said the company didn't have any ready h-gliders at hand," Leonid said guiltily, as if he was responsible for the problem.
"Yeah, as if one of the most powerful ultracops in the galaxy can't get a hold of one of the numerous industrial nanofabricators lying around and make a whole fleet of h-gliders," Hezaa said sarcastically. "Likely story."
"That's not the problem, Za, and you know it," Mairka said. "With a corporation as large as Point Zero there would be logistics, budget approvals, procedures, and all other kinds of bureaucracy."
"Uh-huh, that's what Srr. Asteriore said, too," Leonid added. "Unfortunately, there's another condition to the contract: we also must win the first race."
"Reasons being?" Cenutuk asked.
"Point Zero wants a skyload of positive publicity," Leonid sighed again. "If we can't provide, they'll back out of the sponsorship. Something about company policy."
Silence descended between the four of them, punctuated by the background chatter and noise from the other visitors in the cantina.
"Well, this is a nice fubar," Hezaa drawled. "I'll give it ten out of ten on the scale of corporate dragonshittery. What're we gonna do now?"
"We still have the RL prototype," Cenutuk said calmly.
Leonid lifted his eyes. "But we still haven't made all the tweaks; and the Solar Cup begins in three weeks. Can we finish it in time?"
"We'll do our best," Mairka said. She put her hand atop Leonid's. "I have faith in you, Leo. In all of us. We can do it." They smiled warmly at each other.
"This raises one question," Cenutuk said. "Who is going to pilot the prototype?"
"Well, each of us is one bigbang of a pilot." Leonid sounded pensive.
"I think Hezaa should be our representative," Mairka said. "She has the best reactions among us." Leonid thought for a moment, then nodded. "Sounds good to me," he said.
"Uh, I... um..." Hezaa's dark-green snout took on a reddish tint.
"Now wait a minute!" Cenutuk snapped, surprising everyone. "Za may have the best reactions, but I'm the one with the best track times in the simulator. Merely having fast reflexes isn't the only thing that's required in a gas race."
"What are you suggesting?" Leonid asked.
"That I would be a better choice to pilot the prototype," Cenutuk said. "I have seniority and I've put in the most hours into training."
"Ha, that's rich," Hezaa sneered. "You have the most hours because you're the weakest; without all that training, you'd be an astronaut out of vacsuit."
"You..." Cenutuk's elongated features twisted with anger. "What about you? A walking half-ton of muscle-bound fake-ancestry imitation of an apex predator? You think skill matters when you drag all that weight around?"
Hezaa's blood boiled. She bared her teeth. "Come here and say that to my maw, you anorexic pretty-boy!"
"Guys, guys!" Leonid shouted. "Calm down!"
"I'm only half-guy," Hezaa hissed, starring at Cenutuk. The Stonelander was nearly her height, yet the difference in mass was indeed not in his favor by hundreds of kilograms margin.
"Right, right," Leonid said, holding his hands in placating gesture. "Just calm down. Both of you. There's a way to settle this. We'll have a competition."
"A competition," Hezaa repeated slowly. Her lips stretched slowly into a predatory grin. Cenutuk said nothing, but his eyes lit up with determination.
"Yeah," Leonid said. "We go into full sim, all four of us, and have a race. Whoever gets first place will be the one to represent us in the Solar Cup."
"That should be fun," Mairka smiled, trying to lower the tension further. "Even if we don't go beyond the first stage of the NSC, we can always say we've been there."
"Agreed," Cenutuk said. "I suggest we go right about now."
"Okay, I'm down with that," Hezaa said. They rose, leaving the cantina, and headed through the brightly lit corridors and atriums crowded with holograms and transhumans, down to the lower levels where the VR halls served whatever fantasies their visitors demanded.

***

Hezaa walked through the sprawling arcology back to her home. The lights were dimmed, indicating it was evening, and outside the large panoramic viewpanels on the public levels she could see the darkened sky infected by the glow of the megapolis' myriad lights.
She reached her apartment on one of the residential levels. Her PAN automatically transmitted the unlock code to the access panel, and she entered inside. Her apartment was designed as an authentic grotto, with natural rock walls, plants and greenery everywhere, muted lighting, and a large pool with a gently flowing waterfall. Hezaa didn't like it much. The place seemed enormous when she was little, yet as she grew up she found it was measured to fit her towering bulk just right to be considered a humble abode for a solitary middle-class resident.
Hezaa took in the familiar foliage, listening to the quiet murmur of the waterfall, and stripped off her smartclos. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the pool. Her parents weren't wealthy, being only average transhumans working as flight techs at the cosmodrome, but they were united in their driving passion for all things primordial. They dreamed of altering themselves one day, and moving to Terra Infinita where most of the Saurials and other uplimal communities resided. Yet morphological alteration on grown organisms was too costly, and Hezaa's parents feared mind transfer with an Unionistic zeal, so they realized their shared dream through paternal love and bestowed upon their child what they themselves couldn't have. Hezaa was never asked about any of this. She was born a hyper-altered mutant, to grow and become an eight-feet tall, nine-hundred pounds Allosaurus-like transhuman hybrid, and a hermaphroditic one at that. Granted, it had its perks, but it was the main reason Hezaa wasn't on good terms with her parents.
They had chosen her style of life, and even the home she would carry it out from. True, her parents never interfered with the decisions within her life, yet that was a moot point, since they had done the rest according to their taste. Not that Hezaa was complaining; she certainly had learned to enjoy being a hulking mammal-reptile crossbreed. It was the lack of forethought of her parents about the psychological impact of such a venture that made her so indignant.
She regarded her reflection in the pool, contemplating whether to take a dip. Abruptly, a cloud of swirling aquamarine lights materialized in her personal mindscape. It was Wispy, her muse. Everyone was telling Hezaa the name was childish ever since she first got her muse, but she didn't care. She liked it when she was eleven, she liked it now at twenty-five.
"You are ruminating again," Wispy said in a pleasant, dreamy voice. "Do you need company?"
"Nah, I'm fine," Hezaa waved her clawed hand. "But yeah, you can stay. Just had an exciting day, though of course you know that, my technological imaginary friend," Hezaa smiled at her words.
She entered the pool and bantered with Wispy for a while. Her muse had holoprojected itself via the apartment systems, hovering lightly across the pool, since Hezaa preferred the illusion of physical presence than the alien non-space of the mindscape. Wispy was always solicitous and helpful, trying its best to help its user, like every muse was programmed to. Muses were designed to be the perfect sentient – but not self-aware – companions, and their primary objective was the well-being of their user. Contrary to popular belief, they hadn't put psychologists out of work, although they vastly reduced the complications of emotional trauma, and improved mental stability. Hezaa could attest to that.
"Your endorphins are above optimal levels," Wispy observed. "Do you want me to engage relaxation mode?"
"Nah," Hezaa said. "I wanna bask in the glow for a while. It's not that every day you get the news that your team is going to the biggest tournament of their primary sport of choice."
Her PAN notified her that there was an incoming call. "Personal connection from Skyfire Memorial Cosmodrome," Wispy said before Hezaa could see the v-address. "It's your mother. Do you want me to answer?"
"No. I'm not in the mood right now. I'll call back tomorrow."
Hezaa decided to browse the Viirt for a while. She found out, as expected, that the Zephyr Furies' v-address has generated sixteen-hundred percent more askpings this evening than in the entire previous week. All kinds of questions were being posted on the team's social page. Leonid and Mairka were online, and they were busy replying to the impromptu AUA session. Both jerks and care-bear fans spiked the rep rating of the Furies with positive and negative scores, however the overall result was a slight, yet steady increase upward. One user, probably a troll, had posted a brazen comment, "The word furries should be written with double f." Hezaa facepalmed mentally; she had learned that doing the actual gesture when one has claws and a snout wasn't a particularly smart move. She wondered for a moment whether to join her friends, but publicity wasn't her style. She remained lurking, and watched the frenzy of online activity on her entoptic display.
She had won the competition earlier today. Easily, even. Despite being the largest of her team – being huge wasn't an useful trait for a gas racer – she was the best among them. Mairka and Leonid knew that. Cenutuk, on the other hand, always needed to prove himself. He was the oldest of the team, five years senior to Hezaa. She wondered why he still kept around; his usefulness has long since diminished, and he kept trying to seize authority. He obviously had some internal problems that plagued him, but Hezaa was finding it unfair for Cenutuk to dump his emotional baggage onto the rest of them.
Her thoughts drifted back to her victory, and the exciting knowledge of participating in the Nexus Solar Cup. The capital-E event itself! What had started as a hobby so long ago now has become a vocation, a reality. Despite the years, Hezaa remembered it as if it happened only recently: back then when she and Mairka had still been schoolmates nearing their graduation, and how Mairka had met Leonid, young and passionate about all kinds of sports, especially gas racing. His enthusiasm had captured their interest, and the three of them had founded the team, each of them pouring their passion and dreams into it. A year later, Cenutuk had joined too, lending his engineering expertise to bring the Zephyr Furies one step closer... to this. Validation.
Of course, the days of single-league teams and clubs were long past in the Æther Age. They were working to expand the Furies into other sports: general VR competitions, überball, R-SES, sundiving, fri skiing. Yet their original passion that got them together was gas racing and its graceful, fragile hurricane gliders that pilots used to navigate the ultra-rapid, lethal winds in the atmospheres of gas giants.
Hezaa shifted, settling deeper into the stony pool. The NSC season was starting in three weeks. The team finally had a sponsor, yet there was still a lot of work before them if they were to succeed.

***

The underground levels of the arcology were a maze of hangars, storage spaces, huge machinery and reactors, and all of it was criss-crossed by extensive underways, corridors, and maintenance passages filled with pipes, wires, and control nodes. In this giant subterranean complex, in a featureless storage cell among a thousand others, was where the team had their workshop. Here they were working on designing and constructing their own hurricane glider.
Now that they were actually going to race outside simulations and virtual tournaments, Hezaa, Leonid, Mairka, and Cenutuk came down here every day, working for hours. After a year of effort, the prototype was mostly complete but none of its onboard systems were installed, and there were many tweaks and checks to be made along the frame. The cockpit also needed major adjustment now, since it was originally planned for an average transhuman pilot, something that Hezaa was not.
"Okay, we can salvage most of the panels if we perform some high dance with the plasma welders," Leonid said from the workstation where he sat. "I'm inputting the recalculated data into the 'fabber. The SAI says four days to spit out the parts we need. However, I'm also setting the maximum bearing load of the cockpit at four hundred kilos minus one for error tolerance; any more than that, and the glide-frame will fold under the concentrated weight. Za, what's your corporeal status?"
Hezaa stepped onto a pressure plate. "Rrr, readout says my weight is just a bit more than four hundred and five kilograms."
"Had a few too many tasty morsels, dino?" Leonid laughed. He then continued seriously, "Are you gene-optimized against excess weight accumulation?"
"Not as such, no. I'm just a giant bi-sexed lizard."
"Then you'll have to cut down on the food, stat. We may even have to lower your hydration levels a day or two before the race, if that doesn't prove enough."
"I'll try," Hezaa grumbled unhappily. It wasn't that she was a glutton, but at her size appetite came with the territory.
"Hey, I'm sure you'll manage," Mairka smiled. "We're all with you." Behind her, Cenutuk was busy activating a plasma torch, his usual scowl hidden behind a pair of protective goggles. "Right, Kenu?"
"Uh-huh," he grunted noncommittally, kneeling down beside one of the glider's support struts, and began to re-weld it.
The weeks went by in a blur. As the day of departure for Uluru – Nexus' system largest gas giant – neared, Leonid and Cenutuk spent the majority of their waking time in the workshop, doing tests and checking installations again and again. Meanwhile, Mairka took up the role of the team's official representative, managing their growing popularity in the social networks. Hezaa helped in the workshop wherever assistance was needed, but for the most part she stayed home or at the VR hall, training relentlessly on the simulators, selecting the most brutal conditions and courses.
Her parents had called again, of course. They congratulated her on the fact she was to be the team's pilot in their first RL gas race. The conversation was relatively nice, yet Hezaa still remained with a bitter taste in her mouth. Too much unspoken things.
She was home again, in her apartment. She was satisfied with her training regimen, but her dietary program was another matter. Dismal, she checked her weight; exactly four hundred kilos – close, yet not enough. Leo wanted three ninety-nine maximum. Hezaa sighed. She always enjoyed the total freedom the simulators gave – including the option of getting a virtual h-glider fitted perfectly for her profile. Now, working with the constraints of solid matter and tight schedule, she was beginning to appreciate the imaginary mindscapes of the Viirt.
"Still within the fat zone?" Wispy asked.
"Oh, shut up," Hezaa growled.
"I'm just asking for feedback. The program's nomenclature was set by you."

***

The trip to Uluru was legendary.
The frenzied packing of gear at early dawn and hurrying to the cosmodrome. The LOTV's screaming engines tearing through the sunrise-lit atmosphere as the shuttle raced skyward to the stars. The docking station at high orbit, with Terra Epica blazing like a multi-colored jewel in the viewpanels. The large, silvery starliner launching into the black depths of the cosmos, bound for the viridian mass of clouds that was the gas giant. The final approach to the grand NSC orbital complex, myriad of spimes and solar panels gently curving along its sleek profile. Even if the adventure ended right then and there, Hezaa would still have had enough experiences to last her for years.
She barely managed to get her weight down to specification. In the end, she had to lose an extra kilo, to allow for the vacsuit all gas racers wore. Point Zero had provided the most cutting-edge technology available on the market, sparing no expense. Unfortunately, the vacsuit was extremely skinny in order to have the least possible added weight. It left everything exposed, and Hezaa stood rigid and uncomfortable, feeling – and being – practically naked.
They had been given thirty hours to prepare and acclimate themselves to the local conditions. It hadn't taken them much, since the station kept onboard gravity at one gee standard. Most of their time was taken by unpacking and moving their tools to their official hangar space. The team had had no time to paint their logo onto the prototype's frame, as this would potentially upset the delicate balance of the machinery, but at least Cenutuk had pre-fabbed some of the reworked panels with the Furies' color scheme, so their h-glider wasn't going to be totally dork-looking. Leonid and Cenutuk were now busy with making last-minute fine tuning and adjustments to the prototype. Mairka was at the visitors' quarters, giving press conferences and talking to the representatives of the various media outlets. Hezaa was at the start-launch platform, being forced to pose alongside the other racers for the official opening ceremony.
She looked at the other racers surreptitiously. They were all members from the big gas racing clubs, gathered from Nexus system's three principal worlds – Terra Epica, Terra Infinita, and Terra Oceania – though there were a couple of newcomers beside her team. The pilots were a fairly diverse bunch morphology-wise, with small-framed neotenics, a couple of tall idoru like Cenutuk, even a dolphin uplimal – or Kiu-kiu, as their people preferred to call themselves – yet nobody was as garish as Hezaa was in terms of garments and appearance. It didn't help that the media drones often kept their cameras pointed in her direction. I must be looking like a trashy fanservice girl, not a world-class high-performance racer, she thought.
The opening ceremony ran smoothly. A TAI spokesperson of Solar Cup Incorporated, the NSC holding company, went over all the necessary speeches, alongside other high-ranking honorary guests from the Consortium and Nexus system's government. There was a short, but evocative space show. Then the Solar Cup officially began. Leonid, Mairka, and Cenutuk came to the start-launch platform to talk to Hezaa for one last time. After that, all pilots climbed into their h-gliders, and prepared for launch.
Hezaa was in the cockpit of the team's prototype, bringing its systems online. The place was cramped, especially with her massive tail. She was overwhelmed by anxiousness and excitement. The first race was traditionally an open-course navigation sprint – the participants had to get from point A to point B, choosing whatever route they want. A child's play on the simulators. Nevertheless, Hezaa was trembling slightly. This was it! She was going to race against the best gas racers in the system; and she had to win. Otherwise...
The heads-up display flashed in bright green light. The start has been given. Ahead, the launch platform's containment field turned blue, indicating passage-ready status. Hezaa stabbed a clawed finger at the holo-haptic interface; the holding clamps released the h-glider, and a localized gravitic push hurled it forward, away from the station, and into the vast, black skies of Urulu's upper atmosphere.
For one long moment, Hezaa marveled at the view. Then she pulled hard at the controls, and dived into a freefall, searching for stronger wind currents. All around her, the other gas racers were doing the same. Their h-gliders pointed downward, the pilots jockeyed for position, each trying to find the optimal flight path that would give the greatest speed without loss of precious control.
Hezaa kept freefalling. The accelerometer kept increasing, alongside outer ambient pressure. Seven hundred. Eight hundred. Nine hundred kilometers per hour. Up ahead, the sensors showed large masses of horizontal winds, each air stream as wide as the megapolis where Hezaa lived. She began to level out the h-glider, tracing the overlaid route on her heads-up display that the SAI calculated in real-time, and searched for an optimal spot to enter one of the air streams.
She planned a path, and approached the outer layer of the roaring wind front. Suddenly, something shot past her, creating a wake of heavy turbulence. Hezaa cursed. It was one of the other racers, still descending into a full-on freefall. The other h-glider had passed only meters away. Fucking lunatic, Hezaa thought. Alarm rang out in the cockpit. The turbulence had folded the rear part of the h-glider. Hezaa struggled to keep her flight under control. Proximity alert flashed on her heads-up display. She was entering the air stream – but at the wrong angle; and the glider's aft section had still not recovered.
The near-supersonic winds tore at the starboard wing surface. The fabric was made resilient enough to endure the stress, but was completely folded on itself. With a wing and rear section completely unresponsive, the h-glider lost nearly seventy percent of its control capacity.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Hezaa hissed, fingers flying over the holo-haptic interface, while she compared tons of urgent data both on the heads-up display and in the mindscape. The h-glider was quickly entering a death spiral. The vehicle had no engines at all; it relied on the wind currents for movement. Without active control surfaces, the h-glider was at the mercy of the indifferent gas giant and its chaotic atmosphere.
"Shit!" Hezaa yelled. "Wispy, give me status on the flight path! I can't read the 3D map at those rotation speeds!"
"Disabling real-time positioning," the muse said calmly in her mind. "Parsing data through secondary channels. Shall I deploy the aerobrakes?"
"Wait, wait, there's something on the weather radar." Hezaa glanced at the sensors. Terror gripped her as she read the data. "Great Cosmos, that's a fucking tornado!"
The aerial vortex hit the h-glider like an explosion. System-critical alarm assaulted the cockpit, bathing the amber glow of the displays in lurid red. Pressure and gravity were mounting. The h-glider was getting too low in the gas giant's atmosphere. Hezaa tried desperately to regain control. The h-glider was completely unresponsive. She screamed as the h-glider plunged into the dark, crushing depths of Uluru.
Abruptly, amidst the lethal winds, a shadow emerged.

***

Something caught her.
Hezaa didn't die.
Something had caught her.
She remembered stopping suddenly. She felt heavy, almost painfully so. Currently, there was no feeling of movement. The h-glider's sensors were mostly giving an ok-status, though pressure and gravity were at dangerous levels. Hezaa lifted her head to peer through the observation panel, and gaped.
Before her was a dragon. Or rather, part of a dragon: its head, neck, and upper body were visible, with the wings outspread at its back, the majority of their extent lost beyond the angle of vision of the observation panel. The dragon held the h-glider in its forehands. Hezaa was amazed how the dragon hadn't crushed the glider between its claws. Glancing quickly at the accelerometer, she was more amazed how the dragon kept stationary in the multi-hundred-kilometer-fast winds. Actually, she was completely boggled how the dragon operated at all in the incredibly harsh and lethal environment of a gas giant.
"Hello there," a voice echoed gently in her head. "I was afraid for a moment that you were hurt."
Hezaa remained still, transfixed. The dragon gazed at her curiously, its large, luminous eyes radiating with power and intensity she has never felt.
"Apologies if this style of communications bothers you," the dragon's voice echoed again. The tone and residual aura marked it as male. "However, I find local conditions unsuitable for a normal vis-à-vis talk with you. To reply, simply think of my name before phrasing your sentences in your mind. I'm Yltharis." The dragon projected mentally a complex multi-dimensional imagery, which Hezaa got the impression was a non-verbal representation of his name.
She tried to shake free of her initial surprise. She recalled that true dragons were incredibly resilient beings, able to live easily in vacuum or other extremely hostile environments that were off-limits to transhumans without sufficient protective equipment or ultra-heavy adaptations. Hezaa struggled to overcome her wonder, and managed to say, "Thank you for saving me, Yltharis. I'm Hezaa."
"My pleasure," the dragon replied, his mental voice enriched with warmth and friendliness.
Hezaa suddenly got uncomfortable. "Yltharis, I, uh... are you reading my mind?" she formed the question in her head, and instantly regretted it.
Laughter echoed amidst her thoughts. "I'm not that skilled. Besides, it would be quite rude. No, I'm using simple telepathy, and can perceive your own mental speech when you make an effort to project it to me."
Hezaa felt relief. Still, the answer made her realize something. "But, telepathy... that means you're a Conduit!"
"Well, I prefer the term that the elders among dragonkind use to describe one who is versed in the arts of the Æther – that is, an Æthereal."
Hezaa was in awe. "Are you... have you come from Utopia Draconis?"
"Oh, no. Traveling across half the galaxy just to watch some universally-available sports? Certainly not. I'm born here in the local system. I live on Terra Oceania, because I like the sea depths."
"Born?" Hezaa asked, puzzled.
"Yes, that's right. We dragons can either be born or hatched, parent's choice," the dragon said. "My mother chose to birth me, though my father always worried that it affected my growth somehow." Hezaa had difficulty imagining anyone, even another dragon, would find Yltharis lacking of stature. Wispy unobtrusively reported that the dragon was over sixty feet long, tail not included. "They decided to have another child," Yltharis continued, "but when she hatched, my sister grew about the same size as me. Our parents decided then it was something to do with the resonance of the local Æther, so they and my sister decided to leave the star system. I stayed behind, since here is good fun, though I admit I feel lonely sometimes."
"But why are you here?" Hezaa asked.
"I like to watch gas racing," Yltharis said. Hezaa was confused. The dragon continued, "I mean, I prefer watching it live, instead of seeing media-streams on the Viirt. So, being a dragon and all, with ability to draw on the Æther, I figured I can get myself a place on the front rows, so to speak." Yltharis' mental speech was colored by mirth. "So I come here, or on one of the other gas giants from time to time to see the races, lurking in the lower atmosphere where most pilots don't go. I saw you were in trouble, and decided to help once you started to plunge toward the core. We're a bit higher now."
"Wow," was all that Hezaa managed to say. Then, suddenly, "The race! I have to get back into the race!"
"Oh, yes, quite right," Yltharis agreed. Faint pity tinged his words. "I can easily bring you back into the upper layers. However, I can see from here that the other racers are quite far away already."
"What?! How long has it been..." Hezaa glanced at the chronometer. "Oh." Almost ten minutes have passed; an infinite gap of racing distance. Hezaa was crestfallen. She had let down her teammates. They were going to lose the sponsorship. Maybe Cenutuk was right, and he should have been chosen to pilot the prototype; his calm, analytical nature would have prevented the catastrophe.
"What's wrong?" Yltharis asked carefully. He must've sensed her distress.
"Nothing," Hezaa replied automatically. "It's just... I..." And then she explained to him everything about her team and their sponsorship from Point Zero, along with the conditions of the contract, and her own struggles to trim her weight.
"My, that's quite the tale!" Yltharis said when she finished. His mental presence pulsated thoughtfully. "And here was I, wondering how a young blood such as you has entered the Solar Cup out of nowhere. I admit, your participation at this year's season will make things much more lively." His thoughtfulness coalesced into a decision. "I will help you to win."
"You... but how?" Hezaa stuttered. But Yltharis only said, "Hold on!", and moved.
The h-glider's onboard SAI reacted with a host of alarms, startled by the sudden change in conditions. In mere seconds, the h-glider's speed jumped from zero to several hundred kph. Hezaa was pressed hard against the pilot's seat. Between the increased gravity and the brutal acceleration, she could barely breathe. Wispy urgently asked her if she was alright. The speed continued to rise. Yltharis steadily accelerated to supersonic speeds, his whole body scintillating with a golden halo. Twelve-hundred. Fifteen-hundred. Eighteen-hundred. Mach two. Mach three. The h-glider's reinforced frame struggled under the enormous drag forces, suspended between Yltharis' forehands in an energy bubble. The world turned into a darkened, greenish blur, punctuated by occasional brief flashes that were probably one of Uluru's mega-lightnings. Hezaa watched the spectacle with awe.
At last, Yltharis stabilized his fantastic dash, and began to cruise through the gas giant's lethal atmosphere like he was taking a normal flight. "We'll catch them in no time," he said casually. "So, tell me, how did you become a gas racer?"
Hezaa again fought to overcome her wonder in the name of politeness. "Well, back when I was still in school I had no idea what to do with my life," she said. "When Mairka and Leonid began to go out together, he asked us if we wanted to make a gas racing team. Me and Mairka were okay with the idea, even though we have been practicing mainly R-SES disciplines up to that point. It started small and casual at first, really, but here I am seven years later, leading the Zephyr Furies in the NSC." Hezaa tried to project a smile with her thoughts.
"Hmm, a nice coming-of-age tale," Yltharis said. "You know I've been wanting to become a gas racer myself for some time now."
"But... there aren't gliders large enough for dragons?" Hezaa asked tentatively.
"Oh, sure, but that's not the problem. If you think about it, we dragons are naturally-built aerial vehicles; we can race ourselves, so to speak. Yet, I don't think it would be fair if I went in a transhuman racing league. And the trouble is, here in Nexus there aren't any gas races tailored for dragons."
"Have you tried asking other dragons to band together and make an official tournament?"
"Yes, I have. But most of the dragons around here are tied to the skycast clubs. While the rest... well, there just aren't that many dragons around. Most of them are an isolationistic bunch that live around the corners of the system, while the more social ones usually go to become career heroes in the Order of the Radiant Knights."
"I'm sure a solution can be found," Hezaa said with conviction. "Nexus system has the greatest gas racing leagues in the entire galaxy. After our team wins the Solar Cup, I'm gonna talk with our sponsor. If there are dragons like you out there who want to be gas racers, we can convince them to come here and form a league."
"Why thank you, that's very nice of you to say," Yltharis said. "And I must add, I admire your resolve. Makes me happy we met each other." Ahead and upward, a series of bright dots flashed; they weren't lightning. "We're almost at the finish line. I'll give you just the right amount of head start, so as not to raise suspicion." The dragon began to climb higher into the cloudy atmosphere, rapidly slowing down his speed. "I think that the central funnel of that cyclone is a good exit point. Farewell, Hezaa; may the Goddess be with you."
"Goodbye, Yltharis! Great Cosmos watches over you," Hezaa said. "And thank you again for saving my life."
"And I thank you for this pleasant talk," Yltharis echoed back. "Now go!"
He smoothly extended his forehands forward, and pitched the h-glider out of his energy grasp. The protective bubble stood for a few more seconds, as the h-glider entered the cyclone and began its ascent. Then the energy field vanished, and the h-glider was once more battling with Uluru's titanic wind currents.
Hezaa gripped hard at the controls, and turned the chaotic pitch into a smooth upward spiral. Above, the green clouds were dispersing, showing once more the black starless sky, pierced by the glare of the distant binary suns. There, directly in Hezaa's flight path to the right, were the welcoming light buoys of the finish line and checkpoint space station. She was only kilometers away from winning the race.
Hezaa glanced at the sensors. Leftward of her course was a scattered group of transponders, signifying the other racers. They were approaching quickly, dashing madly along the air streams in their h-gliders in determination to win. The gap between them and Hezaa wasn't big at all. But she was an expert, and that narrow headstart was enough. With confidence born from years of practice, she guided her h-glider through the howling winds, the greatest gas racers at her heels, and watched the finish line growing closer. They have succeeded.
Hezaa couldn't wait to tell her friends what had happened.


The Endpoint

[Кал]

Като направиш няколко итерации по текста, искаш ли да го бистрим на писателска работилничка, примерно у Мел?

Аз уж съм по-свободен тия дни, обаче под каква купчина текстове се оказах изведнъж...

[Radiant Dragon]

Като направиш няколко итерации по текста[...]

Въй, толкоз ли е зле?
В смисъл, не съдържа нищо оригинално, нито като идеи, нито като персонажи и тн., но си мислех, че е поне half-decent? Вярно, писан е само за около 8 дни и все пак...

Както и да е, с радост бих участвал на работилница с него. Или с някой от другите, които са ми в главата и чакат да видят бял свят (сега работя по №2). Най-вероятно, ако успея ги напиша всичките (към 4-5 истории общо) преди сформирането на нова работилница, ще избера това, което е най-малко думи като обем.

ПП. И т'ва за купчината текстове, напълно те разбирам. (Особено след номера на Дан. )

[Кал]

Визирах твоето Completely raw and fresh off the keyboard. Това аз го разбирам като „първа чернова“ – а чернови няма смисъл да обсъждаме, нали така?

(Иначе даже не съм се зачитал, ясно защо. )

[Radiant Dragon]

А. Схванах. Е, в случая моята вътрешноличностна хипербола е направила тоя grind в комуникацията.

За мен "суров текст" се води следната дефиниция - 1) минал съм базова коректура, замазал съм очевидните пробойни/слабости в сюжета и съм доволен на лично ниво как се чете творбата, 2) Възможно е на по-късна дата да правя "донагласяне", но иначе текстът е готов на пълнокръвна редакция/обратна връзка.
Принципно аз не обичам да публикувам чернови. That's wayyy to raw even for me.