Eta-Theta was back in space. Not ‘in space’ as in secluded in a ship, for the Zetan navy was destroyed. No, Eta-Theta was quite literally exposed to the void of space. Unknown to Protector Yun, when the android had spared the man, they had used the cover of pain and dust to clamber atop his craft, the form’s powerful electromagnets keeping him fixed in place even as the shuttle took off and returned up into space. It had been a rough, bumpy ride, yet here they were again, the only difference being that this form was more than sturdy enough to survive the rigours of a long-term extra-vehicular journey. Of course, given enough time, even this form would struggle- its heat regulators could only radiate away so much without its regular cooling systems, but for hours… Days… Even weeks, they could remain on the outside, looking in. 

Rising to their full height, Eta-Theta took the chance, now that everything was relatively stationary, to look around. From the orbit of the cruiser, Zeta-5 was large, yet not the entire world. Even just by turning around and looking up, they could see 3 and Z, where the colonists there put up just as valiant an effort as the ones down on Zeta to repel the invaders from their home. If they turned, they could gaze up at the gateway, then at the star of Zeta itself, and finally, the scaffolding of Aegis, where the bodies of their comrades still hung, both frozen by the cold and cooked by the radiation of their celestial body.

Enough reminiscing though. There was work to be done. Lowering themselves down onto all fours, Eta-Theta took a moment to acclimatise themselves, and then began to scuttle off the outside of the shuttle and onto the cruiser itself. Their only goal here was to cause havoc- the more, the better, and they had all the tools to do it. From opposable thumbs to a drill, the android was going to make sure absolutely nobody aboard the cruiser slept well, and anyone that did emerge to see what was going on never returned. 

Who said you needed to board a vessel to kill its crew?

[hr]

Marco slipped the helmet onto his head, clicked his seat-harness on, and turned to look to his left, then his right. They were out on the Amergio Lodefields, a relatively arid part of Matuvista almost entirely devoid of patricians. A lack of patricians meant a lack of the law, and that went double for Lodefields- the only people who lived here were miners, their families, and the people who catered for them, and these were the sorts of rough-and-ready folks that handled their own issues without bringing in law enforcement and their needless complications.

Which was why stuff like the skyraces were so popular. You could never get away with a bunch of plebians ripping through the skies where patricians lived- mostly because they’d pull out their jetbikes and thoroughly embarrass you, but also because once they’d done so, they’d force you to land, take your license and slap you with a fine. Out here, Marco was pretty sure most people didn’t even have a license, himself included. Didn’t mean he hadn’t been driving jetcars since he had been thirteen though.

He was sitting in a stripped-down jetcar on the ground, four other cars also lined up. The race rules were simple- get through the lodefields without losing your car. The first one to get to the other side and touch down won. Away from their launch points, a crowd had gathered, mostly teens and young adults, but a few older folks turning up to see the show. At least four different people had brought big enough speakers to war with each other, rap and pop-country vying with each other for dominance. In front of them stood the requisite race babe, carrying the centuries-old sign of racing- the chequered flag.

“ARE YOU READY?” Cheered out the announcer through a megaphone. The crowd responded- a rolling, rising noise that cut through any other din.

[b]”I CAN’T HEAR YOU! I SAID! ARE! YOU! READY?!”[/b]

The noise now was almost deafening, the announcer turning towards the drivers now. 

“Racers! START YOUR ENGINES!” A fog of dust was kicked up as five jetcars all revved themselves just above the ground at the same time. Marco tapped the accelerator a few times, the engine responding to each one with a powerful blast. 

“READY!”
“SET!”
[b][i]”GO, GO, GO!”[/i][/b]

Marco didn’t wait for the second ‘go’ to put pedal to the metal. The race girl’s cap was blown off as all of the competitors ripped past her, engines screaming as they were pushed to their limits. The start of a race was pure jockeying as each competitor tried to be the first to hit the lodefield, and to figure out what altitude you wanted to hit it at.

Low, and you risked bringing rock rumblers up and crashing into your car. High, and you lost a lot of time and energy climbing that other competitors were using to go forward. Still, Marco didn’t want to lose this car: he’d put plenty of time, money and love into its stripped-down form, and so higher it was, the plebian watching as he fell into fourth place. Fifth seemed to be hanging back deliberately- it might be a sprint model that wanted to save its power for a final burst once they were out of the lodefields rather than wasting it all early on. He’d have to keep an eye out.

The wind whipped past his visor as he cruised through the skies. Most jetcars had actual protection from wind resistance, but in a race model like his, without a roof or, indeed, most of its bodywork, it was down to the racer to insulate themselves. Ahead of him, one of the competitors showboated- spinning itself in a helix and dropping down a few meters in preparation for…

The lodefield. An archipelago of hanging boulders, any one of which could be unstable enough to tear itself apart at the intrusion of a non-mining vehicle like a commercial jetcar. On the other hand, navigate it well, and you could use the magnetic fields to hurl yourself through the air faster than your jets ever could. They were why this sport was so popular in mining communities like this one, far more so than the racecourses in the city.

Also, seeing a jetcar explode was really, really cool. 

It didn’t take long after entering for Marco to lose track of his competitors. There was just too much to focus on, too many smaller hanging rocks, too many things to keep in mind without worrying about your competitors. Deftly swerving, ducking and diving, Marco felt pleasantly confident, even as he saw…

It was beautiful. Two large lodestones positioned just barely far enough apart that a jetcar like his could squeeze between them. Climbing rapidly, he squinted a little, making sure that he got into the gap just perfect. Then, cut maglevs, hold with the jets, reignite maglevs, brace on tight, and…

Marco’s vision returned to him a few seconds later, the racer letting out a whoop as he careened wildly through the air. The number of G’s he’d been exposed to had caused him to blackout for a moment, but the move had sent him flying upwards and forwards, almost entirely clear of the lodefield.

Looking down, he could pick out a few of his competitors… And a smouldering wreck, bright hued-flames emerging from its spiralling form. A bright red ram parachute informed Marco that the driver had made it out fine though, and that he was, as far as he could tell, in the lead.

Best to keep it that way. Dropping his maglevs off entirely, he let his car start to lose altitude and pick up speed, the jets keeping him aimed towards his destination even as the wind started to pick up intensity. As his altimeter crept lower and lower at a startling speed, he started to engage the weakest of the electromagnets, the bass of the crowds at the finish line starting to throb through his body.

Then, from next to him, the sprint model began to pull ahead. Its jets had taken on a bright white colour as it accelerated, and in that moment, Marco made a decision that might have been considered stupid- he turned off his maglevs for the third time.

Picking up even more speed even as he lost altitude, he angled himself tight towards the sprint model, the two of them vying for the first-place position. His speed wasn’t even remotely sustainable- he had pretty much hit terminal velocity with his jets angled as they were, and he was burning through height fast, but the sprint car couldn’t have too much juice in its boosters, right?

The finish line drew closer and closer, as did the ground. No, the sprint car did have enough juice. Well then. He needed to do something else. Raising his maglevs again, he waited until the other car was about to overtake, then threw his strongest ones on full-blast. One of the risks of racing like this was that race jetcars had certain safety features turned off, and he was taking advantage of that now.

Normally, jetcars and bikes had automatic features that prevented magnetic entanglement. Such features required a fairly heavy rig to moderate though, and one that was almost always removed. By throwing his maglevs on like this, Marco had locked his own car onto that of his competitors, the two now quite literally neck-and-neck.

The other driver turned to him, and even through the visor Marco could imagine their expression. Two jets together, one of which was clearly boosted to hell, gave the combined car enough force to keep them firmly ahead of their competitors, but there could only be one winner.

The finish line was almost upon them now, and with a single flipped middle finger to his rival, Marco disengaged his maglevs once more, dropping down and picking up speed. He slammed down on his car’s chutes a moment before he actually hit the finish line, feeling himself thrown violently back at the forces of deceleration. Coming to a full stop, he unclipped himself and tossed his helmet off, screaming his victory at the top of his lungs.

It was good to be out on the lodefields.