XI: Kesselball Run

“What the fuck was that all about?” Johnny asked as they made their way toward their ship. “Did we just get cursed again?”
“Hard to tell,” replied Dixie, “but we better burn our clothes just to be safe.”
A moment later, a naked Dixie and Johnny scrambled into their ship as the flames from a pile of their clothing burned brightly in the supercenter parking lot.

“Order up!” the cook shouted from the kitchen. He slid a sizzling skillet through the window between the kitchen and the prep area, where the waitstaff could pick it up and hustle it out to the roadhouse’s primitive dining room. The shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks crouched behind a shelf and waited for just the right moment to make their move.
Seconds later, a haggard waitress entered and began screaming at one of the prep cooks. The kid, stunned by the tongue lashing he was receiving, wasn’t going to defend himself, so another prep cook stepped in and began screaming back at the waitress. The kid got between them, hoping to avert any physical violence, and Dixie and Johnny seized the opportunity.
They crouched low and scuttled along the wall until they were beneath the window. Johnny reached up and grabbed the skillet, gripping the battered oven mitt that covered the handle. All food at this roadhouse was served directly from the skillet it was cooked in. There were fewer dishes to wash that way. Johnny slid the skillet off the ledge, then he and Dixie bolted toward the door to the dining room.
Noise engulfed them as they slipped into the room. Patrons argued, knives and forks clanged on skillets, metal steins of beer crashed onto scarred wooden tables, and a band tuned up on a rickety wooden stage. Instead of joining the ruckus, Dixie and Johnny took their stolen skillet and headed straight into the bathroom.
They entered a stall and bolted the door, then sat down on the edges of the toilet, taking turns shoveling the food from the skillet into their mouths with their hands. They ate in silence until there were only unknown dregs left in the pan.
“Being broke sucks,” Dixie complained. “We gotta get some money so we don’t have to eat in the bathroom anymore.”
“Yeah, although this food wasn’t that good so I’m kinda glad we aren’t paying for it,” Johnny set the skillet down on the floor. “But you’re right. We gotta get some money.”
“Which do you think would get us more money, a bank or armored car heist?”
“There’s probably more money in a bank, but I bet it’s way harder to break into. With the armored truck, we’d just have to run it off course and disable it.”
“I think you’re right. But it’s definitely harder to find an armored car.”
“We’d need to watch a bank for a couple of days and see when the armored car does the pickup.”
“This is gonna take forever.” Dixie reached into the pocket of her tattered letterman’s jacket and pulled out a flask of liquor. She took a sip and passed it to Johnny. “At least robbing liquor stores in space is still pretty easy.”
“Well, we could always,” Johnny Go started, but didn’t finish because at that moment, the door to the bathroom opened and two people stepped in. For a moment, the noise from the dining room washed in, then faded again as the door closed. Dixie and Johnny tried to peer through the crack of the stall door, but couldn’t make out who had entered.
“We’re in,” a woman’s voice said.
“We are? How’d you convince them?” It was a man’s voice replying. He sounded excited.
“I just reminded them that last year they had six teams in the Kesselball Run, and that it was arbitrary and capricious to cut it down to five for this year’s race.”
“And that worked?”
“Well, then I told him who I was.”
“Smart and not afraid to play up the family connections. This is why I love you,” the man said. Some kissing sounds followed, as Dixie and Johnny looked at one another in something almost like interest. Finally, the couple pulled apart.
“We’d better get going, though,” said the woman. “The race starts in an hour and we have four and a half million in credits to win.”
As the mention of the money, Dixie and Johnny immediately leapt into action. With a kind of telepathic coordination, Dixie reached down for the heavy cast iron skillet and stood, holding it in her dominant hand while Johnny unlatched the stall door. The two stepped out in a flash and before the couple standing by the sinks could react, Dixie had clubbed each on the head, sending them crashing to the floor.
“Grab everything out of their pockets,” Dixie said as she started rifling through the woman’s coat and pants. Johnny rolled the man over and gasped.
“Yo! Isn’t this that guy?”
Dixie turned and looked at the unconscious man. “Oh! The one from the RV!”
“Yeah, that’s totally him, isn’t it?”
“I’m pretty sure it is. He looks different unconscious and without that dog man.” At the mention of the dog man, they both shuddered. “Then who’s this bitch?” She poked the woman in the ribs with her toe.
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Johnny said, straightening up. “You clean her out?”
“Yeah, I got a wad of cash, some papers, and I took all her jewelry. You?”
“He’s only got a pack of smokes and some keys, but that oughta do.” They were about to head out the bathroom door when Johnny stopped.
“You didn’t kill ‘em, did you?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Dixie replied, leaning down and studying the woman intently. “She’s still breathing.”
“Think we should tie ‘em up? Might help to give ourselves a little more of a head start once they wake up.”
“Great idea,” Dixie replied, rolling up her sleeves.
Fifteen minutes later they’d stashed the two beings in a storage closet and headed out to the parking lot to win themselves money.

***

A sizable crowd was gathered in the rear parking lot of the roadhouse. A table had been set up near the building, and a handful of official looking beings sat behind it. In the dark, and the lights from the roadhouse mostly illuminated the table, leaving everyone else in the shadows. Dixie and Johnny looked around, unsure of what to do next.
“If those two were going to be in a race, that means they must have a ship or something?” Johnny asked. Dixie rifled through the stack of papers she’d taken from the woman in the bathroom.
“Starrari FTB, it says,” read Dixie. “Red.”
“Should we go find it?”
“I guess. But I don’t know what we’re supposed to do once we get it.”
“It’s a race.”
“Yeah, but to where?”
“Oh.”
A man at the registration table stood up and cleared his throat. A few of those standing nearest the table noticed and turned to face him, but the rest of the crowd continued talking. He tried again.
“Can I have your attention, please!” he called. More beings turned. Some moved closer to the table.
“Shhhh!” Scolded a lady in the front to no one in particular.
“Ladies and gentlemen, beings and baguettes, pros and cons! Welcome to the twenty-third annual Kesselball Run!” The man paused as a whoop went up from the crowd. When the crowd was quiet again, he continued. “Now, I know most of you are familiar with the race. It’s reputation as a balls-out, shoot-the-moons, rumble precedes it.” The crowd laughed. “However, the reading of the race rules is one of my duties as racemaster, so please bear with me. I’ll make it fast so you can all blast off.”
Dixie and Johnny listened, for once, with actual interest.
“The Kesselball Run, as we all know, is a race across the Akkadese Maelstrom following, roughly, the Kessel Run route. We’ll start right here on Formos. The winner is the racer to reach Kessel with the fastest time. In the event of a tie, the racer’s routes will be analyzed, and the racer traveling the shortest route will be awarded the purse. The purse, as I’m sure you scumbags and cheapskates are all aware, is four and a half million credits.” A cheer went up from the crowd.
“As always, the race will be run in segments. The first segment ends with a stop on Aeneid. The second segment is Aeneid to Oba Diah. For the final segment, you can take any route of your choosing, as long as you end up on Kessel.”
“Dix, I don’t know what any of these things are,” Johnny said, turning to her.
“Me neither.”
“All registered racers will receive a race card,” the racemaster continued. He held up a small beige slip that looked a little like a library return card. “When you’re ready to start, you come to the registration table and punch the clock. This records your time. You are required to punch in and out at both stops, then again at the finish. Failure to do so will result in disqualification.
“This year, to address some safety concerns,” this was met with much jeering from the crowd, “we are requiring a mandatory two hour rest at one of the checkpoints. It doesn’t matter which one, but it has to be Aeneid or Oba Diah, ok? You can’t be drinking hooch here on Formos and call it rest, and you can’t power through and rest once you reach Kessel.”
“C’mon, Burkhalter!” A voice called from the back of the crowd. “We’re all adults, we can decide when we need to rest!” The crowd shouted in agreement.
“Yeah, Aaufman,” the racemaster shot back, “that’s why you crashed into a freighter last year when you nodded off.” The crowd roared with laughter, and the man named Aaufman did a small bow. “The only reason we’re even having the race this year is because we were able to convince the Pykes not to vaporize you all on sight by promising that you’ll all stay out of their way.
“Which leads me to one last warning before we kick this off: Don’t fuck with smugglers!”
“Oh…” Johnny said. “This is a smuggler planet.”
“That explains everyone’s butts,” Dixie replied, looking around.
“That about does it for my intro,” the racemaster said. “What say we give everyone about a half hour to gather their supplies and bring their ships around to punch out? You don’t need to leave in a half hour, but my team and I don’t want to stand around all night, so don’t take too long.” At that, most of the crowd broke up, with groups of beings heading in different directions, toward ships parked nearby, or back into the roadhouse. A group of spectators remained near the table, waiting to see the racers off.
Dixie shuffled through the papers again until she found something resembling a map. She held it up to the light. “Ok, I think this is the place we’re supposed to get to.” She pointed to a dot in the middle of the map.
“Where are we now?” Johnny asked, leaning in. “None of these say Smuggler’s Cove.”
“Wait a minute, why do we have to figure this out? Shouldn’t our ship be able to do it for us?”
“Oh yeah! Let’s go ask it!”

***

After wandering around the lot and pressing buttons on the keys for the ship, they finally heard a chirping sound. Parked near the back of the lot was, admittedly, one of the nicest spaceships Dixie and Johnny had seen.
“Damn,” Dixie said. “This fucker looks fast as hell.”
“I hope it’s smart as hell,” Johnny agreed. They climbed into the cockpit.
“Wow,” Dixie said. The interior was small and sleek. Unlike their previous ship, there was no living space or galley. There wasn’t even a second row of seats. This ship was made for going fast and looking good and not much else. Johnny Go reached for the navigation device on the dashboard. He pressed a button.
“Where to, Princess?” a voice with a thick New York accent filtered through a million packs of cigarettes barked. Lights pulsed on the device as the voice spoke.
“Uh,” Johnny said.
“We’re supposed to race in this Kessel thing,” Dixie told it.
“The Kesselball Run, I know. Maybe you don’t remember how I’ve been tryin’ to talk you out of it for weeks. Princess, this Lone Starr guy is a bad influence on you,” the navigation sounded impatient. “I guess you’re still going through with it.”
“Yeah,” Johnny said. “Can you navigate us to the first stop, or whatever?”
“It’s called Anus,” Dixie said, pointing to her map.
“It’s Aeneid,” he said, before the navigation could sass him.
“Okie dokie,” the navigation replied with a sigh. “That’ll take six hours.”
“Six hours?” Dixie and Johnny looked at one another.
“That’s a long time. We better get some supplies.

***

Dixie and Johnny had pulled the ship around to the rear entrance of the roadhouse. Several other racers had done the same, but only one other team, a group of three priests in a similarly flashy ship, seemed to be loading copious amounts of liquor into their storage hatches.
As they were stuffing the final two crates of liquor into the small rear hatch of the Starrari, a man from another team, who looked curiously like a caveman, appeared beside their ship.
“That’s a lotta booze,” he said, gesturing to the boxes, one of which Johnny was in the process of opening. He pulled out a bottle of something that looked like Scotch and turned to Dixie, who produced two rocks glasses stolen from the bar. Johnny generously filled the glasses, then turned to the man.
“Won’t be heavy for long,” he said. He and Dixie clinked glasses and downed their drinks. Johnny refilled immediately.
“These are my kinda racers!” exclaimed one of the priests, who had wandered over from his own ship. He, too, held a rocks glass. His was empty, and he looked expectantly at Johnny, who looked between the man and the trunk full of liquor, as if trying to gauge how much one glass would set them back. Reluctantly, he reached out and filled the man’s glass, then refilled his own and Dixie’s. The three cheersed and sipped more slowly this time, mostly because Johnny didn’t want to give the man a refill.
“Name’s Dartin. Father Dartin,” the priest said.
“I’m J-” Johnny was about to give his own name, but Dixie cut him off.
“He’s Lone Starr. I’m Vespa. Princess Vespa.”
Father Dartin gave her a questioning look. “Vespa, huh? Of Druidia?”
“Uh… yeah?” Dixie replied.
“Funny, you don’t look Druish,” he said. Dixie just shrugged and took another sip of Scotch, so the man continued. “You all put any credits down on this race?” They stared at him blankly. “There’s a guy around the side there taking bets on the race. BoShek Reynolds is the favorite, of course, but I put a few creds on myself. Got the scoop about how good I am at racing.” He puffed up his chest when he said this.
“Oh yeah,” Dixie replied. “We were just on our way over there.” She grabbed Johnny by the arm and pulled him away. He slammed the hatch closed and nodded to the priest before following Dixie around the side of the roadhouse.
“What was up with that priest?” Johnny asked when they were out of earshot.
“Pervert, probably,” Dixie said.
They found the bookie just where the priest had indicated. The man had six arms, all of which were taking bets, issuing slips, and giving out change at the same time. Behind him, a brightly lit leaderboard listed the racers, as well as their odds of winning. Dixie and Johnny were pleased to find that they ranked above a team of ninjas. BoShek Reynolds was by far the favorite.
They walked away from the bookie a short while later, their pockets stuffed with betting slips. They’d wagered a sizable chunk of Princess Vespa’s money on themselves, figuring that, as longshots, the payoff would be substantial. And if they lost, it wasn’t their money anyway.

***

Back at the starting line, two ships were powered up and ready to go. The crowd had again grown, with a lot of beings standing around, eager to see the teams off.
A ship that looked more like a robot glided silently to the starting line, and a pair of beings clad in ninja-yoroi popped out, leaping to the roof of the ship. A cheer went up from the crowd.
“We are the first to leave, and we will be the first to arrive on Kessel!” one declared, while the other did a series of kicks. “Our ship is the most high-tech!”
“Yeah, if it was 1967,” Dixie muttered to Johnny. The lead ninja did a backflip off of the roof, landing beside the registration table. A woman handed him a timecard, and he plunged it into the timeclock. After the machine stamped the date and time, he held it up so that the judges could inspect it. When they nodded in approval, he backflipped back into the open door of his ship, fired up the engines, and zoomed out of the roadhouse lot in a flash of lights and sparkly exhaust.
The crowd looked around expectantly, eager for the next racer to depart. None did, and the lot grew quiet.
“What’s happening?” Johnny asked.
“I don’t know. Should we go?”
“I was hoping to let a few more teams leave,” Johnny said. “Actually, I just really wanted to get eyes on this BoShek guy.”
“Wanna have another drink in the meantime?”
“Fuck yeah.”
Dixie and Johnny grabbed a bottle and their rocks glasses, then climbed up onto the hood of their ship to watch. The other idling ship finally rolled forward to the starting line, its doors sliding open like a minivan. Two women stepped out, each clad in skintight, brightly colored spacesuits which zipped up the front. Their hair was fabulous.
“Check it out,” Johnny said. “Hot chicks!”
“Oooh,” Dixie murmured. She turned to Johnny. “We’re gonna have to watch them. They’re hot enough they won’t get in trouble for anything. Believe me, I know.”
Johnny nodded in agreement and they watched as the women approached the table, stamped their time card, and held it up to the crowd, which whistled and catcalled with approval. A moment later they were back in their ship, blasting away.
The next ship to approach the start looked as if it was made of rocks, and sounded like a chainsaw caught in a washing machine. The little man who had approached them earlier got out. Inside the car, they could see another old man.
“Is it me, or do these guys look like cavemen?” Dixie asked.
“Is there a caveman planet in space?” Johnny wondered. “There must be, right?”
Demonstrating a better understanding of primitive technology than his appearance let on, the caveman man punched the clock, got back in his ship, and screeched off into space.
“That’s three,” Johnny said. “So it’s us, that BoShek guy, and who else?” As he said this, a commotion across the lot caught his attention. The group of priests were standing around their flashy ship arguing about who was going to drive. Eventually, the one who’d been drinking earlier poured himself a full glass of liquor and climbed into the driver’s seat. The other two got in and they made their way to the start.
One of the other men got out and walked to the table, taking the timecard from the woman. Before punching the clock, he turned and haphazardly blessed the crowd. A moment later they were off.
“Ok, where’s this hotshot?” Dixie complained. “I wanna go, but I wanna see the full competition.” She downed another glass of Scotch and reached for the bottle to refill. As she did so, a hush fell over the crowd. Heads turned, and Dixie and Johnny followed the direction of the collective gaze.
A simple one seater, steel grey, with such severe angles that it looked like it was going fast even when idling. Unlike some of the other ships, which roared and growled, this ship was silent.
The crowd watched in awe as a man exited the cockpit. He wore a dark flight suit and a gleaming, solid black helmet. Every inch of his skin was covered, including his hands, which were encased in black tactical gloves. He strode to the table, took the card from the official, and punched the clock. He then turned back to his ship, pausing before stepping inside to bow lightly, reverently, to the crowd.
The door closed, and in the blink of an eye, BoShek Reynolds was gone.
Dixie turned to Johnny. “Guess he’s the guy to beat, then.” They slid off the hood of the ship and sauntered over to the table. The crowd watched, unsure what to make of these two, who paused to polish off a bottle of Scotch before reaching for their timecard.
“And you are?” the woman at the table asked, holding the card just out of reach.
“I’m Lone Starr,” Johnny said.
“Vespa,” Dixie added. “Princess Vespa.”
“You… are?” the woman asked. Dixie offered a stare in return. “I’m sorry, it’s just that you don’t look anything like your picture.”
“Got my hair done,” Dixie said. “Can we have our card now, or what?” Embarrassed, the woman handed Dixie the card. She punched the timeclock, then she and Johnny turned on their heels and marched unsteadily back to their ship.
“It’s funny, she doesn’t look Druish,” the woman whispered as they retreated.

***

“Almost got it,” Lone Starr said through gritted teeth. “A little more and…” He grunted. “THERE!” He shook off the ropes from his wrists, then quickly worked to free his haphazardly tied feet.
“Hurry,” Vespa moaned. “I can’t feel my ass.”
“Well, we don’t want that,” he said, reaching for her hands, which were tied together and secured around a pipe in the corner of a storage closet at the roadhouse. She looked a bit like a monkey clinging to a tree. “How’s your head feel?”
“Like I got hit with a fucking frying pan,” she snapped. “They hit me first, I think. Did you get a good look at them?”
“I did,” he said as he freed her wrists and got to work on the rope binding her ankles. “You aren’t going to believe it.”
“Try me,” she said as the ropes dropped from her ankles. She flexed her feet back and forth slowly.
“The two from Pizza’s. That crashed me and Barf.”
“What?! The ones that made Barf lose his shit?”
“The very same.”
“Didn’t you say they’re legit criminals?”
“Oh yeah,” he said, helping her to her feet. “They’re wanted in multiple regions for a ton of different crimes. Some of it’s so fucked up you wouldn’t believe it.”
“Did they follow us or something?” Vespa asked. She tried the door to the closet. It was locked. She reached into her pocket for her lockpicking kit. It was gone. “We’re gonna have to smash our way outta here,” she told Lone Starr.
“I don’t know why they’d be following us. At the time they were fucking Barf into insanity, we really didn’t have anything offer. Unless they wanted to do the same to me.”
“But then wouldn’t they have done it just now? Why club us and tie us up? And how did they know we were here?”
“Maybe it was just random?” Lone Starr picked up something heavy. In the darkness, he couldn’t tell what it was, but it seemed solid enough. He brought it down on the doorknob with a crash. A moment later they were out, racing through the roadhouse to the back door.
“You think that out of the whole infinite universe, you just happened to run across these two twice, in two totally different galactic regions?” Vespa asked as they burst through the backdoor.
Outside, the lot was almost deserted, with only a few spectators still hanging around. The race officials were packing up the table.
“The race,” Lone Starr asked. “It’s started? All the racers are gone?”
“Yep, the last team took off about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Shit,” he said. Vespa stepped up.
“How many teams?”
“Six,” the woman replied, looking at her quizzically. “You look familiar,” she said. Vespa didn’t respond, she was pulling Lone Starr across the lot, looking for their ship.
“The Starrari’s gone,” she said, scanning the empty back row.
“They entered the race as us!” Lone Starr exclaimed. “What do we do?”
Vespa paused to consider this. “We take them down.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.” They both pondered this for a moment before Vespa looked up at Lone Starr and snapped her fingers. “Sabotage! We fuck with all the other racers, make it look like it was them doing it. Everyone’ll buy it because they’re criminals, right?”
“Yeah!” Lone Starr agreed eagerly. “That gets them in the lead.”
“Then we bump them off, switch places, and win it instead of them.” They looked around the lot.
“We need a ship, though,” Vespa said.
“I’ve got one,” Lone Starr replied, again scanning the parking lot.
“You do? Whose?”
“Theirs.”

***

“Are we there yet?” Dixie asked. She leaned her head against the side window of the ship, sipping on a bottle of Scotch. She looked bored. Beside her, Johnny balanced one of the rocks glasses on his palm and stared into it without really seeing.
“This is taking forever,” he said.
“You two are the biggest bunch of complainers,” the navigation said. “Are we there yet?! What’s taking so long? I’m bored,” she mimicked them. “Like a bunch of little kids, I’ll tell ya.”
“Is there a way we can turn you off?” Dixie asked.
“Only if you wanna turn your navigation off. And from what I’ve seen so far, you two couldn’t navigate your way out of those bottles you’re sucking on. Now are you gonna tell me what you did with the princess and that handsome fella she gave up her right to the throne in order to be with?”
“Who?”
The navigation bot growled in irritation and seemed to switch herself to standby mode. Dixie and Johnny were relieved.
“Are we going fast?” Dixie asked eventually.
“I think so. Why?”
“How come we haven’t passed anyone yet?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Hey lady?” he pressed a button on the navigation and the lights flashed.
“What.”
“Can you go faster? We wanna catch that BoShek guy.”
“Honey, this is a peak cruising speed for this ship. Trust me, you let it ride like this and eventually you’ll catch and pass everyone. Besides, there’s no sense in making any moves on the straightaways like this. You need to wait until you get into the actual maelstrom to make up any lost time.”
“Whatever,” Dixie muttered. “Wake us up when we get there.” She leaned her head against the window and was asleep within seconds.

***

“Then put me on with the commander in charge,” Lone Starr spoke into the communication device. He was seated in the driver’s seat of Starhawk, which Dixie and Johnny had left at the roadhouse and which he’d stolen. “Look, I’m telling you, this guy’s out there in a profusion ship.” He paused and rolled his eyes. Vespa sat beside him, watching intently out the front window. “You don’t believe me? I’m sure you can pick up the emissions signature. See for yourself.” He slammed his finger into the device, disconnecting the call.
“Didn’t buy it?” Vespa asked.
“I think curiosity is gonna get the better of him,” Lone Starr replied. “We’ll keep cruising on this route and you watch, they’re gonna be out there hunting.”
They sailed along, surprised at the speed of the larger ship. They were making good time, but the closer they got to Aeneid, the more Lone Starr worried that his ploy wouldn’t pay off. They’d seen no other racers. Or anyone else, for that matter: no law enforcement, no star destroyers, not even any smugglers.
He was about to give up hope when Vespa gasped and pointed out the window to a small pinprick of light up ahead. Lone Starr leaned closer and smiled.
“Would you look at that? Two star destroyers on the prowl. I wonder who they could be looking for?”
“Let’s slow it down so we don’t end up in the middle of a firefight,” she suggested. Lone Starr got to work on the ship’s controls and soon they were down to a crawl. They could see Aeneid in the distance. The destroyers seemed to be idling nearby, just watching the traffic.
“They must see something we can’t. Over the curvature, maybe.”
And then it happened, like lightning the two ships shot off after something that neither Lone Starr nor Princess Vespa could see. They arced high and gracefully above the planet before letting loose a barrage of rays at something on the far side. Lone Starr moved in for a closer look. They still saw nothing, but in the next instant an explosion shot up out of nowhere, a bright flash in the distance.
“They hit him.”
“Is he going down?”
“Let’s find out.” He gunned the ship forward, tailing the destroyers, trying to maintain a safe distance behind them. Finally they saw it, the grey ship belonging to BoShek Reynolds, on fire and plunging rapidly through the atmosphere of Aeneid.
The destroyers gave chase, diving through the planet’s upper airspace. Just before they disappeared from sight, a huge burst could be seen.
BoShek’s ship had exploded.

***

The Starrari had been drifting aimlessly in a haphazard orbit around Aeneid. The navigation bot had been trying to wake the two racers so that they could authorize the entry into Aeneid’s airspace, but the two were passed out hard, drooling all over the ship’s sleek interior.
When the two destroyers raced by in pursuit of BoShek Reynolds, the Starrari shook violently, jostling Dixie and Johnny’s heads against the windows. Johnny stirred.
“Where the fuck are we?” he muttered.
“We’ve arrived at Aeneid,” the nav replied.
“What the fuck are we still doing up here, then?” Dixie demanded, sitting up and rubbing her head. “Put us down so we can clock in. You better not cost us this race, you cunt nugget.”
“I need you to authorize it. I can’t just land on a planet on my own.”
“Useless,” Johnny muttered. He was about to reach for the ship’s manual controls when an explosion just below Aeneid’s atmosphere shook the ship.
“Huh,” said Dixie. “Wonder what that was all about.”

***

BoShek Reynolds waited until the last moment, just before the shields of his beloved profusion ship gave out, before he pressed the eject button. He crossed his arms over his chest, tucked his chin, and shot out into the air above Aeneid.

Meanwhile...

Also in orbit, but on the other side of the planet, the three priests sat and watched out the window of their ship as the explosion faded into the distance.
“I guess that makes us the favorites,” the gambling priest said.
“Who’d have thought the mighty BoShek Reynolds wouldn’t even make it to the first checkpoint,” the drunk driving priest said. He clutched his glass, his hand shaking. From the backseat, the third priest looked anxious.
“I don’t feel right about this, fellas,” he said.
“What’d’ya mean?”
“Those destroyers weren’t out hunting for BoShek. They tried to take him out because they happened to come across him.”
“So? He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“It’s too much of a coincidence,” the third priest insisted. “Those guys are never in this region. And BoShek is too smart to run with his transponder active.”
“What are you thinking, then?” asked the gambler.
“I think it’s sabotage.” At this, the other two laughed, with the drunk priest almost spitting his precious liquor out over the dashboard.
“By who?” he asked when he’d recovered. “Everyone’s too busy racing.”
“Yeah, I’m with Dartin on this,” said the gambling priest. “Besides, who would have the connections for a thing like that?”
“And anyway, we know all the racers. They’ve all done the run before.”
“Not all of them,” the third priest said. “There was that last team.”
“Princess Vespa? She’s a princess! She’s just doing this for kicks, she for sure doesn’t need the purse.”
“Prolly just wants to piss off her papa.”
“You get a good look at them?” the third priest asked. He started to squirm in the tiny back seat as he reached into the pocket of his cassock. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and passed it to the front. The gambling priest took the paper and held it out. Father Dartin leaned over to take a closer look.
The paper was a wanted poster, featuring the names, information, and mugshots of Dixie Doublestacks and Johnny Go. The back of the sheet was completely filled with various crimes they had been accused or convicted of, and at the bottom, an award was listed in large, bold letters.
The priests looked at one another for a moment.
“Sabotage.”

Meanwhile...

While the priests sat in their ship orbiting Aeneid, Lone Starr and Princess Vespa flew toward them, stopping a short distance away. A moment later, the rear hatch of the utility vehicle opened, and Lone Starr emerged in a transport suit, tethered to the ship.
Princess Vespa watched from the window as he made his way quickly to the rear of the priests’ ship, where he got to work attaching a large banner to the bumper. Once it was secured, he raced back to his ship, and he and Vespa were on their way.
When the priests began their descent onto Aeneid moments later, they had no idea that their ship bore a large, incriminating banner.

COMMUNISTS AND PERVERTS

Dixie and Johnny’s ship entered the atmosphere of Aeneid moments after the three priests, and directly behind them. They were dismayed to learn that they weren’t anywhere near the checkpoint.
“Why couldn’t we just go in near the checkpoint?” Johnny demanded of the navigation device.
“You really don’t know a thing about space travel, do you?” she asked.
“I’ll space your travel, you skank chicken,” Dixie muttered. She started rooting around behind her seat for another bottle of liquor. “How long is this going to take?” she called over her shoulder.
“Only another hour.”
“Only,” Johnny said, shaking his head. “Then you better use this time to get us ahead of those priests.”
Unfortunately, the two ships were a match in terms of power, and the Starrari gained very little on the priests over the next half hour.
They were about fifteen minutes away from the checkpoint and involved in a fierce game of “Dawg, Dong, Devil”, and so didn’t notice the sirens and flashing lights at first. It wasn’t until their own ship slowed that they sat up and took notice.
Outside the windows, a swarm of local police had surrounded the ship belonging to the priests and forced them to land on the side of a dusty roadway. All three men were outside the vehicle, kneeling in the dirt with their hands on their heads. Several officers searched their ship.
Dixie and Johnny stared, wide-eyed, as they flew slowly past the spectacle. Only the third priest, who happened to look over his shoulder at that exact moment, saw them. A look of fury flashed in his eyes.
“I knew there was something funny about those priests,” Dixie said once they had left the scene and picked up speed again.
“Statistically, priests are way more likely to be pervs and commies,” Johnny said. “Ready?” They faced each other across the console and made their hands into fists.
“Three, two, one, BLOW!”

***

The gambling priest, and the drunk one called Dartin, watched as the last police car departed the scene, taking the third priest with them.
“Well this is just great,” Dartin said, turning to his companion. “Who knows what they’re gonna do to Jerry, he’s accused of being a pervert!”
“We didn’t have a choice,” the other man said, heading toward the passenger side of the ship. “If we all kept insisting we were innocent, they’d have arrested all of us. And then how would we win the race?”
“But we just sacrificed our friend!”
The other priest shrugged and closed the door to the ship. As Dartin was about to climb into the driver’s side, the Starrari carrying Dixie and Johnny blasted past.

***

Dixie and Johnny were passed out in the cab of their ship, which was parked haphazardly near the shack that served as the race’s first checkpoint. The pair hadn’t intended to take their mandatory two hour break then, but they’d been having so much fun playing Dawg, Dong, Devil that they’d turned it into a drinking game and were soon down for the count.
While they slumbered, their old Starhawk utility ship, now piloted by Lone Starr and Princess Vespa, drifted into the checkpoint and parked around the back of the shack. The pair got out and walked toward the big neon leaderboard. BoShek Reynolds and the priests had not yet checked in and were listed as being in last place. The two cavemen-looking guys and the ninjas were checked in and marked as taking their mandatory rest, along with Dixie and Johnny. The only team of racers who had already checked in and out were the two hot chicks.
“I had a feeling they’d be the team to beat,” Vespa said to Lone Starr. “The fact that they haven’t taken their rest yet means they should be waiting for us on Oba Diah when we get there.”
“As long as we take out the cro-mags and the ninjas first.”
“What do you have in mind?” Vespa asked. They had turned and started back toward the ship.
“Tripwire.”
“Huh? How are you going to tripwire a spaceship?” Vespa asked. “They hover.”
“Right, but that ninja ship has all sorts of gadgets and obsolete bullshit on it. Come on, let’s take a look.” They walked over to where the ninja’s had parked, beneath a craggly tree that didn’t give them much cover. Lone Starr crouched down. “See under there? Some kind of hook is hanging down. I think they use it to land on one of those weapons platforms. It catches on a cable as they come in and keeps them from going off the far edge.”
“So you want to set up a cable?”
“Yep. Just past the shack. We’ll let ‘em get up some speed before they hit it.”
“Let’s get to work, then.”
They hauled some supplies out of the Starhawk, which was filled with so much disturbing junk that it was actually proving to be very helpful in their quest to sabotage the Kesselball Run racers. A short while later they’d managed to string the tripwire across the takeoff strip.
“Any ideas for the cavemen?” Lone Starr asked, dusting his hands off as he and Vespa walked back to the ship.
“I did have one idea,” she replied.

***

One of the ninjas punched the timeclock and raced back to the high-tech ship, which his partner was powering up. He gave a little wave to the couple of people who were standing around to watch the departures, then jumped into the ship.
A moment later they were off, accelerating down the takeoff strip. The engine whirred, the thrusters fired, and the ship shot forward until

BLAM!

The tripwire caught the bottom of the ship, slamming it suddenly and violently to a halt. The front end plunged to the ground until the nose was buried into the dirt, the metal of the ship creaking loudly as it bent and eventually tore. The thrusters, still firing, lifted the back end. It broke free from the wire and careened, ass over tits, until it was upside down. With a sickening crash, the ship hit the ground, belly up like a dead bug.
The thrusters gave one last burst then, forcing the ship forward again, now heading back the way it had come and with its roof dragging along the ground. The windows burst and the roof collapsed into the cockpit. The ship plowed on another hundred feet, with dirt cascading up from the sides, spraying the small crowd of onlookers, which was growing larger by the second as beings heard the commotion and rushed over to gawk at the spectacle.
The ship finally came to rest near the shack and was still for just a moment before the engines burst into flames. As the fire engulfed the vehicle, the shape of the two ninjas could be seen, desperately trying to extract themselves from the inferno.

Meanwhile…

“Kids,” the navigation said. “Kids, you need to wake up now.” Dixie stirred. Johnny, who had his face pressed against the steering control, didn’t move. “KIDS!” she shouted, turning her volume up as high as possible. Dixie sat upright and looked around while reaching into the pocket of her letterman’s jacket for her pearl handled switchblade.
“Back off, man!” she shouted. The sound of DIxie’s voice woke Johnny, who immediately began a series of karate kicks, which, in the confines of the Starrari’s cabin, meant he kicked the dashboard a few times until he woke up.
“What the fuck,” he said. “Where are we?”
“Kids, we need to get out of here,” the navigation said again. “Something’s going on over there with one of the other teams, so now would be a real good time to make our departure.”
“Oh right,” Dixie said. She started feeling around behind her seat for a bottle of Scotch. “We’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?” Johnny said, cracking his own fresh bottle of Scotch.
“Are you two kidding?” the navigation shrieked. “The Kesselball Run! You’re racing in it and, I thought, trying to win?”
“Not ringin’ a bell,” Johnny said.
“Yeah, trying to win a race doesn’t sound like something we’d do.”
“The purse is four and a half million credits,” the navigation said finally.
“Oh!” Dixie and Johnny exclaimed in unison.
“Get us out of here, lady.”
The ship powered up and cruised to the shack where it came to a stop and idled beside the registration table, which was now empty as the race staff were off rubbernecking at the ninja’s crash.
“What the fuck,” Johnny muttered, attempting to work the ship’s controls. “Why’d we stop? We’re supposed to be going.”
“You have to check out,” the navigation said. “Get your punch card and stamp it in the clock like you did when we got here.”
“Can’t you do it for us?” Dixie asked. She received only silence in response, so she reached into her jacket with a shrug and pulled out the card, handing it to Johnny.
He shook his head. “You go.”
“No way, you do it.”
“Uh uh. I don’t wanna get up.”
“Me neither.”
“Three D ya for it?”
“Ok.” They held their hands out and were about to start yet another round of Dawg, Dong, Devil when the ship’s nav shrieked in frustration.
“Oh will you two grow up! Both of you! Out of the ship right now. You both walk to the table and you both punch the fucking clock, or so help me I will crash this ship into the nearest supernova!”
Dixie and Johnny looked at one another in surprise, then shrugged. “Whatever,” Dixie said, opening the door.
With very little fucking around, they punched the clock, climbed back into the ship, and were cruising slowly toward the take off strip when the flaming body of one of the ninjas used its last vestiges of strength to leap into their path. The man was still on fire and where his suit had burned away, his skin was smoldering.
The ship came to a halt and the ninja stared at them through the windshield. He took a step closer and placed his still burning hands on the hood. Even from within the cab, they could smell his burning flesh.
“You!” he screamed. “I know who you are! You are not the princess! You are murderers! We know you from the posters! You are-” He slumped to his knees.
“Lady,” Johnny Go said. “You gotta get us outta here.”
“Yeah, like now,” Dixie said. And with that, the navigation fired up the engines and they blasted off, the sounds of emergency sirens fading in the distance.

***

“I can’t believe we’re in second place,” said the caveman-looking driver.
“Eh, we had just as much a chance as anyone else to win this thing,” his companion said. “You know what your problem is, Mooks?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”
“You’ve internalized everyone else’s judgments.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, everyone thinks we’re gonna lose this thing because we’re dumb, right? I mean, they’re calling us cavemen, you know.”
“Who is?”
“Everyone! They think we’re some kinda primitive beings, on accounta how we look. They assume we’re not the team to beat.”
“Yeah, but smarts don’t have anything to do with flying a ship, Creiner.”
“I know that, Mooks. Ships are all technology. But half the time, these beings don’t even think we can use technology, which is insulting. And then there’s you, surprised that we’re in second place. You’re just as skeptical of us as everyone else.”
“I never thought of it that way,” the caveman Mooks admitted.
“Well look, we’ve got one team to beat, and they still have to take their rest stop. If we can get to Oba Diah before them, we’re home free.” Creiner and Mooks smiled.
“We should go faster, then, huh Creiner?” Mooks asked. The other caveman nodded and Mooks was about to command the ship into a higher gear when something up ahead caught their attention.
“What’s that?” Creiner’s prominent brow ridge was furrowed in concentration.
“Some kinda sign.”
“I know that. What’s it say?” They sat quietly until they were close enough that they could make out the sign, floating near the edge of the high speed lane.
“Oba Diah,” Mooks read. “It’s the turn off for Oba Diah.”
“That was fast,” Creiner responded. “We’re making great time. Gun it.”
They gunned it, and were soon hopelessly lost in the swirling maelstrom.

***

“What's the plan for the hot chicks?” Princess Vespa asked. They had just touched down on Oba Diah and were cruising toward the checkpoint.
“I don't know,” Lone Starr replied. “Maybe we just intercept them right before the finish and start making out with them. Dixie and Johnny will want in on it, so when they get there, they’ll stop. Then we just yoink the ship and finish the race.”
“How do you know they're gonna want in on it?” Vespa asked.
“Trust me. I've seen them in action. They're the two horniest motherfuckers in the galaxy.” He pulled to a stop beside a dilapidated inn, which served as the checkpoint. They climbed out of the ship and made their way over to the leaderboard. It showed the hot chicks were still in the lead, and had just started their mandatory rest period.
“You think we can make it there before them?” Vespa asked. “In that boat?”
“It’s actually pretty quick,” Lone Starr replied as they hurried back to the ship. “These Starhawks are marketed as “utility” ships, but no one who buys them actually does any work. They just want to go fast.”
“I know the type,” Vespa said, climbing in. “How’s the nav? I wish we had Dotty.”
“It’s state of the art. No personality, but it’ll work. Plus, this sucker’s big enough that we don’t need to stick to the Channel. We can cut across without worrying about being sucked in.” Lone Starr powered up the ship and they entered the end game.

***

“Hey, we’re in second place!” Johnny cried as he jumped back into the ship at the Oba Diah checkpoint. “Only those hot chicks are ahead of us.”
“Hey lady,” Dixie said, giving the dashboard a smack. “Get off your ass and make us beat those hot chicks!”
“First of all, my name isn’t lady,” the navigation said, sounding annoyed. “It’s Dotty. And secondly, you don’t have to smack the ship to get my attention. I’m an androidian navigation device. I don’t feel pain, and I’m not actually part of the ship.”
“Whatever,” Dixie moaned. “Less lecture, you New York sounding twat.”
“I’m gonna ignore that,” she replied with a heavy sigh. “Before we can leave, you two have to make a decision on our route.”
“We already told you,” Johnny said. He was digging around behind the seat for the bag of snacks. “Whatever’s the fastest way is the way we wanna go.”
“Ok, but the fastest way is the most dangerous.”
“And?” Dixie cracked open a bottle and started drinking.
“I have to make sure you’re aware of the risks. We have to go through the options so that you can make an informed decision. It’s part of the liability insurance that’s built into the navigation package.”
“Johnny,” Dixie said. “Let’s just kick the dashboard until she starts moving.”
“You can kick me all you want, but this is a safety feature that cannot be overridden.” They were quiet, staring at one another with hatred in their eyes. “Now if you’re done complaining, I have to show you a quick presentation.”
Something on the dashboard lit up. Dixie and Johnny couldn’t see it, because it was covered in a shirt that Johnny had been wearing. With an annoyed grunt, he moved the shirt. The screen showed a map of what looked like a swirling space storm.
“It looks like one of those lollipops we get at that corner store,” Dixie said.
“That you beat that newspaper guy with?”
“Uh huh.”
“What you’ll see here,” the navigation said, ignoring their banter, “is the Akkadese Maelstrom. We’re here.” A little dot at the bottom of the screen lit up. “The finish line, on Kessel, is here.” Another dot, this time in the center of the swirling mass, flashed.
“There are three routes. The first is through the Channel.” When the navigation said this, a yellow line lit up on the screen, tracing a spiral path through the vortex.
“Is that the fastest?” Johnny asked.
“It is the safest, and will take the longest.”
“Next!” Dixie shouted. The navigation obliged, and a green line lit up. It was almost the same as the yellow, but took a shortcut across an area of the storm early on.
“This route takes you through an area called the Corkscrew. It is faster than the Channel, but more dangerous.”
“Is it the fastest?” Johnny asked again.
“No.”
“Then why are you wasting our time with this, you slimy bilge bucket!” Dixie finished off her bottle and rolled down the window, tossing it out onto the ground.
“The last route takes us in a straight line from where we enter the maelstrom to Kessel. We’ll go straight through the storm.”
“That’s more like it,” Johnny said.
“Yeah, let’s do that one.”
“It is extremely dangerous to go through the maelstrom like this,” she said.
Dixie leaned in and looked at the map. “It’s a storm, what’s the big deal? Me and Johnny live most of our time in Texas. You want storms? We got ‘em.”
“Real Texas Twisters,” Johnny agreed.
“This path takes us through the Maw.”
“Maw, maw, maw!” Dixie squawked. “What’s the Maw?”
“It is an area of the maelstrom that is riddled with black holes”
“Hey Dix, remember when we were super horny and we tried to bone the black hole from The Black Hole?”
“Yeah! And then you didn't remember that shitty Disney movie?”
“And you wanted to make out with Anthony Perkins?”
“I told you! I was thinking of Judd Nelson!”
“Excuse me!” Dixie and Johnny looked at one another and rolled their eyes.
“Our lady of bonerkill wants to talk again,” Dixie muttered. Johnny snorted, spitting out his Scotch.
“The path through the Maw is extremely dangerous and you may not make it out alive. In my expert opinion, this is a very fast ship, and taking the Corkscrew route could still get us into Kessel before the other teams.”
“Thanks for that advice, mom,” Dixie retorted. “In this company, we go big or we go home.”
“Yeah!” Johnny shouted. “Go through that Maw thing.”
“Maw, maw, maw!”

***

“Ok, here they come,” Princess Vespa said. She was peering through a pair of binoculars at the landing strip. They were only a short distance from the finish line. The way Kessel was situated, the racers had to drop into the atmosphere and then immediately descend to the landing strip before they could race along a flat stretch to the finish. Up ahead, a group of spectators watched excitedly for the racers to arrive.
The faint twinkle of spaceship headlights could be seen in the distance, getting closer and closer to the ground.
“Just tell me when, and I’ll back out into them as they pass,” Lone Starr said.
“We’re going to need to jump out right away to make sure they don’t just hit and run in order to get to the finish,” Vespa said. She continued to watch, and soon the ship belonging to the hot chicks was just about to touch down. “They’re going really fast. You’re gonna have to gun it.”
Lone Starr nodded and gunned the engine. He gripped the steering control and took a deep breath, waiting.
“NOW!” Vespa shouted, while simultaneously dropping the binoculars and bracing herself against the armrests of the seat. Lone Starr jammed his foot down, sending the ship in a backward lurch just in time to connect with the front end of the hot chick’s ship. It was over in an instant, with a sickening crunch and thundering jolt. The safety harnesses tightened, holding them in place. Vespa found she could barely breathe, but was otherwise unharmed.
“Showtime!” They jumped out, prepared to give the performances of a lifetime.
“Oh!” Vespa shouted. “Is everyone ok?” As they rounded the rear of the ship, they could see that the Starhawk had sustained minimal damage. The front end of the hot chick’s ship was annihilated.
Vespa ran to the passenger side as an attractive woman climbed stiffly out. Her forehead had a huge gash, and her suit was ripped conveniently revealing her midriff.
“What happened?” the hot chick said, sounding dazed. Vespa reached an arm out to the woman, while on the other side of the ship, the driver climbed out after having kicked out the side window. She was as attractive as her counterpart, and far less injured. She turned on Lone Starr with a fury.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” she screamed, sending a well timed fist into his jaw. He stumbled backward, then recovered and spoke to her softly.
“Hey,” he said soothingly. “I’m really sorry. I was just trying to turn around and I didn’t realize I was near the landing strip.” He reached out to stroke her arm. “You know how these things are.” He smiled.
“No I don’t, asshole. Do you have any idea what this is going to cost us? We’re in the middle of a race! Our ship is fucked!”
Lone Starr made a show of frowning while looking over the crumpled racing ship. He then gestured toward his own ship. “I’m real sorry about that. I’ll definitely give you my information and the insurance’ll take care of it. In the meantime, what do you say we get into my ship, and I take you across the finish?” He reached for her hand again, but she was still too angry and swatted him away.
“Or you give me your ship so me and my girlfriend can finish the race.”
“What about me?” he asked innocently.
“What about you?”
“Well, how am I-” but before he could finish, a second sickening crash startled them all, and they turned in time to see two more racing ships collide violently a short distance behind the scene of the accident. The accident sent both ships careening toward them, with the group diving to safety just before impact.
Looking up from his place on the ground, Lone Starr could see that one ship, the Starrari, bounced off of the other, spinning in a circle away from the pileup. The other ship, belonging to the priests, came to a stop embedded into the rear of the hot chick’s ship. The back was now as damaged as the front.
As the sound of the accident fell away, the hot chick driver raised her head and surveyed the scene. “Motherfucker.”
She climbed to her feet as the two priests stumbled from the wreckage. They were plastered, and stood, swaying, trying to understand what had happened. The one called Dartin looked down at his cassock and sniffed, then raised the fabric to his lips in an attempt to suck the last of the liquor out.
“You drunk fucking assholes!” the hot chick shouted as she stormed over to them. She looked like she was about to pummel them both back to Aeneid. Lone Starr got to his feet and was about to follow her when two figures emerged from the Starrari.
An equally drunk Johnny Go and Dixie Doublestacks looked around and laughed before staggering over to the group. They stopped when they recognized Lone Starr and Princess Vespa, who had just joined him.
“I knew we should have killed them instead of just tying them up,” Dixie muttered.
“I know, but the thought of sex is still making me kinda queasy.”
For a long moment, the various groups stood around and looked at one another, as if unsure what to do next. By this time, a sizable crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle. Johnny took in the destroyed ships and judged the distance between the group, the finish line, and the Starrari, then turned to Dixie.
“Fuck it,” he said. “There’s no rule that says you gotta cross the finish line in your ship.” With that, he and Dixie took off on foot in a wobbly sprint toward the finish. The hot chicks needed only a moment to understand the situation, and were soon only a short distance behind.
The priests overcame their confusion and followed a moment later, leaving Lone Starr and Vespa standing in the wreckage. Vespa looked over at the Starrari.
“Ship looks ok, actually,” she said, taking off toward it, calling out as she went. “Dotty! Power up!”

***

“I can’t run that far,” Johnny complained, his chest heaving. Dixie, who had been running with her thumb plugged into the top of a bottle of Scotch, scanned the cheering bystanders who lined the road.
“I have an idea,” she said, turning suddenly and plunging into the crowd. She made a beeline for a woman holding a small baby wrapped in a blue blanket. With the quickness of a professional provocateur, she grabbed the baby and took off to the far side of the landing strip.
“My baby!” the woman screamed. But Dixie was already across the road, and as the mother continued her frantic screams, she chucked the little bundle into an ornamental pond, then took off again toward the finish.
The hot chicks, seeing this atrocity, couldn’t let it go and veered off course in order to help, wading into the pond to rescue the drowning baby.
Dixie and Johnny increased their lead. The crowd alternated between cheers and jeers. This was the most exciting Kesselball Run in years.
With the priests still far in the distance, and the hot chicks occupied with heroics, Dixie and Johnny were finally able to slow their pace. Still breathing heavily, they walked slowly toward the finish, savoring the fact that their quick thinking meant they could cross the finish line in a leisurely, dignified fashion and still win the race.
The finish line, with its checkered flags waving, table of race officials, and crowd of cheering fans, was finally in sight when a noise caught their attention. The crowd lining the strip gasped and pointed. Dixie and Johnny turned and looked just in time to see the Starrari barreling down on them. The ship was straining, using every last ounce of power to overcome the damage it had sustained. The grinding of the engines became louder as it got closer. Dixie and Johnny stopped.
“That Dotty is really something, isn’t she? She’s winning the race for us!”
“This is great,” Johnny agreed. “Now all we have to do is just sneak in the back once we get there, then climb out like we flew in with the ship.”
The Starrari, with Lone Starr at the controls and Princess Vespa leaning eagerly forward in her seat, was about to cross the finish line. They could almost taste the four and a half million credits when:

Wooooooosh!

Seemingly out of nowhere, a tiny personal spacecraft that looked a little like a jetski blasted by them all in a cloud of lightning and dust, with BoShek Reynolds seated proudly astride.
Before anyone knew what had happened, he had crossed the finish line first. The race was over.