Chapter Nineteen

The Hutts on the balcony were in an uproar. Even without amplifiers Skeet could hear their deep rumbling voices raging and shouting. Jabba was strangely quiet as he regarded the figure in the speeder, so far below him.

Skeet was visibly shaking, noticing that several beings were coming out of the gate in the front of the fortress, their weapons hanging loosely from shoulder straps. He considered powering up and gunning away, but he knew that the flight ceiling of the landspeeder had been set at one meter, a requirement of the race, and he would never get through the press of vehicles.

Jabba rumbled and the ‘droid said, “Which Hutt?”

In a small voice Skeet replied,

“Komag.” He saw that there had been no reaction from the Hutts and so he raised his voice to be heard.

“Komag!”

More voices started to emanate around him as the collection of racers started musing over the incident. Skeet stood his ground and waited.

The lizard was smiling broadly, his revenge for Skeet’s interference in the race on Raca City seemingly satisfied. He opened his mouth to speak but was stopped before he started. He looked up at the balcony with a perplexed expression.

Jabba was laughing, his mirth evident as his massive bulk shook with his humour. The racers, the armed beings in the gate, even the other Hutts, waited for a reason as the laughter died down and Jabba started a long sentence to explain his joy.

His rolling voice was interpreted by the ‘droid as he spoke.

“The almighty Jabba is amused. Komag was a worthless Hutt who never amounted to anything, an embarrassment to his clan and to their kind. He is pleased that this troublesome upstart has finally been dealt with. Anyone who is capable of such a thing deserves a reward. Welcome to the race.”

The long breath Skeet had been holding rushed from his lungs and he lowered his head with his eyes closed. The racers gathered about him either laughed quietly or gave him hard stares. With a shake of his head Skeet looked up.

The lizard was obviously furious but did his best to keep it under control. He glared at Skeet, his eyes swirling with hate and rage, his long-fingered hands clenched. He raised one hand and pointed a long finger at Skeet. With a snap of his fingers and his eyes still locked on the man who had embarrassed him he walked back into the crowd.

Skeet felt Emag and Driss at the side of the speeder and he looked up.

“I must be the luckiest son of a... I don’t believe it. That damn lizard!”

“That was Gern Omik,” Driss warned. “He hasn’t been racing long but I hear that at least three have died in vehicle collisions with him. He’s not the kind of being to treat lightly.”

“And you’re right,” Emag added, “You are lucky. If it had been any Hutt other than Komag you’d be a small pile of cinders by now.”

The speeders were starting to head towards several flag wavers who had amassed about a quarter of a kilometre from the fortress. Voices were raised, shouts from competitors to adversaries and well wishers to friends. As Skeet powered up the speeder Driss handed a small cylindrical item to him.

“Here. It’s a comlink. It’s got quite a range so let’s keep in touch, warn each other of stuff, okay? I’m a little worried about you and Gern so let me know you’re okay.”

“Sure,” Skeet said, clipping the small device onto his controls. “Good luck.”

Driss patted him on the shoulder.

“You too.” He slapped Emag lightly on the shoulder and started for his own landspeeder. Emag nodded his appreciation and turned back to Skeet. He leaned into the cockpit of the vehicle and spoke low and quickly, noticing that the other racers were already lining up at the start.

“Listen, Skeet. This race will be a brutal assault on your stamina and I want you to be ready for it. You’ll be racing against opponents already hardened to long-distance piloting and against some that will be willing to do anything to get that prize money. Even at full speed in this thing and with no sleep you’ll be lucky to get back here in a day and a half. I’d say just over two days, to be optimistic. You’ll have all kinds of dangers and creatures throwing things at you, never mind the other racers, and the locals here don’t take too kindly to speeders tearing through their moisture farms. Watch out for anything.” Skeet was starting to slowly coast the landspeeder to the starting point, Emag walking alongside. “Try to stay away from the others and listen to whatever Driss tells you. He’s a pro at this and his advice is sound. Try to get across the Dune Sea in one go. It won’t help if you stop out there. And don’t get angry, impatient. Just relax. Let your instincts take over and don’t fret. Just race.”

Skeet looked up at his uncle, wondering how he knew so much about the race but deciding not to pursue the issue. He smiled as Emag placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t get lost, nephew,” he said.

“Don’t worry, uncle,” Skeet replied, “I’ll be back.”

Emag stopped and watched his only relative take his place along the long line of fifty assorted vehicles, all revving engines and preparing for the race of their lives.

He sighed heavily as he dropped his encouraging smile, turned, and headed quickly for the Happy Contriver.

“Okay, gentlebeings, I need your attention!”

A Twi’lek male, his headtails curling around his neck and his clothes glaringly white in the brightness of the twin suns, held up a hand as he stood in front of the line of speeders. A microphone hovered by his face, several loudspeakers also hovered throughout the vehicles, and he cleared his throat before he started.

“Ten thousand kilometres to cover and the rules are simple. No weaponsfire for the first two thousand or disqualification. No automatic piloting anywhere or disqualification. After the first two thousand you can do whatever you think is necessary to get around the course, but there is a five-kilometre corridor you may not stray out of. To do so means disqualification. When you reach the end of the two thousand straight you will split into two groups, your direction will be indicated to you by the coloured datachip tokens you are being issued now which also contain the route co-ordinates.” Small spherical ‘droids were zipping from speeder to speeder, dropping either red or blue markers into random vehicles. “Reds turn left, blues right, and then you get onto the circular course. You’ll all meet head on about halfway round, which will make things interesting. When you complete the eight thousand-kilometre circle you’ll be back on the straight back to here. Again, no weapons allowed, just racing. Several starships will be monitoring you from low orbit so we’ll know of any cheating or shortcutting, and all speeders will be checked for modifications after the race. Anyone found cheating will have his or her possessions, speeder and all, confiscated. A blue beam will be laid out for the returning racers. All you have to do is touch it and you’ve finished. That’s it. I’m not going to wish any of you luck. You’ll need more than that out there.”

The Twi’lek walked away from his talking point quickly as the racers responded to his speech by raising their engine noise to a high, ear-hurting level. Skeet joined in, intoxicated by the moment and trying to ready himself for the race.

“I have run a short diagnostic and all systems appear to being functional, master Skeet. Are you prepared?” Enneight asked.

Skeet took in a deep breath, wondering what the signal was going to be to start. The flag wavers had all run from the path of the vehicles as they heaved and shivered like animals desperate to be freed from a leash.

“Yeah, Enneight, I’m prepared. I don’t believe this is happening. I don’t believe I’m here. It doesn’t seem real.”

“Well, you are here, sir, and this is as real as it gets. You concentrate on the race and I will monitor the vehicle’s performance.”

The comlink on Skeet’s controls beeped and he heard Driss’ voice emanate from the speaker.

“Are you ready for this, Skeet?”

Skeet smiled as he repeated his answer.

“Yeah, I’m ready. This is unbelievable.”

“What colour marker did you get?”

“Er... blue.”

“Same as me. Watch my back, kid.”

“Good luck, Driss.”

The noise of the landspeeders had reached an impossibly high sound, the engines screaming their torment as they longed to be released. The rocky ground wavered in front of Skeet’s eyes as the heat haze forced everything out of focus. Dust from the thrusters of several vehicles drifted over his speeder.

A Quarren, his squid-like head covered in heat-resistant swathes of cloth, climbed a small rocky protrusion to the left of the line of racers, a heavy pistol in his hand. All eyes fell on him as he raised his weapon, his eyes looking over them all.

He held the pistol aloft for a few seconds and then, with a twitch of his finger, he began the Tatooine Ten Thousand.