Space Race (Space Race 1) by Nathan Hystad (book recommendations for young adults .TXT) 📕

I sat in my chair again, picturing an alien world through the viewer instead of the dusty rocks atop the dormant Maui volcano. What would Proxima b bring if we gained access to it? I laughed silently at my use of the word we. I’d just mentally chided my own mother for buying in to a Corporation, and two weeks later, I was doing the exact same thing. Maybe Bryson was different, but he was probably putting on a show for us. We were outsiders. Expendables to assist him in his own goals. But there was Holland. He wouldn’t use his own kid, not unless he was an even bigger snake than the other CEOs.

Jade poked her head into the cockpit. “You coming?”

“You bet.”

We toured the rest of the ship, seeing the bedrooms, each with two bunks. Luther and Holland took the first one, which left me with Jade Serrano.

“I hope you don’t snore,” she said.

“I don’t sleep much,” I told her.

“Only in the middle of the day?”

“Something like that.”

I watched her leave the compact bunk room, and glanced at her bed. They were only ten feet apart… and she was a very attractive woman. I hoped this didn’t get awkward. None of us could afford distractions during the Race.

We ended in the kitchen, and R11 showed us how to use the devices. Most of it was preprogrammed, allowing us to avoid burning our own food. A metal table sat centering the room, with benches welded into the floor all around it.

“Is there coffee?” Luther asked, and R11 pressed an icon, changing the quantity to five. A panel slid open after a minute, and a tray extended with our drinks, revealing steaming mugs etched with our logo.

Bryson took his and set it on the table. “Now are you glad we waited?”

We sat down, and R11 started to walk away. “Where’s he going?” I asked.

“R11 returns to his station in the corridor when not in use,” Bryson advised.

“Are the other Racers on par with this?” I finally asked.

“I should hope not. Then we don’t have the advantage. The reality is, we’re unable to see each other’s vessels until Race day. The Board will run a diagnostic—to ensure none of the craft have illegal modifications—the day prior, and anyone unable to meet specs will be disqualified, unless they can modify before the clock starts.” The CEO sipped his coffee.

“And will number eleven pass?” It looked too fancy, too advanced to not be overly modified.

Bryson winked. “She’ll pass.”

“Can we fly her?” I took a drink, pleased at how strong the brew was.

“Not today. I’d like you to explore more, and to have a night’s sleep on here first. There’s a process I’d like you to follow.”

“What was I thinking?” I asked. The draw of returning to that cockpit and racing this bird through the sky was almost too much to ignore. “Tomorrow?” I could wait that long, if I had to.

“That’s right. If you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend.” Bryson rose, stopping at the door while his son jogged over. They exchanged a few hushed words, and the CEO departed, leaving the team onboard.

Luther was the first up, pacing the kitchen. “I’m still trying to understand my role here. Tactical and mapping?”

Holland jogged back and set his palms on the table as he leaned in. “Haven’t you guys ever watched the Primary Races?”

“Never had the time. We’ve been working and trying to survive our whole lives,” Jade told him.

“I’ve seen pieces, but only the Pod races,” Luther said. “Lotus hosted them five years ago over the Great Wall.”

“I remember that. Travis Brenner won for Oasis,” Holland said, playing with his Tab. He shot the video feed from the device and dimmed the lights. We watched as an Oasis-branded Pod Sprinter shot over the crumbling structure of a long-gone era. It switched from a view from the ground to an overhead shot by race drones, and then to what I imagined was video from the nose of the Pod itself.

Travis lowered between the wall’s edges, moving for the final checkpoint as someone bumped into his Pod from behind. He started to lose control but impressively retained his positioning while another Pod came at him from a different angle. The circular checkpoint was rushing closer, the burning Ring growing larger with each passing moment.

And when it looked like Travis might lose to a Sage Industries pilot, he edged him out, entering the finish Ring first. Holland killed the feed and hit the lights. “Pretty epic.”

I’d heard about Travis Brenner while I’d worked at Oasis, and a few times in the circuit. He was five or so years under me, so we’d never come face to face. By the time he was getting serious with racing, I was retiring. Some of the Oasis employees went as far as to wear his number seventeen on jumpsuits in support of his races, but I’d never really paid it any mind. “I assume he’s on their team?”

“We won’t hear for a couple of weeks, but he’s one of the best Pod sprinters, so I bet he’s a captain.”

“And there’s no telling who Sage’s captain will be?” I tested him.

“That’ll definitely be Varn Wallish. I mean, the guy’s a legend,” Holland said.

Varn Wallish. God, I hated the man. “Sure, why wouldn’t it be him?”

“You know him?” Luther asked.

“We started the circuit around the same time. He was good, but I was better. He never beat me, but we had a few close calls. Eventually, he took all the trophies.”

“But only when you quit.” Holland was trying to be nice, but the word quit incited a lot of bad memories.

“Yes, after I retired my Pod.”

“Did you stay friends?” Holland leaned on the table, clearly interested.

“No. After he turned eighteen, he got hurt in a practice session. Never kept up on the professional circuit. We actually passed the commercial test during the identical run at Sage Headquarters. He took risks and never lost a