Pefbet raced home, backpack bouncing against his shoulders. He held the straps tightly. A hand-me-down from his older sister, if he didn’t hold the straps the backpack would hang down by his butt, which was very uncomfortable. Times like this made him wish he had a backpack that fit, but that isn’t what he was going to spend his money on.
Pefbet pushed the door open when he arrived and dropped the
bag on the floor. His mother would shout
at him, he knew, but he was also late getting home. Can’t miss, can’t miss, can’t miss! The race wouldn’t have started yet – but the introductions
had already begun.
He turned on the screen in the living room flopped his big
body onto seat bed. The Queen’s voice
filled the room. “I wish you well, as
does all of Baroonda.” She bowed as the
crowd shouted their well wishes, and the camera cut to Merty Plugg, who waved
in return. Pefbet mumbled his
well-wishes, as was the least he could do to a rival. “And finally, a welcome to Salta Nasom.” The camera cut to a brown and yellow podracer
taking it’s starting position. “I wish
you well, as does all of Baroonda.” Pefbet
mumbled frustratedly as the screen showed Salta waving his unusually large
hands. They say it gave him better
control of the steering, which sounded like cheating to Pefbet. But that’s not what frustrated Pefbet this
time – what was frustrating him was that he had missed Peale Cairo’s
introduction. Then the camera showed the
racers at their starting places, and Pefbet frantically looked for Cairo’s
podracer. The purple one was not hard to
spot. He jumped up on his seat and said
“I wish you well, Cairo!” Better late
than never.
The screen cut to an ad, and Pefbet jumped off the couch and
ran into the kitchen. “Slow down, PB!” his older brother, Keers, said. “Can’t can’t can’t!” He squealed as he opened the cupboard and
grabbed a snack bag. Then he veered back
into the living room, the impression of his feet still clear on the couch. “Gonna start gonna start gonna start!” He plopped down on the edge and tore the bag
open, waiting for the ads to go away.
Keers came in after him.
“At least take a tray. Try to
contain your mess.” Pefbet took the tray
without looking over. Keers reached his
hand in front of the screen. “Hey, come
on!” Pefbet shouted, but then he
remembered, “Thank you, Keers!”
“You’re welcome, and don’t forget to use it.”
Pefbet put the tray on his wide lap, covering the few crumbs
that already had fallen. As a Gammorean,
everything about Pefbet was wide, and much of him was green, except for some
browning around his mouth, inside his ears, and above his eyes. His flat snout was also brown. He brought a few chips to his mouth and
chewed them mindlessly, as the Gammorean on the screen told him about Panmith’s
Engine Repairs, where three-time Baroonda Circuit champion Sarong Daef comes
for fixes, and so should you.
Cool! Pefbet
thought. He wondered if his parents ever
brought the family speeder to Panmith.
If they did, maybe he could go with them and maybe they’d run into
Sarong, who wasn’t as great as Cairo of course, but maybe he knew Cairo,
and would introduce them. Maybe Cairo
needed someone to oversee his pit droids.
Pefbet could do that, probably.
What’s so hard about ordering droids around? “Fix this, fix that!” He said out loud, pointing randomly around the
room. Yeah, I could do that. Until I’m old enough to race myself, of
course.
The race came back and the camera panned overhead. Beyond the starting point, Baroonda swamps
filled the screen. Finally, the camera focused
on the racers at their starting position.
Cairo’s purple podracer was in the middle of the group. Seats full of fans lined the starting
track. Pefbet tried to imagine how
things would look from one of those seats.
Then the camera cut to the Queen, now standing high above the track.
With a flick of her wrist, she waved a mallet into a large
gong, and Pefbet felt his body tense with excitement as the race began.
Cairo started strong, in fourth place. Cairo was a brainy, not a brawny, driver. Like me! Unless something unusual happened, Cairo wouldn’t
make a break for first until the end of the final lap. Saving his energy. But being in fourth meant he was in one of
the spotlight corners. Pefbet leaned
left and right with the turns, spilling blue crumbs on the floor.
Pefbet had heard if you’re at the race you can ask for a
screen that always shows your favorite driver, no matter where they were in the
race. But at home he had to depend on the
broadcast, which focused more on winners than strategies, or at least this is
what Pefbet’s dad said. Cairo was his
dad’s favorite racer, too. The corners
of the screen spotlighted the top four racers, while the middle of the screen
tried to give a wide shot of the race.
The announcers discussed the latest podracing news. Sarong was mulling coming out of retirement
for the Quadrennial Podlympics; Chusen Batch had reportedly changed his workout
routine to improve his stamina; A young human had won the Boonta Eve race on
Tatooine; Torsh Raetz’ pod looked different, had he upgraded his flaps? Pefbet was fascinated by this talk, even as
his eyes were trained on Cairo’s corner.
There was nothing about podracing that bored him. He’d already had his life mapped out. After I retire from being a champion racer,
I’ll be an announcer, then a mentor to new podracers. As he thought about this,
he watched Cairo take the swampy turns leisurely, staying in the middle of the
clearings and avoiding the brush on the edge.
More blue chips fell onto the straw, yellow carpet. Suddenly the announcer interrupted
themselves, “It seems we have Rehthou coming up fast. Torsh may have new flaps, Gerry, but Rehthou’s
going like he’s got a whole new engine pair.
Look at those babies spin,” the main camera quickly cut to show
Rehthou’s tan podracer speed by.
“You said it, Deckis, he’s basically flying down that
straightaway. Passing Salta and Cairo and
now Tadcaster. The course gets a bit
twisty now so he’ll have to slow down for a bit, but from seventh to third in a
single stretch is quite a run!”
“I’ll say so – let’s hope his engines can take that kind of
beating. Lots of race to go.” The announcers went back to passing rumors
and reading ad copy. With Cairo out of
the spotlight, Pefbet hopped off the couch and walked into the kitchen, careful
not to spill any more crumbs.
The best part of any race was the beginning and the end. “When you’re there you pay attention the
whole time” his dad had said, who enjoyed recalling his one attendance at the
Baroonda coast race, “Especially because all the racers fly by the stands with
their own unique buzz.” He scrunched his
large lips up and tried to imitate the sound, but laughed when he obviously
failed. “I can hear it still in my ears,
though. Villgo’s had the buzz like those
freighters you hear landing downtown.
It’s sweet-sounding.” Then he’d
gesture dismissively to the screen. “You
think these racers sound good here? Way
better in person.”
“I want to go!”
Pefbet would plead.
“One day, PB. They’re
expensive tickets, you know. But one
day, we’ll get you there.”
Keers was sitting at the kitchen table, reading off his
datapad. Pefbet opened the cupboard
again and looked at his options. He
hadn’t minded the Blue Milk chips – they had a thick flavor that stayed in your
mouth – but it wasn’t his favorite. Just
what he’d grabbed in his rush.
“Excuse me,” Keers said loudly. “Some of us are trying to study.”
“I didn’t do anything!” Pefbet exclaimed, reaching into the cupboard and
grabbing two more bags.
“You were hmming.
Think with your head, not with your mouth.” Keers shook his green head and quietly said,
“Sithspawn.” But not quietly enough.
“I’m telling mommy!”
“And I’ll tell her you just grabbed two more bags of snacks,
when you’ve already had one.” Keers
looked up from his datapad. He and Pefbet
locked eyes for a moment, before Pefbet quickly looked away.
“Fine,” he said, walking into his room.
“And don’t forget to clean up. She’ll know what you did if she finds three
kinds of crumbs on the floor.”
“FINE!” Pefbet
yelled, not listening.
“Amateur,” Keers sighed as he reached over with his long arm
to close the cupboard door.
Pefbet threw the snack bags on his bed and went to his toy
shelves. They were full of podracers and
pit droids. He took Cairo’s podracer off
the shelf and started running around the room.
He turned, tilted, and flew the podracer to avoid imagined obstacles. Other racers came into view and he passed
them with ease. A ramp? He jumped it.
An antigravity tunnel? He
artfully avoided the floating rocks, which the other racers crashed into. One of the rocks nicked the left engine. Gotta repair that! He landed the podracer on his bed, then started
counting down from 30. He dashed back to
his toy shelves and grabbed two pit droids.
He set them both up at the left engine.
He started making a shushing noise as they drilled the engine back together. When it was running again, he grabbed the
droids and ran back to the shelves. He
didn’t have enough time to stand them upright, so he tossed them on the shelf
and ran back to his bed just as he said “30!”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you counted a little slow
there towards the end,” he heard a voice say behind him. He turned around, and almost dropped his toy
in surprise. “Dad!” He ran to him and into a big hug. When he backed away, his dad said, “You
better get back to the race, looks like the third lap is starting. Mind if I join you?
“Yeah!” Pefbet was sure to grab the snacks on his bed as
they left.
His dad sat on the grey couch, and Pefbet sat on his big
lap. Eyes glued to the screen, they both
ate from their snack bags. Pefbet ate a
black finger-size strip, and his dad chewed purple gummies flavored Regup, a
juicy swamp fruit. Pefbet felt his dad’s
big hand on top of his head, gently covering his horns, which were still
growing out. He let his own hand rest on
his dad’s knee.
Cairo was able to take advantage this course’s final wide
turns. Most racers only passed at
straightaways, but his pod had been built with turning in mind. Cairo was always trying to outthink the
opposition. In the final minute of the
race he went from 6th to 2nd, though Nasom passed him in
the final straightaway.
Pefbet’s father put him on the floor as the two of them celebrated
his good finish with cheers and dancing.
When they were done, Pefbet turned his attention back to the
screen. Since he’d finished in the top
four, Cairo was going to be part of the post-race interview.
“PB, look at this floor!” He heard his dad say. “Let’s clean up before your mom sees this.”
“Wait, wait,” Pefbet said, waving his hand without turning
away from the screen.
“No, let’s do it now,” His dad’s voice turned stern. “We’ll leave the volume up and when we hear
Cairo talking we can take a break,”
“Bu-“
“Think about your allowance,” His dad said. Pefbet’s mind suddenly filled with the image
of a miniature racetrack of Baroonda Coast with miniature podracers to race on it. He wanted it so badly.
He dropped to his knees and started picking up the crumbs.
“Get the big ones,” his dad said, “We’ll get the smaller
stuff with the suctodriver.”
Soon Cairo’s interview began, and Pefbet stopped what he was
doing to listen.
“Peale,” said the interviewer, a being with a tall skinny
body and long arms. “Was waiting for
those final turns your strategy all along?”
Peale Cairo’s voice was chipper and quick. “Of course.
Podracing’s a tough sport, and lots of these guys really tire out at the
end. Heck, even I almost did except for
the powerful formula of Augile, Baroonda’s Favorite Drink. Augile keeps me at my best all race. I also gotta give a shout out to
Balterative’s couplings. Things felt a
bit shaky in the second lap, but I activated their power couplings unique
Balt-grip and the engines tightened right up.
I tell you, can’t make those tight turns on a loose coupling.”
“Thank you, Cairo, and congratulations.”
“Thank you, Gerfin, and also big thank you to all my
fans. I’m real appreciative of the love
and support we get from you each and every day.
Today I want to thank Kelt Ogerp, who sent us a real nice letter. Says he’s been a fan for years. Well, Kelt, thanks for the love, and for the
rest of you, keep sending those letters – they really inspire me. Thanks again, Gerfin.”
Pefbet’s head dropped slightly and crumbs fell from his
loosened hands.
“I’m sure he got your letter,” his dad said. “You heard what he said – they read all of
them!”
“Yeah,” Pefbet sighed, “But I wish he would have talked
about mine.”
“Keep writing, and I bet he will!” His dad said optimistically.
Pefbet huffed a bit. “Can I write one now?”
His dad motioned to the floor. “Not yet.
Let’s use the Sucto to finish up here first.”
***
“You shouldn’t push the engines like that at the start,”
Odent Rez, a dark-skinned Majan, said. “They’ll
do better later on. I’m sure it feels
good to start the race in the top half, but that’s not when it counts.”
“Well, actually,” Kunier Dexplutio, a blue arcona, cut in,
“Our sponsors really like it. IF you can
get in the top four – which you did, Peale.
And,” Kunier motioned to Peale Cairo as he turned back to Odent, “to his
credit, once he got passed he let himself drop back significantly.
“You know what our sponsors like even more,” said
Odent. He paused for effect. “Winning races. Nobody wants to buy a product that gets you
third place.”
“But the start of the race is when the most people are
watching. That kind of coverage is like
juri juice to sponsors.”
“It wasn’t the engines,” Peale cut in. His voice was grumbly and loud. Nothing like it had been during the
interview. “My rear sensor didn’t go
off. I thought I’d dusted Nasom long
ago. If that had gone off, I would have
pushed the engine more – or maybe I could have drifted to block his pass.”
Kunier looked at Odent with a smile and a hard stare. “Sponsors don’t like faulty sensors, either.”
Odent sighed, scratched at his earlobes, and looked down and
tapped the screen on the table. “OK,
we’ll take a look at those and check those during our next practice.”
As he did, Kunier craned his head to look into Peale’s mug. “Want some more, by the way?”
“As long as it isn’t that Augile crap,” Peale grumbled.
Kunier turned his sizable head left and right. There were a few media crew set up outside
the windows. “Cameras are still here, so
it might have to be. Sponsors are always
on the lookout.”
“Just use the Augile thermos,” Odent said without looking
up. “It’s in the cabinet, right
shelf. Pour whatever you want in there
and it won’t make a different.”
Kunier stood and took Peale’s monogrammed mug and put it in
the sink. “What do you want, then?”
“Peandu Pop,” Peale said.
Kunier opened the refrigerator and saw the green bottle. He reached into the cabinet above and took
out the tall thermos. Holding it up he
said “You coulda fooled me about not liking this. That part of the interview was great.” He turned to the open fridge and – sure to shield
what he was doing from anyone still filming their post-race breakdowns – filled
the thermos with Peandu. He placed the
thermos in front of Peale as he sat back down.
“But you still need to work on is your fan service. Tell me more about this fan you mentioned.”
Peale’s eyes narrowed over the brim of the thermos as he
drank, but Kunier let the silence hang. He reluctantly put the thermos down, unable to
delay any more.
Peale wiped his mouth to buy some time. “Umm, he’s a big fan. Said he collects racer cards. I think he said he-”
“What was his name again?”
Peale squinted his dark eyes as he struggled to remember
what he said. “Gelt… Kofert?”
Odent chuckled under his breath, “Not even close!”
“His name was Brutt Lemitch,” Kunier corrected.
“What did I say?”
“Kelt Ogerp.”
“That’s a real name I bet.
Somewhere out there.”
“That would be so much worse!”
Peale let out a familiar sight. “I wish it were enough just to win.”
Kunier lowered his voice and leaned forward, “Winning only
gets you so much, Peale. Sponsors and
fans want a racer to relate to. On this
backwater you can get away with slacking, but if you ever want to go galactic,
you’ll have to pick up your personality game.”
The two Baroonda natives stared hard at the interloper, “We
can’t all be fortunate enough to be born on the high-and-mighty Takodana,”
Peale retorted.
“No, but I knew enough to go when the going got good. You want to live here forever?”
Peale and Odent exchanged glances, but Odent shrugged. “Backwater may be a bit harsh, but he’s got a
point.”
“I just-”
Odent lifted a long finger and said through a smile, “Even
if winning were enough, you aren’t winning.” Peale waved him off with a groan.
“In your case, your personality is bantha poodoo, and
attracts them, too. Gammorean’s aren’t a
great fanbase for a galactic run, but they out number you Majan here by quite a
bit. But we can still build you a brand. But to do that you have to name fans – real
fans. Not this gobbledygook. One day you’re gonna get a name wrong and the
press is gonna find that person and they’re gonna say they’ve never heard of
you – or worse they’re a Sarong die-hard, and then what?” Kunier paused to take a breath and calm his
voice.
“These fan letters are a gift. Just remember the damn names. Say their names on air – correctly – and
they’ll be your fan for life. Not just them,
but their friends, maybe even their school. That kind of attention can go a long way!”
Peale nodded his head.
“Ok, sorry. It’s just hard to
remember right after race. Why don’t I
say it before the race?”
“That’s exactly why it matters to say it at the
end. Because it’s hard, and they’ll appreciate
it.”
“And what if you name a fan and lose? No one wants to announce they’re a fan of the
guy who got in last.”
“Right, right.” Peale
sighed, drinking from his thermos. Odent
gave his datapad a definitive tap and set it down “OK, got the sensor repairs
scheduled. And while you two were
talking I had the engines checked – you’re right, they weren’t anywhere near
burnt. So, when we get those rears
figured out, you should be all set next time.
Anyway, all we’ve covered is the start and end of the race. Let’s study the rest, right? I saw some things in the second lap I think
you could improve on, too.”
“Great,” Peale said eagerly, “Let’s hear it!”
***
Several weeks later, Pefbet was sitting on the floor,
stuffing his mouth with purple Regup gummies, watching the third lap begin. Next to him was a model of Cairo’s podracer,
fallen on its side. He loved morning
weekend races. As the lone early-riser
in his family, it was nice to have something to do while everyone slept. Plus, he got to sit right up to the TV
without anyone telling him not to.
Cairo was very far back, but Pefbet knew better than to give
up hope. That’s part of being a fan –
dedication even when things were dire. It
made the thrill of winning all the better.
He reached over to pick up his toy podracer, groping blindly as his eyes
were glued to the screen. Finally, he
got it and held it in front of him.
He held the racer from the bottom, imagining the grasses on
the edge of the swamps racing towards him.
Even in his mind it was really quite a blur. Pefbet assumed he’d get better with
practice. Then the grass was left behind
and they were racing over a swamp under a cliff. The shadow shielded them from the sun.
When the swamp ended they were racing over Baroonda dirt,
compacted over centuries of racing.
Baroonda Coast was one of the planet’s oldest courses, in fact. They raced through tunnels and into clearings,
and Pefbet imagined Cairo letting him take control for a few moments. “Quite good!”
He heard his high voice laugh, as he took control again at the upcoming
turns. Pefbet felt a thrill. He tilted his body with the sharpness of the
turn.
The announcer’s voice took him out of his reverie. “Cairo’s gaining on Smekk, but there isn’t
much race left. Think he can do it,
Gerry?”
“Cairo’s always a late bloomer, Deckis. Never count him out. And Salta and Larpo are neck and neck for first. That’s what I love about this course – the
wide final stretch means it’s anybo-”
“OH!!!” Both
announcers suddenly shouted together, and Pefbet opened his eyes to see what
had happened. The main screen showed a
trail of smoke, and in the distance was something spilling more. The camera cut to a different angle, and
Pefbet could see a single engine weaving across the course, the pilot’s seat
wagging behind like a Hutt’s tail. The
engine hit the swamp water with a splash, and the pilot’s seat was flung into
the waters. His heart lifted a little as
he saw the engine was yellow. Cairo’s
engines were purple, so he was OK.
“Looks like Meesh is out of this race. Hope he’s alright. There go the rally droids. We’ll check back in later. I guess the only good news is he was already
in last place, so no one’ll run into him.”
“Yeah, looks like one of his engine cords came loose, and
then the power coupling burst under the stress.
And here comes Salta in first closely followed by Larpo. Faligrey easily takes third, as Cairo and
Smekk continue to battle a few turns behind.
Kee is also catching them both – that new design is really helping him
take advantage of those turns.”
“Yeah, I bet Meesh wishes he’d had one of those pods just
about now, too.”
While podracers were traditionally two forward engines
connected to a pilot’s seat several meters behind, Neva Kee had built his
podracer to be more like a regular speeder.
The cockpit was up front, and the twin engines were directly behind. There weren’t even any cables connecting them,
it was all one piece like a regular speeder.
Pefbet thought this was cheating, and that Kee shouldn’t be allowed to
enter a speeder into a podrace.
“Kee’s into overdrive!
He’s breaking 500, 600, Kee’s going 700!
Unbelievable! If he can maintain
that kind of speed, maybe we’re seeing podracing as we know it being
changed. Look at that dust – or is that
smoke? Hard to tell, but Kee’s got
enough speed to take 4th on this one. Then Smekk and then Cairo. Alright, that’s a wrap on this one. Deckis, anything stand out to you in this one
while we wait for our post interviews?
“You know, I know a lot of people love podracing as it is,
but this sport’s been the same since I started.
There’s no reason it can’t evolve.
I know we love our traditions, but so much else changes, right? I think podracing could be even better if we
let it improve. If it isn’t Kee’s
design, it will be something else. What
do you think, Gerry?”
Pefbet didn’t care what Gerry thought. His eyes burned. “I hate that stupid Neva Kee!” he shouted, as the purple model fell from his
hand. He’d completely forgotten he was
holding it. Through blurry vision he saw
it crash to the floor with a sickening crack.
Pefbet threw out his arm to pick it up, but his trembling hands couldn’t
get a good grip. Pefbet tried to remember to take some deep breaths to stay
calm, just like his teachers had taught him, but he suddenly imagined Cairo
crashing instead of Meesh. And
dying! And it was all his fault!! And everyone knew it! Now they’d never let him be a podracer. “Never, never, never!” He was suddenly shouting, and the world
around him was shaking. Everything felt
terrible, and he hated it.
“Hey, hey, hey” a deep soothing voice suddenly said. He felt his mother’s hand run over his head. He gasped uncomfortably and writhed from her
enveloping arms. No one could comfort
him! He killed Cairo, the greatest
podracer ever! But she held on, firm but
kind, and whispered at him to breathe. “Like
this,” she said, breathing loudly but slowly.
He felt compelled to imitate her, and the world came into clearer view. He wiped his eyes and as he saw his mother’s
looking back at him he became aware of how tight everything in his body had
become.
He didn’t know how to loosen it, but she did.
She propped him up on shaky feet and rubbed his shoulders and
back. Everything felt looser than it
ever had. Would he melt this time for real? He closed his eyes and leaned into her, and
she hummed an old melody in his ear.
When his breathing became quite calm, and his body not so hot, she
picked him up and put him on the couch.
Kneeling in front of him on the floor, she said “Tell me what happened,
my dear P.”
He tried to explain. Meesh
crashed, Cairo lost, Neva Kee was a cheater, then he killed Cairo “And nobody
will want me to race now!” And he
descended again into wails.
His mother had seen this many times before. They’d tried to explain that the thrill of
the sport was in the racing, not the winning, but without much success. At least they’d gotten him to agree the top
four was “winning.” Still, Pefbet had an
unmatched dedication to Cairo, and he took the losses personally. Whenever Cairo didn’t place her dear PB came
up with a way this ruined his career before it got started.
She still hadn’t even told him no Gammorean had ever been a
podracer. Their reflexes were far too
slow. She stroked his head, feeling the
nubs of horns. She’d need to tell him
soon – he was a growing boy and deserved to know. But maybe he’d surprise them all.
Pefbet raised his head from his bed. There was a line of blue snot from his snout
to the blanket. “Oh, PB,” she laughed,
pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and wiping it up. “That’s really gross, you know?” He chuckled in response, and blew of his nose
hard. A grey stream flowed out. “Yuck!”
She exclaimed, though glad he seemed to be cheering up. She pressed the handkerchief to his nose. “OK, now blow.” But he refused, grinning behind the cloth.
“I see a smile!”
He shrugged and sat down, his eyes widening again with
sorrow.
She went into her script.
“I can’t do anything about what already happened. But I can try to make it better. Tell me, what can I do to make you feel
better?”
He pointed to the toy on the floor. “I think it broke,” he said. She leaned over
and carefully picked up the model. “It
all looks connected. Oh! Yes, this little piece came off. Well that’s no problem for daddy’s
workshop. But he’ll need his little pit
droid to help him fix it. And pit droids
don’t yell when there’s a problem.”
“I know,” he sighed, then together they said, “They just get
to work.”
“So come on,” she said standing. “Your dad’s already up. Let’s see if we can convince him to open his
shop, and then I’ll get you some breakfast.
What do pit droids like, milk oil and eggs over oil?”
“Mom!” Pefbet laughed,
wiping the last of his tears away. “I’m
not really a pit droid!”
“You sure? You sure
look like one. You sound like one,
too. Boop boopity beep!”
“Staaaaahhhhhhhp!”
Pefbet shouted, lovingly tugging on her hand as they left his room.
***
Peale Cairo hurled through the track, keeping his pod steady
at the 500s. Though the walls whizzed by
him, he kept his eyes on the space between the walls. Pressing the stick to the left, the engines shifted
together as he raced forward. Ahead he
saw no space at all, as expected. He
centered his turning stick and pulled back on the throttle to reduce down to
the 400s. As he slowed, he put his foot
on the left peddle and began to tap it. Blue
flaps on each engine pumped outward like the claws of a Baroonda Sufferfish. He felt the harness around his shoulders and
waist tighten as the podracer slowed further.
“Almost at it,” A familiar voice spoke into his helmet.
“I know, I know,” Peale complained. He pressed the air brake completely down, and
the flaps extended fully. The walls
were nearly a kilometer in front of him – a terrifying proximity even given his
reduced speed. Suddenly, Peale hit the
turning stick hard to the right. The
harness tightened further as the pod lurched unusually to the side. The canyon walls rotated around him like an
astromech dome, until he saw a space open up in front of him. Now through the sharp turn, Peale straightened
the turning stick and pushed the throttle forward again. His body became heavy against the seat as it
rushed into him. Suddenly, everything
turned yellow. Peale pushed the turning stick
a little to the right until the world went back to normal. Then he pushed the throttle up again to the
500s. By the time he crossed the finish
line he was going nearly 600. The canyon
walls blinked out of existence and Peale’s eyes adjusted to the real sky, and
the wide-open swamp around him. It was
late afternoon, and the clouds were tinged blue by the sun. Green gasses rose from the swamp. Peale slowed down as he turned around. Still seems to handle well, but might be a
different story with anyone else around.
When Peale stopped in front of his crew, pit droids leapt to
their feet and toddled out to check the racer.
Peale unhooked his harnesses and hoisted himself down to the ground. Odent was already jogging out from the tent.
“That’s a great time – but you went yellow twice,” He said
as he approached.
“Better than one red,” Peale smirked. “I know, I know.”
“With other racers, any deviation may lead to disaster. Whether you need to drop back or charge
forward beforehand, you should take them alone.
Especially that final one.
Passing during turns isn’t wise for this race. You’ve got the straightaway after to play
catch up if needed. If you gotta roast
the engines to place, do it. Qualifying
for the Baroonda Eve will be worth a few replacement parts.” Odent put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I say, fry the components!”
Peale laughed with him as the two walked over to the tent. Odent
was always very careful about costs – always had been. Even when they were messing around with swamp
skiffs as kids, Odent treated the retrieved garbage like gold. He was an expert in repairs and kept many
parts working long after any other team would have tossed them out. Just qualifying for an Eve race came with a
big payout. Peale was curious how the credit-pinching
Odent would spend their new cash.
Of course, if he burnt out his engines and didn’t
qualify, well…
As if sensing his change of thought, Odent said, “That was a
great run! You’re gonna wizard this
race, Peale.”
Kunier pulled up in a beaten-up swamp-skiff. Another marvel of Odent’s ingenuity. It was black – all the paint had long worn
off, and they’d given up repainting it. Odent
insisted it gave it character.
“There he is!” Kunier said cheerily, his golden eyes shining
in his triangular head. “That was quite
a show you put on. Now come on, let’s
get going. The sooner you do this the
sooner it will be over. And come on –
the fans love the smell of fresh engine.”
Peale’s good mood deflated like a Hutt fart. He’d forgotten the after-practice event. But, qualify or not, he needed his fans. The Baroonda Podracing Combine gave a lot of
funding to professional racers at the start of their careers, but at some point
they were expected to stave off retirement with their own fanbase. Of course, going galactic would give him access
to billions of new fans. Still, it
helped to have a fanbase at home.
“Yeah, alright,” his gravelly voice groaned, and he
exchanged a friendly farewell to Odent as he climbed into the skiff.
Cheers soared as they arrived at the packed Amphitheatre. Peale smiled brightly and waved as he got out
of the skiff and walked to the front, although his mind was far away as he mentally
practiced the race. He posed for a few
picto flashes, then went behind the podium.
As his mind wandered (He knew he could perfect the timing to hit that
turn), he stood at the podium and said:
“Thanks everyone for coming out. While I’m proud of that run, I’m hoping to do
even better at the actual qualifier next week!”
He paused for cheers and hoots. “And
I don’t think I could have done it without my daily dose of Augile, Baroonda’s
favorite drink! But nothing powers me nearly
as much as knowing how much you all believe in me. If,” He chuckled, “I mean when I qualify, and
when I make the galactic circuit, I know I’ll owe each and every one of you a debt
of gratitude for believing in me when I was just a Baroonda nobody.”
When he was done Peale felt drained. He waved again and turned around to sit at
the table in the back. Racing he could
do – but this performance for fans? There was something particularly draining
about it.
He heard Kunier say, “Cairo will be around for another hour
or so if you’d like a picture with him or to have him sign some of your memorabilia. And if you don’t have any, or if you want
more, feel free to head over to our merch kiosk where you can get everything
from fan shirts to Augile mugs to our new race recordings. Relive Cairo’s most exciting races from his point
of view – from the driver’s seat! Premium
versions have review commentary of Cairo and our head mechanic going over the
races, too.”
As the fans lined up behind the gate, Kunier walked over to Peale
and leaned down.
“Quit comm-ing it in,” Kunier whispered sharply. “Look, we both know how you feel about fans
and that’s just wonderful. You’re a real
racing purist, bravo! And as a local guy
you can afford to be a bit empty-eyed up there.
What do these Gammoreans really know about racing? But you pull that sithspawn in the galactic circuit,
they’ll run you out. You do want
to go galactic, right? Or do you want to
race, retire and rot on this swampslosh forever?”
Peale was facing the crowd, so he simply nodded and said, “Yes,
sir.”
“I already got my pay for this season. A qualifying bonus would be nice, but you
gotta do your part. Or did you hire me
just to waste my time? Honestly, wouldn’t
put it past you.”
Peale only nodded this time.
“Good. OK, everyone’s
got nametags on, so try to call at least some of them by their names,
will ya? That memory will mean something
to these kids, which in turn will mean something to us.” Kunier turned his head towards the mug of pens
on the table. “When one of those starts
to run dry hand them out to whoever you’re signing for. Give ‘em a real authentic Peale Cairo pen. Just don’t give the authentic Peale Cairo
experience, that guy’s a hell of a sunspot,” Kunier chuckled, and Peale
loosened up as well. He’d always known
he wasn’t what they called a ‘people-person’.
“Put on that smile. It’s all part
of the job. Be approachable with them. You can be yourself with us.” Kunier gave Peale a friendly but firm grip on
the shoulder. “You got this,” he said as he stepped away.
He hoped he would listen.
Kunier had been working with him for a year and felt he had relatively little
to show for it. They’d gotten him to do
sponsor plugs after races, but even that wasn’t going great. He wasn’t very convincing, and privately
Kunier worried the sponsors would notice his inauthenticity. Sometimes he wondered how any of fans took
those plugs seriously at all.
***
“Joyful lifeday, joyful lifeday, joyful joyful life!”
Pefbet sat at the dinner table as the cake descended in front
of him. It had seven burners, and the
frosting was purple like Cairo’s podracer.
The burners were grouped on each of his engines, with the seventh at the
driver’s pod. Pefbet couldn’t stop
smiling.
When his family stopped singing, Pefbet started hitting the
table. “Presents, presents, presents!!!” He squealed.
He had been practicing his tearing all week on leaves and swamp stalks. Everyone knew it was bad luck to let the
burners go out before you’ve opened your presents.
“Here we are!” His
parents said, producing a small wrapped box.
They passed it to his sister who passed it to his brother who passed it him. “It looks small,” his mother said, “But don’t
let that fool you!”
“Only one gift?” Pefbet
said, obviously disappointed.
“We all chipped in,” Keers assured him. “We all had to. It’s quite expensive!”
Pefbet’s eyes widened.
He knew there were some newer podracing models, but he never dreamed he’d
get one for his birthday.
“Well, go on!” His
sister said, motioning to the burners, “Do it quickly before it turns into plomf
sticks.” Pefbet made a face, imagining
opening his gift only to find vegetables.
He tore the wrapping away, and gingerly lifted the lid on the box. He didn’t want to damage the model before he’d
even seen it.
Inside the box he saw two pieces of paper. He picked them up and examined them. They had a picture of podracers, with a track
on the top. There was a lot of writing on
them, and he squinted his eyes to try to read the small print.
“See, Brekag, I told you he wouldn’t know what they are.”
His dad stepped forward and grabbed the papers. “They’re tickets, PB! We’re gonna go to the qualifying race next
week. In person! You and me, buddy. How’s that sound?”
“You mean, you mean, you mean I’ll get to meet Cairo??!!!!”
“Well,” his dad put a large, dark green palm up, “I mean,
probably not. But you’ll be able to see
him from the stands. They’re quite good
seats. And if he places, we’ll get to
see him on the podium. And we’ll get
those personal screens so you can see him the whole time.”
Pefbet’s body was shaking.
He waved the tickets around wildly, and his dad had to move the cake before
he accidentally lit them on fire. Suddenly
Pefbet let out a shout that shook the room “I’m gonna see a podrace in person!”
Pefbet didn’t sleep that whole weekend, and when he watched
the morning race, he spent more time looking at the stands, wondering where the
best place would be to sit.
***
Peale held the exercise cube in front of him, continuing his
reps. His muscles were just starting to
ache. “Seventy-two, seventy-three,
seventy-four.”
It was the same set whenever he came to the gym. Tension cube for his arms and shoulders, then
ride around a small track on one of his orbak’s. Standing 2 meters high – Peale used a power
droid as a step stool to get up - his orbak’s were less trained than the one’s
usually found on Kef Bir ranches, but that was the point. Riding an unbroken orbak for an hour or so
was the best way to practice the focus needed for podracing. The animal bucked its long, hoofed legs even
as he tried to get on it, and cried wildly until finally Peale was able to take
control of the reins. But after 20 or so
minutes, it’s discipline would deteriorate, and that’s where the real practice
came in.
After a quick water break, came Peale’s greatest training: A
Jedi training remote. For eighty-nine
credits he and Odent won the unopened lockbox at a junk auction. He and Odent eagerly opened it that evening
on the mud porch of his home. It had a
few screws, some old books and bad food.
But there’d also been a banged up little orb. After some research at school, and more than
a few dead ends, they’d learned of the device’s incredible origins. How it had come to be stuck in a lockbox that
ended up in their hands, Force knows.
But Odent had managed to repair it, and for years the two of them used
it to terrorize the neighborhood. While
it certainly stung to get hit if you were living (and could cause fur to
sometimes burst into flames), the bolts absolutely shutdown droid systems. Oh, they caught hell the time they hit the neighborhood
power unit the morning of exam day. But
it had a much more serious use now.
The spherical remote had several dozen blaster ports, which
would fire a pulsar bolt without warning.
Sometimes it would fire several times in a row, and sometimes there
would be a whole minute between shots.
You never knew.
Standing against the wall, Peale activated the remote. It floated about shoulder high, and then it
began to spin slowly. Peale stretched
his arms and legs out, eyes focused on the spinning remote. The remote hummed evenly, and Peale drew in a
breath. He held it. When nothing came, he exhaled. Still nothing. He took in a breath. Suddenly he saw one of the ports begin to
glow, and he briefly moved his left hand to his chest. Pew! The wall was warm when he returned his hand
to its place. He breathed in again and
held it. Pew pew pew, pew-pew. Rapidly, but expertly, Peale moved his hands
and legs to avoid the shots. When they
ended, his breathing resumed.
After half an hour, the remote floated to the ground and
turned itself off with a click. Peale
felt drained, but proud. He hadn’t been
hit even once. A great sign for the
upcoming qualifying race. He picked up
the remote and put it back in its storage, then he went into his cool-off area.
Kunier was standing there, and he rushed up to Peale, nearly
hitting him in the mouth with a pipe. “Cairo,
Cairo, can we have a word? Cairo, what
an excellent run. Really thrilling. Tell us, what is it like to know you’ve made it
to the Baroonda Eve? That’s a big step-up
for a local boy like you.”
Oh slyth. Kunier
sometimes did this, as a way to help him practice his publicity, but he had
hoped with the big race he would let it slide.
Peale took a deep breath, prepping his voice.
“Aah, yes, the champion breathes on screen for everyone on
Baroonda. Wonderful video for us to
capture. But our question. I won’t repeat it now – I’m a professional! Aren’t you?”
Cairo lifted his voice and spoke into the pipe. “Thanks, yeah this is a big day for myself
and everyone down at Ekod Engines. They
keep me running, and so does Augile, Baroonda’s favorite drink! Seriously, a few cups of that before the race
and hey maybe three laps isn’t enough, y’know?
Certainly, our Balterative couplings could take it.”
“Any big plans to celebrate?”
“Celebrate?! We just
qualified, that’s all! This is just the
beginning. But when we win the big
event, we’ll celebrate big time. But why
count our fathiers before they hatch?
Ask me again next time.”
“Will do, Cairo.
Thanks so much.
“Well thank you, and also big thank you to all my fans. You all know I’m so excited to read your fan
mail whenever it comes in. This time I’d
like to thank Purm Thronch, who sent us a real nice letter. Says he’s been a fan all his life, and has a collection
of PodCards. Man, I remember those. Glad to see they’re still out there. Well, Purm, thanks for the love, and for the
rest of you, keep sending those letters – they really inspire me, and everyone
at Ekod Engines.”
Kunier dropped the pipe.
“Pretty good,” he said. But if
you really win this event – not just place well enough for the qualifier – you’ll
need to say more. But I liked that line
about Augile. I can tell you’ve been practicing
the lines. Thank you. I know you don’t like it.
“You did well for getting ambushed like that. But keep practicing. The PR is important. You never know who you’ll run into at these
events. Some outlets might see you
hanging around before or after the race decide to interview you on the spot. You’ll have to be sharp. These qualifying events are a big deal – more eyes
are on us than usual. Sponsors will
watch our every word.”
Peale nodded. “Glad I’m
improving. I hate practicing though.” His voice had dropped to its gravelly standard. “It’s
the only thing worse than giving an empty speech is giving an empty speech to myself. And that voice!”
“You gotta practice.
You’re grumpy enough without a voice that grates like an old trash
compactor. Listen Peale, I know you’re
in this for the racing, but this is bigger than just you! You’ve got a team of people depending on you. What’s gonna happen to Odent and the rest of
them if you burn out? I’ll probably be fine;
I’ve consulted for galactic champions.
But no one will want to hire Odent if you can’t show he can help racers
make it big.”
“Odent’s a great mechanic!
He can get another job if he needs.”
“No, he won’t,” Kunier said flatly. “It doesn’t matter how much we all work if
you don’t put out a nice face for the people.
Trust me, I know how this works. You
gotta open your eyes man. This racing is
a business, and you gotta play by the rules.
Hate it if you gotta, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do it. You gotta play the game. Going fast isn’t enough.”
Peale nodded silently.
When Kunier didn’t continue, Peale said, “Speaking of going fast, I’m gonna
see the crew. Wanna come with?” There’s no way Peale was going to practice
after such a work out, but he’d seen a message they were replacing the engine
cords and he wanted to see for himself.
He was uneasy about debuting a new modification at such an important
race, but one of them had completely frayed during a practice run, so they didn’t
have a choice.
As they walked Peale said, “Hey, can we look into getting
some new sponsors? I’m not sure I can
choke out that Augile line for much longer.”
“You’re awfully demanding today,” Kunier laughed. “Listen: You live on Baroonda. You race on Baroonda. You’re gonna support Baroonda’s favorite
drink. Now, if you go galactic, then we
got options. Although,” He smiled slyly,
“Sponsors want racers with good personalities.
You’re not the only one here with demands. So, work on your fan service and the galaxy
is your kyber crystal. That motivating
enough?”
“Yeah.” Peale said
quietly. “Anything to get that stuff off
my menu. Baroonda’s favorite drink? More like Gammorean’s favorite garbage. It’s rancid.”
“Well, good thing we have you memorize the scripts rather
than have you blast off at the mouth. You’re
a real inspiration, Peale. Let’s just
hope the sponsors never find out. Or the
fans! Oh, I don’t know what would be
worse.”
***
“Pefbet, are you listening?”
His teacher said. “Now tell me, how many planets are in the Baroonda
system.” Pefbet scrunched his snout in
thought. His teacher pointed a wide
finger at his desk. “Just look at your
sheet and count!”
Pefbet tried to count the circles he saw, but it was
difficult to go that high. “15?”
“No, no,” his teacher said walking up to his desk. “Don’t count the moons. Pefbet, what’s bigger, planets or moons?”
“Planets!” Pefbet loudly
announced.
“Yes. So look at your
sheet again. How many planets do
you see?”
Pefbet looked again. “Two!” He shouted happily.
“Yes. Do you remember
their names?”
“We’re on prime. The
bigger one. I forget the other one.”
“Minor.” The teacher
said, strolling again to the front.
“And Baroonda system has 24 moons,” said Deetree. “Pefbet said 15, but that’s wrong.”
She is such a know-it-all! I hate her.
“Deetree,” the teacher said, “That wasn’t necessary.”
She sank in her seat and Pefbet made a face in her direction
until the teacher raised his eyebrows and tutted quietly in his direction.
Pefbet felt his eyes quickly glaze over again. School wasn’t for him, and he hated it. But today he hated it most of all, because he
had to wait until it was over to go to the race. Go to the race. Not watch it on the screen, but actually go
and sit in the stands.
Was school always this long??!
He had asked his dad if he could bring his model racer, but he
said it might get dropped or stolen, even though Pefbet insisted he’d
always hold onto it. Instead his dad
suggested they bring one of his Cairo posters.
If they saw him, maybe he would sign it, though he reminded Pefbet it
was a long shot. Still, it was something
to bring – but something that if it got lost it wasn’t a bit deal. Pefbet had a lot of Cairo posters.
Finally, the teacher dismissed class, and Pefbet grabbed his
bag and dashed out of the room, bumping a few of his peers on the way out. But he didn’t care. I’m gonna go see a race!!
But the teacher cared, and Pefbet felt his collar tighten as
he was pulled back into the room. He
felt his eyes begin to burn, and he willed himself not to cry. He
hated the idea of being late to the race, but he hated crying in school more.
“Pefbet, I think you owe the others an apology.”
Pefbet took a few shallow breaths, trying to calm down. “I… am… sorry…”
The others nodded and the teacher waved them away. The big
Gammorean turned back to Pefbet with a smile that showed all his teeth.
“You’re excited about your big day. It’s all you’ve been talking about.”
“Of course!” Pefbet
tried to pull away from the teacher’s grasp and follow the stream of students
out the door.
“No, no. Just because
you get a special day doesn’t mean you can make everyone else suffer. You now need to wait for everyone else to go.”
“But that isn’t fair!”
Pefbet screamed, feeling his eyes starting to burn again.
“I know.” The teacher
said calmly. “It isn’t fair they go home
but you get to go see a big race. They
have to settle for the screens.”
This made Pefbet want to explode. The teacher obviously wasn’t getting
it. As usual. No one at school understood him, and they all
wanted him to study and learn and take tests and be nice. But Cairo didn’t have to study or take tests
or be nice. He just had to race. Being a podracer was so much easier than
being a student. Pefbet couldn’t wait to
be an adult.
Finally, everyone else left the room. Pefbet tried to move but couldn’t. He took a deep breath and said, “Will you
please let me go now?”
“Yes, thank you for being polite. And listen, I do hope you-”
But Pefbet was already out the door and down the hall and in
line to be picked up. Fortunately, his
friend Kufiat was also at the end of the line.
“Have fun at the race today, PB,” Kufiat said. “I hope I can go to a race once.”
“I already told you, if I could bring you I would.”
“Oh, I know. But
still. Hey, maybe I’ll see you in the
stands?”
“Oh yeah – I’ll be there!”
“I’ll look for you.”
“Great!”
“You’ll tell me about it tomo-”
“Pefbet!” Came a high
voice at the entrance.
“Gotta go!” Pefbet
said, running by his friend, out the door, and practically hurling himself into
the speeder. “Go go go gotta go!” He shouted.
“Cool your couplings.
Even champions strap in before they go.”
“But we’re gonna be laaaattee!!”
“PB, we have plenty of time.
What will make us late is you not buckling up. Now come on.”
Pefbet huffed as he pulled down on the straps. When they were fastened, the old speeder took
off.
The arena rose above the horizon long before they
arrived. Pefbet marveled at the size of
it. It seemed to get bigger and bigger
before his very eyes.
“And that’s just the stands!” His dad announced. “When we’re inside, the actual race track
stretches out even further. Several
kilometers. We may not even be able to
see the edge, though I’m not sure about that.
But not to worry, we’ll rent one of those personal screens so you can watch
Cairo’s race the whole time. Just make
sure to look up when he comes screaming by us.”
They parked their speeder in a mud lot and followed the
crowds to the entrance. Pefbet held his
dad’s hand tightly. He began to feel a
sinking dread about getting lost. There
were just so many beings around.
He saw one standing on a straw box, waving something in his hand.
“What’s that?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that guy. They’re just selling crap.”
“You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to buy
it!”
His dad laughed heartily, “No, no. Well, kind of. But whatever he’s selling, they’ve got a
better version of inside. Trust me.”
“How much money do we have?”
“We have 60 credits, for food. You have an additional 30 for whatever
you want, be it a toy or a souvenir cup or just more food. Arena food is a gourmet all its own!”
“Plus, the 10 credits I brought in my backpack.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Because I thought of it this morning!”
“And where’s your backpack?”
Pefbet turned his head to the parking lot, but couldn’t see
the speeder any more. He made a sound
his dad knew well, and he scooped him up.
“You’re too heavy for this!”
He laughed and quickly put him back down. “Ok, I’ll spot you the other 10, and you can
pay me back when we’re back in the speeder.”
“So, I have 40?”
“Yes. But think real
hard before you use it – once you spend it, it’s gone.”
“Yeah, I know!”
“I know you do,” his dad rubbed the tips of his horns, even
as he thought about the 30 extra credits he brought in case of a meltdown.
His dad presented their tickets to the Majan at the booth
who waved them through, pointing past several boots in the direction of their seats. “You’re gonna see a lot of things you want to
buy, PB. But let’s find our seats first,
so we know where they are.”
***
It was a mean prank, but too late now. Odent had shoved Peale through the general
admission door, and now he was in a sea of spectators, all scrambling for their
seats. At the bottom of the stands was a
“racer-crew entrance” gate. Gotta
slog through.
A young Majan ran up to him and yelled for his attention. Peale waved politely and walked onward. The Majan followed him. “Cairo, Cairo, I hope you win today!” Peale turned, and paused to raise his voice.
“Thank you, my friend.
I certainly intend to!” Then the
boy stuck a hand out, obviously covered in…something. “What’s your name?” Peale asked, shaking his
hand, wishing he was anywhere else but there.
“My name is Noj Pi. Did you get my letters?”
“Oh,” Peale said stumbling.
“Probably. Yes, yes, now I
remember the name.” He withdrew his
hand, hoping that would end things.
The boy grinned widely and said “I wish you well, Cairo.” Peale bowed slightly, now certain the
interaction was over. But he couldn’t
just turn away. Give them a memory,
he remembered Kunier saying. So, he said,
“I wish you well, too, Noj Pi.” The boy
shouted with delight, before suddenly turning around and running back to his
seat.
Maybe fan service really is my thing. Peale thought smugly as he turned to continue
his descent.
Another fan ran up to him, holding a PodCard and a pen. “Will you sign my card? It’s yours from last year! I had to trade a Sebulba and a Oovo IV Gauntlet
track for it. And a few pit droids. You’re my favorite driver! When I grow up, I want to be just like you.”
“I hope you’ll be better,” Peale sputtered out, remembering
what Kunier said about creating memories.
“What’s your name?”
“Acrin Frest.”
“Got it,” Peale was silent as he signed the card. He underestimated the size of the card, and
had to squeeze the last letter in.
Looking up, he saw a camera crew had appeared to their side.
“You know,” Peale said, holding the card up when he was done,
“there’s a whole team I depend on. Racing’s
more than going fast. You’ll need a
whole team behind you, and that includes some pit droids. So, the next time you get some, don’t trade
them away so quickly.”
“I won’t Cairo. Thanks!” The girl turned around to dash off, but
suddenly turned around. “And I wish you
well, Cairo.”
“And I wish you well, Acrin Frest.” She raised her hand to her mouth and squealed,
and Peale turned to leave. But the
camera crew charged at him, and an adult in a white suit pushed forward and
stuck a microphone in his face. “Hey
Peale Cairo, Mers Dapa here from Prix 60.
This is your first qualifying event.
You nervous?”
Peale stalled as he decided which response would be
best. “You know, that’s a good question,”
Showing confidence would inspire his fans, but humility could show off his personability
and make him more approachable. “Yeah I
think I am nervous. Who couldn’t
be? But I’ve got confidence in my team
and confidence in my podracer. I also
just had a cup of Augile, Baroonda’s Favorite Drink. That stuff always gets me good and pumped for
a race.”
“Do you think that’s wise, Augile right before such a big
race? Some people say it makes them a bit
jittery.”
“Uhh, well, I haven’t found that to be the case, Mers. Augile keeps my reactions at lightning speed.”
“Well I guess we’ll see by day’s end. Any celebration plans if you win?”
These guys don’t like confidence, let’s give them some
humility. “Winning this race would
be such a huge deal for my team and I. We
don’t have any specific plans in mind, but we intend to go all out if we’re
fortunate enough to snag this prize.”
“Huh,” Mers chucked, “You know this is only the qualifying
race, right? It’s the Baroonda Eve that’s
the real prize.”
I mean, obviously “Yeah, I-”
But Mers cut him off, “Hey, is that Navoir?” He turned to the camera. “We’ll see how the homebound newcomer does in
the race. But now let’s see if we can
have a word with Navoir, the outer-rim’s hottest ticket.” Mers and his camera crew pushed by Peale, trying
to reach Navoir, who was coming down from the top decks. It would be a while before he got down to the
race dirt, but that’s how Navoir sold himself.
A crowd-pleaser. Peale grumbled to himself.
He refocused on the moment at hand. It wouldn’t do to let another camera crew catch
him staring off into space. He continued
his descent.
The noise was deafening as other podracers walked through
the stands or waved to the seats from the dirt.
Everyone shouted for their favorite, and hissed horribly at rivals. Peale felt what felt like rain and turned,
only to see a group of adolescents eating their treats and looking over and
around him. Looking down he saw a few orange
and red treats on the ground. He let out
a growl and stomped the treats into dust, and the kids booed him loudly. “You better not take Frezz’ spot, Careless
Cairo!”
The nickname struck Peale as so weird he immediately felt
his anger give way to a smile. He turned
around quickly to hide it. If only they
knew the preparation he’d put into this.
Well, he’d have to beat Frezz – whoever that was – to make his point. I bet I prepared twice as much as
he does!
He was so lost in this vengeful thought he didn’t even see
the young Gammorean standing in front of him waving both hands at him until he
nearly had walked into him. Peale had to
hop to the side to avoid a collision. “Hey,
what are you doing??!” He snapped
angrily. Even a simple stubbed toe would
cost him the race. He needed his body in
tip-top shape.
When he spoke the boy looked dumbfounded. After a few moments he squeaked out, “You
sound different, Cairo.” He pulled a
folded poster from his pocket and handed it over.
“Oh!” Peale said,
working his voice up to its proper pitch.
“Sorry, you just caught me off guard.
Nice poster. What’s your name?”
“But now you sound normal.”
“Well, yeah, doesn’t your voice go in and out sometimes?” Peale asked, holding the poster. Why am I defending myself?
“No.” The boy said
plainly.
A silence hung between them.
Peale took a deep breath to focus himself. I am with a fan. Let’s give him a good memory and get on with
it.
“You gotta pen?”
“No.” The boy said
again. His lip began quivering, “Does
this mean you can’t sign my poster?”
“Well I probably have one in my pocket.” Cairo patted himself down, though he knew it
was useless. Racing suits don’t have
pockets. But it bought him some time. He looked around and spotted a pen on the ferrocrete
ground. What luck! “Oh look!” He said, beginning to bend.
“I got it I got it I got it!” The boy dove his huge body onto the filthy
grey ferrocrete. When he stood up, he triumphantly
held the pen up high. Peale took it and
began writing on the poster, but the pen didn’t write very well.
“What’s your name again?”
“Pefbet,” the Gammorean said, wiping himself off. “I’m here with my dad, it’s my first
race. I hope you win. No, I know you will win. You have to win. I have a whole collection of podracers, and
yours is my favorite, and purple is now my favorite color, and I hope you go
Galactic, because that would be absolutely wizard, and my friend Kufiat likes
you also – he says hi – but he isn’t as big a fan as I am. I might be your biggest. What did you write? I hope it’s a lot.”
Peale nodded as Pefbet spoke, but he wasn’t listening. The pen had begun to die as soon as he’d
started to write with it, and he had to cut his message short. Embarrassed by the brevity, he folded the
poster up again before handing it and the pen back to Pefbet.
“This isn’t mine.” Pefbet said, eyeing the pen.
“It’s a podracing pen, isn’t it? Keep it!”
Pefbet looked at the side of the pen. It said ‘Neva Kee’. “Yuck!!”
Peale watched him hurl the pen up into the stands. “I
don’t want his pen!”
Suddenly the announcer’s voice boomed over the whole arena, “Racers,
please report to your garages for final inspection!”
“That’s my cue, but thanks for, uhh, thanks for saying hi.”
“What did you write?”
Pefbet said, beginning to open the poster.
Peale tried to squeeze past him, but Pefbet was too large
and too heavy to be easily pushed out of the way, and too focused on the poster
to even realize he needed to move. But being
late meant Peale would be disqualified from the whole race. He finally managed to push himself past
Pefbet, but something else had caught him.
Feeling the pressure, he simply pulled himself away, though he stopped
when he heard a tear.
One of his sleeves had gotten stuck on the young Gammorean’s
claws, and Peale pulled so hard it had torn.
Peale turned around to see Pefbet on the ground gathering it up. He held it out to him, eyes already flooding
with tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m
sorry! I really didn’t mean it, and now
I’ve ruined everything. Ruined ruined
ruined I’m stupid!”
Cairo was very angry.
He had an extra racing suit, but why should he change just because this stupid
child had torn his? Those suits were
expensive! But when he looked up he saw
a big Gammorean lumber up behind the young fan, and a camera crew running behind
him. He put his anger aside and forced himself
to laugh. “Keep it, keep it, it’s alright! I have an extra. I have to get going. Keep it.”
“You mean it?” Pefbet sniffled, blue snot trickling out of
his snout.
“Yeah! Hey, that’s
better than a pen, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Pefbet said, wiping his eyes with his arm.
“I gotta go now,” Peale said.
“Wait!” Pefbet
suddenly shouted. Peale froze in place,
knowing he couldn’t let the cameras see him abandon a fan. Pefbet straightened his back and said, “I
wish you well, Cairo.”
“And I wish you well, Pefbet.” Peale said, and as soon as he saw the boy
begin to smile he turned and left before anything else could go wrong.
Pefbet turned around, folded poster in one hand, colorful torn
sleeve in the other, to see his dad standing there and a man with a camera over
his shoulder. Pefbet raised his hands
and screamed, “That. Was. So.
Cool!” He babbled to his dad as
he led them back to their seat. When
they sat down, his dad shooed the camera crew away.
When the introductions began about a half hour later, Pefbet
stood on his seat, stuffing his mouth with green crackers. He’d wrapped the torn sleeve around his arm. He dutifully wished each racer well,
occasionally turning to his dad taking pictos of him. Finally, the voice boomed
Cairo’s introduction. Pefbet’s eyes were
locked on the purple podracer as it came out.
He yelled and waved both hands wildly, hoping Cairo could hear him above
the crowd. When his introduction was complete
Pefbet shouted “I wish you well, Cairo!” with the crowd. He heard echoing in his head, “And I wish you
well, Pefbet.”
Then, Pefbet sat down and took the poster out of his
pocket. He carefully unfolded it again. It was hard to read what was written (He
has messy handwriting like me!), but his dad had helped him decipher the
message. “Pefbet, my friend.” He stared at it throughout the rest of the
introductions, barely mumbling well wishes to the other racers, reading it over
and over.
He felt an elbow in his shoulder. He looked over at his dad, who nodded toward the track. High above it, the Majan priestess held a mallet above her head. “Here, let’s trade. You don’t want to lose that.” His dad took the poster and put a screen on his lap. The priestess’ hand came down and the gong reverberated around the circuit. The race was on.
Copyright ©️ 2020 Maslow Stories
