Racers Part One – Shadows from the Past

1999/2000 novel by Jonathan Hicks

Six years before Episode IV – A New Hope

Chapter One

Rondosarn lunged forward and slammed his hand on the emergency thrust. A jet of carbonised gas spewed from the portside of the Sunrider, his ugly barrel-bodied starship. It lunged over, narrowly missing the huge object decelerating from hyperspace.

The pilot hissed through his sharp teeth, glaring out the cockpit window as the Imperial Star Destroyer loomed overhead. Its grey underbelly reflected the light of the great yellow sun, making him narrow his eyes. Part shielding from the light, part look of hatred directed towards the huge vessel.

He stroked one of the horns on his head, letting out a long breath he had been holding since his hyperspace collision alarm sounded. A scaly hand reached out and with a flick of a switch the klaxon ceased.

The Sunrider levelled out so that the curvature of the planet was laid out below them. The destroyer continued slowing, and as it took up orbit two other Imperial cruisers dropped out of hyperspace and took up position either side of the huge starship. Almost immediately sentry ships flew from the underside hangar and started patrolling the immediate vicinity.

Behind Rondosarn, the cockpit door slid open with an almost inaudible hum. The figure that entered was wide eyed, young faced and was also nursing a bruise on his left temple.

   “What the... what was with the jink?” the man demanded, landing in the co-pilots chair. “Nearly knocked my brains out.”

The pilot looked over at the man, his glare relaxing.

   “I thought I said no passengers in the cockpit.” His voice was light and almost a whisper, a strange contrast to his large frame.

The young man shrugged. “

   I wanted to know what it was all about. I thought you said you knew all the non-patrolled routes?”

   “Skeet,” Rondosarn said, “I do know all those routes. As far as I know the Empire never patrol the Junduk System.”

   “My cargo isn’t exactly legal...” Skeet Jonas looked at Rondosarn with a helpless look, spreading his hands to emphasise his point. He stood up and made to exit the cockpit but the big alien turned his seat to face him.

   “I know what I’m doing, and don’t worry about your cargo... I won’t charge you extra for dodging an Imperial ship.”

Skeet smiled, glad his unspoken question had been answered favourably.

The Sunrider began its descent, nosing down slowly and sliding into Junduk IV’s atmosphere. With ease it headed toward the surface, the only sensation the two occupants could feel was a slight vibration in the hull. The starship dropped out of the cloud, and the details of the planet came into view.

Skeet Jonas looked out of the viewport at the place that had cost him all his savings to reach. He was incredibly disappointed.

Black mountains mingled with a still sea, seemingly bleeding their colour into the water. The sky was bright but heavily overcast, making the already dull landscape even worse. The odd patch of vegetation was sparse and dark, mainly situated in what appeared to be large craters in between the rocky terrain. The Sunrider began to slow.

Skeet walked into the cockpit and got a better view out of the larger window, the moisture from the clouds streaking across the thick, treated glass. Rondosarn gave him a quick glance.

   “You’re not impressed, are you?” he asked.

Skeet shook his head and sighed heavily.

    “Everyone kept telling me this was the place to be if I wanted to make it rich. I hope the planet doesn’t reflect my mood at the moment.”

The ship inserted itself into a high mountain range, and slowly wound its way down a canyon. The clouds were getting thinner now, the terrain lighter.

Rondosarn shrugged.

   “Hold tight, Skeet. I think you’re about to change your mind about this place.”

The Sunrider came out of the canyon.

Ahead of them was a huge series of three mountains, which appeared to have melted into one another. The central peak was pointing at the sky whilst the other two smaller ones were flat topped. The mountains appeared to be separated from the rest of the mountain range.

The whole thing was dotted with lights, glittering like dew on a bright morning. Dozens of ships flew around the peaks, and it wasn’t until the Sunrider got closer did Skeet see that all three mountains were actually one huge city carved from the rock itself. Each mountain was honeycombed with levels and walkways, speeder lanes and buildings.

The flat-topped peaks were the landing areas, sunken pits in the rock that could suit even the heaviest cargo ship. Traffic continuously came to and from these pits and several slots in the sides of the mountains that were obviously other bays, making Rondosarn slow to an almost stop and wait for an opening.

A flash of light caught Skeet’s eye, and he leaned forward so that he could look down at the base of three-peak range.

And there it was, the reason why these mountains appeared separate from the rest of the range and the reason why he had come to Junduk IV.

A speeder racetrack wound it’s way around the base of the city, completely surrounding it, and he could see stands lining most of the track. He could see the straight. He could see the bends and the twists and the turns. He could see four vehicles screaming down the finishing stretch but could not make out their design. He could see huge strobe lights illuminating the track as the racers passed, a chase ‘droid in a holo-cam craft flying just above the speeding action. Huge holographic emitters were dotted around the track, showing the action in all its glory.

This is what I’m here for, Skeet thought, stifling an excited laugh. All thoughts of the dismal looking world fled from his mind. He turned to Rondosarn, his smile wide and as bright as his young eyes.

   “Welcome to Raca City,” Rondosarn said.

It appeared that Skeet’s euphoria was infectious.

   “Right, so that’s...” Skeet counted triangular coins into his palm, counting to himself but mouthing the numbers. When he was done he handed the coins to Rondosarn. “That’s for transport from Tatooine, and this...” he counted some more coins out, and his visage changed from thoughtful to worried as he realised he was giving the pilot more than he could afford. “This is for the transportation of my cargo.” He held out the coins to Rondosarn with a grimace.

He wished fervently that Rondosarn would think again about charging him extra for not declaring his cargo as they left Tatooine. He knew the risk he was taking, and that he deserved the extra credits, but he also knew that the pilot was not getting the amount of work he wished for and times under the Empire were hard.

Rondosarn looked at the credits and then at his passenger. Skeet’s long dark hair ruffled in the wind, strands coming loose from the band he used to tie it back. His rough, unshaven face and unkempt clothes added years to the man and Rondosarn knew from constant contact with humans that he was very young for his species. He shook his head and held out a handful of coins for Skeet to take.

Skeet made no move and looked at Rondosarn with confusion.

   “Look, just take it, willya?” Rondosarn said. “You’re too young to be left high and dry and you deserve a break now that you’re off that backwater Tatooine place.”

   “I don’t know what to say...” Skeet took the offered coins. He knew better than to turn down an offer for courtesy’s sake.

   “Just make sure you win, alright? Make sure me giving away some of my profit was worth something. I don’t know, I’ve got a feeling about you...”

   “Not a bad feeling, I hope.”

Rondosarn smiled, his sharp teeth glinting.

   “No, not a bad one. Here let me help you unload this contraption.”

The huge cargo ramp of the Sunrider was down, and the two slowly uncovered a long sleek speeder bike, painted in a dark blue colour with Skeet’s name in several dialects stencilled on the nose. It’s delicate steering vanes wobbled as the cover was pulled away. Rondosarn looked at it with admiration.

   “Well kept piece of kit,” he observed, placing a hand on the cool metal.

   “You want to see inside her,” Skeet said. “She’s originally a Delvon two-ninety, but she’s so patch-worked and jury-rigged I don’t think any self- respecting racer would fly her.”

   “I’m not really up to speed on repulsorlift vehicles, but I take it some of the modifications are...?”

   “... a bit illegal, yes. Let’s just say that legal engine work was not on my mind. From what I understand they don’t care what’s been done to a speeder in Raca City, as long as it goes really fast.”

Rondosarn smiled and helped Skeet push the bike down the ramp. He put his hands on his hips and nodded at the young man.

   “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Skeet Jonas. Good luck.”

Skeet shook the offered hand of the alien, and smiled at him.

   “Thanks Rondosarn,” he patted his money pouch, “for everything.”

   “You just make sure my faith is not displaced. I might even throw a bet on you.”

Skeet chuckled and mounted the bike, thumbing a switch and bringing the drive engine to life. A few heads turned as the whine of the vehicle increased in pitch, indicating to the knowledgeable that the bike had been modified. Skeet applied a little thrust with his foot pedals and the bike exited the landing pit at a level hover.

Rondosarn watched him go, his smile slowly fading. He looked at his own money pouch and took it off his belt. He looked at it intently, replaying the moment when he had suddenly decided to give some of the coins back to Skeet.

Why the freck did I do that? He thought, a dark frown playing across his face.

The Delvon two-ninety was awash with stares from a thousand different species as it travelled down the speeder lane from the landing sector. Eyes and photoreceptors and other forms of observation regarded the young man as he rode the vehicle at a respectable speed past other, lighter, more practical vehicles. He hunted around for any sign that would indicate his way down to the racetrack.

An hour later he still hadn’t got off the landing level. The whole place was a warren of tunnels and streets, criss-crossing roads and unfamiliar smells. Beings Skeet had never seen before looked at him with humour, curiosity and sometimes disdain. Most gave him passing glances, obviously used to new blood coming to Raca City to prove themselves on the track.

   “That’s the third time you’ve coasted past here, heh.”

Skeet turned at the mousy voice. He had parked on the side of the speeder lane and was hopelessly looking out for a constable or a law-officer or some form of help to guide him to the lower levels. Most of the beings he had asked didn’t know or didn’t want to know. It appeared that most people on the top level stayed there.

The alien looking at him was short and wiry, with a strange bundle of whiskers around a small stubby mouth. It’s huge floppy ears twitched and danced in unison with it’s small blinking eyes and shaking head.

   “Beg pardon?” Skeet said.

   “Heh, I said you been going round, heh, in circles, eh, kid? Heh.”  

Skeet nodded and made to turn away.

   “Right...”

   “Go back, heh.”

   “What?”

   “Go back down that way, heh, and turn down the service, heh, tunnel, heh. Takes you straight to the YAH place, heh.”

   “The YAH? What’s that?”

   “You Are Here. Heh.”

Skeet smiled, looking back the way he had come and seeing the service entrance seemingly for the first time. He turned back to the alien and flicked it a small coin. “Thanks, pal.”

He swung the bike around and accelerated away. The alien looked at the coin and twitched.

   “Dumb kid. Heh. Heh.”

As soon as he saw the YAH he realised the size of the city he had come to.

The tall glass screen was wavering in front of his tired eyes and as he started to press buttons and speak into the grill on the front of the You Are Here display he started to think about how much sleep he had missed out on over the last few days. He wasn’t even sure what time of day it was here. For all he knew it was early morning and all these people milling about were on their way to their daytime workplaces.

The YAH bleeped twice to get his attention.

He rubbed his eyes.

   “I’m sorry, what?”

   “Do you wish the main stand, the civilian quarters, the hotel details, the mechanics storage facility, garage and speeder pens...”? The YAH had a dull monotone voice that grated Skeet’s nerves.

   “The pens. Yeah, the pens.”

   “One moment please why I locate a suitable route and print you a flimsy copy. Please deposit one zero-point-five coin.”

Hoping the currency he had was acceptable, Skeet dropped one of his credits into the slot.

The YAH immediately spat it out again.

   “Exact change, please.”

   “Oh, you miserable piece of scrap... just give me the damn flimsy!”

The YAH thought it over.

   “Exact change, please, or I shall terminate your request.”

The figure that leaped forward to stop Skeet from putting his boot through the YAH’s dialogue speaker was quite strong although he looked quite wiry. He grabbed Skeet’s arm and pulled him away from the machine. Skeet looked at him with shock and anger.

   “If you hit ‘em they call the constables. I know.” The man was older than Skeet, maybe even twice his age, and he looked at him with narrow brown eyes. His balding head was adorned with scars and other unrecognisable marks, covered by a pair of thick goggles that rested on his forehead. Skeet looked him up and down and saw that he was wearing biker coveralls similar to his own.

   “Who...”

The man grabbed Skeet’s wrist and put his hand in his, giving it a firm shake.

   “Brey Yard. I just saved you from a thousand credit fine, which...” he let go of his hand, looking at Skeet’s creased clothes and dishevelled appearance.

   “Yeah, thanks. You’re right, I can’t afford it. I’m just tired, need a place to put my speeder. I’ve been running around trying to find a way down to the racetrack.”

Brey smiled. Skeet couldn’t help but smile back at him, noticing a strange childish light in the older man’s eyes.

   “You’re in luck, mister...?”

   “Skeet Jonas.”

   “You’re in luck, Mister Skeet Jonas. I’m going down that way myself. The pens?”

With a sigh that signified a bad time made better Skeet nodded.

   “Fantastic. I’ll follow you, Bay.”

   “Brey. Which one’s yours?”

Skeet motioned towards the Delvon two-ninety. Brey nodded at the bike and pointed to one parked next to it.

   “That’s mine, an Ikas-Ando Starhawk. I’m putting her in for the class three races.”

Skeet nodded without really understanding and headed to his bike. Brey noticed his lacklustre interest and frowned. It was not often that someone ignored his obviously heavily modified speeder. He climbed on his vehicle, a sleek black speeder with a central seat and oversized rear engine, leaned over the fuselage and started her up. It was a deep throaty sound that made Skeet turn and look. He powered the engine twice to impress the young man, lowered his goggles and started off.

With a shake of his head and a mumble under his breath, Skeet applied power to the thrust and followed Brey into a tunnel that gradually sloped downwards