Chapter Six

Brey staggered unceremoniously into the bar overlooking the s-bends of the racetrack. A server ‘droid backed away nervously, and the man at the door was about to say something about the racer’s obvious alcohol-induced state when Skeet followed him in, placing an arm around his shoulder and saying,

   “Don’t worry, gentlebeings, he’s with me.” Skeet’s legs were slightly unsteady, also, but he managed to put on an air of a man who could take his drink.

They walked across the circular bar to the far side, near the huge window. The glass was angled such anyone sitting near could look down onto the racetrack, making it a well sought-after spot. At his time in the morning, however, there were no speeding vehicles to be seen and repair and cleanup automatons scoured the track.

Brey stood by a table and began to fall backwards. Skeet, thinking that Brey must not realise there was no chair beneath him, started forward. Quickly, a vacant seat on a nearby table suddenly activated a small repulsor unit and swept across the floor and under the descending racer. Brey collapsed into the seat with a long sigh.

   “What, you not sittin’?” he said, head back and arms dangling over the side of the floating chair. “Siddown!”

Skeet looked around, searching for a chair of his own to place his weary body in. Brey shook his head, so Skeet decided to follow his friend’s actions and started to sit down on nothing.

A chair of another table responded, but too late. Skeet fell on his rump as the automatic seat sped over, slowing to a halt and waiting patiently as Skeet tried to get back to his feet. Brey roared with laughter, along with other patrons sat at other tables.

Embarrassed and a little sore, Skeet stood and allowed the seat to slide under him. He sat down gingerly, a huge grin on his reddened face.

Brey looked down at the track and watched the automatons work on the racetrack. “What’ll it be, Skeet boy, a shot of the local brew or something with a little more kick?”

With a grimace, Skeet just waved a tired hand.

   “I’ll just have a sugar-based fizzer. I’m beat.”

   “Oh, come on!” Brey almost shouted, “The morning is still young. Look, the sun hasn’t even got fully over the range, yet!”

Brey was right. The sun was slowly climbing up behind the mountains, it’s red-gold disc burning behind one of the taller peaks. The sky was already quite bright, and small furred lizards swept down from nests perched high on the mountain-city walls. The light crept along the bar floor.

With a wave of his hand Brey beckoned over a small spherical droid who zipped over and bleeped once.

   “One Racer Rager and a sugar fizzer. Oh, and a plate of cokons.” The automaton sped off, beeping and whistling. Brey watched it go with a huge smile as he anticipated his drink.

   “Skeet,” he said, “I’ll never forget what you did for me today. I owe you big time, for more than just winning the race.” He waved his hand theatrically as he finished his sentence, a slight look of embarrassment on his face as he seemed to realise the alcohol was making him sentimental.

   “I didn’t try to save the race for you, I tried to save your life.”

   “Oh, but you did much more than that. I won the race and now I’ve got the pass to get in!”

Skeet frowned. Was this another referral to the ten thousand that Brey and Driss had been keeping so secret? They didn’t appear to be able to keep quiet about it, even though they knew they should. They were obviously very excited.

Brey had already admitted to Skeet, under the influence of alcohol, several things about his past. Including things about close friends and races he won with more than a little cheating. He decided that, even though he shouldn’t, he would attempt to get the information about the mystery.

   “The Ten Thousand, huh, Brey? Look, if that was your last race here and you’re off, why don’t you just tell me what it is?”

With a wave of a finger and a secret smile, Brey shook his head.

   “Oh, no. It’s private. I don’t want you following me to Tatooine.”

Tatooine?

   “What are you talking about? I spent years trying to get off that rock, nothings getting me back there. Come on, Brey. If it’s so great then who’s going to know you’re good at it if you don’t tell anyone?”

It took a few moments of silent contemplation for Brey to make up his mind.

   “Okay, listen.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. Skeet leaned in closer.

   “It’s the Tatooine Ten Thousand. Every few years, a crime boss on the planet called Jabba the Hutt runs a race that stretches over a few days. Ten Thousand kilometres of desert and canyon, in a huge circular course that takes fifty racers all over the planet. Twenty thousand credit entrance fee, which is what it’s already cost me to get this pass, and half a million prize money.”

Skeet looked at his friend in amazement. Ten thousand kilometres?

   “I always heard Jabba was more of a pod race fan.”

   “Yeah, but when was the last time you saw a pod race where you could fit small blasters to the vehicle? Highly illegal stuff, even for Jabba, and the attention of several federations and organisations he doesn’t want. A lot of the racers will do anything to win that money.”

   “It sounds more of a bloodsport.”

Brey shrugged as the server ‘droid sped over with their drinks.

   “Half a million brings out the worst in beings. Besides, only a few actually use their weapons; the majority are there to race and win. The best speeder racer in the galaxy. Imagine it.”

   “Any pods allowed?”

   “No way. They’re the fastest ground cruisers but they’d never last the full ten thousand. Only a fully modified landspeeder will do that job, and, boy, do I have the best machine for the job on my ship.”

   “You’ve got a ship?”

   “Yeah, an old hunk of junk I got in the Setnin Sector called the Happy Contriver. Only a light freighter but the holds big enough for my speeders. I’ll show you her...” Brey’s words trailed away and Skeet looked up to see his friend’s gaze was focusing on something over his shoulder. He frowned, turned, and watched as three figures approached.

The first figure was a scaly alien with a crown of horns, his face set into a smile. His clothes were a mish-mash of colours, as if several robes had been trimmed and placed over his shoulders. The other two were security officers, dressed in the same colour coveralls with a breastplate and arm and leg grieves. Although they were armed they didn’t appear threatening and they stood just behind the robed being with thumbs tucked into belts.

   “Mister Skeet Jonas?” the alien said, his head bobbing once inquisitively.

   Skeet turned the hoverseat around to face the alien but didn’t stand. He watched him suspiciously. “Yes?”

   “My name is Bu’rr Kup. I am Governor Emag Retsam’s official aide. He watched you race today.”

As soon as the governor’s name was mentioned Skeet felt that familiar jolt of tingling up his back. He wished he hadn’t drunk as much as he had and with that thought he almost immediately began to feel a lot more sober. He licked his lips and stood, hearing the hum of Brey’s chair as he stood also.

   “What of it?” he said.

   “The governor would appreciate your company at his abode on the central mountain estate.”

Skeet turned to look at Brey in confusion, wishing his friend would step in and say something. The sudden invitation had taken him completely by surprise. Brey just looked at him and frowned, indicating with a small wave of his hand that he should say something. He turned back to look into Bu’rr’s eyes, deep and black with a hint of a misty iris. He swallowed.

   “Tell the governor I will be happy to accept his invitation. I will have to clean up somewhat...” He indicated his ruffled clothes and unkempt hair. Bu’rr looked him up and down and smiled understandingly.

   “Of course. If you would like to prepare, the governor will see you as soon as you are able.”

   “That’s great.”

With a small bow, Bu’rr and is two aides turned and headed for the exit.

Skeet watched them go, his eyes narrowed and his mouth agape. Slowly, with more drama than was necessary, he turned to look at Brey. Brey was looking at him with a very similar expression. Skeet just shook his head.

Brey looked Skeet up and down as if he had suddenly become quite repulsive. A slow smile appeared on his face as he couldn’t hold the farce of being angry any longer.

   “You lucky...”

   “A personal invitation from Retsam, Bay!” Skeet almost cried, drawing a few puzzled looks from other patrons. “Why do you think he wants to see me?”

   “You’ve got talent. And if you’re gonna rub my nose in it then at least get my name right.”

With one hand on his forehead in exasperation and another subconsciously smoothing down the front of his jacket, Skeet said,

   “I gotta get my bike!”

   “You’re not gonna ride up to the estate of Emag Retsam on that thing, are you? I very much doubt whether Kirrich has even got half-way through fixing it, yet.” Brey quickly tilted his glass and swallowed what was left of his drink. He slammed the container on the table and pointed to the door. “Let’s get down there and clean you up, anyway. You smell like a Wookie’s armpit.”

   A Wookie on the next table growled his disapproval at Brey’s analogy.