The Upper Cradle Galactic Prix

I sat hunched over my strider gazing down into Gransen's Gully, winding up for my warmup run. At this point, I've memorized every inch of the winding terrain, tracing air-dusted skid marks into the minutest corner of the most hidden back alley. A lot of oddities packed into this canyon. One time, I found a camp of squatters who claimed they were sent here to search for the next coming of some god named Hystron. They said the only thing they needed to survive was their faith and the occasional skitter lizard. Nice people, I still bring them lizards from time to time. Anyways, as I’m looking down into the gully I feel a rush of excitement overtake me. Even though I’ve run this gully day in and day out any chance I could get since I could sit up straight on a strider, this would be the first time I was actually getting to compete in it. It’s not every day the Galactic Prix gets dropped on your doorstep begging you to compete against the best in the Upper Cradle. The competition may not have been until tomorrow but I needed to practice like it was today.

In one fluid motion, I saddled up and lurch over the edge of the chasm, plummeting toward a quick and painful death...that is if I wasn't such a damn good pilot. The wind floods past my face, weaving vortexes in every facet of my helmet and I let muscle memory kick in. As I round turn after turn, cutting just close enough for any would-be onlooker to question if I had a death wish or was just downright psychotic, it dawned on me. I hadn't thought about what I was going to say for my victory speech.

The mossy cave walls of Wailer’s Cavern greeted me as I bobbed and weaved past the starry, biochemical light show being put on by the inhabitants of the cavern. The usual screams of the wall slugs reverberated at their unbearable pitch giving my eardrums a nice high five. Glow Tooth said hello in his usual manner: attempting to pry my head off at the narrowest section of the cavern. With a lazy swat, I sent the gelatinous spider flying off into the blinking abyss. Pieces of acidic flesh clinging to my torn-up racers jacket were his parting gift for today as I rocketed out the other end of the cave.

None of my heroic voices were sounding good enough for this momentous victory so I took one hand off the handles to draw out some inspiration. The foot stayed maxing out the acceleration of course. This was the easiest leg of the course anyways. The gully opened up into a massive salt plain and since it was off-season there were no harvesters to be found. The salt rats should be in hibernation so why not live a little? Good pilots only need an arm and a leg to ride so why not take a knee on the strider mid-flight? Well, it turned out that the answer to that question was a salt rat who was too dumb to follow the lead of its pack mates. I was too caught up in my imaginary ecstasy to brace for the impending catastrophe. The only warnings of calamity were a brief squeal and a cloud of blood before I blacked out.

-

My name is Oslo Ryker and I’m creating this log for the highest bidder when I hit the mainstream circuit. I may be a Strider pilot from the Upper Cradle but I’ll be damned if I’m not the best to ever grace this galaxy. Striders were never considered very reliable on the racers circuit. Most pilots opted for a closed-hatch streamline fighter or something bulkier to handle any low atmosphere debris but I never abide by that tenant. You see, there’s something magical about feeling the air currents dance and pull at every crevice of your ship. You’re moving faster than sound and in no headspace to pay them any mind. Personally, I think Mother Nature’s a little jealous of how quickly I can outpace her. There are plenty of unspoken rules shared throughout pilots in the racers circuit, but the only one every last pilot abides by is to never disrespect the terrain. You can use it and work around it but NEVER disrespect it. Most pilots learn this the hard way, either through loss of life or limb. The lucky ones experience it second hand and avoid living life crippled, in debt, or six feet under.

Anyways back to the main point of this log, professional strider pilots are few and far between but the ones at the top reap the biggest rewards. Why sponsor a high flyin, run of the mill bush-flak pilot when a Corp. could slap their sticker on the side of a strider hurdling closer to death than a sail barge dipping into a black hole. Funny enough because of how close to death strider pilots live there is always a race cam tracing their every move, so the Corp. Sponsors get plenty of screen time. I plan on joining the elite sooner rather than later because this pay-stud-to pay-stud lifestyle is not cutting it anymore. I want enough creds to buy my own moon one day and design the perfect strider course.

The problem isn’t the skill because I’ve got that in abundance, it’s getting noticed. Currently, there are 38,476 licenses racers circuit pilots with millions more applying by the day. Every standard day hundreds of races are run throughout the galaxy, some carry more sway than others. Anything carrying the tag “Galactic Prix” at the end reigns supreme when it comes to sway. When I heard that the Galactic Prix was coming to my planet to compete in MY canyon AND 25 spots were reserved for natives, I knew The Nine had blessed me. Getting my spot was easy enough, there were only a handful of actual racers on this part of the planet and most of them caught Neuro-Rot a couple cycles back when the Hemlock Corporation started pumping chemicals in the water reserves to “improve taste”. All I had to do was make it to race day unscathed and my ticket to the big leagues was guaranteed but of course, the gods have a funny way of punishing hubris.

-

As I started to regain consciousness I could hear two voices murmuring from what felt like the other side of the planet. My eyes were able to barely focus on the two amorphous blobs which I could only assume were either a.) My saviors or b.) The future owners of the rest of my organs. As the grimy minutiae of the world slowly began to creep its way back into my awareness, I recognized the room as one I’ve spent much of my life in.

“Doc Z, how did I get here,” I said.

The two individuals quickly snapped to look at me with equal parts shock and astonishment. Z quickly skipped past the astonishment this time and went straight into his eventual rage.

“BOY ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKIN’ MIND? DO YOU THINK I LIVE HERE JUST TO SERVE AS YOUR PERMANENT BLOOD BAG?” Z said. His husky voice was too much to bear at the moment and I closed my eyes to avoid throwing up. “Kid, you’re lucky this kind gentleman has the blood of The Nine because there was no way I could have fixed you up without it. The least you could do is say thank you to him”

Z was sitting to my left so I assumed the stranger was positioned to my right. I leaned forward to get a better look at him but upon trying to shift my weight to my right side, I was met with the fact that I no longer had anything to prop myself against. This realization coupled with me falling out of the bed onto the jagged plasterized concrete led to a shrill, prolonged scream that I was unaware my body was capable of producing. Shockwaves of heat and pain shot up through my body as my now stump digs into the ground. The stranger helped me back up and into the bed where I was able to observe that both my right arm and left leg were now missing. Tears began to well in my eyes. The flood of sensation wrapped around my chest and threatened to tear me apart.

To distract myself from the self-loathing that was building in my chest, I turned to see who had given me a second shot at living. To my surprise, it was another man I recognized. He was tall with long braided hair and a beard that if you looked at it too long you swear you could see a furnace burning deep inside it. Sat before me in loosely fitting robes dotted with holes and burn marks was the leader of the cult of Hystron.

“Father Tanris, it’s good to see you, how did you find me?” I said, still trying to muscle down tears.

“We had just finished our daily rituals and were taking a break to watch you fly the final leg of your journey but alas you never graced our eyes. Brother Fek began to worry and suggested sending a strider to go in search of you. I said I would make a quick sweep to ease the convent’s growing concerns. I quickly discovered your body in the burning wreckage of what I assume was once your strider. I was able to remove you from the warped steel but not without sacrifice.” He said gesturing at the space my limbs once occupied. “There must always be sacrifice when miracles are performed.”

Agony and suffering had taken full control of me and all I could do is writhe on the bed hoping that if I wiggle my stump enough, a new arm will just pop out.

“Look kid, you took a bad spill back there but thankfully you’re still kickin’. I know you were excited for your race tomorrow but I think this is a good chance to get clear of that life. You’re barely in any condition to walk let alone ride,” Z said.

The tears of pity had passed and were now being replaced with elevated blood vessels, specifically the one that bisected my forehead, and a deep crimson overcoming my face. No. This was not where my journey ends, it’s my starting line. Z always stood by me when nobody else would. He didn’t deserve to be yelled at so I took a second to muscle down my rage long enough to let out a cool “No can do Z, it’s gonna take more than a couple missing limbs to stop me from reaching the top.”

My faulty charisma convinced no one. As I tried to hop out of bed both men rushed to keep me down but I felt a strange burst of energy considering all that I had been through. I slipped past their grip and hopped over to the doorway. Both men looked at me with disbelief and I could vaguely hear Z muttering something about the blood of The Nine being more than just medical mythology. Tanris gave him a smug look as if to say “of course I was right”. I tried to pry my way out of the ramshackle med bay, but Tanris was quick to the door.

“Oslo you possess an incredible resolve. One so strong that I am convinced that Hystron himself may be guiding you along your path. I have provided you much on this day but I am prepared to give everything in His service. If His will is to have you race, we will provide you with our lone strider. ”

I slouched against the door wondering why this was happening. I may have considered myself a follower of The Nine but I’ve never actually prayed or anything. Their holidays were a good excuse to get out of work but other than that, the realm of the divine rarely crossed my mind. To be told that I may be chosen for a purpose greater than racing was daunting. But then it occurred to me, whether I’m divinely chosen or not this man is offering me a strider and a chance to compete. I slid back up against the wall and assumed the most regal stance I could muster with one leg.

“I’m glad you were finally able to recognize it. Yes, Hystron has spoken to me and yes I must compete tomorrow. There will be a grand meditation tonight in order to assure my victory. Gather your convent and tell them to pray through the night, tomorrow we will be reborn anew.”

-

It took most of the night to get that junker of a strider they had into a racing condition. Half the paneling needed to be replaced and the entire repulsor engine block was basically junk. Luckily I had been collecting spares for a while now in case something like this happened. I used the rest of my time compensating for my new disabilities. I was able to create a network of ropes and harnesses to keep me propped upright on the strider while still leaving me maneuverable. It took until sunrise to get a stable harness constructed. By the time race check-in was starting I looked like a cocoon of cables with a helmet pocking out of the top.

Gransen’s Gully was absolutely packed with some of the fanciest skyboxes the Racers Circuit could import for an event like this. Massive mobile supercomplexes were brought in to line the edges of the Gully and were already packed to the brim with eager spectators. Corp. Skiffs loomed like avian predators scanning the deep-fried clay of the canyon walls for any hint of carrion. The carrion ,in this case, was morons trying to steal products it would take three lifetimes to pay for normally. Racers of all species had gathered, from the scaly reptilians of the Thraxians to the dry-looking fish men of the Gel-Naga. I even spotted a rather grumpy Bon Kreel complaining to his entourage about being forced to race in these savage conditions. I was broken from my trance by Tanris’s voice.

“Herald we have done it!”

I turned to face the voice as a crowd of out-of-breath cultists rushed to catch up with their leader.

“Good. You all will be rewarded for your conviction soon. Wait at the finish line for me to announce our victory in the name of Hystron.” The men bowed their heads and shuffled off to their alcove.

The announcer’s voice boomed throughout the canyon for a quick test. After an oddly long throat clearing session a muddled “Oh, it’s still on?” could be heard.

“Goood morning Upper Cradle! The excitement for today’s event is certainly here! Would all racers please head to the start line?”

This was my cue to get moving as I slinked my way to the starting line. No surprise, I was the only strider present. Every other vehicle was twice my size and completely housing their pilots on all sides. I heard snickering from nearby pilots when I pulled up to the line but this didn’t matter. I’d have plenty of time to laugh from the top of the champion’s podium.

“Racers, the rules are simple: Make your way through the canyon course in whatever way you can without exiting the canyon. Weapons are not allowed but side and rear shoves are permitted.”

With that the countdown began and I could feel my heart revving. I had never felt this level of excitement before but now that I had there was no going back to a world without it.

The circuit racers shot out to a quick lead with the locals trailing behind them. I found myself in the middle of the locals as the first few turns took out the unprepared. I even had to avoid a circuit racers charred flak as I rounded my way into The Volley. The Volley were the first stress test of the course pitting competitors into a narrow box alcove designed to shoot rocks and debris in every direction. Since the fighters were opting to stay as far away from the ground as possible I was able to cruise safely along the surface avoiding the minimal debris that came my way. I could hear fighters ejecting left and right as their life’s saving started plummeting behind me. As I punched out of The Volley I heard the echo of spectators cheering reverberating off the canyon walls.

Before I can respond to their calls I noticed a local flak pilot named Skads attempting to slam my side. I glide over his hull sending him way off course. He quickly readjusts and returns with a pack of locals looking to turn me into mincemeat. I dance their dance and the Gully briefly turns into a mosh pit of fighters erupting into luminous balls of flame all around me. Skads is still hot on my tail but I see the entrance to Wailer’s Cavern just up ahead. Wailers Cavern is too small for most other crafts forcing them to take an alternate route, but not for a strider pilot. I hear Skads curse me out as I slip through a crack in the wall into Wailer’s Cavern.

Wailer’s is relatively quiet today with the noticeable absence of Glow Tooth’s rapid skittering. The only sound I could hear was a deep rumbling above the caves roof and a light crackling behind me. The first was expected, the second was worrying. It was too dark to check what was happening and this strider had no headlamp so I had to wait for the light to return before examining. I ducked hoping to avoid Glow Tooth’s wrath as I approached the exit but to my surprise it never made a move against me. The second I got clear of the caverned I shifted my weight to check the issue, only to confirm my worst fears.

Glow Tooth has somehow managed to find his way onto my strider and was now melting cord after cord in a slow march to my spine. His fangs were their usual bright green but one of them had been broken off. Bite after bite kept missing the cables, and as I attempted to shake him off the strider its own predicament became evident. Glow Tooth opted to hunker down in the cables and clung to the decaying metal for dear life.

Finally, I had reached the salt plains and was ready for redemption. Pilot after pilot had clearly been dropped here, massive plumes of salt clouds were covering most of the open field by the time of my arrival. The pilots I could see were all slowing down which meant it was my time to enter second gear. I closed my engine vent shutters, lifted by face mask, and rocketed forward straight into a noxious cloud of minerals. Sound was my only resource and as far as I could tell I had driven into a warzone at some point. I pushed the strider harder and it started to give me kickback. As I pushed faster and faster, I felt pressure at the back of my ear.

Bank Left

Before I could process it, I jerked the stick left and narrowly avoided the sound of a fighter zooming past. Seconds later there was an all too familiar shriek followed by a red mist coating my strider.

On the other end of the clouds, I could only see one other racer in front of me in one of the nicest flak fighters I had ever seen. It was a model T Omicron-class Federation Patrol ship, heavily modified too. It was hanging low to the ground with its angular wings dipping ever so close to the salt below. I move up to his blind spot but was unable to produce enough speed to get past him. I could see the Bon Kreel inside laughing and sipping some beverage. The finish line was just up ahead and I needed to move fast if I wanted to actually win this. I looked back briefly at Glow Tooth who was still huddled safely in the fibers. I gave him a head gesture hoping he would understand to which he replied with a hiss. I took that as a yes and pulled the rear of my strider next to the Bon Kreel’s Fighter. He began to laugh even harder thinking I was trying to overtake him but before he could make his next move it was too late. Glow Tooth had already buried his fang into the left stabilizer of his craft and he was now seconds away from crashing. I rocketed past the spiraling mess right into the waiting clutches of the finish line.

The crowd was in a frenzy as I slowed to a stop and was quickly swarmed by fans of every sort. Some were louder than others with Tanris’s sticking out the most. The cult quickly pushed their way to the front but were stopped like everyone else by the massive spider holding me hostage. It had now crawled within an inch of my face and was staring me dead in the eyes. I heard a scream and guns being loaded but I gestured them to stop. Glow Tooth could have killed me if he wanted to be he didn’t. After a few tense seconds, I pet the gelatinous overcoat separating me from face-melting acid. It seemed content was this and crawled its way onto my back as I began to untether myself.

There were audible gasps when I hopped off my strider and limped my way to the champion’s podium using a broken bar from the strider as my crutch. The crowd was beside themselves when I shimmed to the center of the podium and raised my arms in victory. As I let out a cathartic yell the podium began to slowly rise above the crowd. Reporters were flying in to ask question after question each one sporting a Corp. logo. Their voices were echoing throughout the canyon. The pushiest was one from Hemlock Corporation but I had no interest in speaking to them. Over everything I heard…

“What’s your name kid?”

Peering back at Glow Tooth sound asleep on my back I looked out and said…

“Araneae”

“Well Araneae, Is there anyone you want to thank for this victory?”

I looked down to see the cult eagerly awaiting my response.

“Not a god damned soul but myself.”