Racers of the Night: Science Fiction Stories by Brad R. Torgersen Read Online Free PDF Page A

view of the starry sky, as well as Sally Tincakes in the far distance, her CAZETTI RACEWAY sign raised proudly over the field.
    The youngsters on the pit crew looked at Bill nervously.
    “You go out there again,” the old man said, “and there’s no telling what might happen this time. First heat was a warning. She doesn’t give warnings, usually. We file a technical disqualifier with the track office, and you get excused without having to take a hit in overall standings.”
    “And no chance at the Armstrong Cup until next year,” Jane said. “No thanks. I’m here to do this thing, now. Not later.”
    Bill’s jaw ground bitterly, then he looked away. Silence, for almost a full minute.
    “Time hack’s in 20 minutes,” he finally said. “Get on the bike and get out of here.”
    • • •
    Second heat, and the mysterious pressure problem did not return. The Falcon performed to perfection, earning Jane a first-place finish amidst a much tougher group than she’d been up against for the first heat. She got some nice press in the leader board blogs, and an interview with the track rats who split the news feed back to Earth—for those on the mother planet who were sports-junky enough to care about the exotic stuff going on in the rest of the solar system.
    If anyone else noted or cared about the female record of zero finishes and 100 percent fatalities, they didn’t say so. Which was just fine with Jane.
    But it didn’t stop Bill from chastising her again as she prepped for the third of the five total heats.
    “It’s time to put the baby to bed,” Jane said. “We had our one weird problem for the series, and we’re going smooth now.”
    The old man was agitated to the point of fidgeting, his tablet and stylus appearing like foreign objects in his hands as he nervously shuffled them back and forth, one hand to the other.
    “Every time you go back out on that track, you’re just daring her to notice you. It might not happen now, it might not happen tomorrow, but before this series is over …”
    “Enough,” Jane said, sharply. “Quit, and let someone else run the crew. Or shut up and bring me home for the win.”
    “You really think you’re good enough?” Bill said. “I was full of beans in my day, and even I couldn’t make it past the third heat.”
    “Maybe that’s your problem,” Jane said, letting the techs check her vacuum suit’s fittings. “Because you haven’t climbed this particular mountain to the top, you’re afraid it can’t be done?”
    Bill’s face flushed brightly.
    “I’m a lot of things, lady, but I ‘aint a jealous man.”
    “Prove it. Put the curse in the trash where it belongs, and make some good things happen.”
    Bill didn’t look convinced as she went out the airlock for the third heat, but he did look relieved when she came back two hours later, a second-place finish notched.
    • • •
    The fourth heat meant press both before and after the run. The competition was down to 80 drivers now, and after the day was done, there would be only 20 remaining for the final, championship heat—and the crowning of the Armstrong Cup winner. As the only female in the bunch, Jane got more than her share of attention, including several in-depth interviews during which the inevitable history of the track—the five female deaths, the dearth of female competitors overall—came to the surface.
    Jane blew it off. Bravado was a prerequisite for all drivers. But by the time she was suiting up for the heat, she had to admit even she’d been rattled. They’d showed her some of the old footage of the accidents from the past—news people generally having no clue whatsoever about what’s appropriate to show a person right before they’re about to do something hazardous.
    Jane laughed her way through it, but was quiet during the race prep.
    “Not so funny when you see what’s possible, is it?”
    Jane glared at Bill.
    “I noticed they didn’t even censor the footage of your