Page 66 of Hyperspeed
So? When?
Rookie
Tomorrow, 11 p.m. Meeting point is the old Nebula Goods shuttle park, just off the I-9 on Solveth.
I frowned. Solveth was two planets over from Zyphar. Compact and densely populated, its single megacity stretched across most of the surface, packed with high-rise towers, multi-tiered transport grids, and a nightlife powered by more neon than sense. It was loud, fast, and always switched on. A suitable location for an underground race, I supposed.
But why were we meeting at an abandoned supermarket?
Ten years ago, the chain went bust, and the building had remained abandoned ever since. For whatever reason, no one had purchased the land and upgraded it to fit Solveth’s aesthetic, so I couldn’t fathom why he wanted to meet there.
Was he luring me there to commit murder?Mymurder?
Nah, he wasn’t that kind of guy . . . right?
Kai
Are you planning to kill me?
Rookie
It wasn’t on my bingo card this week. Maybe next. Why?
Kai
No reason.
Rookie
You’re so fucking weird, Mercer.
Charming.
At least I could sleep better knowing he wasn’t plotting my demise. And despite the possibility of being murdered in the future, I still cracked a smile.
The rookie had agreed to see me . . . off the track . . . just the two of us.
Why was I so happy about it?
I was surprised when the SpaceNav announced my arrival. It wasn’t the abandoned Nebula Goods I’d expected. The building was old and dilapidated, yet the shuttle park overflowed with people.
I nabbed an empty parking spot towards the back of the lot, and a crowd moving like a raging river immediately engulfed me. Excitement crackled in the air, sharp and electric, raising the hairs on my arms. People recognised me, calling out my name, so I waved and smiled while being jostled by the crowd.
But while it was chaos, we seemed to move towards something.
I knew when we’d reached our destination—right at the edge of the car park, by the exit to the highway. The people in front of me shifted, splitting off to gather around a lineup of vehicles. They weren’t the kind you’d see cruising down a city street, and my heart kicked up a gear just looking at them.
Unlike racing vehicles in the ASL, drivers constructed these for short-term speed over longevity. They came in all shapes and sizes, each one rough around the edges but crafted with purpose. There was a handmade quality to them, which only made them more impressive—raw, personal, like each one had a story under the hood.
The drivers were different too, especially their outfits. While we wore thick, well-fitted, flame-retardant suits in the ASL, here, most were wearing T-shirts, jeans, and chunky leather boots. The professional in me worried how they’d fare in a crash, but I had to remember, thiswasn’tthe ASL. And these drivers weren’t professionals.
Though . . . one of them was.
Scanning the lineup of vehicles, I spotted none other than Rev, standing beside an impressive looking vehicle. He’d dressed simply—just a plain black jumpsuit that reminded me of my early years at the karting tracks. And based on the “Kosmic Karting” logo on his back, I realised it wasa karting suit.
At least it would offer more protection than standard casual wear.
He was chatting with an enormous Vorkan, arm curled around a battered helmet tucked against his side. Like the suit, it was plain black, but on closer inspection I noticed hand-drawn veins of lightning etched across the surface, mirroring the markings on Rev’s skin, shimmering like prisms under the floodlights.
