They lined up. The parade crouched, ready to spring. Engines roared and rumbled, grew quiet. The horns blared, once, twice, thrice. Then a lone pistol blank, and the world beyond the balcony turned to inscrutable steam, smoke, and unrequited speed.

I tried to keep my eye on the silver pod, zipping along through the shroud of sparks and smoke. Almost immediately, the pack began to spread out, the leaders establishing a clear lead, the main body, then the obvious stragglers. I scanned the leading rally ships as they passed from view, curving out over the Western Belt, toggling their fusion boosters briefly in the straightaway, then disappearing from my direct line of sight. Almost seamlessly, the livestream, an acre of LED pixels, flickered into view, showing a fiery tumble of black smoke and crumpled metal.

Balthastar is down! He’s taken 37 and TripleRallyPro with him! What a tragic turn of events! the announcer belted out, in a voice that did not sound the least bit saddened. My head pounded with adrenaline as my attention skittered along the stream of swerving vehicles. Sage and Kal were nowhere to be found. The main group of racers emerged from the initial dust plumes and I eagerly scoured their ranks. Still nothing.

The stragglers zipped out of the haze, unsteady but hastily chasing after their competitors. A few seconds passed. The dust began to settle. I strained my eyes, burning yet not blinking, afraid to miss a single moment.

Movement. Sage’s distant form became apparent. Then the rest of the rally ship beneath her. She crouched on one of the twin engine blocks, hammering at something with a wrench. Sparks flew. Kal watched from his seat in the pilot’s pod, half standing.

Sage turned back to him, yelling something over their headset. Kal cranked the start-cord and the rally ship coughed to life, a final belch of dark smoke before stabilizing at a dull roar. Sage scurried back to her seat, but the twenty step distance between the engine blocks and the cockpit seemed to last forever. The other racers got further ahead, yes, but more importantly the hazards of broken up rally ships accumulated in their wake—flung shards of metal which Sage and Kal now had to avoid while traveling at mind-melting speeds. I watched them cut each turn, wobbly at first, but with increasing ease and skill. By the time they peeled out of sight around the bend, they had unleashed the throttle, blazing down the track in a daring attempt to catch the pack.

I turned my attention to the thousand-foot monitor at the center of the stadium, but they were currently showing the point of view of a rally ship near the front of the pack. They had mounted a camera on the hood. Charming. I watched until an unsteady overtaking gone wrong caused the camera to spin wildly in a blend of sparkler-like streaks, the crew screaming, and then the video feed came to halt with a loud crunch.

I checked my personal surroundings, carefully and casually—Rivallman still stood behind me, observing the race with hawkish attention. I checked for exits. There were two staircases down from the balcony, one garage side where we had entered, and another leading down into the stadium. Well, to be precise, it led down just behind the stands, under the stadium.

The main screen caught my attention again. The camera drone followed Sage and Kal’s ship as it wove among the stragglers, overtaking them with steady precision. I watched a veering rally ship clip one of Kal’s engine blocks. The ship wobbled, dust kicking up behind it momentarily. Time seemed to catch in my throat. Then they rocked back into the center lane, blowing past another cluster of straggling racers. At this rate they’d be in the main body soon. Although it had been years, their veteran status showed, in the confidence with which they took each turn and the boldness of their barging past other less surefooted racers.

“Looks like my prize fighters are living up to their reputations,” Rivallman said.

I nodded.

After a moment had passed and I offered no conversation, Rivallman spoke up again, more directly this time.

“You look anxious, my good Silas. Do you wish you were down there, racing for me?”

I watched two pods spin out in a glorious plume of fire and smoke. Kal and Sage wove between the wreckage, hardly slowing at all.

“No. But I do wish I could help them somehow.” I made a mental note to control my breathing and relax my hands, which I realized had clenched tightly into fists. Time would continue to pass, with or without my stress, I reminded myself. Time would pass, and the race would soon be over. I found the thought both terrifying in its inevitable finality, but also comforting.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of movement, deep in the recesses of the stadium’s underbelly. I glanced down, but it was gone. Then, a flurry of bright uniforms, pearly and armored followed, a flicker in the gap between concrete pillars. Someone was on the run down there, and I had a sinking feeling in my stomach about who it might be.

I turned my attention back to the race. Kal and Sage had regained a modest position and maintained it with a more reserved deliberation—if you can call any part of rally ship racing reserved.

After what felt like hours, we stood on the garage floor, watching Sage and Kal emerge from their battered, but intact rally-ship. Their faces were sooty, flushed with exhilaration. They stumbled across the garage floor, punching each other in the shoulder. I restrained the urge to run forward and hug them in relief. Instead, I looked back over my shoulder at Rivallman, who stood up straight, dismissing a pearly-robed assistant with a nod. The assistant slipped a comphone back into his pocket and slid out of the way. I swallowed.

“My friends. I am truly grateful,” Rivallman said, gesturing magnanimously. “You raced wonderfully, with courage and skill.”

Sage and Kal composed themselves, nodding respectfully.

“Unfortunately it’s come to my attention that you came here, perhaps for more than simply information. I’ve had to apprehend one of your fellow conspirators, caught snooping in business that frankly wasn’t theirs to snoop in.”

I held my arms still, rehearsing in my mind the various exits, the postures of the various assistants, and the nearest available weapons. I sensed Kal and Sage doing the same thing. Then I turned around, and saw that Rivallman was watching, a knowing look to his hooded eyelids. “However, although you are not, I am a man of my word. You raced for me, and for the location of Kal’s brother, Oren Ten, artist extraordinaire.” Rivallman beckoned me forward, producing a slim device from his robes and handing it to me.

It felt heavy and cold in my palm, metallic.

“A tracking fob?” I asked, nervous.

“Indeed.”

I pressed the bevelled power switch. A small hologram map flickered to life, indicating several location parameters and the tracking ID. The words were bright and blue at the top.

SUBJECT: MARY WESTLEY

“But…” I gulped nervously for the hundredth time that day, looking up at Rivallman, who gave a shrug.

“She’s headed for the same place I sent Oren. However, you didn’t hear it from me.”

I looked up from the tracker fob quickly, just in time to see a swarm of pearly robed agents emerge from the woodwork, cued by Rivallman’s statement. A dark sack went over my head, strong arms held mine back. I registered the pungent odor of chloroform, then everything went black.

“Silas! Silas, wake up!” Hands shook me. The voice was familiar. Ava. Captain. I sat up, my head throbbing, and my mind still foggy. My face was bruised from lying against the mess hall floor. The mess hall? I looked around, at Ava’s face, at the mess hall. Surely not...but it surely was the Sojourner’s mess hall. How could that be?

“What happened?” I asked, not sure that Ava would have any more answers than me.

“You tell me, Silas! When you didn’t show up at the rendezvous, Vedod and I came back to the ship and found you here. We’re safe on the Sojourner. Help me wake the others!” She stood up, racing over to Kal, unconscious next to the freezer units. As Kal sat up, bleary and dazed, I heard Ava ask him if Mary was with us.

I fumbled in my pocket. The cold, heavy tracker was still there. I flipped it on. The readout blinked to life. A personalized message popped up.

Although I work for them, it doesn’t make me a fan of them. I exited the message and scoured the tracking readout. A surge of adrenaline shot through my body as I read the dreadful words.

The Shattered Suns.

“I know where Mary is. And I know where Oren is too,” I said. “But it ain’t all good news.”