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CHAPTER ONE Chapter
Castor was the fastest driver for about a thousand light years around, and now he had to throw the race for a spoiled fat kid. He revved his antigrav bike and made some extra dust for the fans to enjoy. They weren't few of them, every eye in the solar system was fixed on the race broadcast. Not because they were so anxious to see who would win, rather to have an extra second or so of warning in case something went wrong. He drove up a hill and turned back to locate his opponent. He lifted his helmet's visor and covered his eyes from the scorching sun.
He saw him struggling to get past some narrow rocks, but he was soon about to catch up. Castor turned around towards the finish line and accelerated. The fat kid wasn't stupid. Castor had to give him a good challenge, make him sweat for the win. If it was possible, they had said, he should let it get toe-to-toe just before the finish line. They'd given the fat kid the best bike there was, bought from those alien traders that demanded payment in pounds of flesh. They had installed an AI that made it impossible to make a mistake, which was of course banned from racing.
Castor picked up speed and turned to some rock formation that would provide a ramp for a nice jump, but would reduce his lap time severely. The rocky, dry moon that this race track was on provided excellent grounds for showmanship. Barely 0.2 g, you could perform the most impressive jumps and spins in the air. The crowd, gathered in a remote part on their bleachers in a strategic part of the track, stood up and roared for him. Castor braked a little and the fat kid finally caught up to him, whooshing past at enormous speed. The crowd didn't hide their disappointment at that.
Castor made it hard for the fat kid. He overtook him a couple of times, and cut him off at a couple of bends, got millimetres away from touching his bike and causing a crash. It was an excellent show for the fans, but most importantly, for the fat kid. In reality, he was always in complete control and could make him eat his dust at any time. He got angry. Who was he to stroll over in his own sport, in his own domain, and force him to give away his victory? Had the spoiled kid ever worked tirelessly for decades to become the number one champion at something? Maybe it would be good for him if Castor taught him a lesson. Maybe, a slap in the face like that, would show that you can't just win against Castor, you'd have to work really hard at it. Life lessons and stuff. Wouldn't he rule over all of them in a standard year anyway, his Royal Highness, Alexander Diairetis?