A preview of "The Turbo Jockey"

I gripped the Firebird’s throttle so tightly that the blood rushed from my hands, until my knuckles turned white. I want this win. I need it. 

It was like needing the very air my lungs craved. No more falling shy of first place! No more checks cashed out for second place. 

No more! This was mine.

The screams and jeers of the audience crackled through the mech’s intercom. It pushed me harder. 

Egged me on. 

Tugged me to that finish line, and I let it happen. 

A blip on my radar jerked me back to reality. The Prince was on my ass. 

My mech jetted down the racetrack and careened around the bend. The entire cockpit leaned hard to the left, and the Firebird soared. I ground my teeth and prayed that the mech’s rattling frame wouldn't leave me naked in a seat skidding across the dirt. My hand struggled against the G-Force to lurch forward and push the thrusters harder.

A blaring noise and flashing red lights from all of my scanners nearly put me in an epileptic seizure. I wished they would hurry up and fritz out. 

The rattling stopped long enough for me to catch my wind. Then silence. 

Oh, thank Sevectus. The scanners actually went out. 

I knew what they wailed about. Engine’s overheating. Thrusters’ overheating. I blinked the sweat away from my eyes. Shit, I’m overheating. 

Not a problem. Everything could break as long as I won. Scanners, thrusters, engine —- I could get them all repaired with my winnings. I could repair a lot of things with my winnings, maybe even the relationship with my old man.

The radar beeped again. I checked my rear cameras to find a mech gaining distance. 

“Let me have this, Devon!” I shouted through my coms. 

Devon “The Prince” O’Donnel was the cream of the crop. He was royalty among us mech racers. He earned his name by being the best, and had he been more than some guy in his twenties, I was sure the corporation that ran the races would call him The King.

“No chance, Owen!” he said with a laugh. “Just be sure not to crash at the finish line again.”

You crash one time at the finish line, and they give me the callsign “Nosedive” for the rest of my life.

Okay, maybe twice or three times…You know what? Who keeps track of that shit?

The beeps sounded off in rapid succession as Devon’s green mech blurred ahead of me. 

Damn. 

I pushed my turbo thruster lever to its maximum point. Had my scanners been working, they would have cautioned me not to force the Firebird this much, but at this point, I didn’t care. Like I said before, I needed this win!

My engines roared with life, and my head dug deeper into my seat as my mech blazed into the straightaway. I had mere seconds to catch up with The Prince. 

Screws loosened within panels and steam seeped from the walls. With each meter that flew by, my cockpit shook like a wet dog trying to get dry. Devon and I were neck and neck, and every other mech in this race was left in our dust.

“I got you now, Devon,” I cheered. 

This might have been the closest I’d ever gotten to beating him, and I could taste my victory.

“Just remember this as a lesson, Owen,” he said, rife with his trademarked cockiness in his words. “Racing isn’t just about the skill, it’s also about how many levels you have.”

I glanced at my Heads Up Display. The neon turquoise 10 burned brightly into my pupils. I clenched my teeth in embarrassment as he continued his taunt.

“The more levels you have, the more modifications you earn for your mech.”

“Shut up, Devon!” I yelled, but he was right. I was still at a low level, and thus, my mech suffered. 

Corsair class mechs were built for speed, so their base Evasion stat ranked the highest of all the seven mech classes. However, to make up for that, they only started with one modification. 

Because of how fast our vehicles were, the average turbo jockey purchased a stabilizer. It allowed for better handling, especially at the speeds a Corsair clocked in at, but I raced for Standard Fuel and Fusion, and if I wanted an edge in the races, I had to pull out all the stops. Literally.

“Whereas you only have a turbo thruster,” continued Devon. “My mech has that, a stabilizer, and—”

Vents opened up on the back of his mech, and the mechanized whirring hummed through my ears. Within milliseconds, The Prince blasted past me and cleared the finish line.

“Afterburners,” I muttered.