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  One aircar had steered its way through the carnage; it wasn’t even bothering to fire at us but was pelting along at full speed, making for the spaceport plaza and the finish line. I immediately launched a Streamer, curving it around the side of the tank and switching to reverse view to follow it.

  “Milan, keep firing; force them to keep their shielding facing us.” Not that I really needed to urge him to use that cannon, especially as it was already facing in their direction.

  The rocket eagerly hunted down the escaping aircar, accelerating so swiftly that it had caught the car even before it reached the point where the road entered the spaceport plaza. Just as it seemed that the rocket must impact on the aircar’s rear shield, I swerved it up and then plunged sharply down, taking the missile through some weak spots of shielding directly above the driver’s cabin. A pulse of white light flared out and, with a sigh, the aircar gave up. It settled down quietly on the edge of the plaza.

  “Six down.” We were off to a good start. I’d had to use only one missile on that breakaway group.

  “Seventeen seconds to the pack. Arnie, plug us into the gap.”

  Ahead of us was chaos. The airtruck looked as if it had been smashed in the face and lost all its teeth; it was folded in on itself, around a great tear that went all the way across its front. It was now blocking half the road and, although small, the wreck of the two-seater also made a handy obstacle on our right. There was not a lot of room to get past us. Only the thinnest vehicles might risk it; the rest would have to try to ride over the two-seater or the tank.

  Several bolts of energy flashing against the nearby buildings signaled the arrival of the rest of the race. They came around the corner in a line that went right across the full width of the road, firing furiously at each other, a glittering wall of speed and violence. Missiles and counter-missiles were weaving through the air, conducting their own more delicate version of the battle below them. Defeated vehicles were skidding along to a halt, while those immediately behind were rearing up from the uphit as they drove right over them. And we were directly in the path of this howling energy. It was the most frightening and exhilarating moment I have ever experienced. The front-runners were so absorbed in their fight for survival and for speed that Milan and Nathan took out the entire row before any attention was given to us. The pack thundered on, cascading over the dead vehicles. I triggered everything I had, all but my last two Streamers. Our decoys first, next our anti-missile missiles. Then the three Stellar Bursts, three Arrows, three Red4s, and finally the Blitzes. It wasn’t that I was overcome with panic and had lost control. We had to get the front vehicles down fast, to jam up the road. Each shot was carefully chosen. Two or even three missiles at the same target if I thought it still had strong-looking shields, then on to the next. I was efficient. So were the others.

  “Brace for impact!”

  Another awful crash, just as bad as the first. Then a strange feeling, aftershocks. Other vehicles were piling up behind and we were sensing the distant echoes of their collisions.

  I switched to the newscast.

  “. . . anything like it. And there goes Voice of Doom, Guard of Honor, and Valiant.”

  “It’s incredible. But is it legal?”

  While the presenters gabbled on, I was attentive to the pictures. One of the flying cameras had the best shots, and I selected the cast it was transmitting. All the way back around the corner was a huge pileup of vehicles. Those that still had power were stuck behind the jam and continued shooting at each other. As the camera tracked down the road, you could see the disabled aircars wedged into each other, packed solid, and as it came to where we were, the wrecks were stacked up three or even four high like a wave of metal, frozen in the act of cascading. From the pictures, I was worried that when we backed out, it would all collapse onto us.

  “Now what?” Arnie’s tone was grim, as though he again wanted to smash his tank into the rival aircars.

  “Drive around the course?” suggested Milan.

  “Better wait, I think,” Nathan chipped in. “Let’s see if any of the ones at the back try to find a way through.”

  “Yeah. What have you got left, Ghost?” Athena asked me.

  “Just two Streamers.”

  “If you had to hit targets behind all this junk, could you?”

  “No problem, if we can pull back enough for a clean launch.”

  Carefully, very carefully, Arnie reversed us out of the pileup, leaving behind a tank-shaped hole and a creaking, swaying wall of shattered vehicles. All the while we were extricating ourselves, those aircars still functional behind the wreckage were shooting it out between each other. I waited, watching the battle, until there were only two left, both of them with their remaining shields facing each other. This was the opportune moment to strike. Since I could not control two missiles at once, I directed the first one down the road, a long way from the action, then turned it and gave it a straight line on its target. I immediately detached it and launched my last missile. There was only a small gap between the first and second strikes. Both of the last two aircars were down, taken unexpectedly from behind by the Streamers.

  Arnie turned us around and we set out on the long journey. We now had to complete the course. Coming alongside the grandstands, Milan opened his hatch and began waving to the spectators. The cameras immediately flew over to him, and his image was all over the giant screens. The silence of such a great crowd of people was uncanny.

  Inside the tank we were silent for a long period also, drained from the intensity of concentration that had just been required of us, and taking in the momentous implications of what we had just done.

  “So, that’s it, right?” Arnie eventually spoke for us all. “We just have to complete the course the right way and we win?”

  “Yes,” replied Athena.

  “Oh, green. I won’t believe it until it’s in my hand. A green.”

  I turned around; Arnie had tears in his eyes. He saw me looking at him. “You kids were amazing. I really couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “No, man, it was your tank. It’s the number-one rumble machine. It’s the blastimus maximus. It’s Dr. Death on tracks. It’s . . . it’s just awesome.” Milan dropped down from the turret to express his enthusiasm in person.

  “Do you all realize what we’ve just done?” he continued.

  “What?” Nathan asked him.

  “Not only are we going to win the aircar race, but we’ve made history. They are going to be showing that five minutes of mayhem a hundred years from now. We ruled. In a big, fat anarchist tank. How cool is that?” His eyes were blazing in a way that I’d never seen before. Like when he’d just eaten a jeebie, but clearer, more intelligent.

  “It’s pretty cool,” acknowledged Nath.

  I gave him a thumbs-up. It was an amazing achievement, to snatch victory from such a disastrous start. It was Arnie I felt most pleased for. He was blazing with happiness, his body shaking as the tank rolled along, a huge grin on his face and a distant expression in his eye. The look of someone already going shopping with his green card. When he noticed me looking at him, he became focused, giving me a slow nod, still smiling. I nodded back.

  An hour later, as we trundled alone along the wide road, two airboarders, a boy and a girl, both dressed as punks, leaped the barricade and snaked their way over to us.

  “Awesome, guys!”

  “Way to go.”

  They saluted us and continued to board around the tank, enjoying the attention of one of the twenty or so cameras that now buzzed around the tank like giant electronic mosquitoes.

  Half an hour later, we had twenty boarders gliding sinu-ously in our wake. The latest additions looked dressed to party, plenty of chains and tattoos. The idea of escorting the tank was catching on. I have to admit that if I had been watching the aircar race and seen an anarcho-punk tank take down the whole of the opposition, I, too, would have grabbed my board to join the fun. Each time an individual hopped over
the barricade and boarded over to the rest, a good-natured cheer went up. Track marshals were helpless to stop the crowd from growing.

  “What’s going on?” muttered Arnie.

  “Nothing to do with us,” replied Athena cheerfully.

  “Well, be careful. I don’t want to lose my green card.”

  When we arrived at the site of the battle, a large crowd had gathered, not just boarders but every kind of person; well, reds probably: they were wearing cheap, normal clothes. Hundreds of people were standing on the roadside barricades or had crowded at the windows of nearby buildings. When we paused, they gave us a great cheer. I waited for the applause to die away, but it didn’t.

  “Amazing. This feels really good.” Nathan spoke for us all.

  “This is the best feeling I’ve ever had in my life. Listen to them.” Milan climbed back up to thrust himself out of the tank and wave back. It was a good feeling, that we had accomplished something truly extraordinary. But for me there was still a lurking fear that spoiled our victory. We were bound to come to the attention of the police now. Surely they could not ignore our escape from the station and the fact that a policeman had been killed? I felt a shudder pass through me as I recalled the bloody scene.

  Meanwhile, Athena studied the two-hundred-meter metal puzzle that had once been a clear road. “Here’s a possible route. Reckon you can take it?”

  Eager to return my thoughts to the situation in hand, I called up the schematic that Athena sent to Arnie to look at it for myself. It was a three-dimensional sketch of the obstruction ahead, with a path marked through and over it.

  “Yeah. Anything we can’t move out of the way, we can crush. These aircars are as flimsy as tin cans once their power has gone.” Arnie began by driving up on top of a shattered disc-shaped vehicle, and we ground its cabin section under our tracks. He was right; we could barge and tread our way through the wrecks as if they were merely undergrowth. It took a bit of space and a few strong runs at the far end, though, to bring the stack of empty, powerless cars toppling down into the road ahead.

  The crashes and splintering of plasti-glass and metal meant that the spectators and the boarders who had been following us had to keep a long way back, so it was several minutes after we had driven on to the plaza before we saw them hurrying after us, keen to come and watch the award ceremony.

  “Stop the tank a moment, Arnie. Let them catch up,” urged Athena.

  “No, let’s get this over with.” He was understandably anxious, so close to the realization of a lifetime’s dream.

  “Perhaps take it slow then,” I offered. “In any case, this is a moment we want to fix in our minds forever.”

  To be fair to Arnie, the tank did slow down.

  This time, as we approached the finishing line, the crowds in the grandstands were more welcoming. Their shock had worn off. Milan sat outside, astride his cannon, waving and orchestrating the cheers with sweeping gestures of his arms. Arnie, Nathan, and even Athena were also popping their heads up and waving. Not me, though. I was just wondering how to get out of there unnoticed.

  Chapter 17

  DEATH ON A BLACK AIRBIKE

  “And was this a strategy you had talked about before the race?”

  Arnie looked uncomfortable and gestured with his head toward Athena.

  “Actually, it was improvised.” She looked directly at the camera. I had to smile at her earnest expression. “Our original game plan had been to try to get into a breakaway group. To be honest, it was something of an act of desperation.”

  “Yeah,” Milan broke in, and the camera swiveled toward him. “That plus the fact I wasn’t leaving without firing our cannon at somebody.”

  “Your entry was an unusual one. You are not members of the same guild?” The interviewer looked down at her clipboard, then back to Arnie, who was standing in front of the others.

  “I’m in Valiant. They had their chance to support me, but they wrote me off. Hey, Valiant, how d’ya like me now? Those sods left me out in the cold. It’s only thanks to these kids here that I got a crew.”

  “The rest of us are Defiance. It’s a new guild, more of a protest message than a guild.” Athena jumped back in quickly. “We think the City is decaying and rotten.”

  “And the color scheme is unusual. What’s the message there?” For a moment, the cameras showed our tank and I instinctively ducked, even though I was safe inside.

  “That was this kid.” Had Arnie really not learned Nathan’s name yet? Even though they were champions together? The camera turned in the direction Arnie had gestured.

  “Oh, well, it’s, like, the anarchist tank. You know, something different.” It must have been that Nathan was feeling shy under the scrutiny of the newscast. He was not usually so inarticulate, and I winced on his behalf.

  “Yeah.” Milan leaned forward again to get the camera’s attention. “As I said before the race, this win is for all the anarcho-punks out there. We were the rebel entry, and we kicked ass!”

  “Well, congratulations again on a most remarkable win. I think the Grand Vizier would now like to bestow your prize cards upon you.”

  The cameras panned back to show a podium that had been set up in front of the grandstand, with corporate sponsorship signs all over it. The new Grand Vizier was there, looking small and delicate against the vast scale of the spaceport and grandstand. As the cameras zoomed toward him over the heads of the crowd, he began to take on a more appropriately dignified and solid appearance. Something about the scene did not seem quite right. I quickly searched through the many other casts that were being sent by the flying cameras. A shudder caressed the inside of my skull, and I understood what was troubling me. Police were moving into certain definite positions. They were stationing themselves to prevent us from leaving.

  “Come in, Athena.”

  “Hey, Ghost, what’s up? How does the cast look?” She was still wearing her coms, as we had agreed.

  “Get back to the tank right now. The police are going to swoop.”

  On the newscast I saw her grab Nath and Milan by the arm. Milan shrugged her off angrily at first, and they were arguing. Arnie was bewildered. They started running away, back down the carpeting laid out for the winners. Left behind, Arnie watched them for a moment, expressionless, and then turned to continue his walk up to the podium.

  How hard could it be to drive a tank? I sat in Arnie’s chair and found the ignition for the motor unit; it started with no bother. Then I grabbed the handles that were a larger version of the joysticks that guided the Streamers. By pushing one forward and pulling the other back, I spun the tank, surprising nearby boarders and spectators who jumped away from the squeals and grumbles of the machine.

  With a thud, Milan slid in through the turret hatch. A moment later, Athena and Nathan were in, too, and I immediately sent us scurrying forward, heading out of the spaceport in the direction of the wide road that was used at the start of the aircar race.

  Sirens began to blare. That was just as well; it helped clear the spectators.

  “What’s up?” asked Milan. “I was looking forward to that.”

  “The police were closing in.”

  “They still are.” Athena was strapping herself into the command seat, already calling up information on her own unrolled computer.

  “What’s the plan, Ghost?” asked Nathan.

  “Shoot our way out.”

  “Confirm that, please. Shoot the police?” Nathan sounded anxious.

  “Confirm. It’s that or jail for us.”

  “Here we go again.” Milan turned his targeting on and swiveled the turret so that it pointed back behind us. “I have three cars incoming; fire at will?”

  “Take the left two; Nath, take the right.” It was reassuring to hear Athena in command of our tactics again.

  They were police aircars and much faster than ours. On the other hand, they weren’t armed with cannons. With an uninterrupted series of coughs, green and pink bolts of energy spat out of
our weapons. The police cars had shields like race shields except they showed only when our cannon fire splashed across them. They rushed ahead of us, blocking our path.

  I already had the accelerator down full, and it wasn’t going to ease up one bit.

  “Brace for impact!” shouted Athena.

  “Not again,” Nathan said with a sigh.

  With a crash of shrieking metal and a shudder, we were through, a scattering of detritus and three spinning aircars in our wake.

  “Helicopter!” Athena alerted us. I glanced at the view she was using. From behind the grandstand rose a powerful blue helicopter, propellers front and back. It swung around in an impressively tight arc and accelerated after us.

  “Shoot?” queried Milan.

  “Shoot!” I shouted back, desperate to get us to some cover but seeing nothing suitable.

  “But if we take out their power, they’ll probably all die in the crash,” Nathan pointed out.

  “Tough,” I answered.

  “I dunno, Ghost. That’s gonna really get us in deep trouble.” Even Milan had his limits. Didn’t he have a terrible scream welling up inside him, the animal fear of capture that so terrified me?

  “Shoot! How much more trouble can we be in?”

  “A lot more.” Milan would not fire; his cannon was silent.

  “Bike!” called Athena, cutting across the discussion. Emerging from the crowds was a black airbike, blasting across the plaza like a bolt of energy from our cannons. It was wider than a street bike, with a sleek curved windscreen covering the driver.

  “Shoot?” wondered Milan aloud.

  “Same problem,” answered Nathan.

  A beeping sound.

  “What’s that?” asked Milan in alarm.

  “We’ve been targeted by the helicopter. Ghost, get us out of line of sight.” There was a slight tremble in Athena’s normally composed voice.

  The problem was we were on an exposed flyover, about twenty meters above the roads below us. There was nowhere to turn off for at least a mile.

  “It’s them or us. Please open fire, team.” I put all the urgency of the situation into the word “please.”