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The Race

Cameron Preston snuggled into the seat, all racing yacht seats were advanced in the matter of fit, his more so than most, Preston’s Shipyard had spared no expense on his.  Unlimited Class Racing Yachts were the fastest known ships in the Galaxy, the best military fighter ships and courier ships could not touch them for speed and maneuverability, but that came at a cost.  There were no gravitics dampeners aboard and shields for the required fraction of light speed to shift to ultralight speed were minimal.  Once the little boat reached 0.5% of lightspeed or LS, they could shift to multiples of LS with the ultralight drive.  Once in UL they no longer needed to be shielded, the drive created a shockwave before it that would push smaller objects away and the ship, or in this case boat, away from larger ones.  On ships larger than fighters gravitics generators dampened the effect of being pushed away from objects or other extreme maneuvers.  Mass was the king of limiters, both in speed and handling and no racing yacht could give up any edge with extra mass and so the pilot suffered. His seat wrapped well up his sides and his harness ensured he stayed locked in place.  The white flag showed on his viewscreen and he throttled up along with the row of his competitors as they headed for the 0.5% LS they needed to reach by the Start Buoys.  There was a little jockeying as they all worked to get a nice line abreast formed.  With the line formed a white flag with green diagonal stripe showed and they closed on the Start Buoys.  Cameron’s qualifying time had put him on the inside and as the buoy flashed to his port he punched the UL in. The starts blurred and his stomach and head swam momentarily with vertigo.

The green flag showed a good start and he pushed the throttle full on and almost immediately was slammed to port by something big.  He checked his heading, almost 20 degrees port of where he needed to be as a heading.  He heeled the boat over starboard adjusting for the displacement to a new heading.  He was at 6UL, the boat’s maximum speed and glanced at the chronometer which had been zero at the start line.  Racing Yachts had minimal navigational systems; in essence they flew blind.  A course map was displayed with distances between buoys and a zero heading, there were a pair of chronometers, one counting from start line and another from pilot zero inputs, and a hand entry calculator.  Pilots avoided using the calculator other than in an emergency, at the speeds they were traveling hand entered calculations were out dated by the time they were entered.  Cameron had to make his turn on the outside of the buoy, in the case of the next buoy, starboard of it.  He knew the distance between buoys and his speed, but now needed to adjust slightly for the veer.  The boat veered hard port again, straps cutting into him both with the veer and his hard adjustment starboard.  By the time the race ended he would be marked up by those straps even with his highly capable seat. Cameron wondered if the Xylona Racing Committee that had set the course had included such cluttered space for the entire run, if so, he was going to be very tired and sore by the finish line.

His limited range scanners showed nine of the original ten starters, he knew their boats were all within fractions of his 6UL slower than him and barring misadventure all should be within range.  Regardless of being fastest, piloting was going to win the race, wide turns or worse circling back around to pass on the proper side of a buoy would mean the difference between winning and placing.  Preston’s Traders, home to all the Preston businesses could pour limitless credits into a project but that only gained him 0.05% UL over the next fastest.  Preston’s Shipyard had tweaked the UL drive and directional control as far as the best R&D Lab could, but without major drive design advances 6UL was all there was to be had.  The outlandish mathematics of UL did not have a set limit on UL, but the 1,200 years of its existence and humanity’s time among the stars had only allowed generations of designs to get from 4UL to 6UL.  UL doesn’t neatly translate to 1 LS, 1UL is approximately 30,000 LS, a fast liner at 3.5 UL took about 4 months to cross the entire Galaxy.  This race would take about 4 hours.

Cameron’s hard turn at the next buoy was just outside it, it showed on his scanner just after he began heeling over for the turn.  Heeling over was a function of keeping the g forces down into the seat rather than any maneuvering necessity, shockwave veers and swerves simply happened as they did so pilot generated ones were the only relief from being slammed around in the seat.  At each succeeding buoy Cameron’s lead on the field increased, his mental calculations and estimations of corrections were adding up.  By the sixth buoy he could feel the effects of wear and tear adding up, most of his body ached and repeated calculations and estimations took a toll on his mental processes, the sixth turn was wider than he wanted, though he lost no ground.  “Got to sharpen my game,” he muttered to himself. The finish was four away yet, so he dug down into his resources.  The next buoy was just inside his turn, “Any closer and I’d have missed it, too close, got to back off a little.”

The finish was far enough above the Xylona orbital plane to allow for braking before entering the system and as he crossed it to the checkered flag his comm announced, “Cameron Preston in Preston’s Delight to Berth 1, congratulations to our winner.”  He sighed, spent and pleased as he punched out of UL and braked.  He brought her into a fast landing, flaring out at the last moment and keyed the air lock above his head.  The race was about the pilots and their boats as far a win, but pleasing the viewers was important.  The race was viewed across multiple sectors and every planet would have various favorites they rooted for.  His home planet Aronia followed yacht racing closely and he was their favorite along with some other planets in other sectors, so a show landing was called for, not quite in violation of spaceport regulations, but close.  He pulled himself up onto the hull and turned for the crowd and cams with arms above his head and vaulted to the pavement.  The cockpit was no more than a lower wedge on the front of the larger wedge of the boat, the hull was no larger than required for fuel, its containment, drives, and the cockpit.  It was not ugly, but strictly functional.

The other yachts were landing on berths in order of their finish and Cameron watched through the din as they swooped in, waiting to congratulate the pilots before going to the awards stand. Not all pilots would do so, but Cameron believed it was important, everyone of them had endured a great deal just to land here on Xylona and deserved a show of respect.  He met each with a bow and a handshake, a couple embraced him, friends from other races.  He led the way to the awards platform and received his trophy and winnings check, which he promptly endorsed over to the Xylona Widows and Orphans Fund to great cheers.  While it was a large check, it was much more meaningful to the fund practically and symbolically than himself, tremendous wealth entails responsibilities to others was a part of the Preston creed.

A Preston’s Traders trade ship was berthed not far away and the crew would take care of loading the yacht for its return to Aronia so he was free to take the other pilots and their entourages out for dinner and drinks at the Spaceport Hotel.  The missing tenth yacht had bounded off two large objects in such rapid succession as to be almost instantaneous, giving the pilot a severe beating and causing sufficient structural damage to cause UL drive failure requiring emergency retrieval. Following Cameron’s lead, all the other pilots treated the unfortunate one as the guest of honor and object of a hearty toast.  Many cultures acquainted with Aronians considered them somewhat odd, but none doubted that their generosity of spirit was almost unmatched anywhere.  Every pilot looked forward to the Aronia Tournament.