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.Each car had a large-caliber gun mounted on the roof, with machine guns on the front and rear fenders.Javik was taken up a side walkway and assigned to a dented and bullet-riddled squareback on the lower level.A large black Corkian numeral “5” was on the door.Since the door was welded shut, Javik had to remove his helmet and pull himself in through the open driver’s window.He slid into a torn black vinyl bucket seat.The seat squeaked as his weight settled into it.This placed him in a black-barred cage.Javik knew he would roast there if he lost.Nervously, he fingered the strap of the helmet on his lap.Outside, a cheerful public address announcer called out action for the spectators.His voice was throaty.It smelled of oil in the car.The instrumentation looked primitive to Javik, with rudimentary gauges for speed, tach, and other mechanical functions.A black pole suspended from the roof to his right had three white buttons on it, marked clearly: “top,” “rear” and “front.” The guns, he thought.Locating the fuel gauge, he saw it waver.What does this thing run on? he wondered.Probably alcohol of some sort.He did not detect a telltale odor.After figuring out the braking and acceleration system, he rested his foot on the accelerator pedal.A Corker leaned in the window and told Javik to press the “start” button.Javik moved away to keep dark fluid on the fellow’s mouth and chin from dripping on him.“Watch for the green light on the track,” the Corker said.“Then hit ‘takeoff.’”Javik touched the starter button and heard the engine roar to life like a rudely awakened beast.The headlights flashed on automatically.The car rumbled roughly and hesitatingly at first, then began to smooth out.As Javik looked down the black stripe on the car’s hood, he felt the change in the engine’s rhythm.Another car was in front of him, and beyond that a traffic signal flashed red.“You’re coming up, Manno,” a weak voice reported from Javik’s left.Glancing in that direction, Javik saw an old and wrinkled lettuce man slave.The man’s, body was light green and white, with white eyebrows and a crown of white fuzz.There was no neck: the body was the head and vice versa.Javik nodded.He gunned the engine.Noticing a shoulder harness for the first time, he pulled it across his chest and snapped it into place.“They race and fight on Earth highways like this?” the old slave asked.“Just like the promoters say?”“I guess so.This sure as hell is exaggerated, though.We don’t mount guns on cars back home.They’re carried in glove compartments.” He thought of the autocar signboards by which Earth drivers could exchange epithets.Feeling tense, Javik decided not to mention this.He used a sleeve to wipe perspiration from his forehead.The slave grunted.A Corker guard on the ground below yelled at them: “Cut the chatter! Pay attention to the games!” The guard purchased a new alcohol backpack from a passing vendor, paying for it with discarded Earth candy bar wrappers.“It’s Manno against Wommo!” the public address man announced.Javik heard sucking sounds over the speaker system and surmised the announcer was a Corker.Waves of ovation, roars, and catcalls rolled through the stands.Javik touched an unmarked console button to see what it was.Nothing happened.He checked several other buttons with the same result.“Disconnected,” the old slave said.“What a heap,” Javik said.He smelled exhaust from the car just ahead.Then the other car roared down the ramp and into combat, leaving a puff of black smoke across Javik’s vision.When the smoke began to clear, Javik saw the car explode in a distant ball of blue flame.An orange capsule shot up, then sprouted a parachute.“Haven’t seen a Manno victory all day,” the slave said.Inhuman games, Javik thought, seeing the traffic signal flash red.Men against women, playing on the conditioned rivalries between Earth sexes,He snapped on his loose-fitting plastic crash helmet.Over the built-in earphones he heard nervous chatter as the Manno fighter car pilots communicated with the carrier’ s control tower.“Okay, Ladykiller Five,” the control tower said.“You’re up next.”Javik was daydreaming, recalling some of his more memorable pleasure dome visits.“Ladykiller Five, you there?”Five, Javik thought, drifting back to awareness.” That’s me.“Here,” he said into a microphone in front of his mouth.“Blow that Wommo fighter car away, buddy.”“Right,” Javik shook his head in disgust.This is an.important mission? he thought.I’d rather be ridin’ a garbage shuttle.“Watch your blind spots, Ladykiller Five,” the tower said.“Keep the other car in front of you all the time.Or rocket ahead to a Manno safe zone.That’s a blue and black wall at the side.You can hide behind it, then pop out and blast the Wommo car when it passes.”“Don’t we get any practice?” Javik asked.Sardonic laughter filled the earphones.Then: “You’ve discovered the gun buttons?”“Yeah.” Seeing the traffic signal flash yellow, Javik held a finger close to the “takeoff” button.Not too fast, he thought.His heart began to beat faster.“You aim the gun bar by rotating, pushing, and pulling it.”The traffic signal flashed green.Javik hit the “takeoff” button and felt the accelerator under his foot depress.The car roared ahead, thumping as it bounced off the ramp to the pavement.G-forces threw him against the bucket seat.The helmet strap pulled at his chin.He grimaced from the stress.This piece of shit moves out! he thought.But the car felt loose under him.Something rattled in the rear.Peripherally, he watched a pink and black Wommo car on the track to his left.It dropped back.Javik tapped the accelerator to free it from takeoff mode.His car slowed, drawing even with the other car.He could see the pilot, a bulbous-headed Wommo humanoid in a pink and black jumpsuit.She glanced at him nervously.Very young, he thought.Maybe only a kid.He adjusted his helmet with one hand.Machine-gun fire peppered the hood and broke his windshield.No more lapses, he thought, grabbing the gun bar.It was cool.She means business.A voice crackled across his earphones.“Fire on her, Ladykiller Five.What are you waiting for?”He pulled all three triggers at once, and saw the red and yellow flash of his guns on the front fenders.Wrong way, he thought, turning the bar.He saw the fender guns turn toward the Wommo car.Noticing the guns on his car’s right side raising higher than his car body, Javik felt a small sense of relief [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]