Washington Park Arena, Denver, Colorado

  It took three tries for his gunner to get Dillon’s attention. The last 'Dillon' was shouted from less than a foot away. The young driver snapped out of his mental run-through of the arena with a start, looking around in confusion.

    Spotting Sammy glaring at him through the open driver’s door, he shook his head. "Sorry. Lost in the–"

  "Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re already driving through the arena. You wanna run a system check on that rear camera? I adjusted the housing, and I need to see if it’s zeroed in."

  Dillon nodded and flipped through the camera views on the dash. The view from the rear camera met with Sammy’s approval, so they continued to check the car’s weapon systems. The front-mounted machine guns and twin rockets checked out, as well as the side-mounted light cannons. Sammy scowled at the rear-mounted recoilless, despite the green light.

  "I still ain’t sure about that second-hand tube you got us. It fits the rear mount okay, but something is hinky about the trigger." He tapped the barrel with one finger. "I got a bad feeling about it."

  Dillon shrugged. "The winnings from the last event barely covered the armor repairs and new tires. This one was a good deal, so I took it."

  "We wouldna had to replace it if you’d just given me a clear shot at that bastard. You let him hammer us over and over." Sammy slapped the roof of the car for emphasis.

  Dillon ducked his head. The used weapon wasn’t what was bothering his gunner. It was this argument again. He knew it was useless to get him to agree with his logic, nevertheless he tried again. "Look, I dodged what I could. I needed to keep our speed up or we wouldn’t have gotten second place."

  "Third was plenty fine, and then we wouldna had to replace the tube. I liked that tube! Zeroed in all nice and sweet. Always hit what I was aiming at with it." He narrowed his eyes at his driver. "When I actually get a shot."

  Stung, Dillon fired back. "You get to shoot plenty. I can’t only be lining up shots for you. I have to keep our speed up or we’ll get plastered. When you’re in front, everyone’s gunning for you."

  Sammy threw up his hands. "So stop being in front all the time! Them barrels on the gats ain’t got but a hundred rounds through them. They’re going to break of old age before they need replacing. And then maybe we can stop getting our ass shot off, so you don't have to drag us across the finish with both back tires shot out."

  Both men stared at each other, breathing heavily. Only the loudspeaker calling all the competitors to their starting positions broke the tension. Dillon looked away first, reaching over to pull his helmet on. Sammy came around the car and slid into his seat next to Dillon, fingers working to tighten the strap on his helmet.

  Despite the helmet muffling his voice, since their communications weren’t up yet, Dillon could hear the anger in his gunner’s voice. "And when are we going to put a real gunner’s seat in this wreck? I’m tired of being offset, and I can’t shoot across you if someone’s on that side."

  Dillon didn’t answer, instead mashing the power button a little harder than he’d wanted to. The button cracked slightly while the vehicle came to life, motors spinning up as the powerplant fed them electricity. The battered, dash-mounted screens for each position flickered a few times before clearing up. A quick look around the display showed him all the gauges were where they were supposed to be. Satisfied that everything was correct, he looked at his gunner. He got a thumbs up in return.

  He pulled forward from their bay, following the lighted path towards their start position. Focusing on the feel of the steering wheel and gentle rumble of the tires on the pavement, the young driver tried to put the argument out of his mind and get back to his mind’s eye view of the arena.

  The Washington Park Arena was a giant rectangle, with a configurable interior. It was the most popular of the American Autoduel Association (AADA) sanctioned arenas in Colorado. The owners could add the number of obstacles they wanted, constrained only by the four concrete pillars down the middle that held the television cameras and commentators. Sometimes it was a simple oval track, with few obstructions. Those were his favorite, because he could really get the speed up and whip around that track. Other times, like today, were done at much slower speeds. This allowed for greater opportunities for the competitors to shoot at each other, which the crowd really loved.

  Today the competitors were distributed evenly around the perimeter of the arena. There were six of them, three on each long side. The track wasn’t a true oval, more like a rounded rectangle. Speeds were supposed to remain low, making maneuverability count for more. The center of the arena contained four ‘gates’ they needed to pass through, in any order they chose. Only after a competitor had passed through each gate could they return to their start position, and the winners would be determined by the amount of time it took to complete all four gates. If they finished at all.

  They were familiar with this type of contest and Dillon realized this explained the argument. Having to make the sharp turns and pass through the gates, speeds would be low, and gunnery would be of equal value to driving. Disabling a vehicle so they couldn’t complete their gates was a valid tactic and one which the crowds loved. The two elevated viewing stands on the long ends of the arena, fifty feet off the ground, would be packed with fans looking for destruction and mayhem.

  They’re gonna be cheering while we try to blow each other to pieces, when all that matters is clearing the gates. If everyone just concentrated on driving their best, we’d see real competition. The start line came into view, so he swallowed back his anger. A clear head and calmness were what he needed now. No distractions by thinking of what could be.

  The car idled to a stop right at the yellow strip marking their start, and the narrow rectangular light bar on the ceiling illuminated red. Beyond was a strip of road, curving slightly to the right that led to the arena proper.

  Sammy glanced over at him, hands on his joystick controls. His voice came through the speakers in the helmet, all traces of their argument gone. The anticipation of shooting something always put the man in a good mood. "You ready, Dill? We’re gonna nail this thing, for sure."

  Nodding slightly, Dillon gave his partner twin thumbs up from where his hands rested on the steering wheel. "I drive, you shoot."

  "And we take it all at the end." The gunner nodded at their pre-bout ritual, and Dillon found himself relaxing further. The Zen state he sought was tantalizingly close, where he drove and was preternaturally aware of everything happening around him. That calm was almost like a drug, and he yearned for that bliss it brought.

  The arena boomed with the cheers of the crowd when the announcer called out their favorite teams and reiterated the rules of the event. Then the countdown began, the crowd chanting in time with the digital clock.

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  The clock reached ‘two’ and the red light changed to amber.

  At ‘one’ the amber light went out.

  At ‘zero’ the bar turned green, and Dillon mashed his foot down on the accelerator. The car leapt forward, hurtling towards the entrance. Sammy whooped once when they cleared the opening and entered the track. The cheering of the crowd came through their ceramic and plastic shell like a surf roar of noise, and the gunner laughed wildly.

  "Yeah, get some!"

  Dillon ignored the noises, eyes scanning from the road ahead to his cameras showing the sides and rear. Front, rear, left, right. The pattern came easily to him, from years of constant practice and singular focus. He never lingered too long on one view, his mind taking in what it perceived and integrating that with the rest of the information.

  Before entering the first gate, an autoduellist had to complete a lap. The order one completed the gates didn’t matter, and different strategies existed for which order the gates should be entered. Dillon didn’t subscribe to those theories. The gate he went for depended on the situation that existed once they completed a lap. Bounding your mind with a narrowly defined strategy is a sure way to limit your options.

  They were the outermost car on the right side upon exiting, and Dillon accelerated for all he was worth to get ahead of the competitors. Keeping in mind his gunner’s demands, he tried to keep the car straight while the steady thump of the recoilless vibrated through the steering wheel. The gleeful cackling beside him was reassuring, so he concentrated on the upcoming turn.

  "Curve, driver’s side," he announced.

  "Got it."

  He followed the curve of the track, having to decelerate some due to the lack of a bank. They cleared the short end, and he saw a huge cloud of smoke near the far end. Flames were interspersed with the billowing black streamers, and the outline of a vehicle on its right side could be discerned within. The cloud covered nearly the entire width of the track.

  "Smoke ahead. Maybe a wreck. Gotta go through."

  Sammy glanced up from his screens. "Damn. Looks like Countdown’s car. How’d they get them?"

  "Don’t matter. They’re not going to get us the same way. Be ready up front when we clear the smoke."

  They were into and through the smoke cloud in seconds. Beyond the track was clear. The culprit hadn’t waited around to catch anyone coming through the smoke. The odds were fifty-fifty either way, and they'd caught a break.

  Something about this situation teased at Dillon’s mind. "Hang on." He took them close to the inner wall and cut the wheel when they rounded the next curve, maintaining his speed. The car went into a drift to the right, tires screeching.

  A heavy slug tore through the air behind them, impacting on the barrier wall. Dillon grinned and Sammy pounded the ceiling with a fist.

  "Yeah! Line him up and I’ll nail him."

  The car in question was at the midway point, facing them. Quickly, it accelerated into a U-turn and started heading for the turn. Their front-mounted machine guns chattered away, sending pieces flying off the target’s rear end and chewing up the track around the car while Dillon steered towards the middle of the track.

  "No time, Sammy. Gate’s coming up."

  His gunner jerked a thumb at the disappearing target. "Come on, Dill. We can spread this guy’s rear end all over the track."

  The first gate loomed on his left and Dillon aimed for it. "Time for that later. Going through. Be ready for whoever’s on the other side."

  Ignoring the waves of anger radiating off his gunner, he sent their car hurtling through the gate. At only a car length long and twice that in width, the thick steel walls formed a tunnel that separated one side from the other. Transition was always the dangerous part, never knowing if an opponent was waiting for you on the other side.

  When their front bumper cleared the wall Dillon sent them into another drift to the right. The car bounced and shuddered over some debris in the track, yet nobody shot at them. The wreck was still emitting clouds of smoke, giving them plenty of concealment.

  He continued the drift until they reached the far wall and hugged it around the turn. Up ahead, he saw the other two cars from their side disappearing into gates. He kicked up his speed, trying to get past the gates before the other side came through.

  Sammy shifted, all his attention on their left while the gates flew by. They both saw a car exiting at the same time. Dillon braked hard and Sammy fired the side-mounted gun. The shot went wide, impacting the wall and spraying concrete fragments into the air. The bullets from the other car also flew wide, missing their front end with feet to spare.

  "Dammit Dillon! I woulda had him. You gotta give me a shot!"

  Dillon didn’t answer. He let the anger wash over him, focusing on the turn-in point and the apex of the curve. Sammy hammered out a few shots from the recoilless while the other cars came out onto the track, and then they were through the curve.

  "I’m gonna take the near gate and try to come out behind them. You’ll get your shot then, Sammy."

  "About time," was the grunted reply.

  He took them through the gate at speed, hitting the brakes when they exited and kicking the car into a hard slide to the right. Even though that kind of maneuver dumped a lot of speed, it took them through the cones of fire too quickly for a shot. At least, that was the hope.

  They emerged into a free-fire zone. The previous two cars through the gate were trading fire with the other two cars from his side. Dillon slid into track, desperately trying to avoid the firestorm. Stray bullets thumped into their armor, but it looked like their entry went unnoticed.

  "Oh yeah! Target rich environment, baby. Get some!" Sammy alternated firing left and right, blazing away at whomever was in sight, cackling maniacally.

  Straightening out, Dillon accelerated and picked up speed faster than his opponents, who were still concentrating on reducing each other to pieces. Clearing the pack, Sammy switched to the recoilless again, shouting incoherently with glee the choice of targets.

  They left their opponents behind, Dillon smiling inside his helmet. He could clear the third gate before those jokers would even get to their second. Then it was only a matter of the fourth gate and they could claim first place at the finish line.

***

  Dillon barely had time to remove his helmet when he saw Rebekah Walton striding toward him, and he recognized the look in her eyes. He'd seen it before in reporters who knew him; they were bound and determined to get some good sound bites, no matter what. A wave of dread washed over him while his stomach clenched. He’d never get used to these post-battle interviews.

  Still, there wasn't much he could do. Standing in the winner's circle meant interviews and questions, and he tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried to look happy at the woman approaching him.

  With a huge, fake smile, the black-haired reporter held out her microphone, the drone camera hovering just over her shoulder. "Mr. Hodges, congratulations on your win today. That's another one in the books here in Washington Arena. What would you say contributed the most to your team’s success?"

  Her bubbly personality was at odds with the look in her eyes. They'd bumped heads before, in some of his previous wins and neither enjoyed the experience.

  "Umm," he began, his eyes wide and frantic. "Well, you see, this competition was a basic–"

  "Basic. You consider this an elementary-level event. Would you say the quality of the competition wasn’t very high? Was this a real challenge for you?"

  "No. Yes. Um… I don’t know? I mean, we finished all the gates before they were halfway through, so…"

  She cut him off. "Does this mean you’ll be seeking out tougher courses? Might you be branching out beyond Denver?"

  Sammy came around the car and threw an arm around Dillon’s shoulders. "Hey, Rebekah. How’s it going? Thanks for the opportunity here. We really appreciate you putting us on your channel."

  She turned her smile on him. "Thank you, Samuel. This contest was over fairly quickly. You didn’t have much opportunity to showcase your skills. Would you say that the driver is the more important position?"

  His smile wouldn’t have melted butter. "Darling, it’s all about the ‘W’. If you win, nothing else matters. Dillon saw that these jokers were more interested in blasting each other, so we didn’t play their game. And that’s why we won."

  The camera switched back to Dillon. "Do you agree, Dillon? Is driving more important? Is that the key to winning in the arena? Please, our viewers would love any advice you can give."

  Lost in the back-and-forth exchange between the other two, he started when the attention was back on him. "Driving. Yeah, it’s important." His mind raced, trying to come up with some advice. "It helps you win."