With a significant number of “excuse me’s” and “sorry’s” later, he made it to the two people who made it all happen.

The Sunreign, and The Sunreigna.

Their formidable rule spanned hundreds of systems in their galaxial sector. From the massive plateau-forests on Cagaraan, to the deepest of the red oceans on Peoqoyia, their home planet.

Although their sovereignty has been short, they have outdone some of the monarchs who’ve been there for twice as long. Peace, finally restored, after the fallout of the Peoqoyian Civil War.

“Mom! Dad!”—Giving the pair one of his signature smiles—“Have you seen our new car yet? Kaspur added a new coat of paint!”

The vantablack marks on his neck, now began to recede, being overtaken by Fernando’s light green complexion.

“Oh? Which one is it?” Said his father.

Fernando narrowed his eyes playfully, then chuckled. He turned around, searching for his friend from atop the levitating platform. He squinched and scoured the intense greens and vibrant colors of the natural terrain.

“The red one,”—He pointed at the cart—“I think it’s the only speeder that’s made out of traditional material, the others are made out of regular metal or something. I thought you already knew?”

“Ya know how bad yor father’s memory can be at times. Just like when I tell im tuh keep an eye on the new pet. How about it, hun?” Said Fernando’s mother. Her olive-colored skin complemented with that of her shamrock-colored partner.

All Malemoss could do was smirk, rub the back of his neck, and hope for the best.

“Anywho, I bought yuh those sugar-coated beetles you love so much. But-”—Carnatia put her black-gloved hands on her sides—“we coulda made it at home! We don't have chefs for nothin’,”

“But then, you take away the magic of it all,”—Fernando bit into the beetle-popsicle, his canine-like teeth, crushing a sizable chunk—“Besides, why make a few-”—crunch—“when we can buy a thousand, or even a million?”

His parents both chuckled at the prospect of spending their federations resources on millions of beetle-popsicles.

“So, Fernmuffin,”—Malemoss placed his shamrock-coloured hand on his son’s hair and ruffled up his golden locks—”When doe- Oh, look!”

A chubby humanoid now stood behind a pedestal, on his own levitating platform near the racers. After fumbling around with the megaphone for a few seconds and dropping it, the announcer finally got it to work. The first sounds emanating from it made all the people in the surrounding area shield their ears in shock.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Surry...Welcome all! To da Decennial Rallycross Masters Cup! Unfortunately...a few racers ‘ave dropped out,”—He coughed, and beat his chest—“but no mattar! Onward!”

He flipped through his cards as he read them off one by one.

Ships of all shapes, sizes, and material, stood still in the skies. Some were watching the race itself, while others focused on the enormous, floating, Yyesskar screens. Too many to count dotted the sky. They each advertised the announcer’s plump, bearded face, and voice to the entirety of the crowd.

The crowd stood quiet and stared, as if something turned them to stone. Fernando could pick up the hum of the engine below. He sat, listening to what the man had to stay as he twiddled his thumb in impatience.

Thousands. Thousands of eyes. Transpirated water vapor built up on Havold’s forehead and hands, among other places, as he choked on his words.

“AHEM… Today is, is a very impordant time wit the, ‘da Rallycross that we‘r-''

Havold’s cards had slipped through his finger. They landed one by one on the racetrack below, dancing in the wind, mocking him. His stomach dropped to his knees while his eyes were bulging so wide they practically popped out. His forehead and mustache glistened with “sweat”.

“Blast! Juzt- Just start the damn raze already!”

At that point, the racers only heard a whisper, as Havold leaned on the guardrails of his levitating platform, trying to ignore the mass looks of confusion.

“Wait, what did he say?”The operator said.

“I’m not sure,” the other said, as he shrugged his shoulders.

“I think he said to start the race already.” Said the second operator.

Without hesitation, they threw the lever.

Fireworks shot out of pipes along the track, with confetti and glitter soon followed, the horizon lighting up with glimmering shimmers of rainbow confetti. Some even landed on the racers themselves.

Havold shrieked, almost throwing himself off the platform. He “collected” himself, and levitated away from the track on his platform.

Both Kaspur and Fernando gazed towards the lights stationed ahead of the racers, as they shone a pale white. Everyone’s eyes locked to the lights as they sat on the edge of their seats.

Red.

Yellow.

“Here we go…”

Green.

BOOM

The piercing ring of the bell couldn’t even surpass the roar of the speeders as their thrusters blasted past the starting flag, sending Havold’s cards flying in the process.

Kaspur couldn’t- he wouldn't, be left behind.

The craft zoomed past the structures behind them, as they shot for the hilled plains ahead of them. The slithering, curvy track made sure to test the racers’ knowledge of drifting.

Kaspur kept a hand on the gears, just in case.

They came up to a tall bank and hit the brakes, bringing up dust and debris around them as they drifted the bank until they were on flat ground once more. Through his bulky yellow helmet, he saw at least 6 of these banks.

Yeah. He definitely wasn’t letting go of the gears.

Kaspur and his competition drifted bank after bank, leaving a trail of dirt and dust in their wake. The ships and platforms in the air followed their every move, hot on their tail. It felt like an amusement park ride, a swinging ship, as he drifted on the last bank, trying to battle the nausea.

“Looks like the racers have gotten through the Snake’s Pass, if I could see their faces, I’m sure they'd be green!

“Oh wait, I can!” Boasted Haviar, the second announcer.

He switched the feeds of the floating screens, and now the entire crowd saw nauseas faces through bulky helmets.

The blues of speed approached the industrial districtfrom a long strip of road, and fast.

Their environment completely changed, from open rolling hills, to claustrophobic buildings and roads. They screeched past emptied streets and drifted under shadows of massive constructs.

Kaspur pulled ahead slowly, racer by racer. He looked at his mirror, noticing the speeders hot on his tail.

Stores that were bustling were now empty. The entire region echoed with the vroom of the craft as they drove through the ghost city.

They were speeding bullets, and no one could stop them.

Keeping track of a singular racer was like trying to follow a mosquito. Sure, you’ve got it for a few seconds but then- poof.

“Marzio’s in chase of second place right behind Rijd!” Yelled Haviar, the second announcer.

Thousands upon thousands had gathered to watch the speeders bolt and soar through the track in a competition to be the best racer this side of the cosmos. Kaspur had raced in lower-tier races before, but this was something else. A true test of reflexes and wit.

A test he’s not sure he’d had the opportunity to take, if not for Fernando helping him build the speeder completely from scratch. He was the only reason why Kaspur could even participate at all.

Most of the racers who lacked the money to pay for the latest tech, don’t even get a chance. And Kaspur owed Fernando on that.