When You Come Home

-5-

Anakin ran his hands down and then back up the steering wheel, clenching his fingers around its slick hold. His fingerless gloves gave him the extra grip he needed without restricting any movement, his thick-soled boots heavy enough to plant a solid foot on the gas. His chair, soft and comfortable, wrapped around him, protecting him as it always had. Out his right window, he could see Kitster, adjusting his mirrors and rolling his shoulders in anticipation. He caught Anakin looking at him and flashed him an eager smile. Anakin didn't return it.

Drawing in a deep breath, he placed his foot on the accelerator, revving the engine a few times. The sounds of the cheering crowd died away as Anakin focused his eyes on the track. His breaths slowed, evening out as his senses sharpened. His opponent became a car, an object to beat, not a person or a friend. He could win this. He would win this. He —

The truck T-boned the smaller car, bending it nearly in half. Glass shattered in all directions, other cars honked in distress, pedestrians started running over to help. The truck driver leapt from his cab, stumbling towards the wreckage. Sirens wailed, growing louder as the ambulance rushed to the scene. Red and blue lights heralded the arrival of the police. Even a pair of Jedi, the secret police, were stalking the shadows, watching the proceedings from afar.

Thumping and pounding on Anakin's car jolted him back into reality, and he shoved in the clutch, slamming down the accelerator purely on instinct. Had the race even begun? Where was Kitster? Were the people thumping his car out of encouragement or to wake him up?

He grit his teeth and threw caution to the wind, Kitster nowhere to be seen. Anakin had never won Boonta's Eve, but tonight would be different. It had to be.

His car purred as he slid up the gears, eyes darting between mirrors, searching out the quickest route. There was no specified track, aside from a starting and end point, so he could go whichever way he liked. But Anakin had not spent all of his childhood growing up in Coruscant, unlike Kitster, so what Anakin lacked in knowledge, he had to make up for in speed.

Anakin swerved onto one of the busier highways, weaving between lanes and dodging traffic. Car horns blared all around him, angry shouts bombarded his windows, but still he pushed his car for more speed. He hadn't even glimpsed Kitster yet, but he could only hope that he had taken a different route.

Sacrificing the highway for the sharper turns and faster paths of the backstreets, Anakin dropped down a couple of gears to allow for more precise control. He took a left, then a right, then flew straight over a small roundabout. His car sprung back on the landing, the low suspension sending Anakin jerking against the seatbelt. That was one habit he had never been able to shake.

He was approaching Beggar's Canyon, and he was running out of time. His hands were slipping on the steering wheel, his wheels skidding on the slippery ground. Then his heart leapt as he caught sight of Kitster's taillights.

"Yes!" he crowed, even though he was the only passenger. "Prepare to lose, Kitster Banai."

Anakin didn't want to, he knew it would be a bad idea, but he was going to try it. He had to. He was ready. He was sure he was ready.

He was going to overtake in Beggar's Canyon.

His entire energy became sucked into his one task. His eyes picked out every shadow, abandoned cars, and tipped trash cans. He saw the bouncing reflections of Kitster's headlights against the pouring rain, the narrowing buildings, the people hanging over balconies above, cheering and jeering. His mind mapped out the space between Kitster's car and the decreasing gap between the wall.

He jammed in the clutch, dropping to second gear to maximise speed and control. He hesitated. But he couldn't hesitate. He couldn't waste even a second.