Pax Galactica - A Space Opera

Chapter 1 - Deathraces and Ennui (I)

Sam Decker clicked the last AG module back into place and reactivated his racer's integrity field. The sleek, high-speed, bespoke hoverbike shimmered with color for a moment as the field settled.

Decker had, for all intents and purposes, disassembled and then reassembled the entire racer twice over. He was as certain of its pristine condition as it was possible to be. Trying to assert any more certainty would only invite philosophical arguments about brains in jars.

He affectionately patted the machine. Soon my pretty.

The door to the holding garage slid up and Thane Fulvous, another pilot, came marching in with purpose. He saw Decker and was startled for a moment, but quickly recovered.

Thane was wearing the same streamlined racing suit as Decker, but his had an advertisement on it for a starlifting company because Thane had no soul. Scientifically speaking.

No one else was sponsored. Decker didn't even know how something like a corporate sponsorship was even possible in a society without money. Thane was plumbing the dark depths of human history to rediscover frightening old ways to be horrible.

"Sam," he said, with an utterly phony smile.

"Thane," replied Decker, his gentle indulgence under obvious duress.

"Are you still in here performing maintenance on that thing? If your racer is that busted down maybe you shouldn't compete."

"Your head game is as weak as your racing, Thane," said Decker. "Maybe you should get someone to do that for you too."

"I'm perfectly capable of making you aware of your litany of flaws all on my own."

"That's something, I guess. Tell your team of engineers that I'm going to destroy them in the race."

Decker grabbed his tool-case and slid out the door while Thane was still formulating his great comeback.

The weather had been scheduled to be a perfect sunny day, and lived up to it. It was early in the morning and songbirds could still be heard in the distance. It was Deathrace day. Decker was in as good a mood as he was capable of having.

The outdoor arena stands were already filling up, maybe a fourth of the way at this point. All the holoscreens and glittering force-rails were up and running. Drones flew overhead and there was even the odd alien in attendance. Deathracing was getting really popular. People were all over the place, milling around, taking seats.

This could start to get annoying. Decker liked it better when everyone hated Deathracing.

"Sam!" shouted a familiar voice.

Waiving enthusiastically was Decker's old friend M Ender, probably the last person he ever imagined would want anything to do with Deathracing.

"What are you doing here," asked Decker, grinning, "this place isn't your scene."

"Supporting my friends isn't my scene?" asked M, incredulous.

"Supporting your friend in a Deathrace."

"What kind of a prude do you take me for Sam?" asked M. "I get it. You have deathwards. You're all perfectly safe."

Decker unconsciously worried the deathward around his neck. The devices were used to copy the user's mind-state in the case of death, neuron-by-neuron, maintaining total continuity of consciousness. The user would then sleep comfortably inside the deathward until such time as a new body could be cloned for them. It made the eponymous death in Deathracing a medium inconvenience at worst.

Decker's deathward was special. Instead of copying his mind-state it did nothing. It was just an unprogrammed lump of computronium; indistinguishable from a deathward but offering no more protection than an equivalently sized stone.

Decker didn't go to all the trouble of creating a phony deathward because he wanted to die. Far from it. He did it because he wanted to live. He wanted to feel the rush of knowing that his life truly depended on his own skills and reflexes. To know the subtlest of movements could mean the difference between life and death. To be alive the way the ancient humans were, before this stagnant self-styled utopia gobbled up every source of risk or meaning or purpose.

Deathracing was the only thing Decker cared about anymore. The time between races was like being dead. Discarding his deathward allowed him to feel alive.

"It's gross and you'd never convince me to do it but it won't stop me from coming to see you do it," continued M. "Just don't expect me to have my eyes open the whole time."

"Well thanks," said Decker, smiling a little.

"So I guess you're some big important someone or other around here, huh?" said M, returning the smile. "I started tuning in to the Deathrace feeds and they all talk about you."

Decker shrugged.

"I win a lot."

"You're good at something, Sam," said M, giving him a playful shove. "Something a lot of people care about. That's important! How come you never told me about any of this? Too busy with your fancy Deathrace parties with your fancy drugs and top hats?"

"I promise you the parties the Deathrace community throws are exactly like the parties everywhere else, drugs and top hats and all, except the people are slightly more obnoxious. It's dreadful."

"You hate all parties though," said M. "You hate everything."

"Everything is terrible."

"Have you ever thought that maybe everything is actually great and you're the miserable one?"

"Do you want to see for yourself?" asked Decker. "They're definitely going to be be some ostentatious gathering of own-fart connoisseurs after the race today. I could take you."

"It's a date," said M.

Decker couldn't believe he pulled that off. He wasn't sure he could even take credit for it.

"Did you know there's a guy giving out shirts with your face on them?" asked M.

"Oh no," said Decker, "you didn't get one did you?"

M grinned like the Cheshire cat.

<All contestants please bring your racers to the starting line,> said an announcement inside Decker's head.

"I have to go, we're getting ready to start."

"Really? The race isn't for two hours."

"It takes a while to set up."

"Okay I'll be watching!" said M. "Look for me I'll be a dot blurring indistinguishably into a thousand other dots in the stands. Wearing a shirt with your face on it."