Having been forced to work later than planned at the bookshop, Zelda was now running at full speed down the road to the nearest station. The final of the Britannia League Cup racing tournament was at six o’clock that evening, and she had promised her friend, Nelly, that they would watch it together at the Beachside Bar. With twenty minutes remaining until the start of the race, running was the only way she would get there on time.

​

The quickest way to the city centre was via the New Underground railway network. Zelda did not use it very often, but she knew that the closest station to the bookshop was “Castle Square”. Sprinting past cars, buses and bikes, she managed to reach it in under five minutes. Once there, she forked over the five pounds required for a return ticket and managed to catch the next train heading eastbound into the city. Zelda’s carriage was fairly empty, allowing her to have a pick of the cleaner seats, rather than look for the one with the least breadcrumbs. Sitting down in her chosen spot, she glimpsed the digital clock on the upper wall opposite: 17:46, it read. Based on past get-togethers with Nelly at the Beachside Bar, the journey should be relatively quick, but the train would not go faster because she wished it to. The only thing she could do was sit tight, watching the clock and ticking off each station in her head as she passed.

​

Eight minutes had elapsed by the time her train pulled up at “Tower Crossing.” With only five minutes to get to the bar, she continued her run, earning a great deal of complaints and rude gestures from those she pushed aside to get to the station’s exit. Right then, Zelda was in too much of a hurry to care about their grievances, only occasionally sparing a breath to apologise to them. Once she was out of the station, there were three minutes left until six.

​

The Beachside Bar was just around the next corner, left up the street. Cars, bikes and other vehicles suspended in the air by antigrav boosters were driving back and forth along the road as Zelda came to the pedestrian crossing. To make her intentions clear, she stepped on a large square tile at the crossing to light up that bit of road, then dashed across to the island between the two lanes. She lit up and walked the next crossing in the same fashion. From there, it was a straight run to the right-hand bend that took her to the bar.

​

Nelly was waiting outside when Zelda saw the bar. It was easy to spot thanks to the glowing fake palm trees either side of the door, in addition to the exotic-themed sign. Despite the mild temperature, Nelly was wearing a full tracksuit with a white fleece and some blue trousers; her black hair, dyed blonde, was worn in a ponytail, similar to how Zelda did hers. She seemed moody at first, kicking up dirt on the pavement with her hands firmly inserted in her fleece’s pockets. The second she saw Zelda rushing towards her, she waved.

​

‘There you are, Zelda! The race is about to start.’

​

‘Sorry, Nelly. I know I’m cutting it fine.’ Zelda gasped for air as she embraced her friend. ‘Bookshop kept me in late. Can we go in?’

​

Now that Zelda was here, Nelly was eager to get inside. At the doors to the Beachside Bar stood a flamingo with bright red feathers and a hint of orange at the tip of his wings; even with his long, curved neck, Zelda and Nelly still surpassed his height by several inches.

​

‘Here for the race?’ said the flamingo.

​

‘You know it, Undaki,’ Nelly joked, though given the structure of the flamingo’s beak it was hard to know if he was amused. ‘Table for two.’

​

‘Naturally. This way.’

​

Undaki the flamingo led them to a table near the back of the barroom. The layout of the room was made up of a series of hexagonal tables along the walls while the bar itself was stationed in the centre, giving the room the appearance of a square doughnut. Undaki took them past the central bar to their table where he jotted down their immediate choice of cocktails before delivering the order to the barman, whom Zelda and Nelly recognised from past visits. He bore a distinct tattoo on his left shoulder and wore his hair in dreadlocks. Noticing their arrival, the barman addressed the touchscreen on the wall behind him, scrolled through a list of numbers, and selected the one corresponding to their table. It caused a flat, see-through television to slide out of the table’s edge, displaying the Beachside Bar’s logo before switching to a channel list. Nelly picked “Jet Racing 1” to bring up the Britannia League Cup final. Racers were at the start line—the gun had not yet sounded to begin the race.

​

‘Gotta love Gorman,’ said Nelly, calmer with the knowledge that they had not missed the beginning. ‘C’mon, we ought to have the full Beachside experience.’

​

‘Are you kidding? It wouldn’t be the same without it.’

​

Next to the thin vase with the pink lily, there was a small box with two cube containers for sensory simulators. Both containers were sealed, requiring a firm tug to twist the lid and get them open. The commentators on the television were still jabbering about the bookies’ favourites while last-minute preparations were underway, allowing the two girls time to apply their simulators. The simulators themselves were long see-through rubber strings, with three see-through pads in the middle: two large ones blanketed the eyes while the centre rested on the bridge of their noses; the ends of the string hooked on to the ears. When Zelda put hers on, the entire barroom transformed in an instant.

​

The walls and the painted seaside design on the paper had all vanished, replaced by a moving, lifelike scene of a beautiful sandy beach. Zelda could hear the waves crashing on the shore beneath the cloudless sky and the blazing sun; the wooden pole attached to the wall that previously acted as a railing was now the top of a bamboo fence. The only thing out of place about this wondrous illusion was the front door, which opened and closed regularly for patrons who had not been seen walking up to it in the first place. As Zelda looked across the table, Nelly’s sensory simulators were invisible—presumably hers were too.

​

‘Hey, Gorman!’ Nelly called out, catching the attention of the barman. ‘Who do you think’s gonna win?’

​

‘It’s gotta be Pam-Sinder,’ Gorman replied, while making their cocktails. ‘He’s the best of the lot! He’s won on Forest Factory before, so I’m sure he’ll win it again. I’ve bet good money on him.’

​

‘How much?’ asked Zelda.

​

‘I’ll tell you when he wins.’

​

‘Guys! Shush!’ Nelly interrupted, wildly waving her hands about to silence the two. ‘The countdown’s about to start.’

​

Zelda quickly shifted all her attention to the transparent screen while Gorman adjusted an earpiece and upped the volume on his pebble-shaped pocket radio. They all waited on tenterhooks, while Zelda tapped a glowing icon on the table to increase the volume and drown out the voices of people on the neighbouring tables. When the commentators hushed, that was when they knew the moment was near.

​

‘Racers!’ the announcer boomed through a loudspeaker. ‘Start your engines!’

​

At once, the engines of all forty racing jets roared into life. Zelda and Nelly could look at nothing else besides the screen, as though they were somehow hypnotised by it. They leaned forward to have their faces closer to the action, as the first red light came on above the start line with an accompanying bleep. Three seconds later, it was followed by the second light. Finally, the green light flashed, the gun cracked and in the blink of an eye, the race was on. Zelda was already cheering.

​

‘Come on, Pam-Sinder!’ Zelda cried. ‘Win it for Gorman!’

​

She heard Gorman chuckle at her remark. Her eyes remained glued to the race and the two commentators were babbling at such a rate that anyone not accustomed to viewing Jet Races on television would be totally lost by the end of the first sentence.

​

‘Coming up to the Hairpin Turn is Vonjuri Pam-Sinder in first position followed swiftly by Karldon Triston, both favourites to win. Jim Brishcombe is further back after his jet stalled at the start line. Din-Grangard, Nalscherson and Brendid are all tailing the two leaders and it’s gonna be close as they reach Bear’s Cliff. Pam-Sinder’s ready to turn onto it and he does, smoothly and perfectly, letting those antigrav boosters take him all the way, but Triston isn’t far behind. None of the leaders have engaged their rocket-thrusters yet. Nalscherson is now in 3rd place as they come over the top of the cliff and oh goodness! Brendid took that turn a little wide and he’s hit the barrier. His jet has grounded and he’s out of the race—’

​

‘Cocktails, as requested!’ Gorman announced. His arrival briefly shook Zelda from her trance though Nelly would not take her eyes off the race. Gorman placed their identical drinks in front of them. ‘Two Beachside Specials.’

​

‘Regretting your bet yet?’ said Nelly, without shifting her gaze. ‘Triston’s overtaken.’

​

‘Won’t be for long. Triston’s had to use his hoppers twice now. Before you know it, he’ll be pulling up at the pit stop.’

​

Smiling confidently, Gorman headed back to the bar. In the meantime, Zelda sucked on the straw in her cocktail as she watched the race unfold. A graphic in the bottom-right corner confirmed that the current live on-screen footage was taken from the camera on Pam-Sinder’s jet, known as the Orange Jaguar. Although they could hear Pam-Sinder communicating with his pit stop team via radio, the commentators were speaking too loudly and quickly for either of them to interpret the racer’s words.

​

‘Triston’s speed is steady but Pam-Sinder is closing the gap fast. He’s just gotta wait for the right moment to engage those rocket-thrusters and there’ll be nothing Triston can do to stop him. Both of them are coming up to Thorn Alley, the last obstacle before the end of the lap; let’s hope that Triston’s jet still has some hops left in those boosters cos it’s gonna need all the juice it can get for this.’

​

Commentator two chipped in. ‘And if we go further back, we’ll see that one racer’s boosters are already causing him trouble. Harrod Copperly—he hopped too much when it came to the Oil River and now his boosters are paying the price for it. Don’t know if it’ll be enough to make it through Thorn Alley or if he does, the Skeletal Swordfish is gonna take a hammering. Meanwhile, Pam-Sinder’s Orange Jaguar has only taken a couple of scratches to the wings. If that’s the only damage he takes in the whole race, he’s got a good chance of clinching victory and maintaining his No. 1 spot in the Britannia League tables.’

​

‘And his No. 3 spot in the World rankings,’ Nelly pointed out. ‘Although he’s probably gonna hang on to that regardless.’

​

The second, third and fourth laps went by without any change to the players in the three top spots. While Nelly refused to take her eye off the game, Zelda would frequently check to see how Gorman was reacting to the ongoing race. He usually seemed relaxed, then the fifth and final lap came around; he began biting his lip and moving about at a brisker pace. Pam-Sinder was still in 2nd place. Whenever he was not making cocktails, Gorman would tap the counter with his fingernails, while listening to the fast-talking commentators.

​

‘At the front of the pack, it’s still too close to call between Triston and Pam-Sinder who are both neck and neck. Both of them are on the two-minute cooldown after using their rocket-thrusters at Oil River. Thorn Alley is fast-approaching; both have had to visit the pit stop once; it all comes down to who has more power in their boosters and if I were betting on it, I would say Pam-Sinder has been less generous in his use of the hopper.’

​

‘This is it, people. They’re at the alley. Pam-Sinder’s veered to the right and Triston to the left. Pam-Sinder hops over a fence, Triston swerves to avoid the vines. Triston’s coming up to a fence and there he goes; he’s hopping it. Oh my! That was tight. Looks like the underside of the Aqua Spearhead scraped the fence; Triston seriously overestimated the power left in those boosters. Pam-Sinder has now edged into 1st place as they emerge from Thorn Alley and the finish line is in sight. There he goes! He’s initiated the rocket-thruster, but it looks like Triston’s Aqua Spearhead still has a few seconds left. This has changed everything for the last few seconds of the race and Pam-Sinder is over the line! He and the Orange Jaguar are winners with Triston and the Aqua Spearhead in a very close 2nd.’

​

‘Woo!!!’ cheered Gorman from the bar. ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!!’

​

‘I’ll be damned,’ Nelly said with a shake of her head. Smiling, she sipped her cocktail straw as all the remaining thirty-eight racers crossed the finish line. ‘You see, Zelda, that’s the reason you shouldn’t overuse the hopper. The only occasions when Pam-Sinder used the hopper were at Thorn Alley, but Triston was using it at Oil River as well.’

​

‘But if Triston had gone to recharge his boosters a second time, then Nalscherson would have overtaken him,’ Zelda pointed out. ‘One thing no racer wants is a pit stop visit on the final lap.’ Nelly nodded her agreement to this. At the same time, Zelda saw Gorman doing a little dance behind the bar. ‘So how much did you bet on him, Gorman? Was it extravagant?’

 

‘About thirty quid.’

 

‘Thirty?!’ Zelda goggled at the barman. ‘Jeez, how much did you win?’

 

‘Odds were ten to one, so I just won £300!’

 

‘Lucky sod,’ Nelly laughed. She went back to viewing the TV screen. ‘People who bet big on Jim Brishcombe are probably in tears right now.’

​

‘Yeah, he was one of the favourites,’ said Gorman, ‘but I knew the second his jet stalled that it was over. There was no way he was gonna come back from that.’