The Last Race



The eerie silence within the dark corridors of Franogar Circuit
was suddenly broken as the door of a locker room opened with a
high-pitched creak. The young boy, who had been squatting on the
floor, quickly got up, peering into the widening crack of light.

    "Bibra?"

    "Shhhh..."

The Motorballer slowly stepped into the hallway, a knight of
metal and plastic. The pungent smell of oil and jet fuel filled
the air, flooding the boy's lungs as he took a deep breath,
savouring the taste of the mixture.

    "What do you want, kid?"

The boy stood before him, never taking his eyes off the "5"
painted on the Motorballer's forehead. In spite of his obvious
awe he answered in a quiet, confident manner.

    "Motorball."

The sadness in the Motorballer's eyes momentarily turned into
amusement, but only for a instant.

    "Buy a ticket like everyone else, kid."

The boy didn't move. After a few seconds he spoke again in the
same cool tone.

    "I don't want a ticket. I want to join the Spandau team. I
want to learn. I want you to teach me."

The Motorballer grinned behind his mask. It was a lifeless,
bitter gesture.

    "Have your fun, kid. I'm not going to crash this time."

The large figure began to walk away.

    "Then you're going to win!"

The Motorballer stopped, and slowly turned around.

    "I've seen you," the boy continued, "I've seen all your
races, I've seen your moves, I've seen your crashes. No other
player can move like you, no other player could survive that. If
you didn't crash you'd win, and if you don't crash today you
will win. Teach me. Teach me to win"

    "Too late," the Motorballer replied, "the Spandau team
no longer exists, and I can't teach you anything. Forget
Motorball, that's the only advice I'll give you."

    "Bibra?"

The small figure tugged the at boy's pants, and he bent over to
gently pick it up.

    "Shhh, it's OK, it'll all be OK," the boy whispered. "She's
my sister," he added, gravely looking at the skater, "she's got
no one else but me. I won't leave her, I made her a promise."

    "Motorball holds no promise."

    "It will if you teach me."

After a few moments of silence, the cyborg finally replied.

    "Today will be the first and final lesson, kid. Did you
place a bet?"

    "I will."

    "You do that. It's your last chance."

    "You won't race again?"

The Motorballer slowly shook his head.

    "There can be only one, kid," he said, as he turned away and
headed towards the racetrack.


_________________________________
marco@chinook.physics.utoronto.ca
Gunnm: Broken Angel
http://128.100.80.13/marco/alita.html