Ooorah Smackdown Anthology

Race

Seno grimaced as he came around. A smoking singe mark across his ship's nose showed where the last shot had grazed him. "Live fire practice, my dusty butt," he grumbled to the tiny cockpit. "The Quartermaster will tear us down if he hears of us using it outside the Races."

The other Mice envied that Seno got to fly the racing ships. As the only Mouse who didn't get shot out of the sky in five minutes, he was constantly on call for practice duty. The added bonus was that it got him out of maintenance duty on the Docks.

The other racers knew he gave as good as he got and treated him with respect. Only Daffy used him to take out his bad moods on.

Seno thanked the stars Mice weren't required to be there during practice sessions for on-spot repairs as required during real Races, or Daffy would be taking pot shots at them, too.

Wouldn't be the first time. Or the last. More than one Mouse had been killed by an "errant" shot while trying to get back to the Hole after repairing a ship mid-Race.

"You didn't get any action last night, did you Daffy? I'll eat my grav boots to find out differently." Seno focused on the large black duck the other pilot took his moniker from and hit the accelerator as he jerked the stick to the side sending his ship into a roll directly at his opponent. Seno cackled when Daffy predictably pulled up his nose to avoid the collision.

Seno shouted, "Coward!"

Strobing yellow light signalling the end of practice filled the mile-long arena where the Races took place - a misnomer if there ever was one. The ships engaged in down and dirty dogfights.

Seno directed his ship toward the docking bay, then grunted painfully as his body flew forward into the harness from the force of an impact from the rear.

After one shrill clarion alarm, the ships AI came over the speaker, "Warning! Warning! Fire in rear thruster! Ship explosion imminent. Activating emergency protocol."

The emergency systems launched him into the air. He grabbed the joysticks that gave him control of the seat's boosters. In space, the seat would have engulfed him in a protective bubble. Here on the Prinjales space station, he just had to guide the seat into the dock. Just in time to see Daffy standing at attention beside his own ship and getting dressed down by the Quartermaster.

"Take that ridiculous thing off your head!" The older, burly man said as he snatched the cap in the shape of a black duck with a long yellow bill off the young pilot's head. "Can't stand being bested by a Mouse, so you try to blow him up? Who's going to pay for that ship you just destroyed? You?"

Every man there snapped to attention at the low, sultry tones of Ricci that filled the bay as she sauntered out from behind Daffy's ship, trailing a hand along its belly. "You better pray Queen Cleopatra lets you fly in the next Race after that stunt, Daffy."

As she spoke, Ricci crossed to the man and trailed a finger across his back, looping around to his stomach. It looked seductive, and Daffy's eyes heated at her proximity, but Seno had grown up with Ricci in the Mouse Holes. He recognised the anger that roiled beneath the surface and knew she was lethal even when her ire wasn't up.

Seno's eyes fixed on Ricci so as not to lose a second of being close to her or, even though he knew she could hold her own, leave her in Daffy's presence unprotected. He unclipped himself as quietly as possible and padded slowly across the hangar towards the door.

Ricci stopped directly in front of Daffy, a hairsbreadth too close for polite company, and looked up into his face. Seno marvelled at the smoking lust she directed at him. She hated the pilot and had vowed his downfall for how he had traumatized the Mice, and especially Ricci's best friend, over the years. No one cared, because even though the Mice kept the ships and station in working order, most people saw them as lowlifes and treated them as such, or worse.