FALAHA'S JOURNEY Into Pleasure | 18+

7. BARO

The early morning greets us with a lovely sunrise and constant engine roar propagating over the open field. Beyond the start line a lawless zone lies, which will become a path to reach our goal or, quite possibly, our unsightly grave.

Since none of us could sleep, Tarry and I spent last night running final electronics and structural system checks. We discovered nothing out of the ordinary.

Energy cells are full. Two days ago we had forcefully fully discharged them and then recharged again, to see how they would hold. Nothing unusual there either.

Tarry and I remain on dry snacks and water, which we had brought with us. Using locally provided food and drink is reasonably risky, so we have stocked our baggage compartment with a supply of a full four days' worth.

Finally we are heading out into the unknown.

On the start line, among the sea of participants and their gears, I observe an old Danna woman, who already shows deep signs of ageing. She's probably at her final, and extremely short, stage of life. She is of small stature, her golden skin is soft and wrinkly, but she has piercing blue eyes and the occasional youthful copper thread still shines among the white swirls.

These piercing blue eyes stare at me with interest.

I grin at her.

She bursts into joyous laughter.

What kind of person laughs so genuinely and freely on the brink of the madness that is about to unfold and she is about to participate in? Crazy woman. Even for a Danna. Why would she need a prize ship? She's probably from a family that has plenty. Well, there are all kinds of people here, so maybe she arrived here to die. Some just can't go out without a bang.

The fact that she is participating alone and the way she handles her gear shows skill. She is not here for the first time; at least, she isn't racing for the first time.

Personally, I could care less about how people chose their graves. What I do care about is that I don't want to be dragged along into one, especially by someone who has already lived their life to the fullest.

I put on my helmet, adjusting the holds. I wish we had some of those tactical suits in case someone sends us flying, but we had nothing for trade to get those.

"Not expected you flirting elderly people," Tarry says with a chuckle, already sporting his headgear.

"Shut it, Tarry. You won't be laughing when she buries you."

"Can she?"

"She'll tear you limb from limb in her sleep. That's a woman who would take a lover or two for a week to her death bed."

I vaguely remember her from browsing the massive participant list. I don't know what gets my senses tingling now, though. Gear Two-Nine-Nine. What was her name again?

"Tarry, who's number two-nine-nine?"

"Oroha Korredhann," he replies in a while, checking with the race base. "Wait, are you serious?! You interested?!"

"Yeah. In surviving this shit."

Korredhann. Korredhann. That's a kennar as powerful as Breannhenn, if not even more influential. She's definitely not here for the ship. One of the top kennar of the Commonwealth, a large part of them always have been stationed in Klia, yet they rarely set foot to Medas. Though smaller in numbers than any other kennar here, they have ships and weapons and all things aplenty. Klia's current Chief of Defense is also related to them. Kennar Korredhann is the master kennar to the one which is a master kennar to the one which owns our land, our facilities—basically our lives.