The Golden Eagle is a teenage student, dancer, musician, lover of books, nerd, and of course, a writer; her favorite genre to read and to write is SF, though she'll happily type away at other kinds of stories, too. You can find her at thegoldeneaglesblog.blogspot.com, where she blogs about writing and life in general.
The wind was blowing hard that day, but the aero-racers didn’t care. If the breeze wanted to kick up a storm, then it would.
Cynthia Harman strode with confidence across the field, even though the mask she had to wear was making her feel claustrophobic and the planet’s strange gases were turning everything purple.
So what if it was her first inter-space (she liked to think inter-galactic) competition? —She had the sleekest, fastest flier and she’d been training her mind and her body for more than a year and a half.
“Ready, ‘Thia?” Kelly asked. She would be the one giving her information on her course throughout the race; Cynthia trusted her completely and that had paid off, as time and time again she’d come in first in smaller, planet-wide races.
Cynthia hoisted herself up onto the Dragonfly, her craft, and activated her mike.
“The race starts—“
But before her partner could answer, headquarters signaled the racers.
“Racers: Wind speeds are picking up and predicted to reach a maximum of 500 kmh. The judges have convened and decided that continuing the aero-race would accompany excessive risk—“
Before the man could finish, Cynthia heard the boos of the other racers through the speaker in her ear. She did not add her own. Instead, she nudged the Dragonfly close to the launch point, hoping that the judges would take the contestants’ desire to race anyway into account.
Shouts and arguments echoed in her ear, until it was five minutes after the race had originally been set to begin.
“The judges have reconsidered. Racers, if you would line up and prepare your craft.”
Having already done that, and triple-checked the Dragonfly’s status, Cynthia grinned.
“Prepare for launch. Before you leave, another warning—wind speeds have reached 420 kmh, and are continuing their increase. Should a contestant wish to pull out, you need only send up a flare, which shall be detected and relayed immediately to standby personnel.
“And now, let the race begin!”
A computer voice began to number the seconds.
“Ten. Nine. Eight.”
Seven. Six. Five, Cynthia thought.
“Four. Three. Two.”
“ONE!” she yelled, and slammed down on the controls.
The Dragonfly took off from the launch point and spiraled through the clouds below.