O’SHAUGHNESSY pulled back on the throttle of his Blenderbike and risked a quick glance behind him. Vavavoom Grupp, lead rider of the Bearangel Clan, was still right on his tail, breathing his exhaust fumes, just as she had been for the past eighty kilometres. The screen mounted between the handlebars of Shock’s bike told him that he was in twenty-first place, right where his race-planner told him he should to be at this stage. In sixteen kilometres he’d move to overtake Arthur Dekko—a Mutie, but not a serious challenge—in twentieth, then sit on that position for another hour or so. This was Shock’s fourth time running the 5000. And he was determined that this time he was going to finish better than second place. Last year had been so close—two seconds between him and that drokker Napoleon Neapolitan, and less than a minute from the finish-line Neapolitan’s bike sputtered and wavered, slowed down enough for Shock to narrow the gap. And then, just as the front edge of Shock’s lead spoiler came into line with Neapolitan’s, the drokker had laughed and surged forward.
