Gold Dust

Excerpt

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Chapter One

First Meet

“Go!” Mason shouted. “Come on! You can do it!”

Bhaaj stood in the coach’s box of the stadium with Mason Qazik, Coach of the Raylicon Olympic Track and Field team, a lofty name for perhaps the worst Olympic team in human-settled space. Well, what did they expect? The world Raylicon had only the City of Cries to draw on, with a few million people, whereas the top teams recruited from worlds with populations in the billions.

The runners below were pounding around the oval track in the 800-meter race of the Cries Track and Field Meet. It was a small competition, five local teams, including Mason’s Olympic hopefuls, a group of martial arts students from the Cries Tykado Academy, some kids from Cries University, another team fielded by employees from Abyss Associates, and the fifth sent by Scorpio Corporation. Although Bhaaj wasn’t an official coach with Mason, she’d brought him many of her runners from the Undercity, swelling the size of his team from eleven athletes to over fifty, with hers easily besting the top runners from the City of Cries.

Below them, competitors from the five teams had reached the end of their last lap on the track. The crowd in the arena were cheering, calling out encouragement—

And booing.

Bhaaj scowled. Where did they get off booing athletes, particularly in one of the best races ever run in this spectacular but underused arena? The City of Cries thrived on the otherwise mostly uninhabitable world of Raylicon because of its historical importance and the wealth of its citizens. They’d spared no expense for the technology that made their city into an oasis in an otherwise stark desert, and the Athletic Center was no exception. If only they had a pool of athletes comparable to this remarkable facility.

That could change today as the Undercity runners pulverized the previous records set in this stadium. When the leaders below approached the finish line, the cheering from the crowd swelled—and so did the catcalls. The few holo-reporters covering the event jockeyed with more oomph than usual to record the winners, with Angel from the Undercity in first, Tayz Wilder from Cries in second, and an Undercity youth called Lamplight in third.

Given the informal nature of the meet, it didn’t take long for Mason’s volunteers to validate the results. As soon as they announced the medalists, repeating what everyone already knew, the crowd applauded and flashed their spark-sticks. The holo-casters converged on the winners, especially Angel. With her muscled build, great height, and tattoos, she looked about as angelic as a mountain basher. Gorgeous, yah, with her beautiful face and large eyes, but also a force of nature. Tayz Wilder seemed startled to come in second when in the past he’d run as the undisputed leader in everything, even the 800 meter, despite his preference for longer distances. He seemed more gratified than bothered, though. Finally he had a team worthy of his ability.

Several holo-casters were running toward Mason and Bhaaj. In the few moments of privacy they had left, Mason grinned at her. “The universe of athletics just changed forever.”

Bhaaj didn’t know whether to smile at his exaggeration or scowl at the booing from the stands. She didn’t have time for either reaction before the reporters reached them.

“So, Coach Qazik,” a woman said, shoving her holocam at him. “How does it feel to have gangsters from the Undercity beat your Olympic-trained runners?”

“This is the Raylicon team,” Mason said. “All the runners working with me are trying out for our Olympic Track and Field team. I’m delighted to have such a strong showing.”

“Yes, but most of them come from the Undercity,” a man called out. “These kids live in one of the worst slums in the Imperialate. Are they qualified to run with the athletes you’ll take to the Olympics next year?”

“Of course they are,” Bhaaj said, exasperated. “You just saw them.”

“You’re Major Bhaajan, the Undercity coach, right?” another woman asked. “Didn’t you earn a bronze medal in the classic marathon at the Olympics a few decades ago?”

“A silver medal,” Bhaaj said. “I ran for the Pharoah’s Army team.”

Another reporter spoke with suspicion. “That seems like too much of a coincidence, that you came out of the Undercity and made an Olympic team, and now you bring all these Undercity gang members here to destroy records in this arena. Cheating is immediate cause for disqualification.”

For fuck’s sake, Bhaaj thought. She said only, “Of course it isn’t coincidence. Running well is a survival mechanism in the Undercity. We have no access to motorized transport. We travel with our legs.” She met his gaze. “Most everyone in the Undercity runs every day of their lives.” For her, that qualified as a long speech, but it was a better than cussing at the reporter.

“Surely your athletes have been altered,” the first woman insisted. “Just look at them, at how long their legs are compared to their bodies. It seems unlikely every one of them just happens to have such a physique. Body augmentation is illegal for any natural-body meet, including the Olympics.”

“Enough!” Mason said. “Of course I check my runners. None have augmentation of any form. Those who qualify for my team will represent Raylicon regardless of where they come from.”

With that, he grabbed Bhaaj’s arm in a flourish and stalked away from the holo-casters, headed for a tunnel into the interior of the stadium. As a coach’s entrance, it had automated security sensors that blared at anyone who tried to use it without permission, including nosy reporters.

As soon as they were alone, Bhaaj said, “Booing. I can’t believe it.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Mason grimaced. “I knew the Undercity runners would surprise people, but no way did I expect that reaction. So vicious!”

“You think that’s vicious?” Bhaaj asked. “I saw a lot worse when I enlisted at sixteen.”

“Sixteen?” Mason blinked at her. “I didn’t think you could join the army that young.”

“You can’t fight. They put me in school.” They’d intended for her to spend more than two years there, but she’d tested out early by doing far better than anyone expected, after which she’d applied for emancipated minor status. Given that she had no parents, and no one gave a damn about a kid from the Undercity, she’d had no trouble getting it. Soon after, she became a private in the bottom echelon of the military. They sent her out to fight alongside the drones and robots and other low-value soldiers, those considered expendable.

“I didn’t realize you’d enlisted.” Mason’s ever-expressive face became confused. “People call you Major Bhaajan. Doesn’t that mean you served as an officer before you retired?”

“That’s right.” She felt like saying, Not this again, but she held back. She’d come to like Mason this past season since her runners had started to train with his team. “It’s possible to go from the enlisted to the officer ranks.”

“But you’re from the Undercity—” He winced. “Sorry. Now I’m doing it, making all those stupid assumptions.”

His embarrassed response helped Bhaaj warm toward him. “I don’t think anyone expected me to succeed. But I did. When they found out how well I could run, they delayed my commission long enough for me to represent the army at the Olympics.” She could have competed for many more years, except the Olympics didn’t allow biomech augmentation, and army officers received the biomech upon their commission. After she’d fought so hard for her rank, she hadn’t wanted to risk delaying her commission another four years. Instead, she’d put away her track and field shoes and become Second Lieutenant Bhaajan.

“It was worth the work,” she added.

He gave a friendly laugh. “Your usual taciturn answer, yes? I can only imagine the history behind those words.”

Bhaaj almost smiled. She didn’t because in the Undercity you never smiled at someone unless you trusted them. But she did nod to him.

A group of their runners appeared around a curve of the concourse, laughing and talking. At least the Cries athletes were talking. The Undercity kids gave terse responses or said nothing. Some had trouble understanding their Cries teammates, given the different dialects they spoke. It helped that Angel had experience with above-city culture, enough that she knew how to interact with the Cries competitors.

As the runners gathered around them, Angel nodded to Bhaaj, and Bhaaj nodded back, just barely, but enough to acknowledge the team’s accomplishment.

Mason beamed at them all. “Nice work today! The medal ceremonies will start soon!”

Tayz Wilder, the Cries team captain, scowled. “I can’t believe those people were booing.”

“I understand you’re all upset,” Mason said. “But don’t go down to their level. Choose your words with care.”

“Yah.” Strider, one of Bhaaj’s athletes, spoke in the Undercity dialect. “Got good words for booers. Fucking ass-bytes.”

Some of the runners laughed, Cries and Undercity both, then stopped when Mason glared.

Hyden Laj, another leader among the Cries athletes, spoke in an aloof tone. “Of course we get such gems of wisdom from the Undercity. In refined language, no less.”

Rockjan, the largest of the Undercity gang members, turned to him. “You can go—”

“Enough!” Bhaaj said, in the same instant that Mason said, “Stop it, everyone. Show respect, all of you, to each other and to your opponents. Always, no matter how the crowd reacts.”

The Cries athletes squinted at him, and the Undercity kids turned impassive. None of them liked the booing, but neither did they want to ruin the high of doing so well at the meet. Before anyone thought of a response, a muted roar came from the track.

“What the blazes?” Mason said, looking at the sports band on his wrist.

Max, Bhaaj thought. What’s going on?

Checking. That came from Max, the Evolving Intelligence, or EI, in her leather-and-tech gauntlets. When she thought with enough force to Max, it fired bio-electrodes in her brain, which sent signals along biothreads in her body to the gauntlets on her wrists where Max lived. His signals followed the reverse path, letting him “think” to her.

The first runner from the classic marathon has reached the stadium, Max thought. It’s Tam Wiens. She’s doing her final lap.

“Tam just entered the stadium,” Mason was saying, reading the tiny holos above the sports band around his wrist. “It’s too soon.”

“Come on,” Bhaaj said. “Let’s go look.”

They headed back to the entrance where they’d escaped the reporters, and their curious runners followed. Technically, the athletes weren’t supposed to use that tunnel, but neither Bhaaj nor Mason said anything. They came out into the tiers to see a young woman on the track below, headed for the finish line. An orb the size of a soccer ball floated above her, verifying her progress as it had done throughout the city. Two cool-carts wheeled along the track, one with officials getting human verification of her progress and the other with holo-casters recording her win.

“How can Tam be so early?” Mason said. “She must have taken wrong turn.”

“No, look at her stats,” Bhaaj said. “She’s done the full route.” The numbers continually updated on a holo-scoreboard above the track, which took its data from the monitor on Tam’s arm. She crossed the finish line accompanied by an appreciative roar from the crowd. Actually, “roar” exaggerated the reaction, given the stands were only about one-fifth full and a few people persisted with the jeering catcalls.

“We’ve never seen anything like it!” the stadium announcer exulted, his voice coming from media orbs spinning above the stadium. “Tam Wiens, a runner from the Undercity, just crushed the previous marathon record here. Anyone could’ve told you that’s impossible, and yet here she is, her run verified by both human and drone monitors. First place, in two hours and three minutes. Times have steadily improved over the past decades, but if this meet were an Olympic qualifier, that result would put Wiens on the team—ho, look! The second-place runner just entered the stadium, another Undercity athlete, the man called Ruzik. Yes, that’s right, another gang member—wait, I’m getting a note—they call these runners Dust Knights, a syndicate known for their aggressive fighting.”

“I don’t believe it,” Bhaaj said. “Do they just make up this shit?” She’d promised herself to clean up her language here, but this announcer made it too easy to forget.

“We need to get better descriptions out there about your runners,” Mason told her. “But look at Ruzik! He’s going to hit an Olympic qualifying time, too.”

“So he is,” Bhaaj said, gratified but not surprised.

“It’s a new game, folks!” the announcer enthused. “Raylicon may field a respectable team in track and field at the Olympics next year. Who’d have thought so much talent could come from homeless thugs squatting under the city!”

“Enough already with the insults,” Bhaaj growled.

“I’ll register a complaint.” Mason sounded sincere, but far less annoyed. “He’s right about the team, though. What a group!” He grinned at her. “I had no clue you had so many spectacular runners down there in the Undercity.”

“At least you don’t call it a slum.”

“I’ll call it whatever you want.” Mason beamed with unabashed delight. “You can’t scare me with all your scowls and growls, Bhaaj. I know you’re happy.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “The City of Cries better look out. We’re coming.”

Angel stood on the podium with Tayz Wilder to her right and Lamplight on her left. She felt good. The official who put the gold medal around her neck neither smiled nor spoke, a relief given how above-city types did both far too much. As they put the medal on Tayz, though, they were all Congratulations, Del Wilder, Well done. It hadn’t taken Angel long to realize the title Del indicated honor, which they gave to Tayz and not her.

Even so. Angel liked Tayz. He worked hard and gave respect. Not like so many others, with their we-hate-the-Undercity biz, jeering her for winning a race that didn’t even go anywhere, just around a big circle. Well, tough. She’d keep beating their entitled asses. She loved running. Strange, that they’d taken a means of survival—racing for your life—and turned it into a game.

The Lost Sky played while they stood on the podiums. Angel, her husband Ruzik, and Bhaaj had chosen that music to represent the Undercity last year when they competed in The Selei City Marathon on the world Parthonia. Angel and Ruzik had gone to Parthonia to help Bhaaj with one of her private investigator cases, so they figured why not try the race? When the officials had asked what song represented their people, they chose The Lost Sky. Since no recording of the song had existed, Ruzik had sung it, the only one of them whose voice wouldn’t kill a desert lizard.

After the medal ceremony, Angel went to where Bhaaj stood talking with Mason. Bhaaj nodded to her and said, “Good run,” a fine response indeed, two words to indicate honor.

Ah, but Mason. Oh, yah. Mason.

“Incredible! Just amazing!” he enthused. “Our team is dynamite! Well, what do you expect! Of course we’re the top team on Raylicon. Fine job, all of you!” And on and on, full of words and verve and thrill. Angel wondered that he didn’t pass out with all that energy. He meant well, though, and he never scowled when Undercity kids outdid his Cries runners. He genuinely didn’t care where they came from. They were his team. Actually, the Undercity kids considered Bhaaj their coach, but she told them to honor Mason, so they did. In this past season, since they’d trained with his team, he’d earned their respect.

While Mason talked, the setting sun stretched shadows across the track. Although sunsets still bemused Angel, the passage of “days” no longer bothered her. She’d started sneaking above ground years ago, to explore the desert and look at Cries from a distance. Gradually she’d become used to the astonishing sky, how the sun came and went. Runners who’d never ventured above ground before had a tougher time when they joined Mason’s team last season, but they liked to run more than they wanted to avoid sunlight, so they came, gawked at the sky, and outran the slicks.

On the podium, the medal ceremony for the marathon had started. It gratified Angel to see Tam receive the gold. Good person, Tam. She never had a bad word for anyone. And Ruzik with the silver. Yah, a fine figure of a man, this husband of hers. He stood tall and impassive, the tats on his arms vivid in the slanting sunlight. The third-place finisher, a guy from the Cries Tykado Academy, got a bronze medal.

Bhaaj was speaking to Mason. “If you’d put Tayz Wilder on the marathon today instead of the 800-meter, I’ll bet he’d have medaled instead of that kid from the tykado academy.”

“Yes, absolutely.” Then Mason added, “Wild wanted to try the shorter race, though, just for practice. For the Olympics, I’m thinking of Tam, Wild, and Ruzik on the royal marathon. Who else? That is, if we qualify anyone else. I’ve got to get this team out to interstellar meets. So far, Wild is the only one who has officially qualified for any Olympic event.”

“Wild?” Bhaaj asked. “You mean Tayz Wilder?”

“You bet! Everyone calls him Wild.” Mason chuckled. “It’s because he’s so wild about training. He never lets up.”

Listening, Angel almost laughed. Tayz was about as wild as a fluff-pup, given that his every word and action whispered, I’m a rich city slick. The team even had a member of the royalty, Azarina Majda. She had none of the arrogance so ingrained in the older Majda women, though. Except for her straight black hair and aristocratic features, you’d never know she was a Majda. Not that the royal Majda family reigned on Raylicon anymore—unless you included their financial biz, an empire of wealth far more powerful than any realm their barbarian queens had ruled thousands of years ago.

The Undercity and Cries athletes mostly kept their distance. At least they hadn’t come to blows. They took their cues from their leaders, Wild as team captain, and Ruzik as Bhaaj’s second for the Dust Knights. Angel discreetly watched Ruzik and Wild. Strange that, to see a Cries man talking to an Undercity athlete. That never happened. Yet here they were. Wild didn’t seem fake, either. Angel felt his emotions, not as strong as with Ruzik, but enough to read his mood. However impossible it seemed, he and Ruzik got along.

She hoped it lasted. If putting Undercity runners and Cries slicks together on one team was going to work, they needed to pull together instead of wanting to pulverize each other.

 

end of excerpt