Catalyst

fiction by michael werneburg

"Further thinning? There's not much room!"

"True. But we've got the two most aggressive riders there in Kuan and Hirami, and two other experienced warriors among the others, Irene Samson and Bernie Hills. Both of the latter have found winning places in this very race in the last three years, and it's no surprise that they're still in the game. Just because we haven't seen Hills or Samson lob explosives doesn't mean that they're not capable of playing their hand at a later stage."

Sailing along an auxiliary road beneath the raised highway, I could now see the harbor-front shopping center. Time to go silent! I reached behind me, and deactivated the radio transmitter on my back. Without the transmitter, my cybernetic communications equipment, the NCV, went momentarily dead. Then it picked up the local advertising channels, and I was back to the familiar come-ons of local restaurants, shops, and amusement centers. I went into my HUD and deactivated the damn NCV. I then yanked the pannier off and discarded that as well. The battery had died and I was certainly going to need a more slender profile for what was next.

I was treated to total silence in my head. I wouldn't miss Jim, Dan, or the Doctor one bit! I hopped up onto the curb, and -- still on my bicycle -- headed into the shopping center. Inside I was greeted by wonderfully cool air and a chorus of outraged shouts.

Though the place was by no means as busy as it would be on a normal Saturday, the crowds were still thicker than you'd want for cycling. I headed straight across the marble floor to the ramp that led down to the basement, and from there to the underground tunnel system. I was heading back towards the water, in the direction from which I'd just come. I was heading for the ferry terminal. As I progressed, enraged people screamed at me. Here and there, I saw a wave or heard a shout of encouragement or someone waving at unseen media drones that simply weren't there.

Pedaling through the tunnel system, with its shops and cute little eateries, I decided to reduce my speed so I wouldn't kill anyone. There was now no rush anyway. I was only two kilometers from the finish line, but speed was no longer of the essence. If the commentators had been right I had five contenders to worry about, and only two were trying to rob me. As I passed a wall of mirrors, I noticed that I looked awful. Flushed and sweating, suit clinging to my aging body in an unflattering way, I was hardly the clever challenger I'd felt at the beginning of this misadventure. I looked away, and cruised around a corner.

I'd already enraged quite a number of pedestrians, and some people on those infernal floating gyroscope cruisers, but I wasn't stopping for apologies. But sooner or later, I would have to stop to think things through. The problem was, where could I do so, and how much time did I really have? Strategy or no, this was a race!

I had to dismount to push the bike through some old-fashioned swinging doors, then lift the bike up a flight of stairs. I was back above ground, and out in the open once more. Looking around, I couldn't see a floating camera drone anywhere. Deciding to brave it, I hopped back into the saddle, and crossed the street to the ferry terminal.

When I entered the ferry terminal, there were more people than I'd expected, but that suited me just fine. I had to get out to the island airport, and this was going to be my only possible route. I approached the counter, and asked, "When's the next ferry to the airport?"

Staring at me with some surprise, the teller turned back to a small comms set on the wall, where the race was showing. She turned back to me, and said, "Six minutes!"

I nodded, and handed over my ID chip. She looked at it, and said, "They'll find you if you use this."

I looked at her, and shrugged. "Gotta get to the airport," I explained. She handed back the chip, and printed me a ticket with a smile.

Surprised, I returned the smile and snatched the ticket. Wheeling my bike over to the cyclist's entrance, I looked out over the water, at the bridge that crossed the river. It was no more than 500 meters away. And although I couldn't make out his features, I was certain that the lone person on that bridge was sitting astride a bicycle. Goss. Already! And the gang from the freeway were surely only moments away.

I pushed the bike onto the ferry and left it with the others. It blended right in with the cacophony of bikes from various eras. I went up the upper deck, and found a quiet spot to do some thinking. But when I sat on a bench my body revolted and I was up again in a shot. Just in time, I got over to the railing and vomited into the water. Then again. I spat, had a pull on my water, and spat again. I went back to the bench, my mind blank and body screaming. I was physically spent.