Catalyst

fiction by michael werneburg

"Well, what if we got in his way, instead?" someone else asked. I turned to look in that direction, and saw a number of people turning to regard a tallish fellow with a grey beard. "What if we tie him up on the upper deck, giving you a chance to get away?"

I stared in disbelief. What was with these people? "No," I said, "he's dangerous, as our friend here just observed. I don't think that would be good for your health!"

"Ah, he's not going to bother with us," said a woman's voice from behind me, and suddenly almost everyone was in motion, heading up the steps. Hands shook mine, others clapped me on the shoulders. A woman kissed my cheek. And then they all cheerfully went up the steps, leaving me with a few confused onlookers. I stared at this one woman who seemed about as shocked as me. "You better do this for them," she said.

I shrugged, and headed back for my bike. We were already only 100 meters from the airport ferry terminal. I reached for my bike and did a sudden dry heave.

"What was that?" asked the woman who'd been decrying the injustice of the races. She was looking at me with concern.

"I took something to enhance my performance prior to race. I think I'm crashing."

She cursed and demanded to know what it was. I told her, and she said, "That's a nasty mix. You're a paramedic aren't you? You should know what you've done to yourself."

"I need the cash. Not doing this for my health."

"Well, I can see that! You're going to need treatment by nightfall." To my surprise she pulled her backpack off and knelt by it for a moment. I gagged again and my head swam. "I'm a doctor. I've just sent you my clinic contacts, come see me tonight. In the meantime, you need to apply these patches."

I recognized a detoxify derm and a stim derm full of steroids. "Only bike race in the world where that's legal. I guess this makes me a doper," she said with a laugh. I thanked her profusely. Her man handed her a chilled water bottle and looked at me with concern. The doctor opened the bottle, showed me what looked like a cube of salt, and dumped that into the bottle and shook it. She handed me the mix and I nodded my thanks as I drank.

"How can I pay you?" I asked.

"You can pay me when you've won your prize. Just come to my office tonight, I'll hang a photo of you on the wall of my clinic and I'll be able to tell the story until I retire!"

I nodded and felt my stomach roll over. Too much water too fast? But then there was a boom followed by a number of sharp claps. It was coming from the bridge. Everyone looked that way. Someone cursed the "savages" in the race.

"That's Goss at the bridge," someone said, an attractive woman regarding her screen. "The rest of the riders decided to storm the bridge and he tossed a microbomb."

"Did he get a camera?" I asked.