Catalyst

fiction by michael werneburg

2001.12.09

"They do, but whatever has kept him going, it might not be enough, Jim. On that final stretch on Garland, he was moving at only eighty-three percent of his average, and that includes some of the slow going in the ascent to the second marker. He's only got two kilometers left, but the pack of riders on the expressway is moving as quickly as the motor vehicles, and they're less than five minutes away. Tilescu has maybe eight to ten minutes to make the last four kilometers, but I don't know that he can do it."

Me neither, I thought bitterly. But I set out to prove myself wrong. Soon I was moving as fast as I could. Even so, it was starting to feel like the nagging sensation that the whole thing was slipping from my grasp. Every cycle of the pedals was getting harder; the burning sensation in my legs was obscene. The hot air made we want to vomit, and that was now a very real possibility. I wanted nothing more than to stop, but damn it, I needed that prize money! As the meters flew by, I thought of all the mistakes that had led to this day, and how I'd managed to wind up at nearly forty years of age, pinning my hopes against homelessness on a entering a cycle race against three hundred vicious psychotics.

"We're taking you now to the main pack, out on the expressway, where a cyclist has just been struck by a motor vehicle! It's thought to be #291, of team Domain Bank. We're having difficulty spotting the rider because the Domain Bank defense platform is hovering over the man's form and firing upon a vehicle. We're sure he was moving in excess of 100 kph when he was hit. Even now, there are more vehicles approaching, and the rider is still down."

Then I heard a loud explosion, and craned around to see a fireball rising on the expressway.

"Team Domain Bank is increasing the ordnance on the traffic to defend their fallen rider. A transport vehicle has been engulfed in a massive explosion, and more vehicles have collided with the burning wreckage. Oh, it's a horrible sight. Dan?"

I now had a marker that told me just how close the pack had gotten. And they were moving at more than twice my speed. Well, I might not win, but I really just needed to make the top ten! Come on, Cyrus!

In my ear, Dan said, "Jim, we've got fatalities for sure on the expressway. If the early report that it's #291 is correct, then we're looking at the heir apparent to Domain Bank Pty of Sydney! Mister Gordon Nguyen of the Sydney Nguyens, possibly down for the duration." After a breath, he added, "While it's not a rich man's game, it certainly has attracted its share of VIP casualties today."

"That's right, Dan, first Ms. Welch, now Mr. Nguyen. Well, we can only hope he pulls through. Now, the main pack on the freeway is closing in on the exit ramp they'll need to take for the Prince's palace and the third marker. We should point out that both Laurence Hirami and the infamous Ms Kuan had caught up with the pack before the explosion. While some six riders were trapped behind that explosion, they were both ahead of it and have managed to take commanding positions, and look well placed to find places on the inside of the off-ramp."

"As our camera drone closes in, it looks like some forty riders have squeezed into the off-ramp at high speed. It's two riders from the Elysium team in the lead, then Larisa Kuan, then Laurence Harami, and—wait!"

"Harami is retrieving something from beneath his seat! He's drawn a small cylinder—could it be another stun grenade? Yes, he's tossed it behind him. The next rider sees it coming, but they're all leaning into their turns, there's no room for error at eighty kilometers an hour."

Another thunderclap detonated over the NCV. The announcer paused for a beat.

"There's been an explosion," he declared, voice the very model of professional detachment. "Cyclists are falling all over the ramp; bodies are even falling off the ramp. Whoops, there goes another. We've seen bicycles disintegrating as they collide with the walls and with each other. Dozens of cyclists are down, and now the rest of the pack is colliding with the bodies and the wreckage. There are more cycles down, more injuries. Dan?"

"Jim, it's another stun grenade and it couldn't have come at a more dangerous point in the turn. Harami really is an artist."

Cursing, I kept on pushing it. With those bikes, any survivors would be traveling this flat stretch of beautiful pavement at maybe three times my speed. I was sweating hard. My knees were on fire.

"There's more news now from the rest of the field. Warren Goss has been spotted! He's clearly given up on the third marker, and is making straight for the finish line. What do you make of his chances, Doctor?"

"I think they're quite good. The man is clearly motivated, he's evidently in excellent shape, and he's chosen a cycle path in a long stretch of green space that will take him within a block of the finish line."

I'd forgotten that the Doctor was even there. He seemed to be spelling out an optimal route for Goss, which suggested that he hadn't been tipping me off, earlier. Or maybe Goss was the new favorite?

"And his odds look good," said Dan, the color man, "he's making excellent time with that Kiwi hybrid bike, and he's about as close to the finish as the leader is. This race is wide open, once again."

I almost wished I couldn't hear the commentary. How much sweeter to have think the berserk Goss was behind me rather than waiting up front. Had Goss heard the commentary about Harami's possible plans to steal a camera? Because he seemed to be pursuing the same strategy. All either man needed to win was the photos in my camera.

I decided it was time. I reached down and opened my pannier. Reaching in, I pulled out and tossed the break-fix kit to lighten my load. I then pinched the little button in the pannier's lid and felt the small electric motor in the frame kick in. It was not a strong motor and the old batteries held very little charge, but I could barely go on by myself.

"And what about the leader, Cyrus Tilescu? At this point, he doesn't seem to be pedaling. He's doubtless considering strategy in the light of the revelation that others have changed the stakes."

"I'd agree, but he doesn't seem to actually be slowing? Is he descending a slope?"

"You know, I think you're right. Could that old frame really house a motor?"

"Almost certainly. So, maybe not 20th Century, more 21st Century?"

"He's chosen the perfect time to use it. He must be exhausted, and he needs time to think."

"A real tactician, this paramedic. Having Goss somewhere in front of him is surely reason for pause!"

While they babbled in my ear, I considered the facts. The expressway gang behind me was down to only a few. I couldn't possibly outrun them, and I didn't think Goss would try to catch one of them at 150kph. He'd be looking for me. There was maybe no way I could beat Goss to the finish line, nor was there any way I could elude him with the camera crew following me. But I knew the city, and as far as I knew, Goss didn't. That meant I could probably elude him if I could somehow elude the camera crews. But how? As I wheeled along the harbor-front, I thought of the shopping center there. It was a big mall, and it led to the underground system of passageways that connected some of the other buildings in that part of the city. I checked the time and made a decision. I followed an off ramp.

"And now we're seeing Tilescu change course," exclaimed the anchor. "Doctor, where is he going?"

"I suspect he might be heading for the shopping district, where he'll be able to lose himself in the crowd," the Doctor ventured. Something in his tone, though, suggested that he might be hedging. I wondered if he suspected my true intent.

"Okay, so we've seen a much reduced group closing on the third marker. We have Hirami, Kuan, and two others circling the drive at the Prince's palace, and we understand that the stragglers from the Old Town are closing fast. Dan?"