Page 33 of Hyperspeed
Vibrations interrupted my internal brooding, and not the fun kind. I looked down at my watch, groaning at the words flashing on the screen.
“Savannah calling.”
The vibrations stopped, before starting again almost instantly.Sigh. I should answer. Ihadto answer. The longer I waited, the more inevitable those goddamn off-season marathons felt. The damn woman knew how to manipulate me into doing whatever she wanted. You tell her once you hate running, and she stuffs it in her box of ammunition, ready to use against you later. If Savannah weren’t a publicist, she’d be an amazing supervillain.
With a huff, I answered the call. But I’d somehow hit the option to make it a holo-call, so imagine my surprise when the image of a scowling Savannah flickered to life above my wrist.
“Are you still in bed?!” she screeched, making me wince.
“No . . .”
“Do notlie to me, Kai Mercer. I can see your rumpled sheets, and as much as I never wanted to, your naked torso in fucking HD.”
“Who hasn’t seen my half-naked body these days?” I forced my trademark cocky grin. “I’ve done a spread for Galactic Sports Weekly at least twice. And there was that calendar for Cosmo Hunks . . .”
“Yeah, well, I avoided them. And seeing it up close just made me gayer.”
“Do you want something, or did you just call to give me a complex?” I snapped.
“I was making sure you’re on your way to Varkos 2.”
“Why would I be on my way to Varkos 2?”
“The PR day, Kai!” Savannah’s face grew red with frustration. If this were a cartoon, she’d have steam bursting from her ears. “You’re supposed to be at Karting for Kids with the other drivers for the sports day, giving underprivileged children a day to fucking remember.”
“Shit,” I hissed, tossing my covers back.
Savannah had planned this months ago. All drivers had agreed to spend the day at Karting for Kids, a galaxy-wide charity that offered children from low-income homes the chance to get into the sport. Most of us started in kids’ karting competitions before moving up to the lower leagues.
But like most sports, it was expensive as fuck. It took up a lot of time and effort, not just for the child, but for the whole family. There were relays to travel to, protective gear to pay for, and don’t even get me started on the karts. They could cost a small fortune if you wanted one that was decent.
Programmes like KFK had emerged as the ASL rose in popularity. It offered grants to families for the gear, and they had a warehouse full of secondhandsuits and helmets to choose from. There were karts for the members to share, and corporate sponsors donated brand-new, high-spec versions to be used at competitions. There was also a shuttleload of volunteers who took kids to competitions when their families couldn’t.
As the son of a single parent with no other family to speak of, KFK had opened the door for my career, and I’d be damned if these kids didn’t have the best day ever.
“If you’re not en route to Varkos 2 in ten minutes, I swear on the celestial gods, Kai,” Savannah yelled as I ran into my en suite. “I will sign you up for every damn marathon I can find in the off-season.”
“Threat received. Bye, hot stuff!”
“Kai—”
I hung up, cutting off her screeching. Then I hopped in the shower, having the quickest wash of my life.
By some miracle, I was washed, dried, and dressed in under ten minutes, then flying in my two-seater shuttle towards the edge of Zyphar’s atmosphere. Varkos 2 was an hour away via the nearest registered wormhole, and with my thrusters pushed to their limit, I arrived only a few minutes behind schedule.
I spotted Savannah as I parked up, deep in conversation with the other teams’ publicists. A short distance away, the drivers posed for photos in front of the KFK campgrounds entrance.
During school breaks, they hosted week-long camps for young racers. But today it was overrun with professional, hyper-competitive drivers and their no-nonsense publicists, all geared up for what would be an intense sports day.
“About bloody time,” Savannah muttered, giving me a once-over. “At least you look presentable.”
“I always look presentable.”
“Debatable.” She brushed a strand of hair from my forehead. “Now, get over there with the rest of them, and smile.”
“Yes, boss.” I gave an over-the-top salute, ignoring her glare, then I walked over to join the group of drivers.
“Great job, guys!” The ASL’s official photographer, Tov, waved his arms, directing from behind the lens. “Jaxir, stand next to Valen. Yep, that’s it. Can you move a little closer? A bit more . . . great. Revvak, can you try to tone down the . . . uh . . . scowling?”
