Read Racers of the Night: Science Fiction Stories by Brad R. Torgersen for Free Online Page A

they weren’t so lucky.”
    “I bet the footage of the wreck was all over the news,” Jane said.
    “Biggest and most spectacular racing disaster in years,” Bill said, then snorted. “They replayed it for a week, even on Earth. As the only survivor, your name got the headlines. If you check your e-mail you’ll probably find several gazillion messages. You’ve suddenly become the best-known racer on the senior circuit. I’ve had at least a dozen companies contact me, wanting to know if they can hire you to be their spokeswoman—assuming you didn’t come out of the hospital a vegetable.”
    Now it was Jane’s turn to snort. Then she coughed, and lay still for a few quiet minutes.
    “I suppose I should feel lucky,” Jane said.
    “Damn right you should,” Bill replied. “You’ll have time for survivor’s guilt later. Trust me. I’ve been through a wreck or two in my day. Though nothing close to what you went through.”
    Jane simply nodded. Bill slowly sipped at his coffee. Not saying another word.
    “I still need you, old man.”
    He looked up.
    “For what?”
    “Sponsors and crash insurance should cover the medical bills, and they may even buy me a new bike.”
    “The race is over, ” Bill said firmly.
    “For now, yes. But I’ll be back. Next season. Cazetti hasn’t seen the last of Jane Jeffords.”
    Bill almost dropped his coffee into his lap.
    “The damned track takes you out, and you want to go back?”
    “Of course,” Jane said, smiling. “Sally Tincakes already killed me. Once. She can’t rightly get me twice, can she? That’s double jeopardy. I swear to you, next year, this woman is hoisting the Armstrong Cup over her head.”
    Jane jabbed a thumb at her chest in emphasis.
    Bill looked like he was about to argue, then sighed—a long, tired sound.
    “How can you be so sure it won’t happen again?”
    “I’m pretty sure.”
    “How are you sure, though?”
    Jane swallowed hesitantly, considering whether or not to tell Bill everything she remembered from after the crash.
    “Let’s just say I think it’s what Ellen wants.”
    “Ellen? My daughter? What’s she got to do with this?”
    “Nothing. And everything. Maybe old Sally Tincakes has cursed Cazetti Raceway. But I think it’s time to put paid to the legend. For Ellen. For every racer who died.”
    Jane reached out a hand and laid it on Bill’s age-freckled arm. He flinched at her touch, but he didn’t move away. His old eyes had gone watery and several tears trailed down his age-weathered cheeks.
    “Ellen …” Bill whispered.
    “Yes,” Jane said.
    The room was quiet for several minutes. Then Bill stood up and used a towel from the patient room’s dispenser to wipe his face.
    “I doubt you’ll have enough for a new Falcon,” he said.
    “Maybe I can buy a used Firebee,” Jane replied. “Something that will get me back on the track. Until I get my winnings up enough to buy something more sophisticated. Or maybe you were right, maybe it’s not the crate, but the woman sitting in it that counts.”
    Bill looked at her with his eyes large and worried, still not quite accepting her determination. But then he closed them and shook his head slowly, the smallest of smiles creeping onto his thin lips. He put down his towel and began chuckling. It was an odd sound, gravelly and low. But it was the first time Jane remembered the old guy laughing since she’d first met him.
    “Jay-Jay,” he said between laughs, “did I ever tell you my daughter would have liked you?”
    “No,” Jane said. When Bill didn’t elaborate further, Jane clasped her hands in her lap and looked at him with raised eyebrows. “So what’s your answer, old man? Are you with me?”
    They studied one another for a moment—racer to racer. Then Bill crossed the tiled floor and stuck his palm out.
    “I’m with you,” Bill said.
    Jane grasped his hand in hers—and realized it was the first time they’d ever shaken. A good feeling. Strong.