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

Solid.
    “We’ve got six months to get ready for next season,” he said.
    “Plenty of time,” Jane said. “Plenty of time.”

    “The Curse of Sally Tincakes” was a lot like my Hugo and Nebula nominated novelette, “Ray of Light,” in that “Tincakes” originated as a workshop story from one of Kristine Kathryn Rusch’s and Dean Wesley Smith’s short fiction workshops, up in Lincoln City, Oregon. Also like “Ray of Light,” this story got me a terrific cover—this time for Orson Scott Card’s InterGalactic Medicine Show. I liked the cover so much (raised glass to Nick Greenwood!) I knew I wanted it on my second short fiction collection; with “Tincakes” as the opening tale.
    The workshop assignment had been to write a story about curses. As I often do when I tackle such assignments, I try to look at the usual angles—in this case, I knew they’d largely be fantastical and/or horrific in flavor—and choose a path less traveled. Being somebody who pays attention to sports (while not being much of a fanatic of any given sport, outside of professional basketball) I knew that sports lore contained a lot of fertile ground for a potential story. At the same time, I wanted to make my story rigorously science fictional. Something I could pitch at an editor who knew my bona fides in that particular way.
    It hit me instantly that I ought to do a racing story.
    Once upon a time, the narrated musical fable group Celestial Navigations (fronted by actor Geoffrey Lewis) did a rather wonderful series of spoken word stories about space racing. I was definitely channeling some of their energy when I conjured up the imagery of Jane Jeffords and her Falcon hurtling along the concave lunar track at unspeakable speeds. Somehow, a good racing story is the kind of story that just never gets old. Whether it’s The Black Stallion or Chariots of Fire or The Last American Hero or Breaking Away, the visceral imagery and feeling of the underdog going up against the odds in a foot race, bike race, horse race, car race … these are all variations on a classic theme—a theme I enjoyed working with when I wrote this story.
    Of course, much credit goes to Edmund Schubert, who is something of a silent co-author. Ed liked “Tincakes” a lot when he had it sent up to him by Scott M. Roberts and the other junior editors at IGMS, but Ed had some specific ideas about how to re-shape the ending. After going back and forth a bit with it, I surprised Ed by taking “Tincakes” in a direction Ed did not expect—but which he liked anyway. And readers liked too, based on the feedback I got.
    ***

The Bricks of Eta Cassiopeiae
    I was humming to myself as I checked the primitive gauge on the kiln. The song running in my head was an old tune. Something sweet, catchy, and which I’d not heard in a long time. I couldn’t help myself. It’s hard to not be happy when you’re getting short. A few more months and I’d make parole. Just the thought of it sent quivers of anticipation through my stomach. Freedom!
    The gauge’s needle hovered steadily in the red.
    “Still too hot,” I said over my shoulder. “Gotta wait another day.”
    “That’s nice,” said my fellow inmate, Godfrey. “So what do we do until then?”
    “You dig,” came the reply from Ivarsen, our lone guard.
    Godfrey frowned and spit at Ivarsen’s feet, missing just barely.
    Ivarsen allowed himself a small smirk and scrubbed the wad of saliva under a heel. Like the rest of us, he wore a broad-brimmed sun hat and wraparound sunglasses to protect against Eta Cassiopeiae’s blinding rays. Unlike the rest of us, his shorts and shirt were khaki—instead of prisoner orange—and he had a holster on his hip with a high-power pistol in it.
    In the two planetary years since I’d been assigned to Ivarsen’s care, I’d never seen him draw that gun. But with how Godfrey had been acting since his arrival one week ago, I wondered if even Ivarsen’s patience had