The next few weeks leading up to the race were a blur for Stoker. Every minute of his spare time was taken up with practice. When he wasn't training Rimfire and Shuga, he was at the old quarry riding Hotstuff, or in the workshop with Fletch, sitting up until late adding modifications, tweaking her as close as they could to perfection.

Four days before the race he found a note from Fletch on his desk; 'urgent core see me'. Stoker shook his head as he tried to fathom the cryptic note. Oh well, best find out.

He arrived to find Hotstuff in pieces on the floor and Fletch muttering over something on the workbench.

Stoker looked around in dismay. "Fletch! What happened?"

Fletch looked up at Stoker, his eyes comically enlarged by the magnifying goggles he wore. "The housing for the fusion core had a flaw in it. I thought she was running a bit hot last night so I had a look. You've got a crack and some major leakage. The core's useless, Stoke."

"Damn! And I suppose we've got no replacements?"

"Sorry, boss, I'm all out."

Frustrated, Stoker ran a hand through his hair, before his eyes fell on Blue.

Fletch followed his gaze and shook his head. "No way, Stoke. Blue's core is too old, it would never stand up to a race."

"Do you have a better idea?"

Fletch stood and moved to stand beside Stoker. "Yeah. You could pull out."

Stoker stared at Fletch for a full minute before replying. "I'm not going to pull out." Stoker moved purposefully towards Blue.

The day of the race was as clear and perfect as anyone could wish for. The stands were packed with Martians, all glad of a little entertainment during the harsh days of the war. An air of festivity hung over the scene as red FF fatigues and green Army uniforms mingled freely in the mass of people.

Throttle and Modo were in the pits with the other support crews, setting up monitors and checking voice connections with their riders.

"No Carbine?" said Modo curiously.

"Are you kidding? A whole day without meetings? She's gone work crazy, I think she's trying to re-organise the entire base in one day."

"She just might, too."

"Sands, I hope not. The place is far too organised as it is."

Modo chuckled as Vinnie's voice came over the headphones.

"Yo, T-man, you reading me?"

"Yeah, I hear you Vinnie."

Modo was speaking into his mic. "Y'all ok out there, Rimfire?"

"Just fine, Uncle Modo."

"HEY!" shrieked Vinnie, causing Throttle to wince and grab at his ears. "What the hell is HE doing here?"

"Hey hey, easy on the ears, Vin-man! What's who doing here?"

"Stoker!"

"I guess he's watching the race, bro."

"Yeah? On a bike?"

Startled, Throttle glanced at Modo. By his expression, he was receiving the same information from Rimfire.

Modo looked at Throttle. "Rimfire says Stoker's out there on a bike."

"Yeah, that's what Vinnie said."

Throttle was about to reply when Fletch appeared beside them, monitor and headphones in hand. He nodded at Throttle and Modo before placing his monitor beside theirs and plugging in the leads. Readouts flashed up on his screen.

"Stoke, you reading me?"

Throttle turned to Modo once again. "Well, I'd say that confirms it, bro."

Modo nodded, his expression unreadable.

"I hope you know what you're doing, coach," thought Throttle.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the 37th Furnace Rock Championship Race!" The announcer's voice only served to heighten the excitement of the crowd, and the noise was deafening.

At the starting grid, Vinnie leaned over to Stoker. "What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed.

"Making trouble for you, punk, why else would I be here?" Stoker joked, and winked at Rimfire.

Rimfire snorted. "Have a good race, guys."

"You too kid, good luck," said Stoker.

"Yeah," said Vinnie, glaring at Stoker, "whatever."

A sudden hush settled over the crowd and the riders looked up at the grid lights. They flashed from red to orange, and adrenalin was palpable in the air. They flashed to green and the roar of the engines increased to a scream. Over the noise, the whine of the powerful turbines could be heard. The lights went out and the bikes leaped from the starting line as the crowd roared.

Vinnie leapt immediately to the front of the pack, Sweetheart's weight and power giving her an advantage over the lighter bikes.

Stoker settled somewhere in the middle and glanced around for Rimfire. "Plenty of time yet. Just wait until the pack thins a little." Stoker spotted Rimfire to his left, keeping Shuga on the smooth, centre run of the track. Rimfire was fighting two other, more experienced, riders for the position and Stoker wondered how long he would hold it.

Stoker had no time to watch though, as the first jump was fast approaching, and he needed to get a clear run. He moved left onto the rougher edges of the track, slowing and letting the bulk of the pack pass him.

Sure enough, the first jump wiped out a quarter of the pack. Stoker took his time and chose a straight approach that allowed him to avoid the downed riders. His jump was smooth and clean, but he was now at the very back of the pack.

"Let's pick up the pace, Hotstuff."

In the pits, the support crews were talking with their riders and alternately watching their readouts or watching the race on the big overhead screens. Throttle glanced aside from his own screen to watch the main race. Stoker had dropped to the back of the group at the first jump, but was now making up time and passing rider after rider. Throttle didn't even have to look to know that Vinnie was still in the lead; Vinnie was telling him all about it.

"Aaaaowww!! I feel a new record coming oooooon!" he crooned.

Throttle winced and leaned over to Modo to be heard over the noise of the pits. "I wish he'd stop singing. Where's Rimfire?"

"Somewhere in the middle. He's doing alright."

Throttle nodded and turned back to the screen. The pack was fast approaching Deadman's curve and he winced again as he saw three more riders go down. "Any of those ours?" he yelled at Modo.

"Ah don't think so!"

The second jump cleared the field even more, and Throttle could now easily separate the competitors. Stoker had moved from the back of the pack to sixth place, and was now just behind Rimfire. In front of them were three riders Throttle couldn't identify, and Vinnie, who was STILL singing.

"Geez, bro, give it a rest, will you? My ears!" Throttle moaned.

Modo chuckled at his words and was about to speak when Fletch leaned across in front of Throttle and grabbed Modo's arm. "Stoker says tell Rimfire to straighten up NOW," he said urgently.

Modo relayed the information. Onscreen, Throttle saw Rimfire glance behind him then alter his approach to the narrow opening to the Friction Zone. He shot through the opening, closely followed by Stoker, and the two were lost to camera vision.

"Yo T-man, you still with me?"

"Here, Vinnie, what's wrong?"

"I was going to ask you if my path was clear coming out, but hey, I'M IN FRONT! AWOOOOOOAHOOO! AH HA HA HA!"

Throttle groaned and put his hands over his eyes. This was pure torture.

Stoker watched Rimfire alter his course slightly and nodded with approval. The approach to the Friction Zone, a narrow gap between two rock walls, had always been a tricky one. He didn't need to look behind him to know that more of the pack was going to go down there. The noise in here was phenomenal, magnified as it was by the close walls. He saw Rimfire disappear around the last curve and a second later shot out into Salma's Ride, a long, clean straight which was a blessing after the confines of the Friction Zone.

"Time to assess the competition," he thought grimly. Rimfire was no problem; he had a great bike but was too inexperienced to be a real threat. Even so Stoker hoped he would do well. But now he looked to the leaders; the four riders he had to beat to reach first place. He didn't know any of them except Vinnie, but by the way they rode, they knew what they were doing. He watched as one by one they went through the Twister, a run of sharp chicanes that had to be taken with nerves of steel at high speed. One slip and bike and rider would be down and out. His gut tensed as Rimfire approached.

"Come on kid, you can do it!"

Rimfire rode in fearlessly, flinging his bike from side to side to match the sharp curves. Stoker breathed a sigh of relief as Rimfire and Shuga came through intact. He was seconds away from the entrance himself when a black bike came out of nowhere and flashed by him.

Reflexes he'd forgotten he had prevented him from losing control as he swung wide to avoid a collision. But the rider's tactic had worked; Stoker was on a bad angle to enter the Twister and had to slow down considerably or risk losing control on the severe curves. He could feel his heart pounding and adrenalin pumped through his veins.

"You bastard! Where the hell did he come from?" Stoker fumed. The rider, already on the next straight, looked back at him. Stoker couldn't see through the faceplate, but he had the feeling there was a smirk on his face. "Right. You want to play it that way, you got it."

Out in the straight, he poured power into Hotstuff and she responded beautifully, winging across the tarmac with effortless speed. They flashed by Rimfire and two other riders before Stoker was on the black bike's tail. He pulled alongside and moved to pass but the other rider swerved towards him, making Stoker pull back. He swore. Together they passed another rider and then the straight began to narrow as the entrance to the Flyboy approached. Stoker ground his teeth. If he got in first, he could make up valuable seconds, but if he missed it, he only had one more straight before the Funnel. And this bike was as fast as Hotstuff on a straight run. Maybe faster.

"Whoa, harsh move!" said Modo as the black bike flashed past Stoker and into the Twister. There were murmurs from around him. A crowd of Freedom fighter crews and riders had gathered around them as one by one, the other FF riders had gone down. Vinnie, Rimfire and Stoker were the last Freedom Fighters in the race and everyone had gathered around to watch and cheer.

Throttle watched as Vinnie approached the Flyboy. This was one of the worst jumps of the course; four rock pinnacles in a zig-zag pattern. There was nowhere to pick up speed so if the rider lost momentum, his race was over. Vinnie had no problem though; Sweetheart flew like a bird across the four plateaus.

"Do you think he's angry?" said Phase, as Stoker and Hotstuff tore after the black bike and rider. Throttle nodded but didn't say anything as he watched the two bikes approach the Flyboy. There was a groan from the crowd as the rider of the black bike dove forward and leapt onto the first pinnacle of the Flyboy ahead of Stoker.

"Well, he's stuck now. And probably even madder," said Throttle.

Modo nodded distractedly as Rimfire approached the Flyboy.

A full second behind the black bike, Stoker ignored everything around him as he strove to make a clean run through the flyboy. Safe on the other side, he looked up to see Vinnie in front of him. The black bike had passed Vinnie. The other rider was nowhere in sight; he mustn't have made it through the Flyboy. Which left three bikes in the running for first; the black bike, Vinnie and himself.

And the Funnel was approaching fast. Stoker poured on the speed and moved slightly left. He'd have to take it at maximum speed and count on the slingshot effect to build his speed enough to pass.

"Come on, Baby. Give me everything you've got." Stoker poured on the power as he approached the Funnel. Intent on his quarry, he spared no more than a fleeting thought to the last time he had entered the Funnel. There was only one thought in his head. "I have to win."

The crowd in the pits groaned as Rimfire lost it on the last jump, landing hard on the deadfall beneath the plateaus. Modo called his name urgently over the helmet mike. He listened intently for a moment then removed the headphones with a sigh.

"Is he ok?" asked Throttle.

Modo nodded and Throttle relaxed. He was about to speak when his ears were blistered by a stream of cursing from Vinnie.

"Where the hell did he come from?" wailed Vinnie as the black bike sailed past him. "And how the heck is he so fast?"

Throttle shook his head but didn't reply. Vinnie was fighting to catch up as the two riders approached the Funnel, but the black bike was much lighter than Sweetheart.

"That bike's got the advantage on a straight run, Vinnie. And after the Funnel, that's all there is left."

"Well, I'm not giving up yet! I won't give the trophy up for anyone! This is my race!" Vinnie yelled. Throttle winced again and was about to reply when he heard Fletch's urgent voice.

"Stoker, slow down, she heating up far too fast."

Throttle couldn't hear Stoker's reply, but whatever it was, it didn't make Fletch look happy.

"Stoker, it's an old core! It can't take this sort of prolonged drain!" Fletch's voice was tense. Throttle leaned across to him.

"What do you mean it's an old core?"

"I mean it's an old core. It's Blue's core."

"Blue's core? In a racing bike? What the hell did you put it in for?"

The old mechanic turned and glared at Throttle. "Because I felt like doing something really stupid! How's that? Answer your question?" he snapped.

Throttle opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say. He turned back to the monitor as Stoker and Hotstuff flew into the funnel.

Stoker rode the wall of the tunnel as high as he dared, feeling the g-forces dragging at the bike, trying to pull them down. He held her up there, fighting centrifugal force, waiting until it snapped back and released all it's power into them. The exit approached and Stoker drove Hotstuff down to the floor, feeling their speed increasing, hoping it would be enough.

Everyone waiting in the pits held their breath as Hotstuff screamed out of the Funnel, the slingshot effect sending her speed bar flying to the top. A warning beep started up as the readouts began to edge up into orange.

"He's pushing her too far!" groaned Fletch, rumpling his hair in distress. One of the bars jumped into the red danger zone and he groaned again. Hotstuff's speed was still increasing and the readouts were phenomenal. Another bar went to red and Fletch ground his teeth in frustration.

"What happens if all those bars go red?" asked Throttle nervously.

"If he drops her speed now, she should be okay. But if that last bar goes to the red, that's it. The core goes boom and so does she."

"Oh momma," whispered Modo.

On the track, Stoker flashed past Vinnie at what felt like the speed of light. The final straight opened up and he kept the throttle on full. The black bike was in front of him, then gone. Stoker looked up in time to see the race display flick over to "New Record: Stoker" but he was past before he could register the numbers. No matter. He'd broken his own 17 year-old record and nothing in the world could ever beat this feeling.

Onscreen in the pits, the last bar pushed into the red and the warning blare reached a crescendo.

"Too late! She's going up! Stoker! You've got to get off that bike!"

Every light on his readout was red and Hotstuff was moving like a tank instead of a bird. Just another few hundred metres! There was a roaring in his ears and he could hear Fletch's urgent voice. Then he was over the line, the crowd was screaming, Hotstuff was screaming and the adrenalin screamed through his veins in counterpoint. He eased off the throttle and rode the wave of victory as Hotstuff's speed marker dove out of the red. Fletch was still shouting at him, but it was background noise to the roar of victory in his ears. He slowed some more, and the roar died down enough for him to finally register what Fletch was screaming at him.

"STOKER! GET OFF THAT BIKE!"

Stoker looked down in time to see the readings blink off entirely and threw himself off as Hotstuff exploded in a blaze of light and fire.

Someone was taking off his helmet. Gently. This was a good thing, because his head ached. He opened his eyes. The red sky moved in a way that made his stomach lurch. There were people around him, talking urgently, shouting. He wished they would shut up for a minute. A head came into view, someone familiar. Tan fur. Throttle? Could be. The head was speaking to him. Words. Don't move. Don't move? Why move? He was comfortable here, warm sun, soft sand. Stay here a while.

Then the pain began and he blacked out once more.

Throttle sat in a chair by the bed, alternating between watching the readouts and watching Stoker. Rimfire was lying on the bed against the other wall, still in his leathers and half asleep. Modo stood by the window, looking out.

Stoker stirred and mumbled something. Throttle grabbed his hand.

"Coach. Hey Stoke, wake up." Throttle shook his shoulder gently.

Modo moved over to the end of the bed, and Rimfire jerked out of his half-doze. Stoker's hand between Throttle's fingers twitched and he opened his eyes. He looked around dazedly for a moment before noticing Throttle.

"Hospital?" he said weakly.

"Yeah."

Stoker pondered this for a moment, before trying to sit up.

"Hey, no way bro, you stay there," said Throttle, pushing him down.

"I don't feel that bad."

"That's because you're doped up on a lovely cocktail of drugs," chuckled Rimfire as he came into Stoker's view. Stoker smiled wryly.

"How'd you go, kid?"

"Came a cropper on the last jump. Didn't hit it straight enough," Rimfire said, grinning.

"Told you that, you gotta turn sharp after the last corner and get her as straight as you can."

"I know. I'll get it next year."

"Good for you." Stoker closed his eyes for a moment, feeling suddenly old and tired.

"Vinnie's back," said Modo, as they heard the roar of his bike from below. Sure enough, in a few moments they heard the sound of running feet and Vinnie, sweaty and dusty, burst through the door. He had his helmet in one hand and two trophies in the other, all of which he dropped in a pile by the door, dumping his jacket on top. He moved cautiously to the edge of the bed.

"What did the doc say? Is he gonna be ok?" he asked nervously.

"Yeah, he'll be alright. Apparently it's not as bad as it looks. He'll be up again in a few days," said Throttle.

Vinnie let out a sigh of relief and nodded composedly. Then he leapt.

"YOU BASTARD!" he screamed, diving towards Stoker. Modo and Throttle grabbed him before he could reach Stoker.

"Vinnie! What the hell are you doing?" snapped Throttle.

"I'M GOING TO KILL HIM, THAT'S WHAT!" shrieked Vinnie in rage. "YOU FREAKING SON OF A BITCH! THAT WAS MY RACE! I WAS GONNA NAIL THAT UNTIL YOU STEPPED IN, YOU..."

"I thought you were coming second," said Stoker unthinkingly. Vinnie became, if possible, even more enraged. Throttle and Modo dragged him to the door and out into the corridor.

"Way to defuse the situation, coach," chuckled Rimfire, dropping into Throttle's seat. He peeled off his jacket painfully, wincing as the bruised muscles complained. He dropped it on the floor and leaned back.

"Hell of a race though. And your finish was...interesting," Rimfire said, grinning at him wickedly.

Stoker smiled tiredly. "Wasn't to plan, that's for sure."

The shouting and angry voices from outside stopped suddenly. Curious, they looked up, to see Fletch walk through the door. His face was blank, but his eyes were angry. Without a word he walked across and shoved something into Stoker's hand, then walked out. Stoker looked down at his hand, and felt his heart constrict. He closed his hand hurriedly.

"What is it?" said Rimfire curiously.

"Nothing, kid," Stoker said, fighting the pain in his chest. "I, look, I could do with some rest. Give me some time, ok?" His voice broke.

"Sure," said Rimfire, glancing briefly at him. He got up and walked out, closing the door carefully behind him. Voices started up again in the corridor.

Stoker opened his hand. On his palm lay Hotstuff's AI chip, cracked clean across the centre. She was dead, really dead this time. He closed his eyes and gave in to the grief.

"Oh beautiful," he thought, swallowing against the tightness in his throat, "I'm so sorry. Forgive me. Forgive me. My own vanity. My stupid pride. And now you're gone forever."

He clenched his hand around the chip, feeling the edges bite into his palm. He held on until the blood flowed, but drugged as he was, he felt little pain, and no relief from the aching grief in his chest.

THE END