Rodrick’s Rule

His knuckles turned from pale to white as he gripped the bar in front of him. Profanities ripped from his throat, lost in the rattling of the racing coasters. He wasn’t a star-class racer, probably never would be, but on this mud pit of a planet, he would shine.

Rodrick wasn’t born here, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to die here either. Only credits or racing can get someone off world. After the friends he made with that stowaway scam three spins back, racing was all he had left.

The blue coaster pulled around his outside. It stretched twice as long as his bucket, threatening to trap him in. Rodrick’s first signal of the threat was the crack as his shoulder slammed into the rusted sidewall. His coaster drifted, and he swung the rear into the center of the blue coaster.

The hit rocked the blue coaster, whiplashing through the front and back. The blue rider spun out of his coaster — possibly to his death. The blue slinky bounced back with just enough energy to kiss Rodrick’s coaster, but Rodrick felt the full force grind into his right collar.

Rodrick refused to look at his right side, letting his pain be eyes enough. Pain wasn’t enough, as a coaster sped along his inside track. With one good arm, he trailed just behind. With one good arm, he lost. But one good arm is all it takes for second to become first. One good arm is all it takes to pull a trigger.

“I bet they’ll name the new rule after you,” said the captain, a young man of not even 50 spins. Rodrick didn’t reply. He gripped his right arm steady against the shuttering ship as the planet spun out of view.