Then you have my respect Sir. Orcas have always been highly regarded in Buckyball races historically. They win in a class of their own, for the simple fact of being Orcas.
Holy hell - that sir is magnificent.A Homage to Buckyball Racers….
The pilot sat there in his cabin, the cockpit lights gently glowing all around. He appeared calm and relaxed without a single sign of what he was about to do.
The ship, an imperial courier appeared almost normal except for some interesting body modifications. This however was not the case. It was a Buckyball special. Millions of credits and hundreds of hours had transformed the already quick ship into a powerhouse of speed and handling. Much of the detailed work was done by the very secretive engineers and their almost magical touches. No part of the ship was in fact stock or even close. It was dedicated to the task without any compromise for comfort or luxury.
The pilot watched his clock tick down to his designated launch time. A smile gently crossed his face as he lifted up in line with the letterbox. He rammed the throttles open, even the inertial dampening could not fully compensate for the acceleration.
The computer called out from the space station "warning, keep below 100 m/s" The pilot, now with a full grin on his face as he hit 300..400...500..600..700..he was fully committed now, stopping would be impossible. 800...850...and he was out in space already lining up for his first jump. The only time he ever showed expression was during take off and landing. Nothing else came close to the sheer joy of high speed manoeuvres.
Now the race could begin.
This is how Buckyball racers live every single time they race. There is no holding back, no finesse, no local regulations for them. The race is all!
The first jump over..the ship is skimming fuel, the speed is high and climbing. The temperature warning alarm is at 150%. To the semi insane racer this means he is trying hard enough. Not quite enough to break the ship, but enough that no one would ever buy it used. The fuel gauge climbs to ⅔ full so the pilot pulls out of the stars gravity well heading towards the first landing point. At no point does he consider the life of the equipment or the damage taking place as the g forces climb along with the heat.
Meanwhile a fellow racer has winged up and they begin to feed off each other, taking more and more risks just to save one or two seconds. The ships buck and scream, taking damage all the time. The pilot is satisfied as his ship slowly cracks under extreme conditions. This he thinks is how it should be. If he ended the race with no bits missing he would be laughed out of the bar for being "soft".
The two ships blast towards the station, coming out of supercruise at full throttle and almost together. They both hit the slots at over 400 m/s, their landing gear extends as they line up for touchdown at an insane 250 m/s, both depending upon the landing pads buffer fields to reduce the impact. This is why they were built by the engineers, otherwise they would explode on impact. Both ships enter the hanger and within seconds they reappear and without warning the engines flare into full power.
And so the cycle continues until the race ends or the ships explode.
After the race the surviving pilots pay their fines and fix their ships. They talk in the bar and figure out how to go faster and faster. They salute the fallen pilots. They all expect to go this way sooner or later. It’s the Buckyball way!
At the end of the race these reclusive (and probably insane) pilots disappear into the galactic night, only to reappear when a new race is declared.
Buckyball Racing Club
Commander Ikaru Sulu