Free The Space Pirate 1 by George Lambert

of speeders were preparing to race. The whine of the modified prop bulbs reached fever pitch and Charley almost covered her ears. Ejecting a wall of pure flame, the speeders lurched crazily into action, surging north up the street at kamikaze speeds. A huge cheer rolled its way past Charley. Excited men hugged and patted each other on the back. Women struggled to keep their colorful hats as a strong zephyr gusted through. The intense smell was a mixture of cordite and perfume. In the the haze left by the speeders’ passing, Charley saw a curved steel lattice beyond the starting line and guessed this must be the Canary Cage the shop assistant referred to. Still struggling with her heels, Charley made her way through the euphoric throng of onlookers and came across a string of burly security guards at the base of the cage structure. A heavy set, bearded guard leered at her, taking his time to drink in her curves. Charley’s stomach lurched but she decided to enter the spirit of the occasion, spinning around slowly so the sweaty losers got a great look at her butt. The bearded guard was almost drooling as he approached.
    “You look tight,” he whispered in her ear. He smelled like cigarettes and halitosis. “But you need a cage pass, darlin’.”
    Charley stifled a flash of anger. Of course she did. These ‘cage passes’ were probably doled out by fat creeps like this guy after certain favors were rendered. Despite the wonderful architecture, Charley was beginning to hate Zeba as much as she hated Sandflower Downs.
    “I’ll tell you what,” she breathed in her most husky voice. “Why don’t you let me in and I’ll promise not to follow you home and pump your head full of plasma?”
    Charley was so angry she felt like she could lose control at any moment. To come so far only to be held back by some worm on the door was unthinkable. To her surprise, the guard laughed heartily.
    “Make sure you do,” he said with a wink, stepping aside with a flourish. “Make sure you do.”
    Charley entered the cage without another word. The cage was filled with women dressed like she was, except with more color and even more flesh on display. The outfits ranged from her own dominatrix black to rippling, parrot-like color to transparent chiffon that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
    Near-naked, glistening men weaved their way through the colorful menagerie carrying trays of designer drugs. Feeling nervous all of a sudden, Charley found herself a quiet corner from which she could watch proceedings discreetly. Most of the preening women seemed to be interested in one thing only - the drivers entering the cage after their races. It appeared that one of the benefits of winning a drag was the chance to ‘pick’ one of the women in the cage. Charley assumed that these women were hopefuls selected on certain ‘assets’. If they were lucky they’d get a chance to spend the night with one of the hotshot drivers of the Zeba night races. Women were treated poorly where Charley was from, but even by those standards this setup made her feel slightly sick. What kind of twisted society treated women like so many pieces of meat? It was far from an ideal situation, but it was one in which Charley just might be able to access the type of vehicle she was looking for. She didn’t know much about Zeba’s social strata but it was obvious these drivers were feted like gods, and they probably had funds to match. Charley hung back and waited for an opportunity. Many of these women seemed nervous and were over-indulging on alcohol and chems. All she had to do was stay cool, keep herself fresh and hope that a slice of luck fell her way.
    As it turned out, she didn’t need to wait long. Just as well, because the cage was covered with excitable locals climbing the outside frame, hoping for a look at the glamorous ‘birds’.
    A roar went up from the starting line and two more cars screamed down the straight. A second cheer heralded the