The Highest Name

Jutting from the ground like a single rib from some unfathomably huge metal creature, Ego/Astra's Lunar Delivery Launcher 15 gleamed under the curdled milk glow of the full moon. The electromagnetic thrum from the spectacular artefact was so constant and loud that for roughly a mile around it the land was bereft of all life except for an occasional patch of thin, pale, nervous looking grass. Nothing could endure that constant, shuddering vibration for any length of time. This was why it was built twenty kilometres from the nearest human habitat but despite that, there were several dozen young men and women milling about the perimeter fences of the six kilometre tall arc.

They were Tagwin crews, and those kids knew to fill their ears with protective gel earphones. They wore impact and heat resistant clothing and primarily communicated through encrypted chat groups, or the little microphones inside their helmets and hoods. To expose themselves to that deafening drone was to ruin the inner ear, to screw up their balance and that would have put paid to their plans.

From deep below their feet the earth rumbled leaving a thin cloud of dust floating around the ankles of the kids. The Launcher shuddered and fired another gleaming 12 ton payload at 25 kilometres per second directly at the moon. A shooting star going the wrong way. The super-heated cargo ball burst from the top of the tunnel as a brilliant red flare which was followed by a sonic boom. It vanished as it left the atmosphere all in the blink of an eye. It did this every fifteen minutes as long as the moon was on that side of the planet. The Tagwin crews did not care about this marvel of physics and human achievement, they were too busy cutting through the perimeter fences, shooting out the cameras and monitoring the security matrix. They needed to remain invisible.

They were all there; Glory Boys from New Bengi City with their smart jumpsuits programmed to always display an ever flowing tie-dye psychedelic pattern; The Wilson Construct, five immigrant kids from Europe, white and as rich as hell with the best gear money could buy; The Klumbu Tribe all the way from the Ikili slums; The Fire Dogs; Team Sport National and The Tsatda Gang. There were crews from all over the region, dozens of kids all there for the same reason. “The Lej”, Schooner Boy, had thrown down the gauntlet again.

Schooner boy was fifteen years old and the current number one in the Tagwin scene, he was “The Lej”, “the Highest Name” for a reason. There were thirty six launchers across Equatorial Africa and Schooner had claimed twelve of them. His nearest rival, Shocker Lee had claimed only three and that was still considered an impressive feat. To claim an L.D.L. meant that one had to skate up the interior of the arcing launch tunnel and spray one's “tag” further in and higher up than the last person. If you did you got Tagwin, hence the name of the very dangerous and very illegal sport.

After a load had been fired it took five minutes for the rails to discharge and cool enough before one could even think of going up that tube. The conventional wisdom amongst the Tagwin crews was “Five in Four back”. This gave time for spills and to get out of the fatal heat radius of the launch. They weren't stupid, none of them wanted to feel their blood boil and entire cellular structure burst. Nor did anyone wish to end up as charred DNA smear on the shell of a cargo container on the moon. That did not stop it happening. Dozens of kids every year ended up that way. Others ended up behind bars, or shot by cops or other crews. Tagwin was considered by all outsiders as insanely dangerous but to the crews who made up that subculture being insanely dangerous was the point. They were fifteen and sixteen year old boys and girls. Immortals who thought nothing of personal safety and long lives. Many came from the sprawling Skyrise Ghettoes, Tagwin being their only escape, even if that meant being turned into toast.

Pale Fear of the New Mbandaka Marats was one of those kids, skinny, supremely confident and until recently the Highest name on L.D.L. 15. He didn't give a shit about a decent life or death or moon colonies. All seemed unreachable to Pale. The only thing that mattered to him was the win. L.D.L. 15 was his claim, had been for two years, before Jim Patriot took an ugly spill and Ego/Astra had to send a clean up crew. They had wiped what was left off Jim Patriot off, along with all the names including Pale’s. The highest name wiped off, he was nobody, nothing, might as well not even have existed.

Jim had been Pale’s best friend, he’d slipped on the downturn and dropped into the heatpit just as another payload had launched, smearing the boy right up the length of the interior chute. He’d spilled and scorched and Pale Fear had felt nothing. Why would he? Jim had lived, really lived, and died a famous and insanely dangerous death. Across the continent, kids knew the name Jim Patriot. That had to be better than the prolonged mundanity of eking out a corporate pittance for another forty or fifty years. How many of the unhappy, stressed people in the Skyrise boxes could say that? They didn’t know, not the parents, nor teachers, not the priests nor the police. Their worried concerns were laughable. They’d tried nothing. They couldn’t know.

Since it had been cleaned, L.D.L 15 had once again become fresh ground, and so Schooner Boy had challenged Pale Fear and all comers in a competition. This was, as far as Pale Fear was concerned, an insult. Like it or not, L.D.L. 15 had been his claim, it had been his name on top of that arch, not Schooner Boy’s and “The Lej” had no right to throw his weight about. Argo of the Saturn Broncos had said as much when he’d sold Pale the Adeezos, he’d said that his money was on Pale to win, that Pale should show the bastard that Mbandaka folk did not take kindly to braggarts. Argo even tried selling him some Bukas, so his gang could splatterhouse Schooner and his crew, but that wasn’t Pale’s style, they were riders not fighters.

Vibrations tingled Pale Fear’s wrist and he looked at the screen. “Skunna B's here.” repeated over and over in the group feed. Pale Fear scanned the crowds noticed a herd moving in one direction and spied, right in the middle of it all, The Lej. Tall boy, thin as a rake, who was clearly enjoying all the attention. Pale Fear had known what the Lej looked like but to see him in the flesh was different. Schooner Boy wore his title a bit too well, if Pale Fear had known the word he'd have called him pompous. Still, Schooner Boy had called out for competitors, called out Pale Fear by name. It was only right he introduce himself.

Marching forward, with the rest of the Marats hastily falling in line behind him him, Pale walked directly in front of the crowd, stepped forward and raised his hand to greet Schooner Boy. Two of Schooner Boy's entourage stormed forward pulling Bukas and grabbing Pale Fear. He could feel the tip of one of the barrels press against his helmet, heavy and solid. He raised his hands instinctively, realising he'd stumbled into a bad scene. He stared through is visor at Schooner Boy, pleadingly. The tension was drowned out by the hum of the L.D.L. but it was still there.

Schooner Boy frowned and typed something into his wrist pad. He looked back up and nodded as Pale Fear's wrist shuddered. The two gunmen released Pale Fear's arms and he looked at his wrist-pad screen.

“U B Pale?”

Pale Fear nodded and typed back. “Y! WTF Blud?”

Schooner boy gestured a shrug and walked over and shook Pale Fear's hand. This relieved the tension. He typed into his pad. “Soz. SPK?”

Receiving the message Pale Fear nodded and sent his private channel address to Schooner Boy. On connecting he heard the familiar static click and then a voice, a kids voice, Schooner's voice hadn't broken.

“S'up blud. Again mapologies. Bronco Saturns been sayin I's a cheat, protection's in case they come for splatterhouse y'know?”

“Ayu. S'nuthin Bro. We cool.” Pale Fear said, trying to make it sound like he'd had a gun pointed at his head every day. He hadn't, once a month at most and only in the last couple of years. Skyrise 618 like, most of the Skyrises, had not been a safe place to live, not since the government collapsed and the various criminal and militia groups had fought to take territory from the corporations.

“Ayite Blud. You good for this?” Schooner boy said.

“Always Blud. Always.” They slapped their gloved hands against each other and set off towards the L.D.L. with a huge group behind them.

At the heat shields, where even the sparse pockets of neurotic grass had thinned to dry, cracked soil, lots were drawn and the competitors prepared. There were six in total. Pale Fear wasn't happy with going fourth but at least he wasn't going to be the first up the pipe. He was still supremely confident, he had a trick up his sleeve.

From his backpack he pulled out two brand new blades for his boots. The blades, Adeezos, were each a foot and a half long, three inches thick and between the two runners were eighteen graphite balls each coated with a one atom thick sheet of graphene. They were black as night and smooth as the air. Adeezos was the Tagwin name for Omni-Adhesive Urban Traversal Rotors. They were military issue, for ground troops in city environments, the public were not allowed them. The balls, when charged, created a powerful electro-static bonding with most surfaces. This meant everyone in the Tagwin community wanted a pair. Mostly they were sold on by ex-soldiers down on their luck; old wheels, second and third generation. They still much better than commercial blades but not as good as the ones Pale Fear was affixing to his boots. His were tenth generation, almost brand new, stolen from The Chitoko Red Brigade according to Argo who, along with the rest of the Bronco Saturns, had spent last four years fighting against the African Communist Front, mostly to protect their own organised criminal skins, but also on behalf of several foreign governments and more specifically their corporations.

The Adeezos would give him Pale edge. If he had no problems he could get up to 30 kph on them. They clicked into place and a rail of four red lights on the sides lit up and died off as connection was made with the processors inside Pale Fear's boots. The earth below him shook again and everyone moved behind the heat-shields as the nuclear propulsion deep below them fired another payload towards the moon, which hung low in the east looking like the deformed skull of an ancient god. One could easily see the colonies upon its face.

Even behind the heat-shields they could feel the temperature rise. The coolant gases in the subterranean part of the tunnel suffocated most of it even before the payload reached ground level. Nevertheless the ferocity of a super-heated cargo container pushing through the air at 25 kilometres a second warmed things up considerably. A flash of red flaming light was followed by the boom of air rushing back in and a release of water vapour which came out the ground vents like a creeping malevolent fog but dissipated almost immediately. Pale Fear set his timer and like everyone else crouched inside the concave shields and watched the air ripple liked steam from a boiling kettle.

A few minutes passed before one of the boys from a gang called Windmills pushed his hand out from behind the heat-shields and the rest of his body followed. It was safe. He jumped up and down and raised his hands in the air to signify to the others it was safe. As he did so a short plump girl with short tight dreads put her helmet and mask on and sped past the shields, leapt up onto the exterior piping of the L.D.L. and then swiftly vanished into the base of tunnel. Pale Fear's pad rumbled and he looked at it. “Silver Rooster of Windmills is GO!”.

Pale Fear, like everyone else, clicked on the link to her head-cam and watched her swift climb four hundred feet up the interior of the tunnel before the roof of it vanished. She came out at speed, skating up one of the main stabilising runners that kept the payloads in place. Within seconds she was out of the safety zone, past the Highest of the lowbie names. The competition was on.

She reached the first half kilometre mark within a minute, not a great start. At that point the stabilising runners stopped and the low curve started to increase its gradient. Silver Rooster managed to roll into the middle of payload duct in a swooping motion but Pale Fear could see she had already lost momentum in her landing and had her work cut out for her. At the second minute mark she had risen only another 600 metres and it seemed she knew she'd fucked up her run. The gradient was beginning to approach the vertical and she did not have enough speed to keep going up. Silver Rooster pulled out her art-gun and gave a quick spray, a symbol comprised of the initials of her name. She managed to put a flourish at the bottom and turned on her heels and began to descend. About 20 second later she came flying out with her arms spread. The air-catchers between her wrists and waist slowed her speed but she still went rolling past the heat shields before being able to turn round and eventually brake.

All in all it was not a bad attempt for the first competitor. Her tag had not been anywhere near as high as Pale Fear's had been. Even though the name had been cleared away, when he looked up he imagined he could still see his tag up there.

Pale Fear had been up and down the pipe so many times that he knew it inside out. He knew where the stabilising runners sloped up and then back down, knew how to use them and the curves of the tunnel to maintain his speed. With the Adeezo's he thought he could break his own record. Most of all though he knew that over-confidence could get him killed, like it had Jim Patriot and countless others. So while the rest of the competitors warmed up by milling around in their skates, he sat inside the heat-shield, closed his eyes and turned his channel, pad and mind to OFF.

He wondered why Argo had let him have the Adeezos so cheaply, why were they getting involved in the Tagwin scene at all? They were drug dealers, gun runners, real gangsters, why would they care about some teenagers riding up and down launchers? He realised it was a distraction, that it didn’t matter why, they’d given him the edge and he’d use it to win. He’d embarrass Schooner Boy, take that title from him by going further up the launcher than anyone had before, he was going to break the record. After tonight, Schooner could tag all the launchers he wanted, but he’d know, like everyone would, that Pale Fear had the real Highest Name. Pale was going all the way to the top, or he’d die trying.

Soon the thundering blast from deep below them jolted Pale Fear to his senses. He opened his eyes and found the rest of his crew were all crouched in tight with him. The heat wave once again caused the air to coruscate. Checking his pad he saw the timeline of bullshit, braggadocio and babble between the crews. He wasn't interested in any of that and thumbed down. The next challenger was Joshua Dreadnought, who was one of the Home County Gliders. Like Pale Fear he was from the Skyrise blocks of Ebila, near lake Paku. Like many gangs they took their names from of classic paintings that the Corporations had reproduced in the hallways of the floors they inhabited. Pale Fear had known Joshua from school, when they still had such things as schools, as such The Gliders and the Marats were tacit allies. Pale Fear thought that if anyone other than him was going to claim the L.D.L. Joshua would have been fine. He was a muscly kid, cleverer than most, Pale hoped he gave it a good shot.

The heat began to fade and Joshua sped off and up into the tunnel. As Pale Fear watched the performance he considered that Joshua was going too fast and might fail to negotiate the necessary jumps between the rails. He wondered if Joshua was going to spill at the first hurdle but somehow the kid leapt from the right stabiliser to the left with ease and managed to maintain his speed. He was up and out of the lower tunnel like a pro. He was clocking 18kph at the 500 metre mark, which was a fair speed. 750 metres, 1 kilometre, 1.5 kilometres passed with ease and Joshua was still rising, his speed sustained at 18kph. As the curve hit the vertical he sped past Silver Rooster's tag at the two minute mark. Up he went, higher and higher as his speed began to slow. At 2.2 kilometres he was down to 4mph and knew he'd moments to get his tag sprayed. The art-gun came out and he waved it like a wand, an aerosol yellow mist affixing his gang symbol, that of a yellow triangle, to the launcher in about two seconds. He then turned to come back down lost his footing and plummeted about 500 feet. His camera went dead as he landed badly on the lower curve. You could have almost heard the shocked groan that came out from the crews.

The Home County Gliders were already moving in and up the L.D.L. to rescue their comrade. But as they did he shot out of the tunnel, one arm raised, the other flopping about like a rag, smashed to pieces by the look of it. Two of his crew managed to grab him and the three of them spun round and spilled into the gutter between the lower rails. They had plenty of time to recover, seven minutes by the clock, but this did not stop others, including folks from Pale's crew rushing forward to assist them. Thankfully they were successful and Joshua came out, still upright. He'd broken several bones and looked dazed but he raised his good arm up into a fist to show the others he was still strong.

They would have all cheered but instead the communal timeline went berserk with comments for Joshua. It warmed Pale Fear's icy heart. This was what the grown ups could never understand, despite all the deaths, the gang battles and the gunfights with the security forces, the Taggers were a community, they might have been willing to kill but they were also willing to save the lives of their members, even if they hated them. Normally, that was. Sometimes things got real splatterhouse, as Schooner boy had mentioned.

The Bronco Saturns for instance, were not a real Tagwin crew. They were low level stim dealers who preyed on the scene and caused more shit in the region than the armies of the Communist Front ever had. They were deliberately antagonistic and well-armed and turned up at competitions usually to sell their wares and start some shit. They'd watch and laugh when someone would spill on a launcher. Most of the Tagwin crews would have little to do with them, actively avoided them but the fuckers still managed to insinuate themselves into the community. Pale Fear had kept an eye out for them but none of them seemed to be present. That was a good thing. He’d paid Argo for the blades, and hoped that was where the thug’s interest ended.

He added his comments to timeline. “Close Blud. Good hyte!”

“TX! P.F.” came a response from Joshua as his crew drove him off to the hospital. It would take them about an hour to get there.

The third kid, Adam Madman, had a name that suited his reputation. As well as being well known on the Tagwin circuit, he was a Scaler. Most of the Tagwin crews considered those guys nuts. Scaling was another insanely dangerous competition which involved kids who climbed to the top of pylons, radar stations and all manner of ridiculously high structures and then filmed themselves prancing about and goofing off at the top. Pale Fear had seen footage of Adam doing a backflip between the big square things at the top of the giant microwave Aerials that were used for the corporations to talk to their orbital ships. That one was eight kilometres high and thin as a needle. If you stood at the bottom of it on a windy day you could see it wave back and forth slightly. Pale Fear had seen footage of that too.

Now he was watching Madman slide up past the two kilometre mark with ease. He looked like a pro up there, crouched down as low as he could but still maintaining total control. The next bit was the hard bit. Almost at 90 degrees to the ground he kept going slowing and then finally he sprayed his tag, just as gravity pushed back. Down he went, backwards, wheels still holding onto the Launcher. He was good. A few feet under Joshua’s though.

Adam let the gravity act on him, spread his air catchers to held slow his descent and then turned perfectly, just as his wheels met the beginning of the curve. He slowed down considerably, wobbled a few times and then came skating out of the bottom of the launcher to fist bumps and pats on the back. Pale Fear was impressed, it was a perfect run and a good height to show for it. Now it was Pale Fear's turn and he smiled, he was going as high as he could. After this, he doubted anyone would beat him.

He waited until another launch had passed and his buddy, Amish Stillwater gestured that it was alright to start. He pushed his legs up and sped towards the Launcher. The Adeezos felt heavy in comparison to his normal blades but already he could feel the power in them. He scraped onto the metal floor panel that emerged from the mud and then felt his magnetic blades pull onto the metal. He smiled at how much easier it was with the new blades. Clocking his time at 22 kph and watching it flick to 28 he passed the first tag without even noticing as the curvature rose steeply he was still moving strong. At the two kilometre mark he hopped off the runner into the gutter and rather than moving straight up, curved across to the left with such speed that he almost overshot and lost contact with the Launcher. Pale Fear's heart thumped in his chest like it was trying to escape from the clutches of a serial killer but he was still alive. It was cool, he was still alive. He was still rising, accelerating and so he turned and crouched to counteract the drag from the air. At 30 kph the clock blinked once, twice and then went to 29 again as the edges of the curve began to thin. He was high, higher than he’d been and he could just keep going. By the time the chute had been reduced to 3 meters across he knew he had to start slowing down and begin a controlled descent while he could. Pulling out his art-gun he sprayed his tag, quickly. It was only then he looked at his height. He couldn't believe it. 3489m. He'd aced it. That was real high. He felt pride burst through his body and wondered for a moment what it was the old preacher teacher had warned him about pride. It didn't matter, not until became true.

He fell.

Pale Fear had fallen before, most had at one time or another. The trick was not to panic, to get your head around the fact and to act. The numbers of the height reader on his display sped downwards. Pale Fear stuck his leg out, trying to make purchase with the Launcher. The Blade screeched and he felt the shudder shoot up his leg as it made contact. His own weight combined with the speed he was travelling at nearly pulled his leg out from its socket. He spun on it like it was an axis. His hand came down to push himself upright and he could feel the burning heat scraping through his gloves. He was now facing downwards, looking where he wanted to go but travelling so fast that if he didn't put the brakes on he'd be spread across the ground like jam on toast. At this speed his air-catchers would pull him off the Launcher and he'd glide for a few seconds before dropping like a bird-shit onto the rails. Instead, he hopped, took both feet off the metal and stopped his blades rotating. He landed with a thud, was affixed to the rail thanks to the Adeezos. Most of the momentum was still there though and gravity was giving it some serious encouragement. He squatted down as low as he could and began sliding left and then right, clanging off of either side’s stabilisers to help slow him. He smacked his left elbow the first time and was hit with a seething sensation that seemed to numb his whole body while he spasmed. Pale felt his left foot drag behind his right and panicked as he thought he was about to spin off. He weaved down to the right then back to the left, all the while applying whatever braking manoeuvres and energy transfers he could.

Managing, finally to gain some sort of control. Pale slid down at a comfortable speed and rolled out to the heat-shields fully intact. The crews were all going nuts, his height was right at the edge of what was possible. The Highest of the High had been 3650m, no one had ever beaten that. That claim belonged to Silverfish Jackson, who'd tagged it on Launcher 8. Pale Fear's 3489m was still mightily impressive.

As they waited for the next launch Pale Fear's attention was drawn towards four cars that were suddenly coming towards them. Others were too and the network chatter all said the same thing. “Bronco Saturns.”

There was about twenty of them and none were dressed for a Tagwin competition. They were dressed for trouble. One of them had a large pistol shoved into his red shorts, another held a shotgun, most were smoking G-Juice from vaporisers. They cut into the conversation with their usual casual abuse and threats. Pale Fear was not going to let it bother him. Schooner Boy seemed agitated and downright aggressive when one of the Broncos, a guy called Terry Tarmac came over to him. If anything it seemed more like he was spoiling for a fight than the Broncos were.

Another payload launched and put paid to all of that for a time but as the air cooled around them the Broncos kept making threats towards Schooner Boy. Pale Fear knew that would eat into The Lej's concentration. It was mean and cheap, but it if meant Pale Fear won he was fine with it. It didn't matter how Schooner lost, just as long as he lost.

Schooner tried his best not to lose his cool and managed to start his run without another incident. The Broncos trolled him mercilessly but he ignored it all and went up the Launcher like it was his job. He'd past the two kilometre mark at such speed that Pale thought he might spill out. At that height he might survive. It didn't matter how Schooner lost, just as long as he lost.

He didn't spill, nor did it seem he was losing any speed. Pale Fear got a tight feeling in his stomach. Unless something happened, anything, it looked like Schooner would get higher than he did. Pale Fear prayed for something to happen, begged whatever imaginary gods the preacher teacher told him about to make something happen. At three kilometres Schooner Boy was still going strong. Pale Fear felt sick, he couldn't lose, not tonight. Inward and silently he screamed at the universe to help him, it didn't matter how Schooner Boy lost, just as long as he lost.

He looked back up and at Schooner's height, 3560m. Schooner had won. Pale Fear tried to force the stinging water in his eyes back into his tear ducts. Anger and humiliation was crushing him. He could hardly see Schooner on the small screen. Schooner gave an arrogant wave as he pulled out his art-gun. Pale Fear knew it was an epic run, perhaps the best of all time but he couldn't look. Just as he turned away Schooner's head exploded. His helmet cracked like an egg and what remained of his skull burst out into the air in thick bloody clumps which spattered the Launcher like rain.

A single gunshot rang out almost at the same time. Pale Fear turned and looked to see a group of the Broncos standing on the roof of one of their cars. One had a sniper rifle aimed at the launcher, smoke still meandering out of the barrel. The body of Schooner boy dropped like a stone, out of sight and on seeing that the Broncos laughed made rude gestures and got back in their cars and left before the authorities arrived. The Tagwin crews tried to retrieve Schooner's body but it was too risky, the launcher was about to fire off another payload.

Pale Fear stood stunned and he was not alone. Some of the texts were out for vengeance, others for getting the fuck out before they ended up in prison. The arguments became heated and abusive. He didn't join in, instead watching the payload fly up the tube, turning the remains of the Lej into a black carbonised smear a few kilometres long and a few atoms thick.

It took one of his own crew to bring him back from his thoughts. Pale Fear looked at the message. “Bad Nite. You wins bro! Gtz.”

He'd won. Won by default. Schooner boy had not made his tag, failed to claim that height, so Pale Fear was the victor. It didn’t matter that Schooner Boy has beaten him, Schooner was dead and he failed to make his mark.

Pale Fear had what he wanted, the Highest Name, he'd won, but the victory was bitter. He didn’t care that Schooner Boy was dead, only that in killing him, the Broncos had robbed him of a real win. Sure he had the Highest Name but they’d all be talking shit about him now. Schooner had beaten him and what was worse, that burned smear now sticking to the launcher would have to be cleaned. He’d have his new record wiped. He’d be nothing, a nobody. He’d have to compete again.