up from the third level to fill it. That stirred up things below. Through my floor plates I caught a glimpse of two rockets shooting for the place the pale green rocket had just left.

They hit that hole at the same time, both going too fast to avoid a crash. Sparks lanced out from behind as they came together. They careened toward the force fence, and I saw a gentile ripple run along the color bands. A high, pulsating whine ripped into my earphones.

For a fraction of a second those two rockets appeared to hang motionless, nose up, back there in the tube. Then a sheet of flame lashed out, enveloping them both. I felt the hair beneath my helmet crawl, the way it always does when a bad crash turns up.

I counted to five fast before my radio picked up the warning bell from the supersonic fire extinguisher. A moment later the starter's voice cracked out.

"All clear on levels one, two, and three," he gave us the go ahead. "On four, keep to the outside fence."

That gave us racing room, and the faster rockets were beginning to come up now in bellowing roars, spraying heat and taking their openings where they found them. With March's green rocket beside him, Ziggy left off crowding me and went to work on him, pulling every trick he knew out of that screwy brain of his. For the first time in over a hundred races I found myself riding out in front, and that old devil speed got me.

We high-blasted into the grandstand stretch, the racing jets churning the big torpedoes toward the fence and the cushioning jets slamming them back again. And with that crowd out there keyed up to hysteria pitch, some of the excitement appeared to seep through to Ziggy. All at once he seemed to go completely haywire.

It's funny how a thing like that can catch you in a race, but it can. You go along, driving for all you've got, and all at once your mind whips back to something some other rider did in another race. You start hating that guy with every fiber in your body. You rake him with the hottest coals in Hades, and that's not enough. You pull him apart and slam him in the face with the pieces. You're beyond all logic and all reason for the moment.

With the feel of the grandstand in him, it was that way with Ziggy. Without any warning he started to swarm all over the green rocket. Surprised by this outburst, March tried to go up where there wasn't any up.

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