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Space Race

Copyright © 2021 Nathan Hystad

Books By Nathan Hystad

SeaTech Racer Number 11



























Space Battle (Space Race 2)

Lost Contact (The Bridge Squence Book 1)

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Copyright © 2021 Nathan Hystad

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover art: Tom Edwards Design

Edited by: Christen Hystad

Edited by: Scarlett R Algee

Proofed and Formatted by: BZ Hercules

Books By Nathan Hystad


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Baldwin’s Legacy







The Survivors Series

The Event

New Threat

New World

The Ancients

The Theos

Old Enemy

New Alliance

The Gatekeepers

New Horizon

The Academy

Old World

New Discovery

Old Secrets

The Deities

New Beginning

New Lies

The Resistance Series




The Manuscript

Lights Over Cloud Lake

Red Creek

Return to Red Creek





Nineteen Years Ago

My Pod door closed, and I stared through the viewscreen, letting my senses acclimate to the interior. I adjusted the brightness of the cramped cabin and lowered the thrust-to-burn ratio just enough to feel the vibrations in my leather seat change from a dull throb to a consistent buzzing.

I was always nervous leading up to these events, especially the finals in the Primary Pod Under Eighteen Cup, but the moment I sat in my Pod, everything calmed. The worries and doubts stayed outside, and all I felt was confidence and strength.

“You’ve been through this before,” I whispered to myself. The other four Pods were lined up over the desert landscape in central Oasis land. I’d been on this track a few times, but never this exact variation. The course designers ensured none of the contestants had any advantages. Regardless of that, I felt like I possessed an edge.

While the other participants each had a silly talisman—pieces of jewelry or printed photos of loved ones—hidden away in their jumpsuits, I didn’t need one. My grandfather was in my ear, talking me through the race, and that was all the luck I’d ever need.

“Hawk, are you all set?” Grandpa’s voice was reassuring, a pillar of calm strength in my earpiece.

“Yes, sir.” No one had won three Cups before, and I was on the verge of making history.

“Just remember. You’re Hawk Lewis, and none of these kids hold a digital beam to you, okay?”

I nodded, knowing he couldn’t see me. “I won’t let you down.”

A slight pause. “You could never disappoint me, son. Now get prepped. We launch in sixty.”

The moment he said it, the clock began ticking down in my viewscreen.

“Welcome to the Primary Pod Under Eighteen Cup! Oasis is pleased to have you here, and I wish the contestants luck.” The Oasis CEO was typically a dour man, but today, he was all smiles in the corner of my screen. My mouth went dry, seeing the dozens of filming drones hovering near the first checkpoint. I hated watching the footage afterward, and tried not to think of the millions of people tuning in at this second. “This portion is sponsored by Ice Water from Oasis. For all your ice mining needs, use Ice Water tools. Link your PersaTab to learn more.”

I cringed at the blatant advertising. That was all these events were to the Primary Corporations: a medium to sell their wares to the other corporations watching. I heard my dad’s voice in the back of my head and smirked to myself. He was rubbing off on me, despite my grandfather’s executive status with the powerful Luna Corp. Heck, I was in a Sage Industries Pod right now, so what could I complain about? Without their backing, I’d be living in squalor like the other kids I’d grown up with.

I shoved all of that from my mind as the clock lowered to ten, counting down to one. Varn Wallish sped ahead of me as the Race began, and I chuckled. He was in a Sage Pod as well, in an unprecedented feat. Never had two Pods from a single Primary made it to the final race in the Cup before. I wasn’t about to let Varn steal my spotlight.

“Nice work, Hawk.” My grandfather insisted on calling me that during the races, and I let it urge me on. Fly like a hawk, he always said. Be a bird of prey. Soar with the wind, and hunt the others like you own the skies, because, Arlo, you do.

The first checkpoint was a glowing green ring, easily spotted about the rusty red landscape below. The ground was rocky, with shale-covered hills and very little vegetation, and I clipped a cactus as I dipped lower, taking a different approach than the others. It was midday, and the sun was slightly behind us, our Pods racing into the east away from the burning orb.

Varn was slightly ahead as he entered the Ring, and the racers from Lotus, Espace, and Oasis trailed behind me. I knew all of the pilots from my five years of competitive racing, and had yet to lose to any of them. Today wasn’t going to be any different. They would have watched endless footage of my previous Cup victories, but I was going off a varied playbook today.

I had to keep them on their toes, not using the same strategy in any major races, because it would give me an advantage. Varn stayed high, hoping to use the gentle breeze behind us in this leg, where I kept low, sending dust away with the burn of my thrusters.

My heartrate sped up as I identified the second Ring, a blue glow from two hundred meters away. From there, I knew

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