Revised Snippet: Slipstream Racers

"Engine four is down," Bex informed me in the tiniest of voices.

Right. Engine four is down. Not a total loss. "We can fly on three. We're not dead yet, mate."

"I'd like to think we're not dead," Bex said haughtily. "It increases our chances somewhat."

"By?" I refused to look at Bex's equipment. It might tell me something I didn't want to hear. Contrary to popular belief, I was allergic to bad news.

"Oh, about zero point five instead," The corners of Bex's mouth twitched. The slightest of smiles, but enough to tell me that he wasn't spending the last remaining minutes in race with his knickers in a twist. "I'm not sure how long we're going to keep it at zero point five, considering that two enemy vessels are now within range."

Range of what? I peered out my windscreen at spaces vast expanse. I could just make out their faint silhouettes. Crap. 'In range' must've meant in range of the radar, rather than firing range, which would've meant an easy defence. As it stood ...

I wasn't going to voice the thought aloud.

"Um ... " I stopped and made the mistake of glancing into the rear-view cameras.

Shit. Had he meant the two closer vessels, bearing down on  us with some speed? Because they certainly weren't cloaked. With their shields down, they were as visible to us as a rainbow on any water-world.

"Four ships," Bex confirmed a moment later.

Well that was good news. I wasn't imagining things. My body began to shake slightly. Crumbs. There wasn't a driver in the Outer Sequence that shouldn't have been able to handle pressure. Four ships shouldn't be a problem.

Not really. The Saints guns were good. Especially at full power. Except we were down an engine, running on auxiliary power and gunning for the finish line at the same time. There were three Jump Gates ahead of us that we had to rendezvous with. My jaw ached. A moment later, I realised I'd been clenching my teeth.

Shit, shit, shit.

"Five," I added to the total with a hint of dismay. Since when had tag-team racing been part of the War Game Division?

However it did give one of the freakish, once in a life-time opportunities. Pass all five of these crafts and I'd rocket into fourth place ahead of anyone who came by. So, what did I fear most? The opportunity, or the disaster to follow?

"Six," the number sounded as though Bex had taken a long gulp of water and then splattered it against the windscreen.

Definitely tag-team racing. But it would allow us to acquire third place. Hang on a minute. The sixth craft wasn't doing anything. It certainly wasn't getting ready to fire at us.

And as I thought the last line the ground shook beneath us like a magnitude 5 earthquake on a habitable world. Violent and sudden, we hadn't had time to do anything but react.

Curse these opportunists.

"What were you saying about our chances?" I murmured, hoping that Bex hadn't caught that last sentence.

"I think we can kiss the point five goodbye ..."

END SNIPPET 

So what does everyone think?