The Last Starfighter by Alan Dean Foster

you.”
    “Impress me with a prize,” said Alex, tired of being put off. But the old man seemed determined to ramble on.
    “I seen ’em come and go, but you’re the best, m’boy, the very best. Dazzling execution, phenomenal hand to eye coordination, a positive instinct for making the right decision at the critical moment. Light years ahead of the competition.”
    “Thanks.” Alex was trying hard not to fall under the spell of this wave of tribute.
    “Which is why Centauri’s here. He’s got a little proposition for you. Interested?”
    “What kind of proposition?” Alex was suddenly wary.
    “It involves the game. Being a Starfighter player. Interested yet? The rewards are great.”
    “Sounds good, I guess.” Maybe the company wanted him to give demonstrations or something. Surely they had to pay him for that.
    “Bravo! I knew you’d say that.” He turned to his controls. “Now you must meet your fellows.”
    “What? What fellows?” Were there other prize winners besides himself?
    There was a whoosh as the gullwing doors came slamming down. They locked tight without the metallic snap Alex expected. Everything inside the car operated silently and with great precision.
    The engine seemed to whine instead of rumble as Centauri peeled out of the parking lot like it was the final lap at Indy. Nor did he slow down upon entering the highway, ignoring the stop sign at the intersection. Instead, he accelerated, indifferent to the first curves as they began to climb into the hills.
    Unexpected acceleration shoved the wide-eyed Alex back into his seat. Inside the car all was silent. He’d never imagined such efficient insulation. At the speed they were traveling there should be a roaring all around them, but wind and noise were completely shut out of the car. As for the seat comforting him, it nudged him gently from behind, supporting him with an oddly personal touch. Soon he found that despite their increasing speed he was able to move his arms and legs with ease.
    “Hey, what the hell . . .?” He covered his face instinctively as the car leaned into a sharp curve. Somehow it managed the bend without spinning off the road.
    “Handles well, doesn’t she?” Centauri was as calm and composed as if they were negotiating rural traffic in broad daylight at ten miles an hour. “Special compensators. All I have to do is drive. Not all these hybrids are built with an eye for that kind of detail.” He grinned. “This is fun!”
    When Alex’s larynx finally unfroze he was barely able to gasp, “What are you doing? You’re going to get us killed!”
    “Fiddlesticks! Why would I want to do that? Not only is death inefficient, it’s counterproductive. You don’t have a death wish, do you? I understand it’s quite common among you folks.”
    “No, I don’t,” Alex whispered.
    “Well then?”
    “Don’t,” Alex gulped, unable to take his fear-filled gaze off the road ahead, “you think we may be going just a teensy bit too fast?”
    “Too fast?” Centauri frowned for a moment. “Nonsense. How can we be going too fast? We’re hardly moving.”
    Alex watched little white posts flick past his window, one right after another. They were highway mile markers. He knew they were traveling too fast now for him to think of doing anything, but if this madman ever slowed down . . . he reached over to check the door handle.
    There was no door handle.
    “What are you doing?” he repeated desperately. Dimly he recalled something of their earlier conversation. Everything had seemed so normal. When they’d been standing still. Before his heart threatened to leave his body by way of his throat. “What about my prize?”
    “Ah, your surprise, your great honor. Listen, Centauri wants to keep it a surprise a little longer. Allow me that little pleasure. Trust me. You’re gonna love it. Love it! And who wouldn’t? It’s the greatest honor ever devolved on mankind and it’s yours, all yours. Isn’t that