Chapter 6 #2
It takes a second to sink in. She’s never started a Formula Zero race at P1. P2, twice, and P3 a few times, but P1…
Maybe this is the turning point. Maybe the rebuild of the ship after Tiresias fixed something that wasn’t showing up broken in the diagnostics.
Maybe Clarke’s been too in her head, getting too cerebral about something that’s supposed to be instinctive.
Maybe she’ll win tomorrow, and Yves will realize that he’s wrong about her, and he’ll offer her a contract renewal on the spot.
Maybe this is Clarke making herself a factor for Elemental’s leadership.
Probably not. Probably it was just one good day. But she needed a good day.
People pile on Clarke when she gets back to the garage, hands clapping her helmet and shoulders. Matthew fights through the crowd and gives her a hug that lifts her off her feet. Amira says a boisterous “Knew you had it in you” that makes Clarke’s chest go warm.
Yves finds her after the hubbub has died down. “Great job. No points for qualifying, though, eh?”
He’s an ass, but he’s right. Qualifying matters, grid order matters (fighting your way up from P20 during a race is a far sight harder than starting at the front and keeping your spot), but points are king. There’s nothing to celebrate.
Yet.
Clarke’s still riding the high of that yet when she posts up in the lobby of the hotel Chronicle’s staying in later that day.
She’s in incognito mode: a plain sweatshirt instead of Elemental merch, her hair down around her face instead of its usual easy-to-tuck-under-a-balaclava braids.
She waits long enough that she’s starting to wonder if maybe this is going to be a bust when a sea of green hats enters the lobby.
She sits up. Dark hair, athletic build, just shy of six feet tall—virtually impossible to pick out in this crowd, especially when they’re all dressed the same.
She scours faces, recognizing most from seeing them around the paddock, and freezes when she makes eye contact with someone who definitely isn’t Julian.
Valentina Dumond, the Chronicle team principal, diverges from her walking companions and makes her way to Clarke, casual enough about it that none of her team notices anything out of the ordinary.
She sits across the small table from Clarke and settles in, perfectly at ease.
“Miss Clarke. I’d ask if you’re lost, but I doubt that’s the case. Congratulations on P1.”
Clarke knows a fair amount about Val, although they’ve rarely spoken.
She’s been Chronicle’s principal for five years, and one of the first big shake-ups she made in a series of big shake-ups was offering a pilot’s seat to Julian—who was, at the time, nineteen and unproven on the Formula Zero scene.
Julian likes her, likes that she’s not afraid to take risks, but more important, Julian respects her.
There aren’t a lot of people Julian will listen to when he’s in the cockpit, but Val’s one of them.
“Thanks. I wanted to talk to Julian for a minute, if that’s okay,” Clarke says. “Do you know if he’s around? It’ll be quick.”
Val checks the large, ornate clock above the reception desk. “He should be back soon. Do you mind if I ask you a question while we wait? Nothing that will get you in trouble with Yves.”
This ought to be interesting. What could Val want to know from Clarke that isn’t an Elemental trade secret? “Sure.”
Val props one ankle on the opposite knee. She’s wearing four-inch heels with Chronicle’s swoopy logo emblazoned on the side. Iconic. “What do you want to do in this sport?”
Clarke laughs, choppy and surprised. “What do you mean? I want to win.”
“All pilots want to win. I’m asking what else you want. Some want to make money, some want fame. Some want to stay with one team their whole career, others want to try them all on for size. Some just want to keep racing for as long as they can. What about you? What are your goals?”
…Has Clarke ever thought about this before?
She probably should have, but she just—she just loves racing, for the sake of racing.
It’d gotten a little murky over the past few months, but today reminded her what it’s supposed to feel like.
She loves finding the edge and seeing how far she can push past it.
She loves getting crushed into her seat by a tight turn.
She loves that instant when she crosses from the pit lane to the track proper and gravity drops out.
She loves when it all just clicks, and she loves when she has to work for it, and she loves how she feels like herself when there’s a kickdrive at her back and nineteen people around her who all want the same thing she does.
She loves racing. Isn’t that enough?
“You don’t have to answer now,” Val says, when it’s become apparent that Clarke doesn’t have an answer to give. “Or ever, I suppose. But think about it. Ah, there’s Julian.”
Clarke turns to look. Julian is walking with his race engineer, Graham Grayson, their heads bent close together over a screen.
Julian points to something, frowning; Graham gesticulates an answer in big, broad movements.
Julian’s so focused that he nearly trips into a table; Graham steers him around it with an easy hand on the shoulder. They look comfortable. Familiar.
Clarke wonders, in a surge of acid, if Julian is using Graham to replace herself, or Connor.
It’s an unkind thought. Unkind, and unfair, and counterproductive to Clarke’s goals.
She came here to let Julian know that she’s willing to start building a bridge from her side if he’ll do the same.
They can’t go back to who they were, but they could start working toward something new, couldn’t they?
Doing well today reminded her that nothing’s hopeless, that she can fight for things she doesn’t want to lose.
She came here to talk, and Julian practically invited her—just give me a time and place, that’s what he’d said mere hours ago—but he’s talking to someone else. Someone he works with. Clarke has picked F0 over Julian in the past; if he does the same to her right now, what would that mean?
Optimism led Clarke here. Uncertainty and fear keep her in her chair until Julian and Graham enter an elevator.
“I’m not in the habit of inserting myself where I haven’t been invited,” Val says as the shame of not acting glues Clarke’s feet to the floor.
“But if I may—you’ve seemed a touch lost, recently, and I can imagine the shape of some of the challenges you may be up against. If it would help you to have someone to talk to outside your team, I would offer myself as a listening ear. ”
Clarke turns the words around in her mind a few times to make sense of them, because Val talks like someone who didn’t learn Terran English until native speech patterns were already set, all formal and highbrow.
Also because what Val’s offering goes against every norm Clarke’s familiar with. “You want to help me?”
The We’re not on the same team goes unspoken, but Clarke knows Val gets it from the wry smile that spreads across her face. “I’m not going to give you information about Chronicle, nor will I expect you to divulge Elemental’s secrets. But some things are more important than the leaderboard.”
Clarke is rattled by the last few minutes and suspicious of Val’s motives, but it’s never a good idea to offend a team principal.
When Val holds out her wrist, Clarke tugs back her own sleeve.
Val scans her Link ID info into Clarke’s cuff.
Clarke retreats to her own hotel, wishing she hadn’t come here at all.