Chapter 41
The entire year is structured around the Fédération Interplanétaire de les Courses Sponsors’ Gala.
Formula Zero is one of eight elite circuits that run under the FIC umbrella, and they all come out in their finest for the event.
It’s in Olympic City this year, and shuttles start arriving from all across the solar system Monday morning for the run-up to the big show on Friday.
What happens when you get the most talented drivers and pilots across all of racing together in the same city for a few days?
A media circus crossed with a university reunion and doused in conspicuous peacockery, that’s what.
In between press events and checkups at the hospital and training for Abu Dhabi once she’s been cleared, Clarke catches up with friends from Juniors and attends showcases of the tech and courses being evolved for other disciplines.
Formula Melee is always particularly entertaining, since they’ve weaponized their cars with things like grappling hooks and battery-draining cannons.
There’s a lot to keep track of. Yves and Elemental leadership are running around all day, trying to be impressive and keep sponsors happy. Clarke doesn’t have much free time, but when she does, it’s easy to slip away unnoticed for quiet conversations.
“Finally,” Thierry says when Clarke meets him on Wednesday afternoon. “I’ve been waiting to talk to you for two weeks!”
“I was unconscious for a good chunk of that,” Clarke says, scanning her cuff at the dock entrance. All the non-Martian teams are stuck on Mars for the week, and working mainly out of transports sitting at the same interstellar dock outside the heart of the city.
“Excuses, excuses.” Thierry pulls up directions to a shop he wants to visit and starts walking. “Lennox wouldn’t tell me anything. What did she say? What did you say? Are you going to be in black and gold next year?”
“She didn’t actually make an offer,” Clarke says.
“If she did, would you say yes?”
“Depends on the offer.”
“Claaaaarke.”
Clarke sighs. “It’s not real yet, Thierry. I can’t know if I’d sign until I see the terms.”
He scoffs. “If what Lennox puts in front of you is anything like my contract, I can guarantee it’ll be better than what Elemental’s offering.”
Clarke doesn’t doubt it. Negotiations with Elemental have stalled, no ground given or gained on either side. She’s been telling herself she doesn’t care, that she wouldn’t renew even if Elemental suddenly agreed to everything Clarke and Rhynn are asking for, but sometimes her resolve falters.
She needed to do well at Wonderland to impress Lennox and secure the other seat at Enclave.
That obviously didn’t happen, and she missed the opportunity at the Olympic City race, too.
She’s backed into a corner. If Lennox doesn’t offer, all she’s got left is saying yes to Elemental, with their shitty conditions and shittier ship and her biological fucking father as a team owner and someone who’s tried to kill her as the other owner/principal.
If those were her only choices—staying with Elemental, or not racing at all—would she be strong enough to walk away?
“I’ll have to see,” Clarke hedges. “But it’s flattering to know you want me for your secondary so badly.”
“You wouldn’t be secondary. We’d be equal.”
Clarke had been joking, looking to lighten the mood, and is taken aback by Thierry’s sincerity. “Oh?”
“Lennox had it put in the bylaws. She didn’t tell you?
Enclave never starts the year with a primary-secondary pilot arrangement.
She says she doesn’t want a primary who thinks they can coast, or a secondary who thinks there’s no point pushing.
I’m primary right now because I’ve got a good chance of finishing fifth in the individual bracket and that’ll be good for Enclave overall, but that doesn’t make me primary next season. ”
Clarke turns that over in her head. “How do you feel about that? Not getting preferential treatment over a new pilot after everything you’ve done for Enclave this year?”
Thierry hop-skips around a cluster of delivery droids trundling down the sidewalk. “I don’t need preferential treatment to kick your ass.”
Clarke laughs. Thierry grins.
This could work, Clarke lets herself think.
—
Clarke messages Julian on Thursday morning while waiting for the next group she’s tour-guiding around the team transport to arrive. Are we dating?
They haven’t been able to see each other in person this week, the rare gaps in their schedules never lining up during the day.
He’s invited her to sleep at his apartment, but someone would notice if Clarke’s not where she’s supposed to be overnight, and she’s not sure she’s ready for the worlds to know that she and Julian are together.
If they’re together. Hence this conversation.
Julian writes back quickly. I think I have to actually take you on a date for us to call it dating.
Clarke smiles. I could take you out, too.
Then why don’t you? Treat me right, Ms. Clarke. I’m a gentleman.
Clarke taps her thumb on the band of her cuff, thinking.
Julian’s so clear about what he feels and what he wants.
Clarke doesn’t have that type of clarity.
There are too many unknowns in other aspects of her life, and she can’t peel those facets apart from how she feels about Julian yet.
But the gala’s tomorrow, and Clarke is…hopeful.
Maybe Julian’s certainty and Clarke’s hope are enough, at least for now.
After the season, she writes. We won’t have the big fancy one-on-one, but we can find some public karting track and have our race. Whoever wins, the other takes them out as a reward.
She realizes the significance of the word she used a second too late. Before she can recall the message, Julian’s already responding. But we both so enjoy the current rewards system.
Clarke’s now blushing furiously, remembering Julian’s tongue and fingers between her legs.
Cool. Great. Perfect. She’s still trying to respond when there’s noise from the bottom of the ramp that leads up to the transport: Elemental’s director of operations, arriving with a small crowd of sponsors.
Clarke waves. They wave back, gazing up at the transport in awe.
She looks back to her cuff. There’s already another message. After the season. It’s a date.
A third message pops in. By the way, I got you a present.
There’s an attachment. Clarke decides she still has a few seconds before the approaching tour group is too close and opens it.
It’s a bar graph, showing how much Elemental Machines has been worth over the years.
The number has been decreasing for the last two decades.
Clarke knew that part already (end-of-season valuations are public, and she looked into it when Julian first brought up his concern), but there’s way more detail in here than she’d been able to find.
He’s got numbers for the current season, showing a sharp decline almost weekly.
She exits the file and writes back. How’d you get this? Aren’t current season numbers private to shareholders?
She can practically hear the smug smile in his response. I found a shareholder willing to disclose the info. And by “found,” I mean “I gave Connor’s moms the money to buy Elemental shares because I couldn’t do it myself without violating my conflict of interest clause.”
Clarke laughs out loud. She sends a quick Thanks, got to go, will look more later, and looks up to greet her tour group. “Hi, folks, I’m Madeline Clarke. Welcome to Elemental Machines.”
—
Clarke’s outfit for the gala is a stunning gown, custom designed for her and this occasion.
It’s a sheath of silky, Elemental-blue fabric that hugs close to her body, with a slit to the thigh and a racerback that cuts between her shoulder blades.
It’s so tailored that she has to be literally sewn into it.
The sewing happens after several hours of hair and makeup on Friday, most of which Clarke spends reviewing sponsor names and contributions.
It makes for a long afternoon, and Clarke already had a long morning (a workout, a tense call with Rhynn, incessantly running through every detail of the plan in her head) after a crappy night’s sleep, so she’s looking forward to resting for a few minutes during transit to the venue.
There are shuttles leaving for the venue from the docks all day.
Clarke’s preparation took longer than anyone else’s at Elemental, so she makes her way to the shuttle by herself.
There’s a group of Formula E people at the front of the small ship.
She smiles at them and chooses a seat farther back, in an empty row, debating taking her hair down between now and arrival.
She wiggles a finger under one of the pins digging into her skull.
Her seat cushion sinks as someone sits next to her. She opens her eyes and barely has a chance to say hi before Delphine is knocking Clarke’s hand away from her hair.
“You’re messing it up,” Delphine says, pressing at Clarke’s chin until she turns her face so Delphine can get at the half updo. “Pins bothering you?”
“So much,” Clarke says. “Thank you.”
Delphine hums and delicately plucks a pin free, sliding it back in at a less lobotomy-esque angle.
She doesn’t say anything else, and Clarke grasps for something to talk about.
They haven’t really talked since their conversation on Ohars, and Did Valentina Dumond give you bad advice about your marriage, and do you think she did it on purpose to screw with your headspace, and do you think she’s doing something similar to me?
isn’t exactly a seamless conversation starter.
The shuttle’s engine rumbles to life as two more people hurry on board: Julian and Engel, both in fine tuxedos with Chronicle-green ties. Julian catches Clarke’s eye between seat backs and smiles, but the guys stay up front to chat with the Formula E people.
Delphine tracks Clarke’s eyeline. She tugs another pin free and says, “Oliver’s inability to keep his dick in his pants wasn’t what drove us apart. That was a symptom. What destroyed our marriage was Formula Zero.”
Stunned doesn’t even begin to cover it. Clarke faces the window as the shuttle rises away from the city so no one can see the expression she’s making. “I’m sorry?”
“For me to win, Oliver had to lose. I hoped us being on the same team at Provenance would help, because at least if we won the team championship, we’d both win.
But he couldn’t get past me raising the individual trophy, me standing above him on the podium.
It bred resentment and secrecy. A relationship can’t survive that. ”
Clarke’s throat gets tighter the longer Delphine talks. “That sounds really difficult.”
“Thanks,” Delphine says, sarcasm thick enough to taste. “You might be thinking that you and Julian can beat the odds. You might be thinking you and Julian can make it. You won’t.”
“Julian and I aren’t—”
“Spare me the denial. If you’re dumb enough to blow up your career over a relationship with someone who will never be able to put you first, that’s on you.”
Delphine fixes one last pin. Clarke turns quickly when she feels her start to move away. “Wait! Why’d you stay with Oliver for as long as you did, if it was hopeless?”
“Because I loved him,” Delphine says simply. A dark look flits across her face. She adds, “And because someone I thought I could trust told me to keep trying.”
Clarke’s breath is short. Does she mean…“Who?”
Delphine’s eyes go to the front of the shuttle. She looks between Engel and Julian, then down to Clarke.
“Val Dumond,” she says slowly, “is single-minded in her pursuit of victory. It makes her an effective team principal. It does not make her a good person.”
Shit. Shit.
Clarke clears her throat. She needs confirmation. “You think she did it to mess with you?”
“Oliver and I were already having problems when I was still with Chronicle. I thought about leaving him then, honestly, but Val convinced me to give him another chance. When I decided the only way to do that was to join him at Provenance, I figured Val would never talk to me again. But two seasons later, she approached me after a race one day. Said that I’d seemed a little lost. Offered to listen, if I ever wanted to talk.
Told me that some things were more important than the leaderboard, if you can believe that. ”
Clarke can believe it. She can believe it because that’s exactly what Val said to her. Months ago, at Lion’s Head, those were the exact words Val used to open the door with Clarke.
“I was more naive back then,” Delphine goes on.
“More trusting. I didn’t see what she was doing, using what I told her to mess with me, until…
Gods, far later than I should’ve. She’s ruthless.
If you won’t listen to my warning about getting involved with Julian because any relationship between racers in the same circuit is doomed from the beginning, consider that angle instead.
The second Val thinks you’re a threat to Julian’s focus, you’re dead. ”
Delphine moves a few rows away. Julian sees her go and looks to Clarke, a wordless inquiry on his face.
Clarke musters up a smile and sinks into her chair as much as the dress will allow.
She’s not hiding, she tells herself. She’s just…
compartmentalizing. She’ll think about Val and her influence and if Clarke and Julian are strong enough to wade through the snarls of being direct competitors after tonight, because if what Clarke’s planning doesn’t work out perfectly, she’s going to be out of a job next year anyway, and then it’s all moot.
Tonight is about burning bridges and seeing if something new can be built out of the wreckage. Everything else will have to wait.