Chapter 47
The FIC voids Julian’s last two wins.
Julian gives all the right sound bites about accepting the FIC’s decision, understanding Chronicle needs to be penalized for Val’s actions, and being glad he’s allowed to keep racing this season at all, but they’re delivered with a scathing undertone you’d have to be completely dense not to pick up on (naturally, Silver Sight quotes Julian without any connotative indicators).
He’s angry. He hates what Val did, and he hates the impact of it, and everyone can tell (except Silver Sight).
Clarke gets it. Both the individual and team trophies were in his sight last week; now they’re on the verge of being unattainable for yet another season, through no fault of his own.
Clarke can read his anger in the messages he sends while she and Rhynn are rapid-fire negotiating a contract with Lennox’s people; she can hear it during their quick calls at the end of the day; she can see it when she spots him down the pit lane in Abu Dhabi on Thursday.
“When I ran into him in the hall of the hotel this morning and asked how he was, he said, ‘Awesome, thanks,’ like he was imagining dangling me under his ship and flying around the city until I bashed into enough buildings that I’d never ask questions again,” Thierry comments, coming to stand at Clarke’s side.
One garage up, Julian and Graham are talking at the edge of Chronicle’s box.
There’s too much noise coming from Martian Motors, between Chronicle and Enclave in paddock order, to make out anything they’re saying, but it looks tense.
Clarke should say something like I’m sure it wasn’t that bad, but it probably was. “You’d be pissed, too.”
“Of course I would, but I wouldn’t be pissed at me. I have never done anything wrong in my life, ever. I’d just say ‘Thanks for asking, man, shit’s been tough’ and pull me in for a hug.”
“When have you heard him talk like that?”
“That’s not important,” Thierry says loftily, then nudges her with his shoulder. “C’mon, Baz sent me to get you. He needs us upstairs for something in a few minutes.”
Baz is Enclave’s social media guy, their Sara equivalent.
Clarke’s been introduced to several hundred Enclave employees over the past four days and many of them have blurred together, but she’s spent almost as much time with Baz as she has with her core support team, taking advantage of the surge of support she’s received post-gala and the outpouring of enthusiasm for her move to Enclave to churn out high-performing content.
Baz is excitable, smart, and (the most important characteristic, in Clarke’s book) seems genuinely excited to be gaining a job partner in Sara for next year.
He’s waiting for Clarke and Thierry in the small outdoor seating space attached to Enclave’s hospitality suite, cameras set out on the table in front of him. He ushers them into place, already talking like he has a quota of words he needs to use per minute.
“All right, guys, we’re doing a rapid-fire question-and-answer bit. Nothing too serious, just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind,” Baz says. “Everyone good? No questions? Okay, here we go. Clarke, what are you most looking forward to this weekend?”
“Getting back on the track,” Clarke says without missing a beat.
Thierry gasps, mock-offended. “Not racing with your best-friend-slash-new-teammate for the first time?”
“Why, is that what you’re looking forward to?” she shoots back.
“No, I’m obviously most looking forward to getting my second P1,” he sniffs.
Clarke doesn’t know Baz well yet, but she’s pretty sure the smile he’s got on is the one he uses when Clarke and Thierry go off-script in a way he thinks will play well. “Thierry, when’s the last time you talked to Umeko?”
“Uh, three minutes ago? She’s just downstairs. She’s still a reserve pilot. She still doesn’t think my jokes are funny.”
“Clarke, less than a week ago you were flying for another team. How have preparations for this race been?”
“Fast,” Clarke says, laughing. “Very fast. There are so many people at Enclave who’ve been working incredibly hard to make this happen. Lennox, my new race engineer Hodge—”
“You’re doing it again,” Thierry interrupts.
“I am not,” Clarke scowls.
“You are,” Baz says. “It’s great, Clarke, very polite, but we want to just let you shine here, okay? So, again: How have preparations for this race been?”
Clarke wants to think about it and give an answer she’s vetted from all angles, but Baz did say to blurt out whatever her first instinct was. “Insane. Exciting. I keep feeling like a jerk for forgetting people’s names.”
“I’m Thierry,” Thierry volunteers.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Clarke says, snapping her fingers. “You’re in finance, right?”
“If my mom’d had her way, yeah.” Thierry sulks. “Next question?”
—
Clarke and Julian agree not to see each other outside all-F0 events during race weekends, but they still trade messages during spare moments. Clarke wakes up to one on race day, sent long after Julian should’ve been asleep.
What if Val was right about me? What if I’m only good enough to win if I’m flying for someone else?
Clarke responds while her mom, who’d insisted on attending Clarke’s first Enclave race in person, puts her hair in the customary tight braids she wears for piloting. Remember when we were kids talking about making it in F0, and I didn’t want to go to Elemental because of Anders?
Julian writes back immediately. In hindsight, that was a good instinct. This ‘moderated hearing’ stuff is bullshit.
Clarke agrees. Anders, Yves, and Naomi are, as predicted, getting off with minimal consequences.
The FIC’s launching a formal investigation, and Yves is suspended until that clears, but everyone knows it’s going to.
It’s complete and utter crap, but that’s the business.
Val, at least, is being charged with actual crimes.
There will be a court case at some point during the off-season.
Fair, but not what I was getting at, she writes as Imogen ties off one braid and moves to the other.
Clarke can braid her own hair, but there’s something centering about her mom doing it.
You told me that if I didn’t want to follow in Anders’s footsteps, I should eclipse them.
You were right. I was closing the door on an opportunity because I was afraid of living in someone’s shadow, and you reminded me that the sun doesn’t revolve around Anders Dalsing.
It doesn’t revolve around Val, either, so don’t stay in her shadow. Eclipse it.
She quickly follows it up with, Also, you’ve been on nine podiums this season. Six of those were P1’s, and I was only almost-dead for one of them. Val was wrong. Get your head straight and win this damn race.
“All set,” Imogen announces, setting her hands on Clarke’s shoulders and meeting her eyes in the mirror. “Ready?”
Clarke says, “Ready.”
—
Clarke finishes P10. It’s acceptable, for her first race in a new ship. Thierry gets P5. Raff, flying under an acting team principal and with a lot of hastily-shuffled-around support staff, finishes P14. The reserve pilot Elemental puts in Clarke’s ship DNF’s.
Delphine had mechanical troubles during qualifying. She starts in the middle of the grid. Engel pulls out another of his impressive defensive showings to tangle up the whole midfield. Delphine finishes P11; Engel takes fourth. Julian wins, easily fending off Oliver in second.
Two races to go.