by Austin Aslan
A new voice rang in his ears. “Blast jet exhaust in his face!” Tempest ordered. “Pump oil into the chamber, like I taught you. It’ll burn thick and black, blotting out the sky.”
“What?”
“Do it. Smoke screens aren’t allowed, but there’s no punishment for a temporary malfunction.”
“But this is on purpose!”
“No one can prove it, if you do it just like I instructed.”
Mace frowned, but he followed orders. His craft belched black fumes, and Dex lost speed and altitude.
“Excellent, Mace!” cried Tempest.
“I’ve never seen anyone do that in a race,” he grumbled.
“Exactly,” explained Tempest. “That’s why you’ll get away with it. Now get up on Henryk.”
Mace had to admit Henryk was fast. Solid, confident, unshakable. No matter how well Mace executed each bend in the air track, Henryk matched him lap for lap. He and Mace duked it out for the lead in a constant weave. Mace couldn’t break free of him.
“Be forewarned: I’ve taught him a trick or two as well,” Tempest added.
What? Mace felt confused. TURBO racing was about speed, not booby traps.
Twenty-five laps. Morning had arrived. The sun peeked above the horizon, and Mace had to squint through the burst of light on the next turn. Tempest’s voice fed into his helmet. “Last lap. You all should be fighting tooth and nail for that win!”
Mace felt his engine sputter, grasping at the thin air. He nudged a few dials, and felt his thrusters catch. Perfect, he thought. But the pat on his own back was too soon. Henryk pulled ahead, vanishing into the blue!
“No,” Mace growled. “Get back here.” He pushed the engine for everything it had, setting Henryk square in his mental crosshairs. It wasn’t working. Henryk took every bank just a little tighter than he could, inching farther and farther away.
What am I doing wrong? he thought. His indicators were all within normal.
Don’t sweat it. Let him go. Take an easy second place and call it a day.
Mace thought for a moment. Second place? Let Henryk win? “No way. Not happening.”
He gave the afterburner more fuel.
The steering wheel shook. Mace’s neck strained. He scarcely touched the wheel, allowing the wing flaps to do the work for him. Beyond Henryk, up ahead, through the glare of the rising sun, Mace could make out the checkered finish line, held up by hovering drones.
I can do it, he thought. I can inch by him just in time. . . .
He hit the throttle hard, blasted forward like a rocket.
Coming up on Henryk, Mace squeezed the steering wheel harder than he needed to. “Come on. Steady,” he scolded himself. “You’ve got—whoa!” An external casing had dislodged from Henryk’s hull! It flew at Mace like a bullet. He had to jerk upward suddenly in time to clear the debris. His left rear drift fin sprang wide for stabilizing support. Mace leaned into the heavy ascent, his mind on fire.
He did that on purpose! Could have killed me!
“Mind your compressor,” came Ahmed’s warning.
Too late. The gauges flashed, an alarm sounded, and Mace stalled.
“What!?” he yelped. The engine control flooded. Henryk’s dirty trick might kill him yet! His seat jerked, and the canopy view turned upside down. The sky was replaced by ground.
Mace studied his readouts. “I stalled out!”
Tempest wasn’t interested in protests. “Watch your cabin pressure. Make engine adjustments accordingly.”
Mace had done his reading. He’d aced the tests. He knew how to handle this. The protocol came automatically. “Shut down. Reboot.” He held tight, trusting his training. The engine turned over, sputtered, grabbed oxygen, and died.
Mace was suddenly in complete free fall, the pink Utah desert growing larger and larger all around him. “What?!” he yelled. I did everything right! “What do I do?!”
Tempest came on the radio. “A bit of Henryk’s debris get in your manifold?”
How could she sound so calm right now? “Help me!”
“Make repairs.”
“Mid-flight?” said Mace. “Like I’m supposed to climb out on the hood and give ’er an oil change?”
But he snapped out of his panic. Okay, he thought. Shut down again. Reboot again. This time, do a diagnostic before pressing the ignition. . . .
Alarms buzzed. Red lights flashed.
He shut the engine down. Ran the engine tests.
PROCESSING
PLEASE WAIT
Aya and Dex overtook his position while he tumbled, while the computer twiddled its thumbs.
So much for placing first. So much for placing at all.
The question now was simply one of survival.
OBSTRUCTION IN MAIN VENT. DECOMPRESS?
YES NO
“Yes! Yes!” Mace shouted. He pushed the matching word on the screen. There was a hissing and a pop. Good. Now he could turn this thing back on, maybe salvage a third-place finish.
How dare Henryk pull a dirty move like that? Mace vowed to get him back.
If he lived, that was.
IMPACT IMMINENT
The ground . . . It was coming at him . . . like a planet-sized train!
EJECT! EJECT!
He yanked on the ejection lever. Locked! Where was the release? The desert floor! Mace gripped his helmet, wished it all away. He cursed Henryk’s name. The last thing he saw: blood spraying the spiderwebbed windshield in thick sheets—and then it was over.
Chapter Fourteen
Blood. Everywhere. Oh, nice touch, Mace thought. He slammed his palms on the steering wheel. The state-of-the-art screens faded to black. The gruesome scene vanished.
GAME OVER
STATUS: DNF—CASUALTY
Did. Not. Finish. Also known as last place. Aka strike one for Mace Blazer.
He turned off his radio headset and cursed into his helmet.
He could’ve placed second, no problem. Why had he risked so much just to shame Henryk?
He knew the answer: Because he didn’t want to be second. He wanted to be first.
A long pause followed. He removed the helmet, ran a hand through his sweaty hair. The door opened automatically. Light poured into the simulator cockpit. Tempest and Ahmed stood against the opening, silhouettes beneath headsets.
“These graphics are too realistic,” Mace said. “The summary screen should read: ‘Status: Condor Breakfast Buffet.’”
“Condors need a carcass to feed on. You’re more like a beef stew,” Ahmed said. His tone became critical. “You’re awfully glib for a dead man.”
A commotion erupted in the room beyond. The other three competitors tumbled out of their simulators. The room was dominated by four game pods, each suspended with independent spider legs anchored to the concrete floor. Aya and Dex emerged, cautiously pleased with themselves. They wove through interlaced simulator supports to reach Mace. Dex looked relieved. Henryk popped out of his machine and tossed both hands high in the air. “Kick the tires and light the fires!” Henryk bragged. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. And you’re welcome. That is how it’s done.”
“You’re impossible.” Aya turned her back on the Norwegian.
“It’s all part of his strategy to throw you off,” Mace pointed out. “You can’t let it get to you.”
“What happened to you?” Dex asked.
Mace narrowed his eyes. “He got to me. Flung debris in my face. I dodged, lost engine control, died.”
“Oh, and you didn’t spit black smoke in my eyes?” Dex challenged.
Mace hated that Dex was right. How was he supposed to complain about Henryk, when making everyone else crash seemed to be what Tempest was teaching them to do? “I’m sorry, Dex.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Tempest said. “Winners don’t apologize. Henryk’s not sorry.”
“I’m not sorry,” agreed Henryk, grinning.
“When are we going to face off in the real trimorphers?” Mace asked Tempest,
his shoulders squared, stepping up to her. “Your simulators are good, but they’re not the same as the real thing.”
Tempest turned her head and gripped a hand around the nearest spidery simulator leg. “Are you trash-talking my personally designed, very expensive TURBO simulators, Mr. Blazer?”
Mace shrank back, but only a little bit. “I can feel the difference. This daddy long-legs doesn’t feel the same as Event Horizon does. Trying to accelerate when I’m really stationary isn’t working for me anymore.”
“‘Feel the same?’” mocked Henryk. “It’s all excuses. Cheap talk.”
“Shut up, Henryk. Mace is right.” Tempest awarded him an approving nod.
Mace laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Tempest demanded.
“I just checked the internet,” Mace cracked. “Hashtag ShutUpHenryk is trending!”
The Norwegian lunged at him, but Ahmed got between them.
“Listen to me,” Ahmed said. “I know you want to jump in real cockpits. But we have to prepare you for various bad weather conditions. Only the sims can prepare you for that. It’s not out of the question that we’ll run into thick fog in San Francisco, or cyclone conditions in the Philippines. Races are expensive; they almost never get canceled. It’s important to always know how to react.”
Tempest pursed her lips, then shook her head. “Those adjustments should be intuitive for these geniuses. I’d rather we spend what time we have left reinforcing the value of the Golden Rule.”
Ahmed raised an eyebrow in disagreement. “Tempest, may I speak with you in private for a—”
“No. We’re done with the simulators starting now,” she decided. “A few more days of individual instruction and you’ll race each other for keeps during a real desert competition. Dex and Mace, you better watch your backs. One more strike, and you’re gone.”
Mace wasn’t too worried. He couldn’t wait to show the others how fast he could go behind the wheel of the genuine Event Horizon. “Roger that.” He gave her a stiff salute.
Dex put on a brave face. “Believe me, I’ve gotten out of tighter spots in my life.”
Tempest continued. “I’ll enter whoever remains in the Philippines Cross-Country Showcase. It’s Amateur League, but their vehicles are generally high performing. I expect you all to take the top slots. The only question is, which of you will place first? The winner goes on to the Gauntlet Prix.”
“We’re going to the Philippines?” Mace asked. World travel. Another perk of this glamorous lifestyle. He couldn’t wait.
And then it occurred to him: Carson Gerber’s dad competed in that league. What if they ended up racing each other?
Aya appeared upset. “We’re not going to practice with dicers?” she asked.
Some trimorphers were more specialized than Event Horizon, turning into helicopters rather than fixed-wing aircraft. Dicers. Other models became speedboats instead of submersibles. Those were called skimmers. Dicers were slower than fixed-wing morphers, so their courses branched off, and those pilots had to compete on tighter tracks before joining everyone else on the roads.
“Helicopter morphers are only just beginning to appear in the pro league, Aya. We’ve been over this. Dicers are hardly taken seriously when it comes to nabbing the Glove.”
Aya pursed her lips. “I’ve always been best with dicers. I wish you’d give me the chance to prove it to you.”
Tempest watched Aya closely but said no more on the subject.
The others trickled out of the simulator bay. Tempest pulled Mace aside.
“You don’t owe anybody anything. Henryk’s right about you and Dex and Aya becoming too close. You can’t hesitate when the time comes. You can’t be sorry.”
“This is all I ever wanted, to be a part of this,” Mace said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m giving it everything I have.”
“You have to want to be on top of it, not a part of it. If your goal is just to be in a TURBO race, then the Glove is already lost. I want you to come at this whole sport sideways. The cops, over Denver, they called you a renegade. Remember? That’s what I’m looking for. Something sensational. Something revolutionary. You’re here to wreck the careers of those you’ve always admired. I want you to bury the competition.”
But Mace was only half listening. He was already imagining himself winning the Glove. “Renegade. I like that. Mind if I take it as my racing name?”
“You have to earn it first,” she answered. “And don’t forget—you already have one strike against you.”
Chapter Fifteen
The fire flickered on the hearth beside the coffee table, warming the right side of Mace’s all-black jumpsuit. He’d slipped into it for the first time only moments ago. The boots had extra thick soles for some reason. “Why’d you make me so tall?” he asked Tempest. “Feels weird.” His voice reverberated throughout his closed visor.
“So you can reach the pedals, and so you don’t look so twelve in front of the cameras.” They stood eye to eye. “Just trust in my infinite wisdom.”
The others entered one by one, hidden behind glossy black helmets. Mace honestly couldn’t tell who was who. They were carbon copies of one another, same as Tempest’s fleet of copycat Event Horizons.
The kids took seats near the fire, placing their personal tablets on the table. Mace could tell Henryk by his body language. He was acting like he owned the room, taking over an entire sofa for himself. Aya was the first to reveal herself. Her long black hair fell down around her shoulders as she lifted her mask. Mace couldn’t look away from her. “This is too creepy,” she said.
Dex also removed his helmet. “I don’t know. I think it’s kind of cool. I feel like we’re bank robbers. And this is the calm before the big heist.”
“I wouldn’t rob a bank with you slowpokes,” said Henryk, ditching his helmet and running a hand through his wavy red hair. He rested a leg on his opposite knee and sank into his couch. “Have any of you heard how this is going to work tonight?”
The nighttime, real-desert competition was almost upon them. “If I had advance information about the race, you think I’d share it with you?” said Mace.
“Good point. I almost forgot: you don’t like to play fair.”
“I’m just following orders, same as you.” Mace held on to his anger. Get him back on the terrain, he thought.
“I haven’t heard a word,” Dex offered.
“Me neither,” Aya said. “Aside from the route we were given to study.”
“Did we all get the same map?” Mace wondered.
“Good question,” said Dex. All four of them lifted their tablets and opened their route maps and compared them. Mace reviewed the route one more time as he pored over the interactive map. One giant loop alternating between the ground and air over the desert, with a segment of underwater track through the black canyon depths of Lake Powell. The directions would be uploaded to his live display, but he wanted to have every bend and turn of the sprawling desert course memorized.
“Hey, my map is blank,” Aya pointed out. “That’s weird.”
“It is? Here, check mine,” said Mace.
“Thanks.”
“Hey, guys,” said Dex carefully. “Is anyone else bothered by all the little cheats Tempest is teaching us? It’s distracting. I just want to go out there and floor it.”
“No,” answered Henryk immediately. “She’s just giving us the tools to win.”
“Yeah. It’s not TURBO racing, though,” Dex said. “It’s a demolition derby. Her Golden Rule stinks.”
Mace watched Dex closely. How could he be saying that? What if Tempest was listening?
“Someone could get hurt the way she tells us to bash each other around,” Aya agreed. “I mean, Mace already died once.”
“I got better,” Mace reminded them.
Dex put out his hand, motioned for everyone else to join him. “Let’s make a pact. No funny stuff out there tonight. We win the right way.”
Aya thrust her arm forw
ard, slapped her gloved hand on top of Dex’s. Mace bit his lip. He wanted to join them. But only if Henryk was on board. He looked to Henryk and noted a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’ll agree to that,” Henryk eagerly said. He jumped up. “I don’t need to cheat to win!” Mace was the only holdout. “See?” mocked Henryk. “He knows he can’t win an honest race.”
“That’s not it.” This sucked. What was Mace supposed to do? Aya gave him an impatient look.
He didn’t want to disappoint her. “I’m in,” he grumbled. He put his hand forward and completed the chain. He managed to sneak his palm under Dex’s, where it could give Aya’s hand a squeeze.
Ahmed appeared beside the hearth through one of the sliding doors. “It’s time,” he announced.
They disbanded quickly. Mace wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze. He felt guilty, as if he’d been caught with his hand in a cookie jar.
He adjusted his one-piece flight suit and hooked his black helmet under an arm. The butterflies in his stomach turned to a swarm of fire ants.
“Tempest and I will be on comm with all four of you all the time,” Ahmed explained. “But there’s no crosstalk between rivals allowed in a real race, and you won’t be permitted to communicate directly with each other tonight, either.”
They nodded their understanding.
Tempest met them in the hangar. She wore a smug grin, and Mace immediately saw why.
Event Horizon and two copycats were parked in roadster form side by side in the cavernous bay. A fourth trimorpher was with them. It had no paint job. Helicopter blades were folded back and tucked into the naked roadster’s body.
“What’s that?” Aya asked, cautiously hopeful.
“It’s your ride,” Tempest confirmed.
Aya squealed her delight.
Tempest gave her a hard look. “Review your tablet now. Your dicer route has been uploaded. It’ll be on your dash, too. You better perform well tonight.”
Aya’s excitement vanished, replaced by a flash of alarm. She realized everyone was watching her reaction, and she tightened her expression. “I’ll do better than ever, like I said I would. I’ll prove it.” She lost herself studying her new course.