It made Jason appear simply unlucky, or worse, just not good enough.
The beautiful Ariel Piper was having similar problems - with magneto drives and faulty parts. After her near-catastrophic experience in Race 1 caused by a virus in her pit computer, she had installed a new firewall which seemed to have stemmed that problem. She was currently in 12th place - solid but unspectacular for the first girl to attend the Race School.
In any case, a key feature of the School’s racing season was fast approaching and it was particularly troubling Jason.
The mid-season Sponsors’ Event - a feature race held in front of the School’s sponsors, benefactors and famous exstudents - would be held after Race 25, and it was only open to those students who had won a race during the season.
The Sponsors’ Event was a huge opportunity to perform in front of some of the major players in the pro racing world. The thing was: Jason hadn’t yet won a race, and with 15 races already down, he was fast running out of races to win.
Either way, it was time to address his team’s problems. It was time to go to the source of all the depleted drives, thinned coolants and faulty parts.
The Race School’s Parts and Equipment Department.
CHAPTER TWO
The International Race School’s Parts and Equipment Department was housed inside a gigantic warehouse behind Pit Lane near the banks of the Derwent River.
It was a colossal structure, so big in fact that the School had built a glorious silver grandstand on top of it, giving a superb view of the main finishing straight.
On a rare spare afternoon, Jason, the Bug and Sally McDuff came to the student entrance, opened it - just as a stocky bull-necked youth with a bristly shaved head emerged from the Department.
Sally watched him go with interest.
‘Do you know who that was?’ she said.
Jason squinted after the bull-necked youth. ‘No. Who?’
‘His name is Oliver Koch. He is Xavier Xonora’s Mech Chief.’
‘Is that so?’
They entered the Parts Department, came to the service desk that separated visitors from the cavernous interior of the warehouse. The gritty odours of grease, rubber and coolant pervaded the air.
They were met by a weasel-faced young man named Wernold Smythe. Smythe lazily wiped his grease-covered hands on a rag. He was about 26, laid back, and creepy.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked, wedging the rag into one of the low-slung hip pockets on his overalls.
‘Yes. I’m Jason Chaser. Team Argonaut. We’ve been having some problems with equipment coming out of the Department. Mags which aren’t fully powered up, thinned coolant.’
‘You didn’t get faulty mags from here,’ Smythe said quickly. ‘Doesn’t happen.’
‘But we did. Our mags were only 10 per cent charged.’
Smythe leaned forward. ‘No, you didn’t. Every mag that goes out of here is electro-checked on the way out.’
Smythe jerked his chin at Sally McDuff. ‘Maybe your Mech Chief screwed up; left ‘em too close to a powerdrain source, like a portable pit machine generator or a microwave transmitter.’
Sally growled. ‘I’d never leave a magneto drive next to a microwave transmi - ‘
‘It’s happened before.’ Smythe shrugged. ‘As for coolant. We hand it out in the original manufacturer’s bottles, with the seals intact. I got some complaints from a couple of other racers - kid from India and that Piper chick. Y’all probably just got a bad batch. In any case, I’ll note your complaint.’
Just then, the Bug tugged on Jason’s sleeve, whispered something in his ear.
Jason nodded - then he glanced at the greasy rag protruding from Smythe’s hip pocket.
He said to Smythe: ‘Would you mind if before tomorrow’s race my Mech Chief observes you electro-checking our mags before she takes them away from here?’
Smythe’s face turned to ice. ‘I don’t think I like your tone. Are you suggesting something?’
‘Like what?’
‘Are you suggesting that I’d deliberately allow depleted mags to be given out to certain racers?’
‘Let’s just say I’m tired of being “unlucky”. I just want to ensure that I don’t suffer another bout of unluckiness tomorrow.’
Smythe said coldly: ‘I answer to my boss, Department Chief Ralph A. Abbott. He answers to Jean-Pierre LeClerq. How about this: you get me a note from Abbott or LeClerq and I’ll let your Mech Chief observe tomorrow’s electro-check. Until I see that note, why don’t you just piss off and leave me to do my job.’
His snake-like stare became a fake smile. ‘Now, unless there’s anything else I can do for you, I have to go.’
Jason and the others left the Equipment Department. As they walked, the Bug whispered in Jason’s ear. ‘Yeah, I saw it,’ Jason said.
‘Saw what?’ Sally asked. ‘What did the little guy say to you in there?’
‘It’s not what he said, it’s what he saw. The Bug saw something in Smythe’s pocket,’ Jason said. ‘When we
came in, Smythe stuffed his rag into his pocket. But he didn’t stuff it in far enough. The Bug saw a wad of hundred-dollar bills sticking out from under it. I can’t imagine a grease-monkey like Werny Smythe goes to work with that kind of cash on his person.’
‘Which means…?’ Sally said.
‘Which means he got that money recently. Today. And who was in the Department just ahead of us?’
‘Oliver Koch…’ Sally said.
‘That’s right. Xavier Xonora’s Mech Chief,’ Jason said. The Bug whispered something.
‘No,’ Jason replied. ‘I don’t think we can turn them in yet. Just seeing some money in his pocket isn’t enough
evidence to prove our case. But I think we’re gonna have to keep an eye on Smythe and Prince Xavier’s team.’
CHAPTER THREE
The next day, Jason found himself rocketing north along the eastern coastline of Tasmania in the Argonaut, powering through driving rain.
Ducking, weaving, blasting, charging.
He swooped left, banking into a high-speed turn that took him across the mid-section of Tasmania.
There was good news and bad news.
The good news: he was coming 3rd in this race, behind Horatio Wong and Isaiah Washington.
The bad news: there were only three cars in the race.
It was a three-man practice race between Jason and the other two students of Scott Syracuse: Wong and Washington.
It was the day before Race 16 and while most of the other teachers had given their students a rest-and-preparation day before the race, Syracuse had organised for his charges to have a private race of their own on Course 9, a track which circled the lower half of Tasmania.
Despite the atrocious weather, the Argonaut was absolutely flying.
It shoomed out over the Serpentine Dam, bending south toward Wreck Bay.
The only problem was, it was almost a quarter of a lap behind the other two racers - thanks to an unexpected malfunction of the Tarantula during its first pit stop. The big pit machine had simply shut down halfway through the stop, meaning that Jason and the Bug had just had to sit helplessly in their cockpit while Sally McDuff frantically rebooted the robot.
The damage was a full quarter lap.
And this was only a 10-lap race.
Being a longer, more open circuit, pit stops were assumed to be necessary every four laps. Or not.
So at the end of Lap 8, Jason had to make the call.
To pit or not to pit?
To not pit - while the other two cars did - would allow him to catch up and even overshoot them. It was a daring move, and something Wong and Washington certainly wouldn’t expect.
It was also not altogether unprecedented: some of the greatest come-from-behind wins on the Pro Circuit had come from drivers who had audaciously skipped their last pit stop.
But the trade-off was lower-powered magneto drives. Could Jason complete the last two laps on ever-diminishing d
rives? If he drove perfectly - absolutely perfectly - maybe he could.
‘Let’s do it,’ he said to the Bug when he turned onto the home straight and saw both Wong and Washington predictably enter the pits.
So Jason gunned it - and shot past the entry to Pit Lane.
Wong and Washington both snapped round at the sound of the Argonaut booming away up the straight.
Jason drove hard.
He had two laps to complete and every second he made while the other racers were stopped in the pits was a second he had up his sleeve.
Up the coast he went, then banking left, cutting across the island.
The others finished their pit stops, blasted back out onto the course - in hot pursuit.
Jason urged the Argonaut on.
The other two cars closed the gap. But this course wasn’t as tight as some of the other tracks and hence wasn’t as brutal on magneto drives. Wong and Washington weren’t catching up all that quickly.
The Bug told him their magneto drives were down to 15%.
‘We can make it,’ Jason replied.
The Argonaut hit the western coast, shot down the shoreline. Zoomed round the southern tip of the island, then pointed north and once again saw the home straight.
Shoom! It whipped across the Start-Finish Line.
‘One lap to go,’ Jason said.
‘Come on, Jason…’ Sally McDuff’s voice said in his earpiece.
Wong and Washington’s cars blasted across the StartFinish Line, gaining on Jason like a couple of hungry sharks.
The gap was ten seconds and closing.
Cutting left across the island.
Nine seconds.
The Argonaut was becoming very slippery.
Its mags were running at 10%, the Bug reported.
‘Jason, conserve your mags! Use your thrusters more!‘ Sally said over the radio.
‘We’re okay!’ Jason said. ‘We’ve just gotta hold out for half a lap!’
Across the top of the dam.
8%
He took the left-hander onto the western coast more gently, losing more time.
4%
Wong and Washington were close behind him now -
2%
The final stretch was a long ‘sweeper’ round the southern coastal cliffs of Tasmania and not too tough on mags and Jason managed to stay out in front.
Then he hit the final left-hander and…
…slowed.
0.4%…0.2%…0.0%
‘No!’ he yelled.
He received no response when he pushed forward on his collective.
Wong and Washington whooshed by the Argonaut, rocketing away up the home straight, disappearing into the distance, becoming specks.
Wong would cross the line first, winning by 0.3 of a second.
Jason punched his steering wheel. ‘Damn it! Shit!’
He engaged his emergency power reserves to guide the Argonaut up the straight and limp over the Start-Finish Line, pounded by the pouring rain.
Upon returning to the pits, wet and soaking, he found Wong’s team dancing in jubilation. Washington’s team was also happy to have finished so strongly.
And Scott Syracuse was just standing there, shaking his head.
‘Mr Chaser. Mr Chaser. A bold move. But also a very stupid one. In over two thousand official hover car races at this school, only ten have ever been won by racers who skipped their last pit stop. That’s a success rate of 0.005%. It might look audacious when you see Alessandro Romba do it on television but statistically, skipping your last stop is a foolish tactic. Please don’t do it again whilst you are under my tutelage, lest someone think I actually encourage such folly.
‘Mr Wong, good racing. Exceptional pit work on the part of your Mech Chief. Mr Washington, your cornering needs work, but you finished well. And Mr Chaser: you have a lot to do. Work on your tactics and get your Mech Chief to check your pit machine more closely before each race.’
Syracuse turned to leave. ‘That will be all for today, people. I’ll see you tomorrow for Race 16. As usual, be in the pits two hours before racetime. Good night.’
And he left.
CHAPTER FOUR
The next few races passed without any major incidents - no faulty parts or depleted magneto drives. Just good hard racing.
The Argonaut had some promising finishes. A third, then a fifth, which lifted it up the rankings to 15th.
Ariel Piper caused a minor sensation when she stole victory from Barnaby Becker on the final turn of Race 18. But after that, she was bogged down with technical problems again and in the next three races, she DNF’d twice and fell down the ladder to 14th.
Ariel didn’t mind: her win in Race 18 had guaranteed her a start in the much-anticipated Sponsors’ Event.
Jason, however, was still winless.
He had come close in Race 22 - a gate race around the craters of the old mining town of Queenstown, coming second to Xavier Xonora. Again, it had been pouring with unseasonal rain that day - so heavily in fact that several of the gate-arches collapsed in mudslides and the race was nearly cancelled.
In the race, however, the Bug had excelled himself, coming up with a very clever race-plan that none of the other navigators - not even Xonora’s - had even considered.
Jason executed the plan well, but Prince Xavier was an incredible racer - and absolutely awesome in the rain - and his navigator’s race-plan, while more conventional than the Bug’s, was just as effective with Xavier at the wheel, and the Black Prince held on to win the race by a bare point.
Jason kicked himself. Their plan had been superb. Sally’s pit work had been great. It was his driving that had let them down. He had been the weakest link.
And now they only had three races to get a win. Another strange thing happened that day.
As Jason stood on the winner’s podium with the Bug and Sally, he noticed Barnaby Becker - who had come 9th - gazing up at him from the crowd, with his and Xavier’s mentor, Zoroastro, beside him.
Jason noticed Zoroastro point up at the Bug and whisper something to Barnaby.
Barnaby nodded. Only Jason saw the gesture, from way up on the podium. What it meant, at first he didn’t know.
That evening he found out.
As he and the Bug were returning to their dorm from dinner later that night, they found that the lights to their stairwell were not working.
The entire area was dark and silent. Foreboding. They climbed the stairs, but had only got halfway up when four shadowy figures - two above them, two below - appeared from the shadows.
Trapping them on the stairs.
The two boys above them were Prince Xavier and Barnaby Becker. The two boys below: the stocky Oliver Koch and Barnaby’s navigator, the sly Guido Moralez.
Moralez emerged from the darkness.
‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t the kindergarten class. Good race today, kiddies. Not good enough, but still a sterling effort.’
‘Thanks…’ Jason tried to go up the stairs, but Barnaby and Xavier blocked him.
Moralez climbed the stairs, eyeing the Bug. ‘You little fellas like those gate races, don’t you. Like the strategy of them. Like the idea of setting your own course.’
‘What do you want with us?’ Jason said.
‘Chaser, Chaser,’ Moralez said. ‘That’s your problem, you know, it’s always about you. But this isn’t about you. No. This is about him: your little navigator here. I just want to talk with him. Congratulate him on plotting such a great course today. Give him a little prize.’
Moralez cracked his knuckles, stood over the Bug. Then he formed a fist, held it in front of the Bug’s bespectacled face. ‘Here’s your prize, you little four-eyed freak.’
Moralez made to punch the Bug in the face, but Jason rushed forward at the last moment and pushed the Bug out of the way - and in doing so, received the full force of the blow instead.
Jason hit the wall. Hard. Blood spilled from his nose.
‘Hoo-ah! Ouch!’ Mor
alez sneered. He moved again towards the Bug, who backed up against the wall, cowering, defenceless, utterly terrified -
‘No!’ Jason called, standing up on wobbling legs and again moving in front of the Bug. ‘You don’t touch him.’
The Bug hated to be touched, absolutely hated it. Hell, he only let two people in the whole world even hug him: Jason and his mother. He didn’t even let his father cuddle him. A full-blown punch from Guido Moralez would probably send him into a catatonic state.
Jason had to do whatever he could to prevent this creep from touching the Bug…even if that meant acting as an alternative punching bag.
‘You wanna pick on someone,’ he said to Moralez, ‘pick on me…asshole.’
The bait worked.
‘Asshole? Asshole!‘ Moralez sneered. ‘You little punk…’
Whack! He punched Jason in the gut, the blow sudden and strong. Jason buckled over - winded - but remained standing.
He swallowed.
Raised his head.
Looked Moralez right in the eye. Baited him again.
‘You…hit…like a girl,’ he said grimly.
Two more lightning-quick blows from Moralez dropped Jason to his knees.
Moralez moved in.
‘Enough!’ Prince Xavier’s voice echoed from the top of the darkened stairwell.
Moralez rubbed his knuckles as he stepped away from Jason. ‘You forgot what I told you when we arrived here: you never know what kinds of accidents can happen in a place like this. See ya round, Chaser.’
Jason just stared up at the silhouette that was Xavier Xonora. ‘Next time, Xonora,’ he said, ‘take us on where it counts. On the track.’
The shadow made no reply.
Then as quickly as they had appeared, the bigger boys left, melting away into the darkness, and Jason and the Bug were alone in the stairwell.
The Bug rushed to Jason’s side, tears in his eyes, put his arms around his brother.
Jason sat up, touched his nose. ‘Ow.’
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