Hover Car Racer

by Matthew Reilly

  ‘Hey! Jason!’

  Jason turned and saw Ariel Piper - looking absolutely sensational in a figure-hugging silver gown - coming toward him.

  ‘My, don’t you clean up well…’ Ariel said, eyeing Jason’s tux. ‘Although not as well as your dashing little navigator here,’ she winked sexily at the Bug, who flushed bright pink.

  ‘I thought you ran a great race yesterday, Jason,’ she said. ‘Gutsy stuff skipping your last stop.’

  ‘I had to win,’ Jason said simply.

  ‘And so do I in the first round tomorrow, buddy,’ Ariel said. ‘What is it they say: There are no friends on the track. I’m not going to cut you any slack tomorrow, Jason. I just wanted you to know that.’

  Jason nodded. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be racing as hard as I can, too.’

  ‘So we’ll still be friends afterward?’ Ariel said, genuinely concerned. And as he saw the look on her face, Jason realised that Ariel Piper had probably lost friends in the past after beating them in hover car races.

  He smiled at her. ‘Sure.’ Then he added mischievously: ‘Of course, that’s assuming you’re not too devastated when I beat you.’

  Ariel broke out in a wide grin. ‘Oh, you cheeky little man! I’ll see you out on the track!’

  And with that she danced off to her table.

  Jason and his team went to theirs.

  Scott Syracuse was already seated there when they arrived.

  ‘Hello Jason, Henry, Bug,’ Syracuse said, standing. ‘A tad different from our dinner last night?’

  ‘Just a bit,’ Henry Chaser said. A simple hard-working man, he was a little intimidated by the wealth and power on show that night. It made him awkward, unsure of how to act in such company. ‘Somehow, I don’t think they’ll be serving takeaway burgers here.’

  ‘If that is what you want, then that is what we shall have!’ an Italian voice boomed from behind him.

  Henry, Jason and the Bug all whirled around.

  Standing behind them was an absolute bear of a man dressed in an expensive dinner suit that struggled to contain his enormous belly. His wobbly jowls were covered by a black beard that was impeccably trimmed.

  Jason recognised the man instantly, and his jaw involuntarily dropped.

  ‘Umberto Lombardi,’ Syracuse said, ‘allow me to introduce to you Jason Chaser, his father Henry, and his brother and navigator, the Bug.’

  Syracuse turned to Jason. ‘Umberto is an old friend of mine and when we met earlier, I asked him if he would stop by our table later in the evening, but he insisted on joining us for the whole dinner.’

  Jason was still gobsmacked.

  Umberto Lombardi was the billionaire owner of the Lombardi Racing Team, one of the few privately owned pro racing teams.

  Lombardi was an Italian property developer who’d made his fortune with the outrageously successful ‘Venice II’ project. When he’d proposed the idea of rebuilding Venice fifty miles to the east of the original city - an exact replica, complete with crystal-clear chlorinated canals - and equipping it with ultra-modern apartments, he had been laughed off as a lunatic. But as the development proceeded and people saw Lombardi’s vision take its wonderful form, the apartments quickly sold out - mainly to playboy race car drivers and the rich and famous of Europe.

  Venice II became the hottest address in the world. Venice III quickly followed - where else, but at Venice Beach, California - and then came Venice IV, V and VI.

  But Lombardi’s passion was hover car racing, and this larger-than-life fellow had become the pleasant oddity of the racing world. Even when his team came dead last in the championship, he still happily threw money at it. He was known as a finder of new talent - talent which was quickly poached by the big-paying manufacturer teams.

  ‘You know,’ Lombardi boomed, taking his seat between Jason and Henry Chaser, ‘these gala dinners can be so stuffy sometimes. Caviar, truffles, fois gras. Bah! Honestly, sometimes all I want is a good hearty cheeseburger!’ He nudged Jason with his elbow. ‘Don’t worry, my young friend. If the food stinks, we’ll get some pizza delivered. That’ll give these social parasites something to gossip about at their next dinner party.’

  Jason smiled. He liked Umberto Lombardi.

  It was then that Lombardi - giant loud Umberto Lombardi - saw the Bug sitting on the other side of Jason, eyes wide, almost cowering behind his brother.

  ‘And who do we have here?’ Lombardi boomed, delighted. ‘My, you are a little fellow to be flying around in an aerial bullet…’

  From that moment on, the Gala Dinner went swimmingly.

  The night went quickly for Jason.

  Umberto Lombardi was the best dinner companion he’d ever encountered. The man talked about racing and building property developments, meeting movie stars and even how he’d been the first person to give Scott Syracuse a start in the pros.

  But if nothing else, Jason learned that night that hover car racing wasn’t just done on the track. The business of racing was done at dinners like this.

  Jean-Pierre LeClerq made a speech, flanked by banners covered with the logos of all the School’s sponsors. And Jason realised what sponsorship was all about - recognition. As LeClerq was doing now in front of some of the most influential people in the world, you always mentioned your sponsors.

  After the speeches were over, the diners spread out around the room.

  At one point, as Jason left his table to go to the men’s room, he saw Ariel Piper standing at the bar, looking beautiful in her sleek silver dress - but also looking very awkward, seemingly trapped there by a tall guy in his twenties with slicked-back hair and a pointed hawkish nose. The bow tie of his expensive tux was loosened, and he was stroking Ariel’s chin slowly with his index finger.

  ‘Hey Ariel,’ Jason came over. ‘How’s it going? Hi,’ he said to the man in the tux. It took Jason a moment to realise that he knew who this fellow was - he was Fabian, the infamous French hover car racer.

  ‘Jason, please - ‘ Ariel said.

  ‘Beat it, kid,’ Fabian snarled. ‘Can’t you see we’re busy here.’ His French-accented voice was slurred, drunk.

  Fabian turned back to Ariel. ‘Like I said, there could be opportunities in the racing world for a girl of your…er, talents. That is, of course, if you play your cards right. Consider my offer, and maybe I’ll see you later.’

  And with that, he placed something in Ariel’s hand and left.

  Jason couldn’t be sure what it was, but it looked like a hotel room cardkey.

  Then he looked at Ariel: she was gripping the room key tightly in her fist and staring off after Fabian, as if she was making a big decision. Jason watched as a peculiar series of emotions crossed her face - calculation, revulsion, and ambition.

  ‘Ariel. Are you okay?’ he asked, concerned.

  Ariel continued to gaze after Fabian. He had left the dining room now, in the direction of the elevators.

  ‘Jason,’ she said, still looking away. ‘You’re a nice guy and a good kid. But there are some things about the world you don’t understand yet.’

  And gripping the room key, she strode off after Fabian.

  Jason could only watch her go.

  ‘I understand more than you know,’ he said to the empty air behind her.

  At 10:30, Jason and the Bug took their leave of Umberto Lombardi and Scott Syracuse.

  It was time to get to bed.

  They had to race tomorrow.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  There was tension in the air as dawn came to Hobart on the day of the Sponsors’ Tournament.

  The rising sun glinted off a gigantic temporary structure that dominated the city.

  It took the shape of a massive figure-8, with a single-walled lane wide enough for two hover cars snaking its way around it. This ‘racelane’ had walls of clear reinforced Plexiglass bounding it on either side and was open to the sky like a rat maze.

  One section of the figure-8 cut through the canyons of Hobart’s skyscrapers, whi
le the main body of the track extended out over Storm Bay, where it was surrounded by immense grandstands, floodlight towers and, today, an ESPN television blimp. In fact, today there were TV cameras everywhere, as the tournament was to be broadcast on racing channels around the world.

  The crowds had come out in force: 250,000 people in the stands alone, while experienced locals watched the city section of the track from rooftops and open office windows.

  Jason, the Bug and Sally arrived in Pit Lane at 7:30 a.m. to see the area bustling with activity. Jason noticed right away that quite a few of the other teams wore brand-new team uniforms, their cars and even their racing boots spit-polished for their big day in front of the international sponsors.

  And suddenly Jason felt self-conscious in his race clothes: his old denim overalls, workboots and his battle-scarred motorcycle helmet.

  His father was supposed to be with them - he had wanted to experience the tension of Pit Lane with his boys - but at the last moment, Martha had stopped him, saying she needed him to help her with the strange project that had kept her locked away in her caravan the past day and a half.

  The tension in the air was palpable.

  This was no ordinary day’s racing at the Race School. There was more than Championship Points at stake here.

  Careers could be made or lost today.

  Then Jason saw Ariel in her pit bay and he waved. She saw him, but didn’t return the gesture. Nor did she look him in the eye.

  At 8:45 a.m., a televised ceremony in Pit Lane saw the drawing of the race order. Each first-round race was given a number and Jean-Pierre LeClerq drew the numbers out of a hat.

  The first race of the day would be…

  Chaser, Jason v Piper, Ariel.

  Their race was scheduled to start at 9:30 a.m., but before it was to take place, at 9 o’clock, there was scheduled a ‘Parade of Racers’ in front of the main VIP Grandstand, situated on the Start-Finish Line. And as he looked at the slickly-uniformed teams around him, suddenly Jason didn’t feel like being ‘presented’ to the assembled sponsors in his old denims.

  But he had no choice.

  And so the Parade of Racers went ahead and he stood there in front of the world, flanked by flags and banners and with the TV blimp soaring in the sky above him, in his crappy denims…and he had never felt more embarrassed in his life. He hated every minute of it.

  Then, mercifully, the parade ended, the crowd roared, and the track was cleared for the first race of the day.

  Sally prepped the Argonaut and the Tarantula.

  The Bug worked on pit schedule strategies - in between peering fearfully out at the packed grandstands outside.

  Jason just sat on his own, centering himself, preparing to race.

  The clock ticked over to 9:20 and a loudspeaker boomed with the Race Director’s voice: ‘Would racers Chaser and Piper please take their positions on the track! Five minutes to racetime…’

  Jason got to his feet - just as his parents, both of them, ran into the pit area, his mother calling, ‘Jason! Doodlebug! Wait!’

  She carried a large laundry bag in her hands. Breathless, she arrived at Team Argonaut‘s pit bay.

  ‘Mum!’ Jason said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get them done sooner,’ Martha Chaser said, still puffing. She opened the laundry bag - - to reveal a beautiful set of leather racing uniforms. Blue. Silver. And white. The colours of the Argonaut.

  They were full-body uniforms, with the gloves and racing boots seamlessly attached. And the design was cool. Mainly white, it looked as if the wearer of the uniform had dipped his arms and legs in blue paint - and as a nice touch, the blue sections were edged with sparkling silver. Each bore the number ‘55’ on the left-hand shoulder.

  There was one uniform for Jason.

  A smaller one for the Bug.

  And a third one…for Sally McDuff.

  Martha handed Sally hers: ‘I made sure yours has a little extra support in the chest, dear.’

  And then Henry Chaser pulled out his surprise: two medium-sized boxes with ‘SHOEI‘ written on the outside.

  ‘No way…’ Jason said.

  He opened his box, and extracted from it a brand-new navy-blue Shoei racing helmet.

  The Bug also got one, although his was white. And since she didn’t need a helmet, Sally got a blue baseball cap with ‘Argonaut 55‘ embroidered on it.

  Martha said, ‘After I watched you all win together on Thursday, the only thing I could think of was: what a great team. But every great team needs to look like one. So I got some material, bought some race car magazines to check the current styles, and spent the last day and a half determined to make you look like a team.’

  Jason gave her a big hug. So did the Bug. ‘Thanks, Mum!’

  ‘Come on, boys,’ Henry Chaser said. ‘Better get into those suits! You’ve got a race to win.’

  A few minutes later, Team Argonaut strode out onto the track, into the sunshine, in front of the roaring crowd, dressed in their spanking new racesuits, Shoei helmets dangling from their hands, eyes fixed, game faces on.

  Ariel Piper’s team were already on the track, waiting beside the Pied Piper.

  ‘What is this? The Right Stuff? Armageddon?’ Ariel’s navigator said wryly.

  Jason nodded to Ariel as he slid into the cockpit of the Argonaut.

  ‘No friends on the track, Jason,’ Ariel said.

  ‘Whatever you say, Ariel.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  RACE 1:

  CHASER V PIPER

  The two hover cars sat side-by-side on the grid, the Argonaut on the left, the Pied Piper on the right.

  From his cockpit, all Jason could see was the wide glass-like corridor of Plexiglass stretching away from him before it banked steeply to the left into the forest of city buildings.

  And then - tone, tone, ping - the start lights went green and the two cars shot off the mark and the crowds in the stands roared.

  Two cars.

  One enclosed track.

  Hyperfast speeds.

  Flashing sunshine.

  Blurring walls.

  The Argonaut and the Pied Piper banked and swerved as they rushed like a pair of bullets around the track, ducking and swooping and missing each other by inches as they jockeyed for position.

  Out of the corner of his eye on his right side, Jason glimpsed the red-and-white nose of the Pied Piper shooting around the track alongside him.

  After five quick laps, there was nothing in it.

  After ten, they were still side-by-side.

  Jason’s concentration was hyper-intense, eyeing the speed-blurred track whizzing by him.

  Round and round they went, zipping over and under the figure-8 track, at some times side-by-side, at others on each other’s heels, swapping the lead but never by more than a couple of car lengths.

  The crowd was captivated.

  And then suddenly like a horse throwing a shoe, Jason unexpectedly lost a magneto drive and although more than anything he didn’t want to pit first, he peeled off into the pits.

  Ariel stayed on the track, shooting off on the next 30-second lap.

  The crowd gasped.

  Jason had 30 seconds.

  He hit the pit bay. The Tarantula descended.

  7 seconds…8…

  The Pied Piper zoomed through the city section.

  New mags went on. A splash of coolant.

  The Pied Piper zoomed over the cross-over of the figure-eight.

  13 seconds…14 seconds.

  ‘Sally…!’

  ‘Almost done…okay! Go!’

  And Sally cut short the stop and the Tarantula withdrew into the ceiling and Jason hit the gas and blasted out of the pits just as Ariel came screaming round the final turn, hard on the Argonaut‘s heels - now only several car-lengths behind it!

  This was classic match-racing, the part of the race known as the ‘chase phase’.

  The Pied Piper (no pit stops) was hammering on t
he tail of the Argonaut (one stop), chasing it down. If Jason made even the slightest mistake and Ariel got her nose a millimetre ahead of him, it was race over.

  And it only had to be a single millimetre - microchips attached to nosewings of both cars would start screaming as soon as they detected one car to be a lap ahead of the other.

  Jason had to hold Ariel off until she was forced to pit.

  But she didn’t pit.

  She just kept chasing him.

  Charging after him.

  Hunting him down, taking each banking turn perfectly, gaining with each lap. Hauling him in metre by brutal metre.

  After one lap, she was two car-lengths behind the Argonaut.

  After two: one car-length.

  And after three laps, she had crept inside a car-length!

  It was relentless. Ariel was throwing everything at him, taking every turn cleanly, searching for a way past him, giving him the race of her life.

  On the fourth such lap, Jason’s lead became half a car length.

  Hold your nerve…he told himself. Hold your nerve…

  Five laps. Most chase phases ended around the fifth lap, with either the pursuer pitting, or the runner crashing out.

  Six laps.

  And Ariel came alongside him!

  She’s trying to force you into an error.

  Seven laps.

  Now it was side-by-side racing!

  Jason kept his eyes fixed forward - if he dared to look sideways, he imagined he could see Ariel’s eyes inside her racing helmet.

  Eight laps, and the crowd rose to their feet.

  Eight laps! Jason’s mind screamed. How long is she going to keep this up? When is she going to pit!

  Then on the ninth lap of the chase, he saw the Pied Piper‘s red-and-white nosewing creep into his peripheral vision.

  No! She’s gonna take me!