Racers: Apollo's Story

by Tyler Tognetti

  Racers: Apollo's Story

  Racers: Apollo's Story

  Before the Race

  Midpoint

  Tyler Tognetti

  Apollo’s story

  by

  T. L. Tognetti

  Before the Race

  “I can’t work with him anymore!” Apollo shouted to his coach. “He screwed both of us, how can you even stand the thought of him, let alone want him to race on the team?!” Apollo stormed off to release some degree of his anger. His coach, Mr. Gourami, just stood there. It seemed history did indeed have a way of repeating itself. Here he was, standing in the team hangar by the Racers with apparently no hope of winning the mythical Tabula Rasa. He looked on in the direction that his best pilot just went to quit the racing life, or so he supposed.

  The Gourami Team was hardly considered ‘professional’ as far as racing went, so should they not make an appearance in the race most spectators would see it as merely the consequence of not being invested in their sport and not ready to handle such a mission. The latter part was questionable, but there was no doubt that at least Apollo and Mr. Gourami had invested everything they had into racing. Apollo’s teammate in question, Casey, had recently demonstrated that his priorities may have been elsewhere.

  The old man stood there, confounded by what happened to his team. He looked to the two beautiful Racers. He thought about them. Sleek machines built for only one purpose - competition. Slowly, Mr. Gourami walked over to Apollo’s bright red car. The glossy bodywork was beautiful to behold. It reflected the strip lights on the ceiling of the hangar. The frame of the car sat so low to the ground that he couldn’t slide his foot underneath it. His eyes followed the curves and edges of the Racer, jumping from the fat tires to the immense spoiler on the back. Tears threatened to disrupt Mr. Gourami’s admiration as he thought about his time on the Circuits.

  Roughly thirty years ago, during the year 2020, he had been preparing himself in the very same place he was now – the Tabula Rasa team quarters. He remembered how exhilarating it was to even be invited to such a race, let alone compete for the podium. “Please let me go back,” he whispered to himself as he stood next to the red Racer. He longed for the chance to pilot again. Every day since his wreck he’d imagined what he would do differently should he be given the chance to race again. But it was all in vain. He knew he was too old. He knew that his delicate body probably wouldn’t be able to endure the physics of the world’s most dangerous sport. His time was over. But that didn’t mean his new team had to be over.

  Mr. Gourami realized he could redeem himself from his own failure in the Tabula Rasa if he could pull his team together now and do what they had trained to do. After all, it was his name printed on the spoilers of the two speed machines. He was the coach and it was his team. The old man cleared his eyes and his throat, looked up from Apollo’s car and back at the door that his best driver had rampaged out of only minutes ago. Not this time.

  Mr. Gourami straightened up his back and began with renewed ambition to look for Apollo and bring him back.

  Apollo was furious. He had worked so hard to get to where he was now. For a while he had even thought they had a real chance at winning this thing. He had been so glad that Casey was able to join him and be on his team. The two had grown up together since early childhood, neither one having ever known their own parents. The War of Nuclear Progression saw to that. Apollo always thought of Casey as a brother, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  During the last three years that Apollo and Casey had been working as a racing team, minor personal problems seemed to develop into insurmountable obstructions in their relationship. Apollo knew Casey was always the life of the party. Casey loved living on the edge which could explain his natural abilities behind the wheel. It’s what made him such a tough pilot to compete against. Lately, however, he had been losing control. Parties became higher priority than training. Girls were placed above technique. Even drinking had taken its place in the podium of Casey’s life.

  Apollo thought about all this. He thought about all the successful races they drove together. He wondered how it was that, after all they’d been through together, his best friend could ditch him for fleeting pleasures. Feelings of anger, frustration and betrayal flooded Apollo’s heart.

  After his explosive argument with Mr. Gourami, Apollo had rushed out of the team hangar and sought solitude in the trailer that transported the Racers. It was the day of the Tabula Rasa, the most grueling and dangerous race that pilots could undertake. Already he could see thousands of spectators were lining up to be granted entrance to the grand-stands. He sat in the open door of the trailer, taking in his surroundings. Surveying the landscape, he could see each of the competitor’s hangars and trailers, with them making final preparations and tuning their cars. His teammate, however, was nowhere to be found. Casey had run off with Mr. Gourami’s daughter, Janica, the day before. The old coach and Apollo had tried to intervene in Casey’s habits, attempting to get him to refocus on the task at hand. Janica’s own anger against her father, however, drove her to do anything possible to destroy his team. So far, it seemed, she had been successful.

  “Apollo!” he heard a familiar voice calling to him, “Apollo!” He knew it was the coach he had just stormed out on, but he wasn’t ready to have another encounter with him. So he sat there, feigning obliviousness. “Apollo, listen to me,” said Mr. Gourami as he arrived at the trailer, exasperated and out of breath, “You may think you’re the only one that got betrayed here, but you aren’t. I’ve put my soul into this team and my own daughter is trying to tear it apart. She is my family, my actual blood family. So don’t go off and throw a childish tantrum like the world’s against only you.” Apollo looked up, surprised by the commanding tone in the old man’s voice. Sure he was the coach but he was never the drill sergeant type.

  “What do you want me to do? If I go out on the Grid by myself I’ll get eaten alive, you know that. Solo pilots don’t tend to do very well when every other team has two racers on the course. The way I see it, I can’t compete so I may as well do what every other failed racer does and cry about it.” Instantly Apollo wished he could suck in the words he had just spoken. Although he hadn’t meant what he said to be a jab against Mr. Gourami’s racing career he knew that’s how it sounded.

  “Well, I’m truly sorry to hear that, Apollo. I honestly thought you were one of the best. I’ve never seen so much natural talent in this sport before, but I guess I was wrong. Commitment and drive are what set pilots apart from other drivers, so it looks like you’ll end up as just another driver.” The old man began to turn to walk away. Apollo sat there, once again surprised at his coach’s newfound confidence.

  “Coach… wait.” Apollo stood up from where he’d been sitting. “You know I wanna win this race more than anything. It’s just that we’ve talked about doing it for the last three years and we’re finally here, but can’t compete. You put Casey on the team roster even though he’s not even here. And without a teammate there’s no way I’ll even place, let alone win. I don’t know why I agreed to come here. I knew he wouldn’t be here.”

  “You agreed to accept the Tabula Rasa invitation because you believed you could win.”

  “No, I accepted it because I didn’t want to disappoint you. I knew a long time ago when Casey started ditching training that we weren’t gonna make it here. I accepted to show you I was fully committed, but this morning when I saw that you registered Casey to race too, I felt like even you turned against me. You never told me you wanted him to be here, as well.”

  “So what? You thought we brought Casey’s car just for looks?”

  “No… I just thought it was here because we had to take it out of the trail
er before mine. I didn’t realize you intended for it to be driven.”

  “Oh, Apollo. You know I love you two boys like you’re my own sons. We’ve always been a team, ever since you guys broke into my house.” The two gave a small, emotional chuckle at the inside joke. “But being on a team means you never give up on each other. You guys have been through hell together, so I get that you feel betrayed. But what better way to honor your friendship and the sport than by running this race by yourself? I mean think about it.” Apollo stood there, looking at his coach. It is true that the three of them had become quite close during their short career as a team. It was also true that he wanted nothing more than to win this race because if he did, he would instantly break all sorts of records and become a racing legend. Having grown up homeless with Casey, there would be no better definition of overcoming all odds. Apollo’s life would be used as an example of why never to give up on your dreams. The Racer Hall of Fame would become his new home.

  “Fine, I’ll race.”

  The Race

  Back in the small team hangar they’d been given to use as home base during the Tabula Rasa event, Mr. Gourami and Apollo set about making preparations. They’d lost a lot of vital time that morning arguing about their personal issues and now were rushed to get ready for the race.

  The Race. The Tabula Rasa was considered the grandfather track of racing. It was, by far, the most dangerous and the best at wrecking careers than any other track in any of the Three Circuits. Its fatality rates were so high that each year protesters spent millions of dollars trying to shut it down. However, its problem was also its saving grace. People looked forward to the Tabula Rasa more than they used to with the Super Bowl because of its violent nature. The mayhem. It seemed the United States populace had grown tired of the traditional sports and wanted something more satisfying. For the pilots themselves the Tabula Rasa served as the crown jewel of motor racing. It was the ultimate challenge, the one that if conquered would bring the conqueror into a world of honor, respect. and fame. Because the title held so much weight in the racing community, participants were allowed entry only by invitation. The Board of Racer’s Qualifications, or BRQ, were in command of certain aspects of racing including points, grid spots, and certain invitational races. The hardest decision they had to make each year was who to invite to this illustrious event.

  This year, the BRQ did something they’d never done before – extended an invitation to a Novice. You see, the pilots of the Racer cars were categorized into three levels; Novice, 2nd Class, and 1st Class. This system helped determine which races the contestants would be allowed to compete in. Up until now, the Tabula Rasa had been reserved for 2nd and 1st Class pilots. However, Team Gourami was still in the Novice class. They were the first Novice team to ever be given an invitation.

  Mr. Gourami and Apollo knew this. They knew this was a once in a life time opportunity, which is why there was so much gravity to their current situation. Teams always have two pilots on the course at any given time for various strategic purposes. Since Team Gourami’s obvious disadvantage was due to recklessness by one of their pilots, it made the experience even more sour for the old coach and remaining pilot.

  One by one Apollo checked things off the inspection list. These Racers were complicated machines. A good race meant getting the right combination of dozens of variables; suspension stiffness, camber and caster of the wheels, brakes, tire pressure, tire composition and many others. Fortunately, the Tabula Rasa was located in the Nevada desert and the weather that particular day was dry and warm, not likely to change. This meant consistent conditions throughout the duration of the race. Apollo selected the tires he wanted put on the car, and plugged in his laptop to the OBD III port under the steering wheel. Ever since the development of the Variable Control System, racing took on a whole new meaning, as the System would allow the user to adjust certain aspects of the Racer’s onboard computer. This meant pilots could be more responsible for their style of racing. It also made things more complicated.

  “Hey Coach, I’m downloading the desert race parameters now, so we should be ready to go in about three minutes.”

  “Perfect. What about wing adjustment? I know that’s hard to figure out ‘cause you’ve never been here before, but there’s enough straights on this course that it needs to be looked at.”

  “What do you recommend?”

  “Well, the grid starts you out with about a half mile straight, then it gets nasty after that. I’d suggest setting the wing to third position, that way you get a lot of downforce on that half mile but it’ll take less time to retract once you enter the turns. Go too far up and the lag in the wing could throw your cornering off.”

  Apollo thought for a second, then nodded in agreement. He knew his 0-150mph rate would suffer a little bit, probably even reach up past 1.5 seconds. The advantage he’d get on entering the first corner might be worth it, though.

  The two remaining members of the Gourami team worked together on Apollo’s Racer, tweaking this and adjusting that. As part of the challenge of the Tabula Rasa none of the drivers were allowed to drive practice laps. The only method of obtaining experience for this track was to return year after year, remembering what worked well and what didn’t.

  Finally, the parameter download completed itself and, almost simultaneously, the thirty-minute grid bell rang. Only thirty minutes till grid line up. Apollo stood and looked at his coach who returned his gaze. Things got quiet as they realized the scale of what they were about to attempt. Here they were, a Novice team that was invited to participate in the most dangerous race in the history of the sport. Apollo would be working solo, no teammate to screen him or back him up in sticky situations. He’d never run this track before, and his coach had never been able to actually finish the race, either. For the first time in a long time, Apollo was nervous.

  The sudden realization of what was coming must’ve shown on Apollo’s face, because the old coach walked over to him and put an arm around him. “You’ll do great, kid.” The coach said. “You’ve already set one record just by being here, nobody else out on that grid will know what to do with you. The element of surprise is gonna be your best friend out there.”

  Apollo looked to his coach, “Let’s do this thing.” They nodded in affirmation and Apollo walked over to the garage door and hit the button. Bright, orange colored light suddenly filled the garage as the door slowly ascended, revealing the deadly track. Apollo looked around the tarmac to see the other pilots guiding their Racers to the starting grid. Men and women in racing suits, largely ignoring one another in an attempt to appear immune to the immensity of the next few hours. Apollo was in his own bright red suit, standing there thinking about his competition. These were experienced pilots. He’d been in the sport for three years, two short of the five-year requirement to even be considered for 2nd Class. He was the only Novice here. That meant everyone else there had at least two more years of Racer experience than he did. The odds were not in his favor.

  Behind him Mr. Gourami looked on as well, admiring the ambition of his student. They’d met roughly three years ago when Apollo and Casey had been trying to rob his house. They were homeless at the time, looking for ways to survive. Mr. Gourami had offered them shelter and took them under his wing. They soon discovered his past with the Racer sport and begged him to teach them. Being fairly well off, Mr. Gourami had agreed to both train and sponsor them. Three years later, here he was with his best student at the most respected and honored competition in the sport. Pride filled his heart, being the reason a small smile now resided on his face. Needing to be confident for his pupil, Mr. Gourami put a hand on Apollo’s shoulder, “You’re gonna do great things, kid. No matter what happens, I know your parents would be proud of you. I know I am.” Apollo turned to face his coach with tears welling up in his eyes. A small “Thank you” was all he could manage.

  “Now let’s do this!” yelled Mr. Gourami, determined to get Apollo’s adrenaline flowing.

 
; “Yes sir!” Apollo returned the favor. He walked back in the garage and hopped into the sleek Racer. He slid his legs in the narrow space in front of the seat. He settled down in the stiff leather, both shoulders rubbing against either side of the cockpit. The Racer had been designed with the old Formula One styling in mind, but this was far more advanced. Active suspension made the large tires impervious to cracks and potholes, tight four-wheel steering and torque vectoring combined with state-of-the-art aerodynamics meant 100 degree turns could be run at speeds of over 150mph.

  Mr. Gourami handed Apollo his helmet, which he promptly set in his lap. Apollo turned the computer on, hearing the primer motors whirring and watching the screen above the wheel activate. All sorts of stats and numbers blinked and appeared on the screen. Bluetooth connection between the car and helmet was established, letting the car tell Apollo real-time numbers on the helmet’s HUD. “Priming Complete” the words flashed across the screen. Apollo looked up one last time to his beloved coach, regretting now the argument they’d had earlier. Mr. Gourami was the closest thing Apollo ever had to a father, and didn’t want that relationship tainted. The Coach returned the look, smiled, and put his own communications headset on. Apollo put his helmet on, double checking for correct settings. They checked for communication between their two headsets. Finally, it was time to activate the Racer.

  Apollo looked down to the right side of the steering column. There rested the gold colored fingerprint sensing ‘start’ button. The Racer had been customized specifically for Apollo’s body and brainwave functions. Only his finger print and heat signature could start the onboard nuclear reactor. Nothin’ for it, man. Just hit the button and get out on that grid. His finger made contact with the button, initiating a reaction that can only be described as beautiful. A whining noise pierced the air and the vehicle came to life. Suddenly the strips of plasma-light that wrapped around the bodywork lit up, making it look like a rolling aurora. A humming sound began emanating from behind the driver’s seat where the fusion reactor sat. It was running perfectly. There was now an available 2,340 horsepower sitting at Apollo’s disposal. No generation of motor racing had ever come close to using that much power, but the War of Nuclear Progression, the war that made Apollo and Casey homeless and parentless, resulted in nuclear power being made widely available for nearly any application. The pilot thought about the irony of the situation. The same technology responsible for ruining his family and childhood years ago had become his ticket to redemption.