by Rhine, Scott
Steve blurted a few colorful obscenities. “Good enough? Ethan, you came out of nowhere to finish in the top ten on every ranking that counts. This is your first race. There were people out there who’ve been in this business since it started who would kill to finish this well. Fourth is no shame, my friend.”
I put on half a smile for him. “Yeah, I guess. But we came so close.”
“It’s not over till the fat lady sings,” Steve reminded me.
“Speaking as a frequent guest singer at sporting events, I’d thank you to rein in your stereotypes,” Josie Valencia warned, standing behind her new beau.
“You like reins?” Steve bantered.
“Only if I get to use the riding crop,” she retorted.
Steve grimaced. “You got me.”
“Not yet,” Josie said wistfully. “But we’ll see. Anything exciting happening in the next few minutes?”
I shook my head. “No, we go live in less than five. Then we stop and wait.”
“Good. I’m going to freshen up for the winners circle pictures,” said Miss Valencia. She gave Steve a peck on the cheek before twirling and sauntering back to the bedroom.
“Whew,” Steve said. “Good things come in little packages.”
“That reminds me,” I said, tossing him the room key from my shirt pocket. “Here’s my key to the room. You’ve already got Mare’s. It’s yours till tomorrow at eleven. We had to get a handicapped room.”
At first he was taken aback, but I suppose after he considered that his sister couldn’t be safer from me, and Miss Valencia was already ensconced in this suite, he said, “Thanks.”
The resumption of the race was almost an anticlimax when it came. Mare pulled over and Nigel conversed with the cops over his head set. Steve and I plotted the fastest course to the finish line. We would continue to follow the hover-way after we checked in at the Brandenburg Gate, and skip the historic district altogether. We’d miss a test, but make a net profit on time. Miss Valencia came back out at this moment, dressed in my Snap-On jumpsuit.
“I’m glad somebody can use it,” I said.
“Sorry, I told her she could,” Steve apologized.
“I understand. Mare will need to change eventually, too. Thirty seconds till launch.”
“You know what your problem is?” Josie asked me, continuing before I could hazard a guess. “Your company doesn’t have a logo.”
“I guess I could keep using that black Egyptian Scarab beetle I’ve been using during the convention. We haven’t thought about any of that yet,” I answered, keeping an eye on my watch and the screen.
She wrinkled her nose. “That may look cool to people up north, but down here, it just reminds people of a big roach.”
Once the EU patrolman finished his inspection, I started getting messages about violations. I set up a script to feed them to Nigel’s fax machine where I would get to them later. Steve asked her, “What do you suggest instead?”
“I did a little research on the net, and there are a dozen types of gorgeous scarabs, Costa Rican gold, chromium, rainbow. They look like jewelry. I have a friend who does album covers who would be glad to work up some samples for you,” Josie offered, just a little too conveniently. I stared at her for a moment, unsure if she was sincere or Matsumura was offering me a consolation prize for bowing out early.
“Later,” I growled impatiently. As soon as the TRANSMISSION COMPLETED message chimed, I shouted “Go!” to Mare.
Nigel guided her down the main drag at ever-increasing speed. I must have faded for a minute, because the next thing I knew, we were coming up on the arch. I watched the view from the laptop screen. “Gently,” I coached. “This is the last check-point in the race. All we have to do is pass through the arch. Don’t even slow down much. Once we’re on the other side, we hop the bicycle racks, or whatever they have there to stop traffic, and head back out here as fast as we can.”
After passing through the arch, we were caught between two solid walls of buildings. Each store front was built flush against the next, with the rare alleys barely two meters wide. The whole street was decorated in motifs over a hundred years old, a well-designed, old-world, tourist trap. We wouldn’t be able to jump right back on the hover-way as expected. “Keep going straight. Stay under seventy, the cobblestones don’t look safe. Plan B, anyone?”
Virtual pedestrians cheered our progress, and I heard strains of John Phillips Sousa from somewhere to celebrate our arrival. “Up ahead, there’s a fountain,” announced Steve. “Turn right there, and then we can get back on the fast road.”
Following Steve’s lead, we found the source of the music in a rude fashion. We turned right and a high school band had set up bleachers smack in the center of the side street. There was just barely enough room over the percussion section for us to squeeze through. “Keep banking, over the drums, and then we’re clear!”
“We’ll hit someone!” she countered.
“It’s not real. And they’re in the road, making them fair game for paint balls.” I opened fire on the corner of the bleachers, widening the opening by a few feet. The simulation wasn’t very good here. The blue paint from the pellets looked more like black. Nobody dove for cover, and the tubas shattered like rock vases. I stopped firing when I flashed back to the lobby. We knocked over a street sign in passing. The frontal armor took the brunt, barely scuffing the bumper. “Clear,” I said weakly.
Nigel got her back to the expressway only seconds behind our original schedule. “Faster. This is the last straightaway. Show them what we’re made of.”
Steve saw me slumping and whispered “Are you gonna make it, chief?”
I nodded. Only minutes remained till victory. I could will myself alert for that long.
“I didn’t want to distract you earlier,” Steve told me in somber tones. “But the Japanese team just finished.”
I didn’t share this with the rest of the team, but kept them focused on the next hurdle. “The next test is on the bridge over the Spree River. I don’t know what it is. There’s no legend on the test, just a grid number, so be ready for anything,” I told Mare.
As soon as we entered the test region, going full speed, our overhead displays vanished, the directional readings, and most of our dash controls went dead. Mare recognized the symptom at once. “We’re satellite blind! Is it an attack, or did we just pass into an inactive grid?”
Nigel struggled with the maps. “I’m looking. The Russian satellite coverage begins in Poland. We’re awfully close to the border. The grids might overlap, but they shouldn’t black out entirely.”
“Steer by visuals till we get this cleared up,” I said, typing frantically on the laptop.
“I’m trying, but the road splits three ways up ahead. Which way do I go?”
“Left,” shouted Nigel. “I’ve been here before. Only a few kilometers to go. We’ll be able to see the complex on our right once we hit the suburbs. I’ll tell you when we get to the exit. We could fly the rest of the way with our eyes closed.”
At the laptop, I had access to the test files as well as satellite reconnaissance. I wrestled with the ethical dilemma. I had to know if we were under enemy crosshairs, and I wasn’t changing the interface. No one here wanted to lose after coming this close. However, I also knew no one here would want to win by cheating. I closed the lid on the laptop to bar myself from the temptation.
“Think,” I ordered. “No radar lock. No jamming. Are we getting any signal?”
Mare wanted to nod, but that would have thrown off her eye controls. “Yes, but it’s almost entirely flat.”
I beat my head on the cool table top, trying to get the answer. Nigel interrupted. “I don’t recognize this neighborhood any more. It was eight years ago, and the visibility is low. It’s getting foggy. We’ll have to slow to almost nothing without NavSat input.”
“Two signals overlapping?” I asked. “Could they be out of phase with each other?”
Nigel grunted. “The Russians a
re notoriously bad with European conventions, almost as bad as the US.”
“Destructive interference! They’re canceling each other out. Mare, turn off auto-tracking on the satellite. Click on the compass icon and have it switch to the built-in accelerometers. They’re not perfect, but they should be enough to get us to the arena,” I explained.
To pass the tense moments in the fog, I asked Josie, “So why does your painter friend want to help me?”
Josie shrugged. “He loves bugs. He’s an entomologist.”
“Don’t you mean etymologist,” Steve said.
“That’s someone who studies the roots of words,” said Nigel as if everyone knew.
“Ick, that’s gross,” I joked.
“Could I get some quiet?” Mare snapped. “This fog is rough, even with partial Nav assist.”
Soon, the colossal sports complex loomed before us on the screen. Neon arrows led us to the parking ramp. As we crossed the threshold, the wear and maintenance snapshot of our vehicle was taken. “The finish line is on the seventh floor, at the top of this garage. Take it as fast as you can. This is the slalom test. The attitude stabilizers were built for this. Override collision avoidance if you have to, just don’t build up enough delta v that we go out a window.” After this, one more test remained. It was also unlabeled.
“Delta v?” asked Nigel.
“Change in velocity, it’s a fighter jock term,” Steve supplied in a whisper. Nigel started to ask what fighter jock meant, but everyone shushed him.
Mare took the curves like a demon. I clenched the sides of my wheelchair. ESPN put us on a live feed. We had the second fastest time going up to the roof. With the smallest remaining vehicle, only the Japanese team had beaten us by taking the elevator. Just as we crested the final ramp, bright flashes of light exploded around us. It was the final test, a joke really. Photographers tried to blind us, but the tinting filtered the glare enough to enable Mare to stop cleanly in the winner’s circle. A digital photo of the Ghedra appeared on our screen along with our final score.
Despite the loud uproar and celebration that followed, I fell asleep in my chair and missed the press conference.
Chapter 31 – Banned
“Rise and shine, sleepy head,” Mare said gently Monday morning at nine. “I’ve been up for two hours packing and getting ready. We’re supposed to be out of here by eleven.” Still groggy, I noticed her hair was down now, and she was wearing a silk blouse. My blanket was teal. Last time I remembered, I had an orange blanket. The bedroom door had changed sides as well. The steel rail on the wall leading to the bathroom told me we were in the new suite.
“I must have fallen asleep. How did things go last night?” I asked.
“I didn’t go to the party; I was tucking some tired, little boy into bed.” She smiled involuntarily. “But there are FCC agents everywhere this morning taking notes and looking for violations. They’ve slapped classified labels on several game records and vehicle logs, ours among them. I tried to tell them the horses are already gone, but they’re welding the barn doors closed anyway. Did you want a bath this morning?”
Mare wheeled me into the bathroom. I took one look at the sling and crane apparatus and declined. It reminded me of a witch torturing device I had once seen in Salem. I did, however, shave, brush my teeth, and let Miss Anselm wash my hair in the sink. After this and the bacon and egg breakfast she had prepared, I felt human again. Against my wishes, I had another pill with my orange juice. Once I had obeyed her nursing instructions, she said, “Now for the surprises.”
First, she handed me a sports page plastered with race results. We had indeed taken fourth, fifth, and sixth in the purely individual racing portion of the competition. We had been ranked fourteenth for kills, and third for style. For overall design, Ghedra rated a disappointing eighteenth in our class. The other racers awarded us the title of Miss Congeniality, and the judges voted us number one survivable. DeClerk was the only company to bring the entire team back alive and with all its original pieces. That endorsement alone would sell vehicles for North Ameri-Car and Porsche. We also took fifth place in the team competition, for a total SimCon monetary reward of $395,000. Nigel assured me yesterday that the sum could be placed in trust for a year until we resolved my current financial woes. After paying off the entry fee, bodyguards, doctors, taxes, and giving my team mates a bonus of 10 percent each, I would have about a hundred and fifty grand left.
“You and I will have to start house hunting soon, now that we have a down-payment,” I muttered.
She glanced down, “Isn’t that a little premature? I mean, we haven’t even set the date yet.”
I shrugged, conscious of how the sling interfered with my body language. “With your three week vacation, and us being this close to Vegas, I’d do it today.” There was nothing wrong with Mare’s body language. She definitely didn’t want a Vegas wedding. I sighed and continued as if it were my own idea, “But then I wouldn’t get to see you in your Grandma’s dress.”
Her face lit up again, and she gave me a hug. I’m glad I hadn’t added that part about the pelvis bruise putting a damper on the honeymoon. “June it is then,” she agreed, as if I had a choice in the matter. Just tell me what to wear and when to show up.
“What are those other papers?” I asked, seeing the odd assortment clutched in her hand.
“Oh, there was more. This is the printout of all the problems that have to be corrected before we can sell in Europe. See number fifty-seven? I told you tampering with those regulators would get you in trouble.”
The list was five pages long. I was crushed. I thought I had a tight design. “Good God, has North Ameri-Car seen this?”
“No, seal of evidence, classified, and all that. Nigel says you can work it out with them later as a consultant. They’re only leasing the patents remember?” She gave me a typed list with about two hundred names. “This is the list of engineers who want to work for DeClerk. I gave the list of other support personnel and technicians to Nigel. I thought you might want to look over their resumes and screen some of these guys by phone.”
Next, she handed me the front page section of the local paper. In the lower center portion of the page, the headline read “Scarab Lives!” It had a picture of me in my Horus costume before Kali blew it to feathers, and the article summarized what little the media knew about my pitiful life and my accomplishments at the convention.
I drifted a little, but not because of the medicine this time. I snorted at the picture. “A hawk, how appropriate. Did I ever tell you I used to dream of flying?”
She smoothed my hair back with her hand. “Well, now you can.”
I grabbed her hand and held it. “I’ve spent half of my life imitating those around me in order to fit in. Now, I feel like I was robbed of those years. I shouldn’t sound so bitter. There were good things in those years, too. You were the best.” She melted to the floor beside me. “A job as a mechanic with my family history was an invitation to arthritis. Sam knew that, which is probably why he promoted me to head mechanic so fast.”
Mare interrupted me to say, “Sam didn’t do that out of pity. You’re good at what you do, an incredibly fast learner, and the cheapest worker he ever had. I’ve seen you fix vehicles they don’t even have the manuals out for yet and put them back together better than they started.”
I waved the five page violation list over my head. “But I don’t have the skills for manufacturing. Look at this mess of problems in Ghedra. I’m sure the other tests found even more. I don’t know the trade-offs. I learned at this convention that I’m not a real designer. And that’s what I wanted to be. That’s why I came here.”
Mare stared me right in the eye and told me, “But you have new ideas. These people are starved for them. Paper clips and safety pins are things we take for granted now, but someone had to invent them. What could you possibly regret about this weekend?”
I never got to blow the hull armor or use the bi-directional firing trick. But I�
��m glad I never needed the gimmicks. Besides, it gave the FCC two less things to put a security seal on. “Aside from getting shot, you mean?” I asked. I might have made it to third place without Kali, but without the narrowed playing field, I might never have reached the top ten. I knew in the pit of my stomach that I’d never get this close to number one again.
Mare was doing her best to encourage me, but I still sulked. “I feel like Cinderella the morning after, but I managed to keep both of my shoes. Now that this race is over, what do I do? With all these new contracts and people, Foxworthy could run the company without me. Up till now, I’ve only been reacting to life. Now that I have a breather, I’m lost. I have no goals left.”
“It might seem like it, but we don’t live for goals, Ethan. Life is what you’re doing while you’re waiting.” Someone knocked on the door. She smiled mysteriously. “Meanwhile, we have a plane to catch. I’ll go check out and get a bellhop for the rest of the bags, and you hold this.” Mare handed me a notebook binder full of different cards and calligraphy styles. “Wedding invitations for you to look over on the plane ride home. But don’t start looking at them yet, because someone out there wants to talk to you. He warned me that he’d be up after breakfast.”
Mare let in a thin, grandfatherly gentleman dressed in a black wool suit and a bolo tie. She whispered something in his ear as she stepped out. I recognized the shirt he was wearing as Egyptian linen. I complimented him on it and said, “Ethan Hayes. I have a shirt just like it, but it kind of got ruined this weekend.”
“Jairus Sanders,” he said, shaking my hand. I felt my grip go limp. He was the founder of SimCon. We chatted briefly and I told him how much I respected him and what his consortium was doing.