Tracked

by Jenny Martin

  “Are you insane?” Hank asks the guard. “All this for a girl breaking curfew?”

  “Hey, they called us in.” The DP is quick to shift the blame. He points a finger at Benroyal’s guards. “Said she broke a contract clause and that they might need some help to bring her in.”

  Even though it’s not fixed on me, James’s sneer is a little terrifying. “Well, aren’t you something, Miss Vanguard. You stay out half an hour past curfew and apparently, it takes six grown men and two armored squads to fetch you and bring you back home.” Again, he turns on the DP commander. “Who authorized this . . . constellation of sheer recklessness and stupidity?”

  One of the guards owns up, meekly raising his palm.

  “Does Mr. Benroyal know about this?”

  “No, but we have standing orders to make sure she doesn’t go out after her curfew.”

  “Then pray I don’t regale him with the details.” James pivots. “Hank, flex me this imbecile’s contract number. The rest of you jokers say good night and pack it in, before I call Mr. Benroyal and tell him you very nearly damaged one of his most valuable assets, inviting a full-scale riot in the process.”

  No one’s said anything about the stolen flex or what I saw in Benroyal’s study. I sway as the waves of adrenaline panic ebb. They aren’t here to silence me. I think. I hope.

  There’s a long string of “yes, sirs” and half-hearted apologies before James waves everyone off. I give in to the collective exhale as the neighbors retreat. Hal and Mary approach, but James steps between us.

  “Please return to your apartment, Mr. and Mrs. Larssen.” He pretends it’s a request. “I’ll send someone to replace your door, and I promise no further harm will come to you.”

  “What about Phee?” Mary asks.

  “I’ll see her back to the Spire.”

  I shudder.

  He turns and makes his way toward the Onyx, confident I’ll follow. I look back at Hal and Mary.

  “Good night,” I tell them at last. “Take care.”

  We speed away and I collapse. The driver’s screen is up, and Hank drives us past empty blitz ball courts and dim warehouses and trailing flex banners that blink with share prices and circuit odds. Cash’s image appears. It’s a handsome shot of him at a circuit event, but a tabloid headline’s splashed over it, ruining his smolder.

  I hardly recognize myself when my picture flashes next to his. It’s from today’s press conference, and a close-up of our team logo links Cash and me. I close my eyes until Benroyal’s lion is out of sight.

  I don’t know why King Charlie has me on such a tight leash, but this has been the longest rusting night of my life. My lids twitch and my whole body burns with exhaustion. Like an overspent fuel cell, I’m scorched and drained. James can stare and fuss at me all he wants—I’ve got nothing left to give.

  “You can thank Cash,” James says. “If he hadn’t guessed where you bolted, I might not have been able to intervene in time. Let’s not mention the fact that you defied me outright. I told you to stay put and you didn’t. I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t found you. No one’s saying you can’t go out, but you can’t break curfew like that again, Phee. Next time, take an escort.”

  I sigh. “I’m not an ‘asset.’”

  “Yes, you are. To Benroyal, everything and everyone is either an asset or an obstacle. And you’re one of his most important holdings now.” He thrusts an oversized flex into my face. “Read it. Look what they’re saying about you. Phoenix Vanguard: Racing’s New Rebel, Circuit Renegade, Applause for Sucker Punch.”

  A cold and oily nausea slithers through me as the words sink in, even as I fight the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Inside me, there’s a space that craves this approval, but swallowing it whole, it all goes down so wrong.

  James must sense I’ve reached my limit. He pulls the flex away. “You’re not just some street rat anymore. Be careful, Phee. That’s all I’m asking. Why did you run off like that?”

  I can’t tell him the truth. James might’ve saved me this time, but I can’t forget he’s King Charlie’s right-hand man.

  “Grace Yamada. I ran into her. She led me outside and told me to get some fresh air. So I did.”

  “You’ve been talking to Grace?” he barks. “Tell me you haven’t been talking to Grace Yamada.”

  “Stop bugging out. She helped me get out of the Spire and I caught a cab. She was nice.”

  James sighs and pinches his forehead. “Grace Yamada is a lot of things, but she is not nice. Furthermore, you cannot just follow her out of the Spire, breaking your curfew every time you feel like it.” There’s real fear in his eyes now. All this scolding is just a smokescreen.

  “Why do you care so much? What’s your play?”

  “This isn’t a game. I need you to lay low and stay out of trouble. It’s crucial you do your job and do it well. I need you to win.”

  “Sure.” I turn away, resting my head against the window glass. I’m too tired to make a fist or roll my eyes or even raise my voice. “Shut up and drive. I get it. Your bet’s on me. I need to score high so you can rake in the shares.”

  “You think you know everything? You see through me so well? You can’t even begin to grasp everything that’s at play and how high the stakes are for me right now. I am not the villain, Phee. Maybe I’m the one person who’s not. I’m trying to protect you.”

  “Protect me? Why should I trust you, Mr. Locus Informatics? I’m nothing but Benroyal’s property to you. Something you can use.”

  “You are my concern, Phee.” James pulls off his frames and the mask slips—I catch the pinch of weariness and alarm. “You’ll just have to get used to that.”

  “Then convince me you’re really not the villain here. You act like Benroyal’s errand boy, playing fetch for the biggest lying Sixer on Castra.”

  “You think I like taking orders from that—” James cuts himself off, but I’m not fooled. Even his quietest voice presses like a blade against the throat. “While Charles Benroyal’s great-grandfather was peddling tear gas and stun sticks, mine was collapsing the space between stars. My family built Locus to bridge gaps. To move information from one world to another. We pioneered interstellar communication, flex tech, infinite data highways. You think I’ve enjoyed watching Benroyal dismantle the heart and soul of my company, turning Locus into just another cog in his machine?”

  “Then why don’t you stop him?”

  “Four minutes. My sister is four minutes older than I am. The firstborn heir. That gives her fifty-one percent of Locus, and leaves me with forty-nine. Which makes it all too easy for Benroyal to declare his pretty little wife incompetent, take control of her shares, and twist Locus into whatever he wants. My family’s company became a rent-a-judge, insta-trial punchline, and I had to stand by and watch. Think you hate King Charlie?” he says through his teeth. “You don’t know the meaning . . . No one wants to take him down more than I do. And right now, I’d say that makes me the best friend you’ve got.”

  “Some friend. The kind who offers prison or the Spire.”

  “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Spare me your act. You don’t—”

  “Once word got out that Tommy Van Zant’s daughter was winning on the streets, it was over and done.” He pauses. “Your father was the greatest driver the circuit has ever seen. People loved him like no other, Phee. Benroyal knows that’s in your blood.”

  My hands are shaking, but I can’t bear to tell James how much it burns to hear my father’s name. “Don’t tell me about my—”

  “Your father was more than a driver for Locus. He was a good man. I couldn’t stop Benroyal from forcing you to sign with him, but I’ll do what I can to protect you. I owe Tommy that much.”

  “Your company, your family used him,” I spit. “I don’t know how yo
u did it, whether it was the pressure or the contract or your stupid rules, but somehow it was enough to break him. Because of Locus, my dad walked away from me, from everything, fell off the face of the planet . . . Or maybe he didn’t walk away at all. Maybe you erased him.”

  “No, Phee. I would never . . .” The look on his face—the accusation cut him to the heart.

  But it doesn’t matter that I believe him. I can’t stop myself anymore. I can’t resist dealing someone else a taste of the pain. “Oh, you’re so sorry now. My father is gone, and now you feel so rusting guilty. Yet you want me to be grateful, that you would finally remember his poor orphaned daughter. Thank you for looking out for me. Thank you so much for the life sentence.”

  He looks away. “Hate me. Go ahead. I’m not blameless. But if you want to stay alive long enough to outlast Benroyal, you need to listen to me. Stay out of trouble. Live by his rules and do whatever he asks until I tell you otherwise.”

  I don’t answer. I’m caught like a dune bird, tangled up in the poacher’s snare. Tell what I’ve seen, and I’m dead. Play along, and I might as well be. “Let’s say I shut up and drive. Be a good robot. Do everything you ask. How does that do anything but win for Benroyal?”

  “You’re not the only one who hates him. You think people like me, like Grace Yamada, are going to sit around and wait for the day Benroyal either eliminates us, or folds us all into his own private empire? There are plans in motion. Not all of us are as evil as you think.”

  “Right. I’m supposed to blindly trust you, even when I’m pretty sure this has nothing to do with protecting me, and everything to do with protecting your precious company. I do as you say, but of course, you only tell me what you think I need to know, which is basically nothing. Is that it? How’s that work?”

  “It works like this: Show me you’re more than a reckless, foolish, careless girl and then we’ll talk. Perhaps I cannot trust you.”

  We are silent all the way back to the Spire.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The morning after my midnight field trip, there’s no inquisition, no mention of breaking curfew. An early wake-up call is my only punishment. If Benroyal knows what I saw last night, he’s sure not letting on.

  Even so, for most of the morning, I watch my back like I’m in custody again. It doesn’t help that Bear’s still gone, and I don’t loosen up at all until I arrive at Benroyal HQ for practice. For Hal and Mary’s sake, there’s nothing to do now but stay silent and play my part with gritted teeth. James would be so pleased.

  But I won’t stay silent for long. Maybe I can’t tell James the truth, but there might be one man I can reach. I look over the guest list for tomorrow’s exhibition race and trace my finger over his title. Esteemed Chamberman Toby Abasi.

  If the Larssens taught me anything, it’s that a vote for most Chamber or Assembly members is nothing more than a vote for one corporation over another. But if there’s anyone with enough power who hasn’t been bought, it’s Abasi. If I can get to him, I’m almost certain he’d help me stop Benroyal.

  After the exhibition, we’ve got a handful of days until our first official race. I know this, because about every twenty minutes or so, Goose walks by me and Dev and Gil and Banjo and everyone else on our crew to remind us.

  The hangar is buzzing. Everyone is anxious to start running speed trials and simulations, and at ten a.m. or so, Gil tells me my rig is ready for practice.

  It feels too good to jump in again. After I strap in and pull on my helmet, I wait for Cash’s voice to come over the headset. In an open-air booth, he’s high above the track, ready to scout for me. For the first time, he’ll be my pacer.

  All morning, Cash and I have been playing a stupid game of let’s-avoid-each-other-and-pretend-nothing-happened-last-night. It’s awkward and dumb, and neither of us is very good at it.

  He rumbles through my headset. “You ready for this?”

  “Thanks for ratting me out last night.” Even as the words come, I curse myself. It’s a false and selfish play, goading him just so I can hear his voice.

  But he is silent. Either he’s scorched, or he knows how ridiculous I really am. One minute I’m trash-talking him, the next I’m all over him like he’s never been kissed before. Even now, a part of me wants to blurt out an apology and tell him how much just seeing him sends a twitchy rush of feel-good chemicals into every cell of my body, but it’s a safe bet that there are other members of our crew listening in.

  And after the way I acted last night, I’m pretty sure he’s washed his hands of me anyway.

  Through the headset, I hear him clear his throat. “Okay, once you start your engine, the simulation will begin. You’ll have about thirty seconds to pull into pole position before the race starts. You’re going to see a sap-load of extra visuals, not just your virtual controls. Through your visor, you’ll see a lot of other rigs, cars that aren’t really there, even an occasional pileup or caution flag.”

  “Got it. I’m supposed to pretend this is real and work my way around them.”

  “Yeah, but we’re not just going for speed, Phee. This is about strategy and precision. I’ll watch for target markers on the track surface. When I tell you there’s an arrow flashing on a particular position on the track, you’ll need to adjust your route. Just like in a real race, you’ll pick up extra points running over those markers.”

  I think the holographic markers are lame, but that’s how the circuit is run, so I can’t argue. If I were in charge, I’d make every rally strictly a free-for-all. Who cares about points? To me, the only thing that matters is who finishes first and who sucks exhaust.

  “Still with me?” Cash says.

  “Yeah. I’m with you.” Already, my blood is pumping. I’m ready to tear up this track.

  “Good. Pay attention to what the rig is telling you too, okay?”

  Gil’s voice cuts in. “Cash is right, Phee. The goal is to hit it as hard as you can without blowing out your tank, your engine, or your tires. If you need to pit, say so and we’ll set you up. I listen in most of the time, but Cash can also relay your feedback, so we can figure out when to bring you in and when to keep you running. You ready, spitfire girl?”

  It seems Goose’s term of endearment for me has gotten around. “Yes, sir. Absolutely.”

  “Let’s fire it up, then.”

  And so it begins. After switching on the hyper screens, I punch the ignition, roll out, and wait for the first green flag to fall. When it does, I pick up speed and make the first turn. I’m off to a pretty good start and just when I think I’ve got this down, I get sucked into the second turn magnetic wall. I have to burn my first fuel trigger to launch away and I end up smashing into an imaginary car in the process. If this had been a real race, I’d have knocked both our rigs sideways.

  “You’ve got speed, Phee,” Gil coaches me. “But that isn’t always what wins the race. You’re going to have to learn when to rein it in or the other cars are going to gang up and force you into the wall every time. Right now, Cash isn’t saying much. He’s letting you get a feel for the track. But trust me, girl, soon enough he’s going to start giving you what for.”

  “I’m here,” Cash says. “When you need me, I’ll read the pace and help you through the rough stuff.”

  I could get all huffy about the way they’re babying me, but I’m not completely witless. Every member of the circuit team serves a purpose. Rallies and races aren’t just won behind the wheel; they’re won by a whole crew of tire haulers and mechanics and grunts, out front and behind the pit wall. It’s my job to run like hell, but it’s also my job now to listen and learn.

  I speed up until everything outside the track blurs into nothing more than streaks of color. After I rack up more laps, Cash starts to coach more, and we pick up target points right and left.

  Bear and I always won out by exploiting our opposite strengths. Foresight and r
eflex, channeled together. He found the safest routes, and I found a way to tear through them. But with Cash, it’s different. Not a second of caution between us. His instincts mirror mine so closely, it’s rusting scary. We’re syncing up like we’re wired, his impulses sending a charge through my limbs. The matchup brings an incredible rush, but there’s also a warning whisper in my blood. So alike, we must share the same blind spots.

  Just when it looks like I’ll take the lead, the simulation throws an obstacle my way. Two virtual cars smash across the other side of the track. A yellow caution flag blinks through my visor. Now would be a great time to pit and not lose any ground.

  “You’re fine on fuel, but how’s she running?” Gil asks. “We need to make any adjustments?”

  There’s not much to complain about; this thing runs like a dream. “It’s still a little tight, but maybe I’m just used to my Talon.”

  A third crew member cuts in. “Phee’s got that reckless streak, she likes it loose around the turns. Maybe adjust the spring rate?”

  I’d recognize that voice anywhere, especially through my headset. “Bear! You’re here!”

  “Uh-huh.”

  This race is over, at least for me. Foot to the floor, I ignore the caution flag and bullet around the backstretch, only to slam on the brakes once I get close enough to pit road. After swerving and roaring to a stop by my rig’s designated stall, I punch the release on my six-point and jump out of the car.

  Bear’s standing behind the pit wall with the rest of my crew, so I toss off my helmet and climb over. Once I scramble to the other side, I tackle him. I can tell he’s glad to see me, but also horrified at my heart-stopping finish. I look back and see there are only a few inches between the car and the pit wall—I nearly slammed into it.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurt out to Gil, who’s clearly close to a heart attack thanks to my careless stop. “I’m just—”

  “Glad to see you too.” Bear touches my cheek, then squeezes me tight. He’s wearing his old clothes and when I take in a deep breath, I smell Mary’s kitchen. It’s enough to overpower even the stench of my sweat-soaked gear. The scent of burned buttered toast makes me want to cry. I’m reminded once more of the life I’ve signed away.