She kept counting as the jaws crashed together with a mechanical screech. Each bite was louder than the last: the howl of hydraulics, the terrible din of impact. Once they clashed, twice, the third time deafening as the jaws met right in front of the Interceptor’s nose. Just for an instant, Shiara thought she’d gotten it wrong, that they were too fast, they’d hit the gate and their world would come to a dead black stop. But the jaws parted and they shot through, and it was on to the next thing without a moment’s respite.
Now the track split, one way looping up into a high overpass, the other staying level and bending away right. The racers ahead of them took the rightmost route. Shiara told Cassica to take the other. It was vital to force the Wreckers to make a decision. They needed to shake them off.
Her plan half worked. Hotwire split right, searching for less troublesome prey, but Slick stuck with them, following them onto the overpass.
Shiara cursed under her breath. She looked in her mirror and saw him, a dark face in a dark car, eyes hidden behind shades, black hair pressed close to his skull and gleaming with grease. He was hunched inside an oilcoat, its collar turned up high.
“You got an idea to get rid of him, now’s the time,” said Cassica.
Slick’s turbos boomed and he raced up behind them. His car was all about speed; they couldn’t hope to beat him on open track. He wanted to get ahead of them so he could use the oil sprayer mounted on his rear. Cassica tried to hold him back, but he darted and probed till he surged up alongside them.
He looked at them out of his window, eyes blanked by reflective shades. He grinned, showing white teeth crowded like tombstones. Then he gunned his his turbos again and surged forward.
“Don’t,” said Shiara as she saw Cassica’s thumb straying toward the turbo stud on the wheel.
“We can’t let him get in front!”
“We need those turbos.”
They’d used them too much already just by fighting to keep up. The pace and skill of their opponents had been a surprise; the racers here were much better than the racers in the Outer Leagues. Shiara fiddled with the settings on the dash, trying to eke out extra speed.
A screen blurred past; she saw their names. Still fifth. Fifth place, and they were nearing the end of the race. It wasn’t enough.
“So what do we do?” Cassica cried as she maneuvered away from Slick, to make sure she wasn’t caught directly behind him.
“Magnet trap ahead,” said Shiara.
“What good does that do us?”
“He’s got to let off his turbos before he uses the oil,” said Shiara. “He’ll set fire to himself otherwise.” It was something Shiara had deduced from studying old tapes and reading up on their opponents. A tech’s job was to give their driver any advantage they could.
“So?” Cassica demanded, but then her face cleared as she saw what Shiara meant.
“Can you do it?” Shiara asked her.
“Just count me up to the magnet trap,” Cassica replied, settling herself again.
“Thirty seconds, more or less,” Shiara replied without thinking. She’d be more accurate as they neared.
Cassica slid over to the left of the track. Slick was ahead of them now, burning turbos in order to get enough distance to deploy his weapon. Shiara’s heart punched at her ribs as they sped up the overpass, the city falling away to either side. If they hit oil at the speed they were going, they’d surely crash and likely not survive it.
The narrow line of the space elevator was a string of stars leading upward forever. The roar of the crowds, the lights flashing past, the engine thundering at her back, all of it sank into the background of Shiara’s mind. The only thing she could do was keep the count. It was Cassica against the Wrecker now, and Cassica was waiting, waiting, trying to divine her opponent’s mind. A battle of timing and nerve.
“Twenty seconds,” said Shiara. The magnet trap was visible in the distance: a long row of enormous metal disks on either side of the track, with massive machines of pipes and wires behind them. Cassica was over on the far left of the track, and Slick was drifting across in front of them. Shiara’s eyes fixed on the flames licking from Slick’s exhausts. He was taxing his turbos hard and would soon burn all his fuel; but then, Wreckers didn’t need to win races. They didn’t even count in the race order. They were just there to cause mayhem.
“Fifteen.”
The flames from Slick’s exhaust went out. Cassica threw the Interceptor to the right and thumbed the turbos just as black jets of oil spewed from the rear of the Wrecker’s car.
She cut it fine. The Interceptor’s wheel touched the edge of the oil spray, squealed, and threatened to slip; but then rubber bit and they surged forward, swinging right across the track. Slick was taken by surprise; he swung to the right to cut them off, but in his alarm he turned too hard and had to brake in panic to avoid a skid. They shot past him, striking sparks off his front right fender, and sped into the alley of huge electromagnets that pressed close on either side of the track.
“Yeah!” Cassica cried, but Shiara just glanced in her mirror.
“Not over yet,” she said.
Slick had regained control and engaged his turbos. His car was fragile, but so very fast. He had the best engine in the race.
“Keep on the turbos!” Shiara said, because it was all or nothing now. They’d pay for it later, but if Slick got ahead of them before they reached the end of the magnet trap, they were done.
The Interceptor shuddered and howled as the temperature gauge rose into the red. The world was a blur of speed and wind. But still Slick crept closer.
“Trigger! Far right!” Shiara called. By good fortune, they were already on that side of the track. Cassica saw the pressure plate in the road, placed at the end of the alley of electromagnets, and she ran the Interceptor right over it.
The effect was immediate: a hum like the drone of a swarm of bees. The very air seemed to shake and warp in their mirrors. Behind them, Slick was caught in between the rows of powerful electromagnets that had suddenly activated. His car slewed left and right, wheels smoking and screeching, pulled this way and that by immense forces. He fought it as long as he could, but one of his axles broke and the car slumped down on its nose. It skidded along the tarmac, shedding metal until it ground to a halt against the side of the track.
By then the Interceptor was already out of sight, over the hump of the overpass, plunging down toward the finish.
Shiara yelled for joy and Cassica whooped as they tore along the track. They’d taken down a Wrecker! The crowd seemed louder, frenzied with cheering.
They passed a screen showing Slick running away from his vehicle, the flash of an explosion knocking him flat as the oil tanks went up. There in the corner was the race order, and there were their names in third place.
“We’re in third!” Cassica cried in disbelief. “We’re ahead of the others!”
“That, or Hotwire got ’em,” said Shiara grimly. She glanced at her dash. “Lay off the turbos. We’re too hot.”
Cassica didn’t respond with her usual speed. She wanted to win. Wanted to win so bad.
“We’re too hot,” Shiara said again, more gently. Because you couldn’t argue with physics, and they were about to hit the safety cutoff point.
Cassica disengaged the turbos. They had a little fuel left, but they likely wouldn’t get time to use it all before the end of the race, because the turbos couldn’t cool fast enough. That would leave them short on the final straight. They just had to hope that the other racers hadn’t saved their turbos, or third place might quickly become fifth again.
One more obstacle before the end. A choke point, where the track narrowed until it was barely wider than a single car.
The overpass curved down, joining the track a short distance before the choke point. As they approached, they saw another racer speeding up from the other way: a white car with blue spoilers, a Cobratech logo on the hood. Shiara knew that car and its driver. Linty Maxxon, the fr
esh-faced, friendly girl Shiara had met at the press junket. She felt an absurd stab of guilt: she’d meant to call on her, but in the preparations for the race it had entirely slipped her mind.
Hotwire was some way behind Linty, too far back to be a threat. There were two other racers ahead, slipping through the choke point one after the other. In second place was Sammis, the boy who’d spoken to them in the garage earlier. His broad, kindly face appeared in her mind, and she found herself oddly glad to see him make it through.
The Interceptor slid onto the track in front of Linty. Linty saw them coming and activated her turbos. Cassica hit the turbos too. The temperature gauge had barely dipped out of the red; now it crawled upward again. They’d get a few seconds out of it, but not much more.
“Take off the safety,” Cassica said. She’d joked about it in practice, but this time it didn’t sound like a joke.
“Don’t be stupid,” Shiara replied.
“They always set it way too low. We can get another thirty seconds’ burn!”
“Yeah, and every second makes it more likely you’ll explode your engine. They set it low so damn fools like you don’t blow ’emselves up and take their techs with ’em!”
Ahead, the walls of the track pinched together. Linty was close on their tail, riding up their slipstream.
“Do it!” Cassica demanded.
“I ain’t doin’ it!” Shiara shouted back. It was dawning on her that Cassica really did mean to take that risk, that she would if she could. She’d gamble with their lives just to keep them ahead.
Cassica shot her a blazing glare, but Shiara was unmoved. She sat back from the dash, held her hands up. “I ain’t!” Then there was a buzz from the dash, the safety limiter kicked in, and the turbos cut out.
The Interceptor’s speedometer began to come down steadily now the extra thrust was gone. Cassica switched her attention to the mirrors. Linty, still under full turbo, began catching up with them, slowly at first and then faster as they slowed.
“She’s gaining on us!” Cassica yelled angrily.
Shiara searched for a solution but came up empty. There was no way to get more speed. The choke point was too far away; it would be close, but Linty would overtake them and nip in ahead. With the advantage of turbos, she was too fast to block off.
Shiara gripped her hands together in frustration as Linty’s engine grew louder, drowning out the Interceptor’s. Should she have listened to Cassica? When they were old women in Coppermouth looking back on their lives, would they remember this as the moment they missed their chance to make it? The moment Shiara didn’t dare?
She watched helplessly as the car drew up to them. Linty was in the cockpit, her face creased with a determined frown, her tech yelling encouragement at her. The choke point was coming up fast, but not fast enough. Linty moved on, almost past them now.
Then the world lurched as Cassica swung the Interceptor sideways, into Linty’s car.
It only took a nudge in the right place to send a car fishtailing when it was under full turbo. Cassica gave her more than a nudge. The crash threw Shiara against her harness, whipped her head against her shoulder. Shreds of fender spun up in the air; Linty’s spoiler tore free. The Interceptor rebounded, shaken like a rag in a dog’s mouth as Cassica fought the skid. Through the meshed windshield, Shiara saw Linty’s broken tail end slewing wildly across the track, turbos still lit.
Linty smashed into the side of the track where it narrowed. Metal panels punched in with a dull crunch; car parts exploded outward and a wheel rolled away. Shiara only had time to see the moment of impact before Linty’s vehicle was obscured by the wall, as Cassica steered their swerving car through the choke point and out the other side. Ahead of them was a short straight to the finish line. The crowds cheered wildly and Cassica screamed in raw-throated triumph.
But Shiara didn’t care about the finish line. She was staring in the mirror at what they’d left behind. Beyond the choke point, she could still see the wheel rolling and bouncing down the track. The world had suddenly become very small and very cold.
“Where’s Harlan?” Cassica cried in the chaos that followed. “He should be part of this!”
When she got no reply, she turned around, to find Shiara had disappeared too. Cassica looked through the press of bodies that surrounded her but saw no sign of Shiara.
She didn’t give it another thought. She was too caught up in all the congratulations to let it trouble her. The pits had been invaded by well-wishers and fans; security men struggled to keep them out. Strangers pressed around her, clapping her back, grinning.
The Widowmaker! They were going to the Widowmaker!
Camera flashes went off all around her. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. The adulation warmed her like fire: everyone’s eyes were on her, and it felt right. She saw herself on screens around the pits, a live feed from the cameramen that were struggling to get to her.
Where was Harlan, anyway? Strange that he hadn’t been there to meet them after they won. He was never far off when there was an opportunity for publicity.
Sammis pushed through the crowd to her side and shook her hand warmly. “Well done! Looks like I’ll see you in the Widowmaker!”
“Thanks. Good race yourself.”
He frowned, craned his head, and looked around. “So where’s Shiara?” he said with a forced casualness that made his real intentions obvious.
“Was kinda wondering that myself,” she said.
He seemed disappointed, but he made an oh well kind of noise, congratulated her again, and headed off into the crowd once more. Cassica smiled to herself.
She shook more hands, accepted more compliments, but she soon began to feel slightly uneasy. She had a niggling sense that Shiara should be here to take her share; it took the edge off her mood. So she slipped off through the crowd and went to look for her.
Shiara was on the edge of the pit area, next to the track, standing with her arms crossed over her belly as if holding herself. She had the skill of being invisible in crowds, and nobody was paying attention to her. She was watching the activity on the track, where fire crews and paramedics hurried about, dealing with wrecks, ferrying in casualties from farther up the track.
Cassica called her name as she walked up behind her, but Shiara didn’t hear. Her attention was fixed on a gurney that was being wheeled toward the open doors of an ambulance. Lying on the gurney, her head in a brace and her face bruised almost past recognition, was Linty Maxxon.
“Hoy,” said Cassica softly and laid a hand on her arm.
Shiara jumped at her touch, spun around, and glared at her with such fury that Cassica was momentarily frightened.
“Don’t touch me,” Shiara said in a tone Cassica had never heard before. Then she stalked away, out onto the track, leaving Cassica gaping, shocked, offended. Uncomprehending.
What was that about? They’d won, hadn’t they? Shouldn’t she be happy?
“Miss Hayle!”
The voice came from behind her. A newsie was making his way over to her, with a camerawoman in tow. “Miss Hayle! What a race! A word for our viewers?”
Cassica looked back at Shiara, still walking away. She should go after her, that was what she should do. But the camera was on her now, and it would look bad for both of them. She could imagine how the news shows would devour the footage of an argument.
So she put Shiara from her mind and put on a smile. “An interview?” she said. “It’d be my pleasure.”
Harlan didn’t show that night. Not after the crowds had gone, not after the pits closed and the corridors emptied and everything went eerily quiet in the racers’ compound. Shiara was nowhere to be found either.
After two hours of interviews with newsies and radio jocks, Cassica was exhausted from smiling. Later, people started coming to her with questions she couldn’t answer. Where was the Interceptor going to? Who was signing for the tow crew? Who should sponsors’ representatives be talking to and how could they get in tou
ch?
She floundered and sent them elsewhere. Harlan handled the business side of things; Cassica and Shiara only had to turn up and they’d find their car waiting, passes that would whisk them through security, ushers to guide them everywhere. She had no idea what went on among the army of people who toiled behind the scenes: construction workers, riggers, runners, bureaucrats, television crews, safety crews, security staff, and more and more. Her job was just to drive.
Most people had packed up and gone home, and she was hunting around empty corridors when Anderos Cleff found her.
“Hello there, miss. Can’t help noticin’ you seem a little lost.”
“I don’t know where the hell Harlan’s got to, that’s why!” she cried; then she caught herself and held up a hand in apology. “I’m sorry. Mr. Cleff, right? I just had people after me all night for stuff he should know about, and he ain’t here.”
Anderos looked sympathetic. “Why don’t I get one of my people to drive you home? You shouldn’t oughta be dealing with this. I’ll take care of your car and such.”
Cassica hesitated at that: it seemed wrong. This was Harlan’s territory, and there was something suspicious about letting a rival manager near their car. But by then she was too stressed to care, and she just wanted to be done with the night. Her victory had been spoiled by Shiara’s attitude and Harlan’s absence.
“That’s kind, Mr. Cleff,” she said. “I’ll take you up on that.”
Anderos led her to a glass-fronted VIP box overlooking the finish line, where a party had recently ended. Staff were cleaning up glasses and plates, and the last guests were leaving. Anderos caught one of his retinue and instructed him to take Cassica back to her hotel.
As she was escorted away, Cassica wondered if Kyren Bane had been here among the revelers tonight, whether he’d seen her cross the finish line. It gave her a nasty sense of triumph. You won’t ignore me next time.
When she got back to her room, she found Shiara already there, asleep. Cassica wanted to wake her up, but she still hurt from that last look Shiara had given her, so she went to bed instead.