Julian’s grinning. “I wasn’t sure they’d go for it, but congratulations on the promotion.”
“It wasn’t even a discussion,” Graham says into his palms before dropping them to his chest. “I told them what you said, that you’d only get back in the seat this season if you trusted the person in charge, and someone said, ‘Well, he trustsyou,’ and then everyone else was agreeing, and oh mygodsI am so not qualified for this.”
Julian leans over enough to pat his hands while Maki and Amira cackle. “You’re gonna do great, kid.”
—
“That was quitea show.”
Clarke cracks an eye open. She’s in an individual room in the medics’ ship, foot in a healing pod, and Atreus Skordi is at the door. “Why are you here?”
He stays where he is, leaning against the jamb. “I think I may have been wrong about you. You have some potential after all.”
Clarke hates that there’s a part of her that lights up, but she hasn’t been able to fully reconcile her admiration of Atreus due to him being a powerful, successful leader in her sport with the jerk she’s come to realize he is on a personal level. She keeps the reaction internal, at least. “Thank you.”
He’s unbothered by her flat affect. “I’d like to offer you the secondary seat at Provenance for next year.”
…Not where she thought he was going with this. Her brain shouts conflicting reactions, a gut instinct to take the job versus a strong desire to tell him to go to hell. Atreus may just be Yves in a different skin, but it’sProvenance. Clarke could win at Provenance. Clarke could—
Well, no.Clarkewouldn’t win. The team might, and Delphinemight, but Clarke would be the secondary. And she stands by what she said to Atreus at Hanoi press: Provenance’s engineering has plateaued. They’re not pushing the limits for the joy of pushing them, they’re just trying to stay ahead of the competition.
She remembers a few other things: how Atreus looked at her when she dared to defy him in front of cameras, and Julian saying he all but admitted he thinks colony kids like Julian belong under his thumb.
Clarke turns her biometrics chip over in her fingers. She had the (appalled) medic remove it, sterilize it, and give it back to her. “Thank you for the consideration. My answer is no.”
Atreus can probably count the number of times he hasn’t gotten what he wanted on one hand. She sees him get two steps into processing the refusal and stall out, like the engine of a ship forced into a bad angle. “Are you sure about that?”
“I’m sure.”
“Even if it means you’ll never race in Formula Zero again?”
“I don’t think that’s the case,” Clarke says honestly. She’s still hopeful about Enclave, but if that doesn’t work out, there will be openings again someday. Rhynn thinks that the back-of-the-pack teams who didn’t respond to their nudges were deterred by the drama of the past few months. They don’t have the sponsor roster of the larger teams, can’t afford to scare money away. But something new will eventually push Clarke’s story out of the spotlight, and someone may come calling. Clarke can drop back to the semi-pro circuits until then, keep her skills sharp.
Atreus scoffs. “Yves was correct about one thing, at least. You’re nigh unhirable now. You won’t get another offer.”
“I’ll thank you not to speak for me, Atreus.” Lennox Redfoot appears, walking right past Atreus into Clarke’s room. She folds a stool out of the wall and sits. “We’ve had this conversation before.”
“Lennox,” Atreus greets. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Do I look like I’m here to talk to you?” Lennox unbuttons her blazer and looks at Clarke. “Were you done with him? I can come back.”
“We’re done,” Clarke says, excitement suddenly pounding through her. To Atreus, she adds, “Thanks. Good luck with the championship.”
She layers as much derision into the well-wishes as she can. Lennox smirks. Atreus says, “I see. Good night, Ms. Clarke, Lennox,” and melts away into the hall. The door slides shut behind him.
“Interesting choice in people to willfully antagonize,” Lennox comments. “I thought what you said to him at Hanoi might’ve been a slip of the tongue, but Thierry was right, wasn’t he? This is just how you are.”
“I hope that won’t be a problem for Enclave, when I fly for you next season.”
Lennox gives her an amused look. “Awfully confident.”
“You wouldn’t have come here to see me if you were just going to tell me you’re not interested anymore. If I’m wrong, I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am.”
“You’re wrong about an aspect of it,” Lennox hedges. “I do want you for next season. My team’s drafting an offer. Your manager will have it by the end of the night. But if you’re game, I don’t want to wait. I’d love to get you in the ship for the last three races, buy out the remainder of your Elemental contract.It’s a hell of a statement, and it’ll give us better information about how to be successful next year than the whole off-season put together.”
It’s Friday night. Abu Dhabi’s practice sessions are a week from today. Clarke tries to rein herself in, tries to be reasonable. “That’s not a lot of time to lock in a contract. Or learn the ship. Or—”
“Tell me what you need, and I’ll make it happen,” Lennox states. “Within some degree of reason, obviously. I can’t give you a moon.”