“Good,” Amira says as Clarke corkscrews for the fifty-second time. “But you’re on warning from the medics, and your shells are showing early signs of fatigue.”
Clarke probably could’ve told the medics that she should be on warning (official notification that if her vitals get any worse, they’re slowing her down) herself. They’re over an hour into this race, and her vision’s starting to go fuzzy during the tightest turns as her blood pressure drops and her body fights to stay conscious. “Gap to Delphine?”
“Three-point-six.”
“Can I push?”
She wants to, desperately, but she has to ask. She’s one overenthusiastic corner away from medical interference and her ship’s handling could degrade at any second. Securing the 15 points she’ll get if she finishes third rather than risking them if she goes harder to try to catch Delphine is logical, and what a more conservative strategist like Yves will want her to do.
Amira again takes long enough to respond that Clarke knows another tense conversation is happening off-radio. “Yes. You’re pushing.”
Clarke confirms, shaking off her disbelief. She’s not going to question an order that gives her what she wants, it’s just not what she was expecting. Maybe things reallyarelooking up for her at Elemental?
It’s a thought for later. For now, she’s going to go get Delphine, since she has explicit permission to do so. She’s going to chase down the current interplanetary champion, with her ping-ponging blood pressure and her tired ship.
Good thing she likes a challenge.
—
On lap fifty-eight,a new section of chicane appears.
Clarke’s been checking off possible variables in her head and cross-referencing with Amira, so she knew this was coming. It’s on a section of track that’s inverted above a spectator platform. The course used to turn at one end of the platform, speed along it at a gentle slope, then turn again at the far end. Now that gentle slope is a back-and-forth weave.
Julian flubs it.
Not badly. He doesn’t go off the track, and he doesn’t hit theprotective barrier that keeps wayward ships from ramming into the platform, but his back end whips out too far and he has to reverse thrust fast. Delphine passes him. A second later, so does Clarke. Julian recovers quickly, falling into P3.
It’s about hanging on, at this point. Her shells haven’t failed, but she’s on borrowed time against both Delphine’s and Julian’s fresher (and just higher quality in general) machinery. As if to prove her right, Julian zips by her again before they’ve even finished the lap. He gets Delphine, too, with two laps to go, and then takes the checkered flag as P1 for the third time this season.
Clarke puts everything she has into those last few laps, but can’t catch Delphine. Her ship simply doesn’t have enough left. She crosses the line third.
She shouldn’t be disappointed. P3 is—P3’s amazing. With how the rest of this season has gone, P3’s unbelievable. It’s a podium, her second ever in Formula Zero. It’s significant points.
But she thought she might win.
“Thanks, everyone,” she pants into her radio as she cruises toward the podium ceremony stage. It’s through the veil, just like the pit lane and garages, so she drops wheels and lands. “Sorry I couldn’t do—”
“Hang on,” Amira interrupts. “We’re still waiting for word. Delphine had that three-second penalty in the first lap, and we don’t think they served it in her pit stop, and you were only two-point-five behind her there at the end, so—yes? Yes, I—okay, Clarke, that’s confirmed. You’re P2.”
P2.
It’s not first place, and gaining a spot on someone due to a time penalty doesn’t grant quite the same satisfaction as beating them across the line, but—
P-fucking-2.
—
“Lion’s Head neverdisappoints, but wow! What a race,” says a reporter. “Julian, congratulations on your third win of the season. How’s it feel?”
“Incredible,” Julian says, looking like he means it from the marrow of his bones. He’s usually fairly contained for the press, putting only the serious side of himself on display, but today he’s got a wide grin and isn’t bothering to hide it. “There was a lot of fantastic flying out there today from a lot of people. Winning in a race where everyone’s competing on a high level is—it says a lot.”
“What does it say?”
Julian shoots a smirk at Delphine, who’s sitting on the couch with Clarke. “It says that I just closed our points gap.”
Delphine and Julian are tied now. Delphine’s still listed first in the pilot bracket, because her teammate Oliver has more points than Julian’s teammate Engel. If the season ended today, she’d be declared the individual champion. But the season’s not over, and Julian looks like he has plans for what happens when they come back from break.
Delphine, undoubtedly, has plans of her own. She smiles back at Julian, calm and confident, twirling her microphone idly. Unruffled. Daring him to keep talking.