“Clarke,” Sara says, eyes big and somber. “Now.Please.”
Clarke stands and heads for the door. The room is full of people waiting for Raff to be done so they can debrief, but no one bothers looking over. The season’s grinding everyone to exhaustion.
Before Clarke and Sara can exit the room, Delphine finishes an answer about how Provenance has reclaimed the lead in the team bracket after her P1 and Julian’s P4 today. Silver Sight has the next question, and he directs it to Raff. Clarke stops to listen.
“I asked your teammate this last week, and she didn’t have much to say, but how about you, Raff? Anything you can share about who you’ll be racing for next season?”
Raff smiles and looks past Silver Sight. The camera follows, picks up Yves giving a nod, then returns to Raff. “As a matter of fact, yes. I’m happy to announce that I’ve signed a contract to stay with Elemental for the next three years.”
Clarke doesn’t have a name for the feeling that claws at the lining of her stomach. It’s not as defined as anger, not as simpleas embarrassment, not as general as sadness. It’s a Martian dust storm rolling in across the horizon. There’s time until it breaks, but not much.
No one in the room was looking at Clarke and Sara before. They’re still not looking, but now they’re doing it on purpose.
“I’m sorry,” Sara says quietly. “I didn’t want you to find out in front of everyone.”
“Not your fault.” Clarke’s voice sounds like it’s coming from far away. She walks back to her chair on stiff legs and watches the rest of press with bone-dry eyes.
Raff and Yves make a triumphant entrance ten minutes later. Clarke participates exactly as much as she needs to, mind moving in eighty directions at once.
It’s not that she didn’t think Raff would get a full contract. Yves wouldn’t have brought him over for just half a season; this was a foregone conclusion. But she didn’t think it would get announced like that, without Clarke being given so much as a courtesy heads-up. Why does she keep being surprised when Yves takes every available opportunity to further ostracize her? Why does she keeplettinghim?
Debrief ends with a round of applause for Raff. Clarke has an escape route plotted in her head, but only gets as far as the hallway before Yves catches up and tugs her into his office.
“I’m sure you’re wondering what Raff’s new contract means for you.” Yves pulls a holoscreen out of his desk. “I imagine this will answer most of your questions.”
It’s a contract. It’s Clarke’s contract, her current one, just with the expiration date crossed out and the end of the season two years from now filled in instead.
“This is an extension offer,” Clarke says slowly, kaleidoscoping through emotions.
“It is.” Yves sits on the side of his desk, crosses his arms. “Congratulations.”
There is murder in her heart. “An extension, as in, the exact same terms. Salary. Clauses. Everything?”
“We think it’s fair, given your inconsistent performance and the dissension you’ve caused in the team.”
There’s this breathing technique F0 pilots get taught, to manage stress and control their heart rate in the seat. Clarke uses it now, inhaling through her nose for a count for four, holding for four, and blowing out through a nonexistent straw for eight. “And is this open to negotiation?”
“You’re welcome to speak with your manager and propose modifications,” Yves says, in a tone that meansno. “I’ll have a copy sent to you and Rhynn.”
“Thanks.” Clarke takes the breathing exercise one step further and pushes herself into full race-mode compartmentalization. One step at a time. Get out of here without exploding, that’s all she needs to do until the next thing she needs to do. “I’ll see you Tuesday at HQ.”
Yves moves around to his desk chair. “You’re not taking the team transport back to Luna tomorrow?”
Clarke’s ship has failed, one way or another, in more than half of this season’s races. Clarke’s style and strengths are not being considered in the development of next year’s ship. Clarke’s team leadership doesn’t respect or value her.
Clarke isdonewith this.
She clears her throat. “I think I’ll travel separately. So I can think. Separately.”
Yves’s cuff pings, and Clarke loses his attention. She leaves the room, then the paddock, then the space station.
32
Rhynn is livid, and Clarkehasn’t even told them about the impending team ownership change and potential sabotage yet.
“This isinsulting,” they say, visibly seething. They’re at their sister’s house today. Various tiny children keep wobbling through the frame. “Keeping your salary flat, at the level you agreed to for your rookie contract? What a joke.”
“It’s not about the money.”