Tall, bald, large, beard, tall— “Thomas!” When Julien spots him, he waves to get his attention.
A mechanic watches Julien struggle and taps the older Dubois on the shoulder before gesturing back to the car.
Thomas spins, frustration evident in his expression, and points between Julien and the monitor he’s supposed to be studying.
Racing first. Of course.
It’d be nice if someone had told Julien his brother was out of the hospital. If they gave him a quick heads-up to let him know the guy was upright and alive.
But that wouldn’t beracing, would it?
Julien turns back to the data as one of Thomas’s mechanics leans into the cockpit and refastens his buckles for him.
There’s so much unnecessary information to sort through, especially for Qualifying. Julien doesn’t need to know that the Mercenaries are the fastest through the hairpin. He only needs the information for his own laps.
“Wanna be the first one out?”
“Nah, let Rafael go. I’m still trying to digest all of this.”
“Copy. We’ll leave when the lane clears.”
Speaking of Rafael?—
Julien scans the data, his curiosity piqued.
Rafael is losing time in the braking.Again. Can’t hetell?!Can’t he feel how his brakes need the extra push, the extrastrength, before every turn?! If he would just list?—
No. He’s not Julien’s problem to solve.
If Rafael wants to lose, then that’s one less competitor to worry about.
Julien peels out of the garage last. On his out-lap, he tries to recite his own data points, but his brain replays all of the useless shit instead.
Mercenary is the cleanest through the hairpin. VFIBR loses speed through the fast corners. Wilhelms’s strength is in the straights. Rafael downshifts too early for turn nine.
As Julien follows through turn nine, he freezes, his grip tight on the wheel. The brakes feel different. Huh.
He pumps them in turn ten, testing the power, and they react much quicker and stronger than he remembers. It’s almost like they’re more sensitive, like the steering is.
That’s stupid. Julien hasn’t driven Rafael’s car in over a month. He’s probably just misremembering. Maybe they upgraded the brakes for both cars and forgot to mention it.
Still—
“Everything alright?”
Julien probably looks stupid pumping his brakes on an out-lap. “Yeah, just getting adjusted to the car.”
He pushes over the start and flies through his lap. This time, instead of everyone else’s data, Rafael’s telemetry flashes before his eyes.
For all of Julien’s frustration, Rafael is still a professional Formation 1 driver. That’s a fact. He’s been doing this for years now.
By all accounts, he should be delivering better results than a rookie reserve—even if that rookiedidwin the Formation 2 Championship. He should be comparable to his teammate, at the very least.
But the cars are different. Julien can tell, even a month later.
If Julien can sense small changes between set-ups for a fuckingvideo game, he can definitely tell when a major function of a real car has been changed. Especially since his entire body is strapped to the inside of it.
For now, he keeps his head down and focuses on getting through to Q3.
