“No, they don’t,” I say. My morale is already starting to fall along with the rest of the teams. It’s obvious that Asher doesn’t know shit about his car, and more, he doesn’t seem interested in learning. I can’t analyze him to help build my algorithm if he’sthisuninformed. “You need to reread the current manuals,” I say quietly.
“Don’ttell me what I do and don’t need to do.” His nostrils flare. “What you need to do is stop sticking your nose in my business and just let me race.”
Dear fucking god.
I realize that I’m not going to make any progress—not now. I might be able to try again tomorrow.
Hopefully.
I get just a few hours of shuteye before the sun’s up and my ass needs to be at the track. When I open the door to my hotel room, I’m met with a coffee cart. I don’t remember ordering anything—maybe it’s complimentary?
There are two pots of black coffee, one porcelain cup, and two empty takeout cups waiting to be filled.
Complimentary or accidental, I’m not one to turn down black coffee. I lift one of the takeout cups, only to pause when I see a note beneath it.
Really sorry that I blabbed to Elio. -Amanda
I squint at the note. The gesture is… touching. Maybe Elio’s PA reallydidn’twant to screw me over. She could just be a classic golden retriever following her master’s orders.
Regardless, I don’t have time to dwell. I pour myself a cup of coffee and haul ass to the track… where I’m promptly sidelined in every way a person can be sidelined.
Declan kicks me over to Thomas, who kicks me over to the lowest tier of technical support; the people setting up TVs and monitors. I’m no better than the errand-boys at this stage. I run around the team’s paddock for the nextfour hours, acting the part of the errand girl. I fish wires out of boxes, make sure the gyms are fully equipped for the drivers, and distribute strategy manuals around the briefing room.
When the first brief comes around, I don’t even try to join. I watch from the hallway as most of the other staff filter inside, including Asher—who only notices me long enough to cast his customary glare in my direction—and Ilya, who doesn’t seem aware of my existence. The doors shut behind everyone. I curb my urge to eavesdrop, and return to the garage.
I’m already sweaty from running around. Add that to sleep deprivation and exhaustion, and I feel like I’m a hairbreadth away from snapping at someone.
Since the area’s mostly deserted, I find a spot to perch on, pull out my tablet, and start doing work that might actually have an impact on this team.IfI can figure out my parser soon enough… and fix the million other bugs that’ll pop up as soon as my algorithm has the data it needs.
An hour passes, then another. Finally, everyone trickles out of the briefing room. Thomas is the first person to acknowledge me, and only long enough to remind me that I’m not being paid to sit around on my ass.
“I’m barely being paid in the first place,” I respond taciturnly.
“You’re an intern. Get shit done and your paycheck will improve.” He jerks his chin at me. “The mechanics could use some help finding all their tools—get on it.”
Chapter Nine
Victoria
By the time qualifying day comes around, I’m running on empty—pun intended. On the bright side, I’ve managed to complete my parser, so the only step that remains is putting it to use.
Qualifying is even more of a disaster than it’s expected to be. Asher finishes in P20, which was anticipated, but Elio finishes in P21—probably because he shows uphungover.Amanda practically has to drag him into the car in the first place, and then, the mechanics have to drag him back out of it.
I stand with Thomas, observing the absolute carnage play out, wincing and rubbing my forehead with each fuckup both of our drivers make.
At the end, I’m not invited to the debrief—instead, I find myself slinking back to the hotel. My vision’s blurring; I’ve spent most of my nights working, only to be on my feet all day. I’m due for a solid ten-hour crash soon, but not yet.
I need to get my algorithm fed first so I can be one step closer to finishing it and using it. I want at leastsomesense of legitimacy on the team so people will stopstonewalling me. If I were invited to briefings and debriefs, I’d be able to gather and input data that I instead have to wait up to a week for.
I grab my laptop from my room, make myself comfortable at one of the tables littered around the hotel bar, and check the output from the parser I ran on Oliver’s data.
The results can’t be right. I rub my eyes and look over my screen again.Same result.
The data is unreadable.Ican’t make sense of it, and I’m reasonably familiar with databases.Did I fuck up the parser?
No, I didn’t. Which means that Oliver either sent me a bunch of bullshit… or, what he sent me is heavily encrypted.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m going to have to go through thousands of lines of raw, unintelligible data manually to try to understand the encryption protocol used—once I do, I might be able to crack it. Since I’m not around to bake him any cookies, I expect Oliver will ignore my requests for help. Besides, if he left everything deliberately encrypted… it could be a test. If I run to him for help, I’d be failing; I need to figure this out myself.
