The man nods at me. “I’ll be this boy’s patron,” he says, his gaze going from my backpack to my face. “So I suggest you start preparing for the finals tomorrow night.”
My first impression of him is that he seems too young to have such an effect on everyone else around him.
I mean, my brother is Daniel—I know what it looks like for ayoung person to be revered. But this is different. This guy isn’t that much older than Daniel, but the ripple of his presence through the crowd almost feels like a living thing.
He stops in front of me and nods now, extending his hand. His expression seems kindly, almostfatherly. “That was an excellent race,” he says. “Your drone is impressive.”
“Thank you,” I say, not knowing what else to do.
When I take his extended hand and shake it, he leans in close to me. “Your name’s not Eli Whitman, is it?” he whispers.
A shiver of terror crawls down my spine even as I try to lie. “It is,” I say.
“Don’t be afraid,” he adds. “I’m not saying this as a threat. If we’re going to work together, we need to trust each other. Right?”
Then he leans back and, before I can respond, smiles and raises his voice so that those around us can hear. “Let the girl go,” he says, nodding at Pressa.
The man holding her back releases her immediately and steps away. Just like that. It’s such an instinctive reaction that I could swear it was as if the newcomer could control his mind.
Pressa rubs at her wrists as she glances quizzically at my patron. He folds his hands behind his back in the silence. “I’m going to cover the ten thousand corras for this young racer,” he announces, repeating his vow so that everyone can hear. “To me, it’s beyond a doubt that he won this race. Does anyone question it?”
Just a few moments earlier, everyone had been up in arms about my win. Boos had filled the square. But now the silence is deafening. No one even dares to look directly our way. They just glance at their neighbors and then down at the ground.
He smiles briefly. “Good,” he says before looking back at me. There’s a rasp to his voice that reverberates from deep in his chest, the kind of sound indicative of some long-festering condition. “You’ll be paid for your first win,” he says to me. “As your patron, I’ll take my share from what you’ve earned.”
As soon as he says this, someone steps forward and motions for me to stretch out my hand. I do as he says, then look on in stunned silence while he counts out a thick wad of cash into my hand, an amount directly proportional to how much of a long shot a bet on me was. I look down at my hand, numb.
One hundred thousand corras.
Beside me, Pressa stares in shock at the amount. Neither one of us has seen this much money all together in our lives. Not even Daniel gets paid like this.
The man seems pleased with my reaction. “I think we’re done with this race.” He holds a hand out in front of him, suggesting that we take a brief walk together. Already, everyone around us has made a wide berth for us to pass. “Can I ask you a few questions?”
My instincts tingle with warning and confusion. I don’t know what to make of him. All I know is that he may have just saved Pressa’s life, and mine too. “Sure,” I say as we both fall into step with him. He guides us down one of the alleys branching into the plaza. Everyone makes a deliberate point to ignore us.
“What should I call you?” I ask the man when we’re somewhat alone in the alley.
“That depends,” he answers with a small smile. “What should I callyou? Because you’re not Eli.” He glances at Pressa. “You, I’ve seen at the races before. Pressa, is it? Your father runs an apothecaryin the center of the Undercity. Hardworking man.” He nods respectfully, and Pressa’s lips twitch with a surprised smile.
“Thanks,” she mumbles.
The man turns back to me. “My name is Dominic,” he says, then pauses for a moment. I can’t tell if he’s honestly thinking or if he’s just trying to give me the impression that he is. “Your brother,” he finally adds, “works for the AIS.”
A rush of fear washes over me. Pressa gives me a quick, alarmed stare. Underneath all of that, I also feel that familiar undercurrent of resentment, of being identified only in relation to Daniel.
The man named Dominic must have read my expression well, because he continues, “And you are a top student at Ross University of the Sciences. You’re graduating a year early, with honors. I’ve seen your name in the news for some of your college designs.”
Now this surprises me. Ihavebeen in the local news before for my science experiments, but no one has ever really commented on it. I frown at the man, unsure whether to feel wary or flattered. “Why do you know so much about us?” I ask.
“I make a point to know about everyone participating in the drone races,” he says as we walk. “It’s just good business.”
Business. Is this man a sponsor for the entire race? He certainly had no problems blowing ten thousand corras to be my patron. Warnings buzz louder in my head at his words. I think about how far we are from the elevators that will take us back up to the Sky Floors. We’ll have to at least humor him for a while longer.
“Thank you for sponsoring him, er, Mr. Dominic,” Pressa says for me, breaking my hesitant pause.
He waves a hand at us. “No need to thank me,” he replies. “Yourprize money will more than make up for my investment. Smart move to enter the race tonight.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Where did you learn to make an engine like that?”
I shrug, unsure how to answer. “I’ve been working on its design ever since I was a freshman,” I reply. “Drones just happen to be a cool way to test it, and earn us some money in the meantime.”
