Parc fermé takes place in a display room in a fancy building at the back of the paddock, where the wealthy can pay to get a closeup look at the machinery after inspections are done. Clarke and Amira walk up the paddock together until Amira splits off at Elemental Hospitality, and then Clarke continues on alone. There’s a natural lull in activity this time on Saturdays; Clarke delivers a few “Great to have Raff, he’s a great pilot, we’re looking forward to a great rest of the season” to people she passes (great, great, great) but makes it to the front of the paddock mostly unnoticed.
The order of team headquarters along the paddock is set by the team championship rankings. Clarke passes the Enclave and Martian Motors suites, steadies herself, and walks in the front door of Chronicle Hospitality.
She hasn’t been here since her visits during Julian’s first year in F0. A memory hits: Her and Connor and Julian, at that table right there, late evening after a race Julian DNF’d. Clarke and Connor couldn’t fix it, but they could sit with him, and that’s what they did.
Clarke shakes herself out of the past and focuses on what’s in front of her.
Valentina Dumond is chatting with a team member, clad in her trademark Chronicle heels. She smiles at Clarke. “Here to see Julian?”
Clarke keeps it light. “Yeah, he said he had some free time. Can I just head down?”
“I’ll walk you,” Val says, excusing herself from the previous conversation. They head toward the stairs leading to the garage level but turn off at the last second, slipping down a short hallway and ducking into a small office. There’s a single interior window; Val taps a panel to shade it into opacity and motions Clarke to the chair in front of the desk.
Clarke sits. “Thanks. For the cover story, and messaging me back.”
“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to reach out,” Val says. “I imagine I have this morning’s turn of events to thank for seeing you now?”
Clarke winces at the reminder that she’s been unintentionally rude. “Sorry. I should have said something sooner.”
“No need for apologies. I’ve been working with elite pilots for a long time; I like to think I have some insight into the mindset.” Val settles into her seat and kills the display on her desk, which had been projecting a live 3D model of a lower circuit race happening elsewhere in the solar system. The lower circuits usually travel with F0, but the Iskret track isn’t approved for anyone else yet, so everyone else is on Earth this weekend. “Are you here to talk about Raff?”
Clarke isn’t sure what she’s here to talk about, honestly. Val’s the principal of another team. Clarke can’t talk to her about her frustrations with Yves or the state of her contract. But Val’s a big part of the reason Julian’s successful, and Julian trusts her, and Clarke trusts Julian, and no one in Elemental leadership has said a single word to Clarke about the decision to give Matthew’s seat away, and Clarke just…wants to feel like shematters. Like she’s afactor, to replay Anders’s specific word choice that’s been rotting in her brain.
“At Lion’s Head, you said I seemed lost,” Clarke says after a long pause. “What did you mean?”
“There’s an adjustment period when new pilots enter F0, especially young pilots. How long that period lasts depends on team dynamics, how the grid shapes up, the pilot’s first few performances. Yours is taking longer than most.” Shame floods Clarke, but Val’s eyes are kind. Firm and unpitying, but kind. “That’s not an indictment, nor is it an indication that you won’t ever come into your own. But it wears on a person, that uncertainty. It wore on Julian, and he had my support and all of Chronicle behind him.”
She doesn’t say that Clarke doesn’t have Yves’s and Elemental’s support. She doesn’t need to.
Clarke has a hangnail. She picks at it. “Why did you agree? To the me-and-Julian friendship charade, and the post-season race?”
If Val’s thrown by the abrupt topic change, it doesn’t show. “I’m an engineer by training, not a publicist. If PK tells me that something will help Julian’s image, I believe him. And on a more personal level, I saw the impact it had on Julian when the two of you had your falling-out and you stopped coming around for races.”
Guilt joins the shame, and Clarke gets defensive. “He stopped inviting me. F0 was his world then, not mine.”
“Of course,” Val says graciously. “I didn’t mean to assign blame. I only meant that I think you’d both benefit, if things between you were to be mended. I assumed that it would happen naturally after Yves called you up, but since it didn’t, here we are.”
Clarke’s cuff dings, a reminder that she’s due downstairs in two minutes. She stands. “It still seems like a ridiculous thing for our teams to be spending time and money on.”
“We’re in a sport of milliseconds. If Julian’s able to focus a fraction of a percentage more during a race because he has one less thing to worry about, it’s my job to make that happen.”
“And if my team won’t do the same for me?”
The words fall out of Clarke’s mouth. She’d try to snatch them back, but it’s nothing Val doesn’t already know, and the other woman’s face betrays nothing. “Have you asked them to?”
Clarke frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Have you asked for what you need, in clear language, and been told no?”
Has she? She’s askedifher contract is going to be renewed, but she hasn’t askedforit to be renewed. And she hasn’t disclosed the terms she’d want to see in a renewal, either. Typically, the team has to make an offer, and then negotiations start.
That’s not a rule, though. Clarke could work with Rhynn, get something drafted, put it in front of Yves unsolicited. It’d be bold.
Clarke’s feeling bold these days.
“Thanks for talking to me,” she says, wheels spinning. “I’ve got to get going.”
Val reactivates the display on her desk and clears the window panel. “My pleasure. Talk to you again soon.”
