“What’s wrong?” Clarke asks.
Maki blanches, visible even through his helmet visor. “I don’t—”
“We don’t have much time,” Clarke says. The second marquee light turns blue. “Something’s bothering you. If it’s about the ship, I need to know. Now.”
Maki glances nervously to the side. Clarke can’t tell where he’s looking, doesn’t have the neck mobility to check, but the way he’s acting is setting her hair on end.
“If it’s not about the ship,” Clarke continues, softening her tone, “I still care. I’ll ask you again after the race.”
“It’s the ship,” Maki blurts, syllables all running into one another. “There was a weird artifact in the data from your power unit start-up tests this morning. We told Amira, and Amira told Yves and Timothy, but they said it wasn’t significant and we shouldn’t bother you with it and—”
Relief washes over Clarke. “Just the start-up tests?”
Clarke gets the impression Maki’d be chewing on his fingernails if he could get his hands inside his helmet. “Yes.”
“Any reason to think the data artifact would impact anything else about the performance of the ship?”
“No. It only happened when bringing the power unit up after a full shutdown.”
“Okay.” Clarke gestures to the ship, which is purring underneath her. Idling, as it has been for close to an hour. “Power unit’s on, right? And it’ll be on until the end of the race.”
Maki wilts. “Yeah. I know. I just…I don’t like it.”
“I don’t, either. But if there’s no evidence it’s going to cause a problem for me today, we don’t need to worry about it right now.”
“I shouldn’t have told you. Yves and Timothy were right.”
“I’m glad you did. I want to know, Maki, every time. Thank you.”
The third light turns blue. Two minutes to go. An FIC marshal bounds their way, ready to usher Maki off the course.
Clarke moves them back to the normal crew channel. “Nothing else. All clear.”
“All clear,” Maki echoes, and zooms out of range before the marshal can cite them.
Clarke resettles herself. Hands on the deck, head in the ship, eyes on the lights. She really is glad he told her. She’snotglad that Yves and Timothy, the chief engineer, overruled him and Amira. Clarke’s the damn pilot. She can understand not clueing her in about Matthew and Raff, but hership?
The blues go out. The reds go out. They’re racing.
The plan holds for the first seven laps. It’s clear by then that no one’s holding back, which was where Clarke would’ve put her money. Delphine and Julian—and Provenance and Chronicle—are too close in points not to compete for every inch, and Enclave and Martian Motors are right there behind them. They’re screaming around every corner, blazing through spirals and inversions, barely slowing when variables start changing one afterthe other. Clarke oscillates between P6 and P10, traveling in an ever-shifting clump with some of the mid-pack.
On lap eight, the border around Clarke’s holodeck lights up yellow. The track beacons go yellow, too, a fluorescent contrast to their normal gold. Clarke slows automatically, cautious not to cut power too quickly lest she cause someone behind to run into her.
“Yellow flag, Clarke,” Amira says in her ear. “And we’re expecting—yes, there it is, double yellow.”
Clarke’s deck border splits into two concentric lines. She slows further. “I see it. What happened?”
A yellow flag means danger on the track; debris from a crash, usually. Everyone has to slow down and they’re not allowed to pass one another until the flag is cleared. A double yellow is more serious, signaling that the track is partially or fully blocked. Ships have to slow down even more, and be prepared to stop.
“One of the Harkoners made contact with one of the Bright Doors. It’s behind you, you won’t see it for a few minutes.”
“Is everyone okay?”
“Checking.”
Clarke keeps herself steady. Her heart rate picks up, but her hands don’t shake as she loops around the fourth black hole.
This happens. Ship-to-ship contact, or a single ship going into the barrier, occurs in nearly 60 percent of all F0 races, and ninety-five times out of a hundred, the pilots walk away with nothing more than bruises and strains. Four of those remaining five times, the injuries are more severe, but the pilot’s back for the next race. Their ships are marvels of engineering, and the safety features (crash gel, particularly) go a long way toward preventing life-threatening injuries. Clarke knows this.
