Clarke turns that over in her head. “How do you feel about that? Not getting preferential treatment over a new pilot after everything you’ve done for Enclave this year?”
Thierry hop-skips around a cluster of delivery droids trundling down the sidewalk. “I don’t need preferential treatment to kick your ass.”
Clarke laughs. Thierry grins.
This could work, Clarke lets herself think.
—
Clarke messages Julianon Thursday morning while waiting for the next group she’s tour-guiding around the team transport to arrive.Are we dating?
They haven’t been able to see each other in person this week, the rare gaps in their schedules never lining up during the day.He’s invited her to sleep at his apartment, but someone would notice if Clarke’s not where she’s supposed to be overnight, and she’s not sure she’s ready for the worlds to know that she and Julian are together.Ifthey’re together. Hence this conversation.
Julian writes back quickly.I think I have to actually take you on a date for us to call it dating.
Clarke smiles.I could take you out, too.
Then why don’t you? Treat me right, Ms. Clarke. I’m a gentleman.
Clarke taps her thumb on the band of her cuff, thinking. Julian’s so clear about what he feels and what he wants. Clarke doesn’t have that type of clarity. There are too many unknowns in other aspects of her life, and she can’t peel those facets apart from how she feels about Julian yet. But the gala’s tomorrow, and Clarke is…hopeful. Maybe Julian’s certainty and Clarke’s hope are enough, at least for now.
After the season, she writes.We won’t have the big fancy one-on-one, but we can find some public karting track and have our race. Whoever wins, the other takes them out as a reward.
She realizes the significance of the word she used a second too late. Before she can recall the message, Julian’s already responding.But we both so enjoy the current rewards system.
Clarke’s now blushing furiously, remembering Julian’s tongue and fingers between her legs. Cool. Great. Perfect. She’s still trying to respond when there’s noise from the bottom of the ramp that leads up to the transport: Elemental’s director of operations, arriving with a small crowd of sponsors. Clarke waves. They wave back, gazing up at the transport in awe.
She looks back to her cuff. There’s already another message.After the season. It’s a date.
A third message pops in.By the way, I got you a present.
There’s an attachment. Clarke decides she still has a few seconds before the approaching tour group is too close and opens it.
It’s a bar graph, showing how much Elemental Machines has been worth over the years. The number has been decreasing for the last two decades. Clarke knew that part already (end-of-season valuations are public, and she looked into it when Julian first brought up his concern), but there’s way more detail in here than she’d been able to find. He’s got numbers for the current season, showing a sharp decline almost weekly.
She exits the file and writes back.How’d you get this? Aren’t current season numbers private to shareholders?
She can practically hear the smug smile in his response.I found a shareholder willing to disclose the info. And by “found,” I mean “I gave Connor’s moms the money to buy Elemental shares because I couldn’t do it myself without violating my conflict of interest clause.”
Clarke laughs out loud. She sends a quickThanks, got to go, will look more later, and looks up to greet her tour group. “Hi, folks, I’m Madeline Clarke. Welcome to Elemental Machines.”
—
Clarke’s outfit forthe gala is a stunning gown, custom designed for her and this occasion. It’s a sheath of silky, Elemental-blue fabric that hugs close to her body, with a slit to the thigh and a racerback that cuts between her shoulder blades. It’s so tailored that she has to be literally sewn into it. The sewing happens after several hours of hair and makeup on Friday,most of which Clarke spends reviewing sponsor names and contributions. It makes for a long afternoon, and Clarke already had a long morning (a workout, a tense call with Rhynn, incessantly running through every detail of the plan in her head) after a crappy night’s sleep, so she’s looking forward to resting for a few minutes during transit to the venue.
There are shuttles leaving for the venue from the docks all day. Clarke’s preparation took longer than anyone else’s at Elemental, so she makes her way to the shuttle by herself. There’s a group of Formula E people at the front of the small ship. She smiles at them and chooses a seat farther back, in an empty row, debating taking her hair down between now and arrival. She wiggles a finger under one of the pins digging into her skull.
Her seat cushion sinks as someone sits next to her. She opens her eyes and barely has a chance to say hi before Delphine is knocking Clarke’s hand away from her hair.
“You’re messing it up,” Delphine says, pressing at Clarke’s chin until she turns her face so Delphine can get at the half updo. “Pins bothering you?”
“Somuch,” Clarke says. “Thank you.”
Delphine hums and delicately plucks a pin free, sliding it back in at a less lobotomy-esque angle. She doesn’t say anything else, and Clarke grasps for something to talk about. They haven’t really talked since their conversation on Ohars, andDid Valentina Dumond give you bad advice about your marriage, and do you think she did it on purpose to screw with your headspace, and do you think she’s doing something similar to me?isn’t exactly a seamless conversation starter.
The shuttle’s engine rumbles to life as two more people hurry on board: Julian and Engel, both in fine tuxedos withChronicle-green ties. Julian catches Clarke’s eye between seat backs and smiles, but the guys stay up front to chat with the Formula E people.
Delphine tracks Clarke’s eyeline. She tugs another pin free and says, “Oliver’s inability to keep his dick in his pants wasn’t what drove us apart. That was a symptom. What destroyed our marriage was Formula Zero.”
