Clarke frowns, not following. “But it would have been okay. We both said, after, that we would’ve liked to do it. For Connor.”
“That wasn’t Val’s call to make. It was mine, and yours. We fought about it, had a whole yelling match. Not my finest moment.”
Clarke can’t picture Val yelling. Clarke can’t even picture Val raising her voice. “That was two weeks ago. It’s not better yet?”
“She’s refusing to admit that she did something wrong. It’swhat she does: believes the story she tells herself so wholeheartedly that she can’t fathom not being right. It’s irritating, but don’t worry about it. It’s not the first time me and Val have gone to the mats.”
Clarke’s getting even more confused. “You’ve never mentioned it before.”
“When would I have mentioned it? My rookie season, when complaining about my F0 principal seemed insensitive while you and Connor were stuck in the lower circuits? The two years in between, when we weren’t speaking? This year, when you’ve been getting crap piled on you from every direction? I’m not going to add to that.”
“Hey.” Clarke stops walking. “If we’re going to do this, it’s not going to work if you hide stuff that’s bothering you because you thinkmystuff is worse. It’s not always going to be balanced. It’s probablynevergoing to be balanced. I get that you couldn’t talk to me before, but you can now. No excuses.”
He circles around in front of her, a small smile on his face. “Does that mean we’re going to do this? You and me?”
“That was not what you were supposed to get out of that.”
“I’ll talk to you,” he says. “Until your ears fall off. Until you’re sick of me. Until the sun burns out and the planets fall out of the sky and it’s just you, me, and the void. I’ll talk to you. I promise. Good enough?”
“It’s a start,” Clarke says.
41
The entire year is structuredaround the Fédération Interplanétaire de les Courses Sponsors’ Gala. Formula Zero is one of eight elite circuits that run under the FIC umbrella, and they all come out in their finest for the event. It’s in Olympic City this year, and shuttles start arriving from all across the solar system Monday morning for the run-up to the big show on Friday.
What happens when you get the most talented drivers and pilots across all of racing together in the same city for a few days? A media circus crossed with a university reunion and doused in conspicuous peacockery, that’s what. In between press events and checkups at the hospital and training for Abu Dhabi once she’s been cleared, Clarke catches up with friends from Juniors and attends showcases of the tech and courses being evolved for other disciplines. Formula Melee is always particularly entertaining, since they’ve weaponized their cars with things like grappling hooks and battery-draining cannons.
There’s a lot to keep track of. Yves and Elemental leadership are running around all day, trying to be impressive and keep sponsors happy. Clarke doesn’t have much free time, but when she does, it’s easy to slip away unnoticed for quiet conversations.
“Finally,” Thierry says when Clarke meets him on Wednesday afternoon. “I’ve been waiting to talk to you for two weeks!”
“I was unconscious for a good chunk of that,” Clarke says, scanning her cuff at the dock entrance. All the non-Martian teams are stuck on Mars for the week, and working mainly out of transports sitting at the same interstellar dock outside the heart of the city.
“Excuses, excuses.” Thierry pulls up directions to a shop he wants to visit and starts walking. “Lennox wouldn’t tell meanything. What did she say? What did you say? Are you going to be in black and gold next year?”
“She didn’t actually make an offer,” Clarke says.
“If shedid, would you say yes?”
“Depends on the offer.”
“Claaaaarke.”
Clarke sighs. “It’s not real yet, Thierry. I can’t know if I’d sign until I see the terms.”
He scoffs. “If what Lennox puts in front of you is anything like my contract, I can guarantee it’ll be better than what Elemental’s offering.”
Clarke doesn’t doubt it. Negotiations with Elemental have stalled, no ground given or gained on either side. She’s been telling herself she doesn’t care, that she wouldn’t renew even if Elemental suddenly agreed to everything Clarke and Rhynn are asking for, but sometimes her resolve falters.
She needed to do well at Wonderland to impress Lennox and secure the other seat at Enclave. That obviously didn’t happen, and she missed the opportunity at the Olympic City race, too. She’s backed into a corner. If Lennox doesn’t offer, all she’s got left is saying yes to Elemental, with their shitty conditions and shittier ship and her biological fucking father as a team ownerand someone who’s tried to kill her as the other owner/principal. If those were her only choices—staying with Elemental, or not racing at all—would she be strong enough to walk away?
“I’ll have to see,” Clarke hedges. “But it’s flattering to know you want me for your secondary so badly.”
“You wouldn’t be secondary. We’d be equal.”
Clarke had been joking, looking to lighten the mood, and is taken aback by Thierry’s sincerity. “Oh?”
“Lennox had it put in the bylaws. She didn’t tell you? Enclave never starts the year with a primary-secondary pilot arrangement. She says she doesn’t want a primary who thinks they can coast, or a secondary who thinks there’s no point pushing. I’m primary right now because I’ve got a good chance of finishing fifth in the individual bracket and that’ll be good for Enclave overall, but that doesn’t make me primary next season.”
