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When I throw added heat at it, or wear, the structures start breaking down, though. The molecules in the corn silica start changing, disintegrating, the molecular bonds to the rubber break down.
When I throw water into the mix, I’m not sure if it is my heart that just dropped or the plane.
Real silica reduces chemical incompatibility between the tire and water. But Concordia isn’t using pure silica. Concordia is using cheap corn husk silica, its molecules are not as impervious.
The jackass next to me grabs his armrest. It was the plane that dropped, after all.
The overhead seatbelt light dings, the plane rocks.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the pilot has turned on the seatbelt sign. Please return to your seats while we pass through some turbulence. We’re expecting some rough weather for the rest of the flight, so please keep seatbelts fastened for the remainder of the flight. We should have you in Texas within the next hour.”
Rough weather? Oh, god.
I pull up the weather page on my laptop. There’s a huge red, swirling storm graphic circling over the bottom half of Texas.
No, no, no.
I can’t call anyone, warn them. All I can do is text or email over this shitty wifi.
Emily: It’s corn husk silica. It’s breaking down in water. You have to warn them!
Doc: Corn? That’s unheard of.
Emily: It isn’t stable under extreme conditions. It’s very unstable in wet conditions. Please, it’s raining in Texas. They can’t use these tires! DO SOMETHING! I’M ON A PLANE!
Doc: I’m calling Concordia now.
I check my seatback pocket for the sick bag because I may very well throw up.
“You aren’t gonna barf, are you, lady?”
“Shut up!” I scream back at the jackass.
Do not barf, Emily. Pull it together, this is your time. You got this.
I send a group text to everyone in the paddock that I have in my contact list. Cole, Edmund, Liam, Mila, Mallory, Dante, the other engineers, and mechanics. I text everyone I can think of. I email everyone I can think of.
Anyone.
Half of the texts can’t be delivered because their phones aren’t on global plans, or they can’t receive the wifi-based iMessage, but some of them go through. It has to be enough.
I get some replies, mostly all question marks. I mumble to myself, curse at my phone. The jackass next to me is clearly now afraid for his life with me, the crazy bitch, sitting next to him.
I demand someone find Edmund and show him my texts.
Cole, answer me. Please, answer me.
Thirty minutes until we land, that gives me enough time to get to the track and stop this before the race, worst case. I don’t know how, but I will make them listen to me.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. Got some bad news for you. It’s raining pretty hard in Austin right now, so we’re going to need to circle for a bit until conditions settle down. Should have you on the ground safely in a jiffy, just sit tight.”
I bang my head onto the seat in front of me and grip my tray table.
Those rotten assholes, Olivi
er in his expensive suit and Rolex… They have money for that but use cheap materials to save a few bucks in their product. The very product that separates all the F1 drivers from the unforgiving asphalt they speed over at two hundred miles per hour.
I remember what Mallory said—There are no ethical billionaires, Emily.
