TURBO Racers Page 8

  “So, how is this going to work?” asked Henryk.

  “Everyone stick to your practice models,” Tempest explained.

  Aya looked up. “I’m starting from scratch,” she said.

  “True,” Tempest said. “But you wanted this. And I’ll award you a head start. Henryk and Aya: You have zero strikes, so you may begin,” Tempest answered.

  Henryk and Aya gave each other a long look. Then it clicked: the green flag had dropped! They ran for their vehicles and leaped inside their cockpits. They pressed dashboard buttons, and their canopies lowered. The engines came alive, filling the concrete bay with a deafening roar, rattling Mace’s rib cage.

  Aya was first away, peeling out of the hangar and up through the long rampway to the outside world. Henryk was right behind her, leaving a double line of burnt tire treads behind.

  Mace shared a sour look with Dex. So, this race was really two matchups, then? Aya versus Henryk. And later, Mace would duel Dex. Did that mean either Mace or Dex was definitely going home tonight?

  I want you to bury the competition.

  This was all by design, Mace knew. But Dex was his friend. This would be hard.

  “All right, boys,” Tempest said. “You may begin.”

  Mace’s heart jackhammered. “What? Already?”

  “It’s one race,” she clarified, “and you two have some catching up to do.”

  Mace stood gawking, with shock and gathering despair. One matchup! he thought. And we’re starting this far behind?

  “I’d get going if I were you,” Tempest suggested in the silence that followed.

  The silence of a lost cause.

  Mace and Dex slammed on their helmets and bolted toward their waiting roadsters.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mace beat Dex to the punch. He spiraled Event Horizon up the long, narrow tunnel toward the outer world. The going was slow. Mace was poor at drifting—speeding forward while turning in the direction of the curved tunnel. Henryk and Aya’s lead might be growing. He gritted his teeth and shot ahead as fast as he dared.

  Then the starry night came into view. He punched through the exit, out the monument’s rock face, and accelerated along the dark landing strip of the open desert floor, desperate to close the gap with the leaders.

  Where were they?

  There. Henryk’s afterburners lit up the night sky as he rose into the distant air. Aya had taken off as a helicopter. Her air routes were shorter, with more drone-assisted hoops to navigate. She’d meet back up with the boys at the next morph site.

  They were so far ahead already!

  Think, Mace, he cautioned himself. The end of the runway approached, and he slapped the ground-to-air morph a split second before his display advised him to do so. He lifted off the road and went airborne, smooth and steady, as he had been practicing all week. He banked sharply left to stay on course.

  Dex was coming up beside him. No, you don’t, Mace scolded, and veered to box him out.

  Mace found Henryk. Black against the stars, he could feel the invisible cone of calm air produced by Henryk’s jet—his wake—and placed himself within it. Mace’s flying grew steadier. Riding a leader’s wake was how geese saved energy for migrations.

  Duck, duck, goose. Mace accelerated, closing the distance.

  The high desert was a blur below him, moonlit, the horizon full of shadowy silhouettes of tall rock formations. They approached a stone arch—a mandatory checkpoint. Henryk slowed, navigating the hole cautiously. Was Henryk chickening out? Mace laughed. Event Horizon gained. The diameter was tight. It’d be close. This was no ordinary checkpoint hoop. It wouldn’t budge if he clipped it. “Nudge a little more to the left. No slowing,” Mace told himself. He corrected his steering ever so slightly, and blasted out the other side of the rock arch.

  Dex slowed behind him, but Caballero in his rearview hardly mattered. Mace’s single focus was catching up to Henryk.

  Ahmed startled him in his helmet’s earpiece. “Diagnostics look steady, Mace. Remember your training, and make every morph matter.”

  Mace heard Aya’s voice through Ahmed’s receiver. Ahmed cut the transmission, but not before Mace caught her asking for navigational confirmation for her upcoming air-to-ground touchdown.

  Henryk was already back on the road. Mace would have to hit the same landing mark or be docked a time penalty. “Going in,” he informed Ahmed.

  “Watch for Aya. She’s incoming, too.”

  “Got it,” he said. And there she was like a hawk coming down, fast and precise, on a field mouse.

  Mace emptied his mind and morphed to ground.

  The wings tucked in; the wheels dropped. Turbulence followed, and then Event Horizon touched down a split second behind Aya. Sparks flew. She swerved as her rotator blades folded in. Mace cheered for her, forgetting that he had dropped into third place.

  “That was near perfect! Ahmed, give her props for me.”

  “High-five her later. No crosstalk.”

  A proximity alert beeped. He checked his rear display. Dex was still on his tail, closing, eager to pass. Mace ignored him, thinking only forward. Get in front of Aya. And then Henryk.

  Aya’s taillights were like demon eyes in the dark ahead. Mace squinted. He could sense the vehicle; the rumble of its wheels on the cracked pavement somehow vibrated up through his core. “Let’s practice passing, shall we?” He shifted, accelerated, and came up on her rapidly. Mace swerved onto the narrow highway’s left lane and zoomed up beside her.

  The two drivers studied each other across the night, hidden behind their visors, but illuminated by their dashboard displays. He gave the roadster’s pedal a shove and gained on her, but she matched his speed.

  The turn took Aya by surprise. She hadn’t memorized the map like Mace had, and when he cut the corner tight, he was able to pull ahead of her.

  The battle for third was now between Aya and Dex. Mace focused on the win.

  Henryk’s taillights grew nearer. Mace felt like he was wearing his vehicle now. He commanded it forward—faster, faster—with every synapse in his body. And the trimorpher responded to his movements the way a shoe obeys the foot. He and the craft were one, their breathing and their pulse the same. He zoomed over the empty, winding highway at the edge of Lake Powell, and when Henryk veered left to block him—as Mace knew he would—Mace cut right and passed him.

  Just like that, Mace was in the lead! He let out a shout. But the finish line wasn’t in sight yet. His vision was crisp, his thinking fluid. His muscles thrummed with energy.

  “Keep focused,” he warned himself.

  The first water entry was coming up. Lake Powell was a bottomless, black abyss, with cliff faces and stone formations rising from its surface. Once a labyrinth of canyons, now the Colorado River filled in the sandstone gulfs. It was deep. A deadly maze.

  Henryk would be cautious navigating the chasms. If Mace could find the courage to go all in, he could press his advantage.

  But he was unsure in the water. All week, his practice entries had been shaky. He remembered the reservoir at the Boulder airport, how cold the water had been, flooding the cockpit . . .

  He passed a road sign for the boat ramp. Mace checked his control panels, which were dimmed to keep the glare off the curved window surfaces. All sensors were green. He was clear for water entry. He felt his heart rate quicken.

  Ahmed’s voice crackled in his headphones. “Maintain speed into the sharp turn, then I want to see a flawless morph.”

  But Mace botched the hairpin turn, catching a patch of loose sand on the pavement. He fishtailed off the road, kicking up grit.

  Henryk eased past him.

  “Crud!”

  “It’s not over yet,” Ahmed cautioned.

  The glassy, midnight-blue surface of the lake loomed large. It took every ounce of willpower not to tap the brakes. “Power up!” Ahmed shouted.

  Mace obeyed, giving the vehicle extra fuel. He felt Event Horizon accelerate. He was on the ramp,
at water’s edge. He morphed . . .

  . . . and the tires folded up into the hull too early. The underbelly scraped against the concrete ramp, but momentum carried it forward until the vehicle hit the water.

  The deceleration was intense. Mace’s smart cushioning grabbed him tight, keeping his body from flying forward through the canopy.

  Aya, and then Dex, passed him by.

  The turbine extended and kicked in. Mace was beneath the lake. He was moving at high speed through near blackness. His headlights only gave shape to what was right in front of him.

  “Ahmed, it’s pitch-black down here.”

  “Trust yourself. You can do this.”

  Mace closed his eyes and listened. In the way a radio antenna listens. He imagined that he could feel the submerged canyon walls below him, the rock pinnacles and spires rising from the depths like stalagmites. The vibrations of the vehicle moved through the water and bounced off these objects and surfaces and reached back to him. He could tell their shape, how far away they were.

  Mace ignored the displays entirely. He kept his eyes closed, leaned on the throttle.

  He came up behind Henryk. The Norwegian was going awfully slow. Choke! Passing him was almost disappointing. But there was no time to gloat. There were still two more leaders to overtake.

  Dex was next. Mace used the smooth cone of the forward trimorpher’s wake to approach at full force. He waited right behind Dex for a moment, then jogged abruptly left. Dex took the bait. He veered left to block Mace’s path, but Mace had already swerved up and back to the right. He inched farther and farther ahead. Dex wanted to box him out and knocked him with his hull. Mace pushed back. He could feel where the turbulence diminished and glided into the smoother water currents. It was Dex who was boxed out, forced to cut through the patchy knots where warmer and colder lake water mixed. It was like a race car owning the road while an opponent drove with two wheels on the shoulder.

  Mace pulled ahead. He increased his lead, and left Dex struggling in the dark.

  The end of the race was growing near, but Aya was still far in the lead.

  He pressed forward, searching for her vehicle’s signature in the water.

  Just as he detected her up ahead, she disappeared.

  “Dang it!” Mace spat. This was not good. Aya had broken out of the water, going airborne again.

  All that remained of the race was a final sprint back to the facility runway. Aya’s approach would be shorter than his.

  First one to enter the hangar would win. Given the distance remaining, Mace’s chances of overtaking Aya in the air were extremely slim.

  “This is it, Mace.” Tempest was on his comm. “This is her first run in a dicer. You should be embarrassed. Let her beat you, and I’ll send you home.”

  “You gave her a huge head start!” Mace argued.

  “So, what’re you going to do about it? Show me some steel, Mace Blazer. Show me you want to win—no matter what.”

  Mace flipped off his comm. He cursed in anger. He had made a deal with his friends! But Mace had no choice. He had to break his word.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Water-to-air morphs were the easiest and safest transitions of all. Mace trusted his vehicle. He increased speed and launched back into the sky. Within seconds, his canopy was dry, his view clear of water streaks, and he found himself flying low over the pale, moonlit sandstone formations. He turned southeast and punched the afterburner over Monument Valley.

  Aya was off on her own course again. Mace couldn’t spare any attention to the details. He had to look forward. Think forward. Lean forward.

  He hit every hoop at top speed, taking the turns tight. But Aya matched him move for move, pushing through her shorter zigs and zags without losing time.

  And now there it was: the secret facility landing strip, soft blue lighting leading into the rock formation. The first of them to touch down and reenter the cliff face and reach the interior hangar would be declared the victor. Aya was in the lead—and going in for the final landing.

  Think! he demanded of himself. He opened a channel to Ahmed. “What do I do?”

  Aya’s voice caught his ear. “Eleven percent declination. No crosswind.”

  “You’re on target,” he heard Ahmed confirm before he pivoted to Mace. “Not looking good for you.”

  Mace recalled that Ahmed and Tempest were running point for all four of them! Mace couldn’t open a direct line to Aya. But maybe he could get to Aya through Ahmed.

  I want my ’naut to thrive outside the box.

  Rules are strange, bendy things. Make every advantage your advantage . . .

  “I know!” he shouted into his headset.

  “Know what?”

  “It’s jammed, Ahmed! What do I do?”

  “What’s jammed?”

  “My port aileron is jammed. I can’t compensate! There’s a fire. I’m gonna crash!”

  “Uh, my sensors don’t indicate—”

  “AHMED, I CAN’T STEER!”

  “Stand by.” The chief engineer’s voice was focused. Mace listened as Ahmed spoke to Aya. “Abort landing. I repeat. Abort landing. Event Horizon in distress. Need a visual on his portside wing. Possible fire. Possible flap obstruction.”

  “Are you serious?” Mace heard Aya bark. “Fine. Aborting. Rerouting. Tell him to stay calm and fly straight as he can. I’ll pull up beside his port.” The transmission cut out.

  Mace suddenly felt nauseated. What was he doing? Aya would be livid about this.

  He grunted in agony. But what choice did he have?

  Ahmed spoke in Mace’s ear. “Hang in there. She’s—”

  “Oh, hey, look,” he cut Ahmed off. “Everything’s working fine all of a sudden. Imagine that.” Mace severed his own radio.

  Aya had abandoned her approach to the landing strip. She’d slowed and risen, ready to fall back beside Mace in aid. An opening a TURBOnaut could only dream of.

  “You wanted to see some steel? How’s this for a steal?”

  Mace punched it. As he shot by Aya from below, his canopy clipped her emerging rear left tire, sending it flying into the dark. The windshield cracked. His displays flickered. The landing angle was too steep! Morphing gadgetry deep within the craft clicked and reset. Mace’s wheels smacked the landing checkpoint hard. He fishtailed on the dusty runway, then gained subtle control. The rock wall opened—and thank the gods of speed and adrenaline that it did—because Mace couldn’t have slowed to a stop in time.

  He slid into the hangar, backward, and crashed into a rock wall.

  He watched in horror as Aya, one tire shy of a full set, clipped the rock face at full speed. Her detached wheel bounced off the far wall and came back at her, glanced off the canopy, and finally disappeared behind her. She flipped and skidded down the corridor upside down, hammering into him.

  Event Horizon’s seat released Mace from its grip. He threw open the shattered canopy and jumped to the ground. What had he just done?

  Aya stirred, still hidden from view. Her canopy ejected open. The force of it righted the vehicle. It teetered for a second, then slammed down, upright. Aya emerged, favoring one side. Her suit was torn open, her forearm bleeding from a gash.

  “You maniac!” she screamed at him.

  Mace didn’t budge. Don’t cry, he warned himself. Don’t you do it.

  He mustered his courage, taking several long breaths. Ahmed and Raymond appeared in the bay at a sprint, screeching to a halt in front of him, holding large fire extinguishers at the ready. “Are you okay?” Ahmed demanded.

  “No. She’s—” the word caught in his throat. He pointed at Aya. They noticed her behind him and ran over to her.

  “Is she okay?” Mace asked.

  Aya had been ready to save his life, and he’d betrayed her. For what?

  For everything. To be a TURBOnaut. She would understand. Right?

  Hitting your opponents hard is how you’re going to win.

  “I’ll live,” he heard her
tell Ahmed and Raymond. “Probably need stitches. No. I don’t think anything’s broken.”

  Mace approached hesitantly. “I’m so sorry,” he begged her.

  Don’t be sorry.

  The blood. It seemed like it was everywhere.

  “Apology not accepted, psychopath,” she seethed.

  Mace shook his head.

  Henryk entered the bay, his craft spotless and gleaming. Dex was right behind him.

  “Oh, no,” muttered Mace. Dex was last. This nightmare was getting worse and worse.

  Tempest entered the bay, expressionless. She studied the extensive damage to Event Horizon and the dicer.

  Ahmed was holding Aya’s arm above her heart, tightly wrapping the gash. Raymond gripped a fire extinguisher, at the ready. Aya looked angry, but at least she was alive. Henryk was visibly relieved. Dex’s face was made out of stone.

  “What in the name of Valhalla happened here?” Henryk demanded.

  Tempest strode over to Mace. “You think a stunt like that’ll make you a winner?”

  “Stunt?” Henryk’s eyebrow arched. “He cheated again? I knew it.”

  “He sure did,” Aya fumed.

  “No,” Mace argued. “Wait.”

  “No way,” Aya shook her head. “You tricked me. I was winning fair and square. You had to cheat to come out on top.”

  “See what it feels like?” said Henryk. “Told you so.”

  “Cheating is exactly what you did to me,” Dex pointed angrily at Henryk. “You used something. In the water. My dash went on the fritz as you passed me by.”

  “Prove it,” scoffed Henryk.

  “Dex, you’re done,” Tempest interrupted. “Pack your bags.”

  “No! I swear,” he pleaded. “He—”

  “Blah, blah blah!” Henryk spat.

  “Stop squabbling,” Tempest bellowed. “Dex, you finished fourth. You already had a strike. It’s over.”

  Dex stormed out of the bay. Mace watched him go, feeling terrible. He was worried he’d be joining his friend any second.

  Tempest watched Dex go, still as a statue.

  Finally, she said, “You’ve put Event Horizon out of commission. That’s a shame. Heck of a way to retire a legend. Pack your bags.”