CHOOKA’S CHARCOAL CHICKEN RESTAURANT
HOBART, TASMANIA
The Bug squealed with delight as he popped the top off his well-shaken can of Coke and sprayed it into the air like a triumphant pro racer on the winner’s podium uncorking a bottle of Moet champagne.
Beside him, Jason and Henry Chaser cheered; threw their fists into the air.
It was Thursday night and the Chaser family was celebrating Team Argonaut‘s win in Race 25, and its subsequent qualification for the Sponsors’ Tournament on the coming Saturday.
Family tradition dictated that it was ‘winner’s choice’ - the family member (or members) being celebrated got to choose the restaurant and the Bug had quickly chosen his favourite restaurant in all the world: the chicken burger chain, Chooka’s Charcoal Chicken. As such, the entire family - plus Sally McDuff, who was by now an honorary Chaser anyway - now sat around a plain formica table surrounded by the remains of chicken burger wrappers, onion rings, French fries, and Coke cans. Everyone was laughing and smiling and recounting their favourite moments of the nail-biting race.
Well, not quite.
At one stage in the dinner, Jason noticed that his mother wasn’t joining in the festivities but was, rather, staring off into space, seemingly lost in thought.
‘Are you all right, Mum?’ he asked.
She turned abruptly, as if roused from a dream, quickly regathered her smile. ‘I’m fine, dear. Just thrilled for you boys.’
The world had been spinning for Jason since his downto-the-wire, skip-the-last-pit-stop win over Prince Xavier earlier that day. His memories of the afternoon were a blur of images:
He remembered returning to the pits after the race, being lifted out of the Argonaut by a jubilant Sally, high-fiving the Bug, and standing on the podium in his battered boots and denim overalls, and watching on the big screen as the 10 points Team Argonaut received for winning elevated the Argonaut to 12th on the Championship Ladder.
He also recalled Scott Syracuse coming over to him after the victor’s presentation, and looking at him closely.
‘You skipped your last pit stop again, Mr Chaser.’
‘Yes, sir. I did.’
‘You weren’t worried about making the same mistake twice?’
‘No, sir. I knew I could make it this time.’
‘So you decided not to take my counsel?’
‘No, sir. I just decided to follow something else you told me about mistakes, way back when we were doing pit practice and I kept creeping out of my pit bay.’
Syracuse frowned. ‘What was my advice then?’
‘You said I shouldn’t resist my mistakes. That I should learn from them. So I decided to learn from my last mistake - the other time I skipped my last pit stop, I shouldn’t have. This time, it was okay.’
‘By exactly 4.2 centimetres…’ Syracuse observed.
Jason smiled. ‘My dad once told me you can win by an inch or a mile, sir. Either way, it’s still a win.’
And with that, for the first time Jason could remember, Scott Syracuse smiled.
He nodded graciously. ‘Well done today, Mr Chaser. I can’t possibly imagine what awaits us when you race in Saturday’s tournament.’
He began to walk away.
‘Mr Syracuse!’ Jason called after him. ‘My family’s in town and we’re going out to celebrate tonight.’ He paused. ‘Wanna come?’
Syracuse hesitated for a moment, as if this were the most unexpected question in the world for him.
‘Sure,’ he said at last. ‘That’d be…very nice. What time?’
Jason told him.
Syracuse said, ‘Well, I have some work to do, some lessons to prepare, so I might be a little late. But I’ll be there.’
And sure enough, Syracuse arrived at the restaurant exactly 45 minutes late, just as a classic Chooka’s ice cream cake with the Argonaut‘s number 55 on it was delivered to their table.
As Syracuse joined them, Jason wondered if he ate takeaway chicken burgers very often. As it turned out, Syracuse handled his greasy burger with ease.
It took all of four seconds for Henry Chaser, official armchair racing expert, to start asking Syracuse all about his professional career.
‘You know,’ Henry said, ‘we were talking about that time you tried to cut the heel in Italy once. That time you got caught in there for - what was it - four hours?’
‘Four and a half,’ Syracuse corrected.
‘What happened?’
Jason also waited for the answer.
When he spoke, Syracuse seemed to choose his words carefully: ‘Let’s just say, I didn’t expect my career to end in New York later that year.’
And with that he looked to Jason, as if expecting him to deduce what such a cryptic answer meant.
Jason thought about it.
‘You didn’t expect to crash out later that year in New York,’ he repeated aloud. ‘Which means you expected to race in Italy again, in future years…’
‘Correct.’
Then it hit Jason.
‘No way…’
Syracuse nodded slowly. ‘You’ve got it.’
‘You were doing research,’ Jason said. ‘You were reconnoitring the Italian short cut for the next year.’
Syracuse nodded, impressed. ‘Well done, Mr Chaser. To this day, you’re the first person to have figured that out.’
Jason couldn’t believe it. It was so deviously clever. He said: ‘Everyone thought your taking the short cut was a desperate attempt to catch the leaders, but it wasn’t. You had no intention of catching the leaders at all, or even winning the race. You spent four hours searching the maze, working out its secrets so you could use them in future years.’
‘Four and a half hours, thank you very much,’ Syracuse said. ‘And then Alessandro Romba wiped me out in New York later that season and I never got to use that knowledge. Tough break. But I thought your use of the short cut in today’s race - following that Xavier fellow in - was just as clever. I hope you were taking notes as you went through. Because that knowledge will be with you whenever that short cut is used from now on - well, at least until the School reconfigures it.’
Jason beamed at Syracuse’s praise, and glanced over at his father, recalling his words from two days earlier: ‘When you start learning as hard as you can, I guarantee he’ll start treating you differently.’
Henry Chaser knew how much it meant. He just smiled knowingly.
Beside Henry, however, Martha Chaser had become lost in her thoughts again.
At length, Scott Syracuse stood up from the table. ‘Thank you all for a lovely dinner, but I fear I have to go.’
‘Hey, thanks for coming,’ Jason said.
‘Don’t stay out too late, Mr Chaser. Just because you qualified for the big tournament on Saturday doesn’t get you out of classes tomorrow. Lessons will take place as usual.’
‘Aw! Don’t you ever take a break?’ Jason asked. ‘See you in the morning, Mr Chaser. Good night, everyone.’
CHAPTER TWO
THE INTERNATIONAL RACE SCHOOL
HOBART, TASMANIA
FRIDAY, 31 MAY
The next day was like an episode of that old TV show, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous - albeit an episode that Jason watched in bits and pieces from the window of a classroom overlooking the Derwent River.
Jason knew that the Race School’s annual Sponsors’ Event was renowned for its carnival atmosphere, but he hadn’t been prepared for the sheer opulence of that atmosphere.
The whole of the river had been decorated with flags and banners. Hover boats happily tooted their horns, welcoming the flotilla of yachts and hover vessels that descended upon Hobart.
Around lunchtime, gigantic hover yachts began to arrive at the Royal Hobart Yacht Club. They variously belonged to famous movie stars, visiting politicians and of course, the heads of the major hover car manufacturers and race teams. One wholly chartered hover-liner pulled into the main dock and unloaded a bevy of glamorously dressed women and p
owerfully dressed men, the elite of Europe and East-Coast America.
Last and most celebrated of all, came the professional racers who had once been students at the Race School.
La Bomba Romba, from Italy.
Fabian, from France.
And Angus Carver, the fighter pilot, and member of the elite US Air Force Racing Team.
It was celebrity heaven. The local media just loved it.
Jason, however, didn’t really get it.
As far as he was concerned the Sponsors’ Event was about winning a knockout tournament. But for all of these people, it seemed to be just as much about attending the School’s black-tie Gala Ball that evening and the Victory Dinner on the Saturday evening after the tournament, doing deals and being seen at every marquee in between. Apparently, the Sponsors’ Event was one of the big events on the global ‘society calendar’.
Jason didn’t even know what a society calendar was.
And then, around mid-afternoon - to the media’s absolute delight - the largest private yacht of all arrived, bearing royal insignia on its bow.
The crest of the Royal Family of Monesi.
Prince Xavier’s father, King Francis of Monesi, had come to watch his eldest son compete in the tournament.
And while all this was happening, Jason, the Bug and Sally went to class: Jason and the Bug - watched by Scott Syracuse - did simulator sessions on virtual tracks that featured demag strips.
At the same time, Sally was busy erecting two closed-circuit cameras in their pit bay - pit practice was next and Syracuse, feeling that the Argonaut‘s pit stops had been somewhat erratic over the course of the season, wanted Sally to see for herself exactly what she did before, during and after each stop.
Curiously, both Horatio Wong and Isaiah Washington were once again too unwell to attend classes.
Jason suspected they were faking it in an effort to get some relaxation time before the big day. Both Wong and Washington had qualified for the tournament, and strangely when they had been ill in the past, they had raced just fine the following day.
For his part, Syracuse barely raised an eyebrow when he got the call from the School nurse about their illnesses. He just went on with his classes.
And in a funny way, Jason felt that Syracuse was treating Team Argonaut with more respect than his other two teams simply because they came to class, even when they were obviously weary. It was as if just by keeping up with their mentor’s tough schedule they were earning respect in Syracuse’s eyes.
Jason and the Bug were to meet their parents during lunch, but when they got to the riverside park where they had agreed to meet, only Henry Chaser was there.
‘Where’s mum?’ Jason asked.
‘Said she had some knitting or something to do,’ Henry replied. ‘Don’t know what’s got into her head, but when we got home last night, she pulled out her sewing kit and worked halfway into the night on something.’
‘Oh, okay…’
For the rest of their lunch hour, Jason, the Bug and Henry watched the hover vessels gather on the river, munching on sandwiches.
Then it was back to class, to the afternoon’s pit practice. It was perhaps their most gruelling practice session yet, with Syracuse working them hard - and all of it watched by the two all-seeing closed-circuit cameras.
Syracuse even had them practice an almost archaic form of pit stop: the manual stop, a stop during which all electric power in the pit bay had gone, meaning that Sally had to attach all six magneto drives to the Argonaut manually.
It was the Bug who figured out how to make such a stop happen faster: when he saw Sally struggling, he jumped out of the cockpit and helped her.
When he saw this, Scott Syracuse actually clapped. ‘Navigator! Excellent thinking! You don’t see manual stops much these days, but they can occur. Just because the power’s out doesn’t mean the race is off. And that’s how you handle them: you just get out of your car and you help your Mech Chief. Good thinking, Mr Bug.’
The Bug beamed with pride.
Every few stops, they would crowd around the TV monitors and watch the feed from the cameras. Sally frowned as she watched herself. ‘Look at that, I’m all over the shop. Spent mags here, new coolant there, compressed-air cylinders all over the place. My God, I never knew…’
Syracuse nodded. ‘I can tell you and tell you what you have to do, but sometimes you just need to see for yourself.’
Then, at exactly 4 p.m. - two hours earlier than usual - Syracuse called an end to the session. ‘Great work today, people. Grab a drink and take a seat.’
They did so and, utterly exhausted, fell into their chairs.
The thing was, Syracuse still wasn’t finished.
He put up a spreadsheet on the vid-screen. ‘This just came in. It’s the draw for tomorrow. Fourteen starters, rankings based on each racer’s current positions on the Championship Ladder.’
Jason gazed up at the tournament draw. It looked like the draw for a tennis tournament:
ROUND 1 QRTR FINALS SEMI FINALS FINAL
1. XONORA, X
1. XONORA, X
16. [BYE]
10. LUCAS, L
8. WONG, H
6. CORTEZ, J
11. PHAROS, A
14. MORIALTA, R
4. KRISHNA, V
3. WASHINGTON,I
13. TAKESHI, T
12. CHASER, J
5. PIPER, A
7. DIXON, W
9. SCHUMACHER,K
15. [BYE]
2. BECKER, B
2. BECKER, B
Jason saw himself in the bottom half of the draw. His first race would be against…
Oh, no.
Ariel Piper.
His opening race would be against his only friend at the Race School. What was the old saying: ‘There are no friends on the track.’
In any case, with Ariel, Barnaby Becker and Isaiah Washington all in his half of the draw, it struck Jason that the lower half was easily the tougher side of the draw.
It was with great disgust that he noticed that both Prince Xavier and Barnaby Becker had scored byes through the first round. Since there were only fourteen racers in the draw, the top two ranked racers got the benefit of byes through the first round.
The format for the day was known as ‘short-course match-racing’: two cars raced inside a walled-track shaped in a tight figure-8. You won the match-race in one of two ways: first, by lapping your opponent; or second, if neither racer could lap his opponent, by being the first to cross the Start-Finish Line after 100 laps. Since it was a short course - taking about 30 seconds to get around - 100 laps would take about 50 minutes.
‘So,’ Syracuse said. ‘Any questions about tomorrow?’
That took Jason by surprise. It was the first time he could remember Syracuse offering specific advice about an impending race.
‘Sure. What’s the secret to short-course match-racing?’
‘You do get right to the point, don’t you, Mr Chaser,’ Syracuse mused. ‘What’s the secret to match-racing? How about this: Never give up. Never say die. No matter how hopeless your situation appears to be, don’t throw in the towel. Some racers go to pieces when something goes wrong and they find their opponent hammering on their tailfin. They just fold and let the other guy by, thus losing the race. Never ever do that. Because you don’t know what problems he’s got under his bonnet. You might throw in the race two seconds before he was going to pit.’
‘What about pit stops then?’ Sally asked.
‘Gotta be fast in match-racing,’ Syracuse said. ‘When each lap is only 30 seconds long, you can’t afford anything longer than a 15-second stop. Any longer and your opponent will be all over you when you come out. Then you’re only one mistake away from defeat.’
The Bug whispered something to Jason.
Jason said: ‘The Bug wants to know your ideas on when to pit. Early? Late? First or always second, like they say in the text books?’
‘The pits are the X-f
actor in match-racing,’ Syracuse said, ‘because whenever you stop your car, you run the risk of it not starting up again. Many a racer has pulled into the pits in a match-race and never come out again, only to watch helplessly as his rival cruises around the track to an easy victory. That’s why the books advocate pitting second. I agree. It’s also why I wanted you guys to drill pit sessions today.’
He looked over at Sally. ‘Pit action becomes even more crucial the longer a match-race goes on - you might have to make decisions about whether to do a full-service stop or just a mag change. The key is to be out on the track. So long as you’re out there, even if you’re racing on one mag, you can still win. Never give up. Never say die. But then,’ he turned to Jason, ‘from what I’ve seen from you so far this season, Mr Chaser, I can’t see that being a problem.’
CHAPTER THREE
THE GRAND BALLROOM
THE WALDORF HOTEL, HOBART
It looked like something out of a fairy tale.
The theme for the evening was ‘Among the Clouds’, so the entire Grand Ballroom of the Waldorf was filled with 80-foot-high blue sails and fluffy machine-generated clouds. The effect was startling - you felt as if you were dining high in the sky, literally among the clouds.
Jason Chaser entered the great ballroom wearing a hand-me-down tuxedo. Beside him, the Bug and Henry Chaser wore regular suits-and-ties - they didn’t have tuxedos, so they just wore the best outfits they had. Sally McDuff wore a shiny sky-blue dress that brought out the very best in her busty frame. Martha Chaser continued her peculiar behaviour and did not attend, insisting that she had ‘things to do’ back in the caravan.
The ballroom before them was filled with wealthy and famous people wearing the best outfits money could buy. Men in designer dinner suits, women in custom-made Valentinos, dripping with jewels.
Famous racers were spread around the room: over in the corner was the reigning world champion, Alessandro Romba; by the bar, the American Air Force pilot, Carver. And at a table near the stage, talking with King Francis and Xavier Xonora, was the much-reviled French racer, Fabian - the villain of the Pro Circuit; cunning, brilliant and utterly ruthless, and also totally at ease being universally despised by every race fan outside France.