Race

"And they're off! Great start from Lucia from pole, Olympia away and clear but Acciptrea's gone too low, look, that's putting Lyonne Ertku right on top of Queru Idcoulh as they go through the first ring, and Marca Calwehr's hustling too, they're using that descending start well, Lyonne's got the better angle from the outside of the stadium and he's inside Queru as they start the climb and it looks like Queru might lose out to both of them!"

"Tight stuff through there, then it's Niki Coro and Teda Nioli with Arden Markwe already pressing her, Feran Andoal through and clear-"

"Phoebe's already got past Idrin Felvan, look, in the first corner!"

"We didn't think that'd take long."

"Soot seems a bit more sprightly today, though, you'd have to say, don't you think?"

Soot levelled out through the fourth ring, right over the jagged fingertips of Gutefjellet. Phoebe shifted her weight forward, checking the angles of her ankles, keeping her legs moving as Soot settled into his level stroke. Ahead, the silver shape of Corredeira was already half-way along the ridge, drifting right to line up for the fifth ring. A lot of ground to have lost in only eight laps.

Phoebe let Soot follow; he knew the course, he didn't need direction, just for her to manage her own weight as best she could. They dropped below the rising line of the ridge where it surged up to the tall stone knife called Boddelensgjedde. For a moment, the sun framed the rock, its far face almost sheer vertical, facing the edge of the fifth ring.

Feran took Corredeira through with a deft dip and a perfectly-timed beat of silver wings, their angle a little smoother than Arden ahead. Phoebe narrowed her eyes and leaned ever so slightly left, bringing Soot closer to the cliff. Anything Corredeira could do, Soot could do better if Phoebe just figured it out.

Soot sensed what she had in mind and shortened his next few strokes, but it left his rhythm off, and Phoebe fell out of step. As Soot dipped through the ring, he was unsteady, and it left his follow-through slack, scrabbling for height up the sunward face of Boddelen. Up there, Feran was already through the sixth at the peak of the circuit.

Phoebe recovered herself and did what she could to help Soot climb. When they crossed the sixth ring they were so low that Soot could have stretched out his toes and grabbed the bottom of it. He relished folding forward into the long dive down the corrie, she could tell from the way he stretched his neck.

It was over twenty seconds to the seventh ring. To her mic, Phoebe said, "Petunia?"

"What do you need?"

"Next lap, can you give me Feran's gap to Arden at both the fifth and sixth, as they happen?"

"Uh-huh, I can do that."

"Thanks."

"Lap twenty-three, let's take stock as we start to look to the perch phase – if you're just joining us, dear viewer, and if you are, welcome, it's lovely to have you with us, every rider has to come into their stable at least once during the race so their dragon can rehydrate, replenish electrolytes and frankly just take the stress of their wings for half a minute – we're expecting perching to begin in maybe seven or eight laps from now. Who might we see first, Bob?"

"Tough to say, Sam. Lucia's pretty comfortable out front, seven seconds clear of Lyonne Ertku, she could probably afford to come in whenever she thinks Olympia needs it. I wouldn't want to be Lyonne or the Lautern strategists, though, Marca Calwehr's only three seconds away and they're an old, wise head."

"It seems wild to be talking about Marca in the podium positions, doesn't it? They managed fourth in Anatolia, but it's been a long time since that lonely win in Anjou back in '50."

"There's a racer's spirit in Marca, and Squillo. They're leaving Queru Idcoulh behind here today."

"They are, and it's those racers who are in the lower points positions who are going to have a tricky time picking their stops, don't you think?"

"Yeah, the field's very spread out, anyone who perches is going to find themselves in amongst the back markers. Feran in eighth might be able to come back out behind them all and have enough clear air not to be compromised, but it's tricky for them all."

"Adelie, how's our condition?" Phoebe's question whispered from Adelie's headset.

On the screen in front of Adelie – a laptop perched on the end of Stefan's workstation, only its USB connection for an anchor – the diagram of Soot was mostly green, but the joints of his shoulders were shading yellow and she wasn't entirely comfortable with where his core was at for this still being a lap short of the midpoint of the race. She hit her transmit button. "Looks ok for now."

"You don't sound that confident, Adelie."

"He's a little hotter than I'd like overall."

"Do we need to come in early?" The radio squashed a lot of expression out Phoebe's voice, but Adelie could tell she wasn't happy. She'd started to hate her reputation for perching early almost as much as she hated stretching the first stint to perch late.

Adelie exchanged a look with Stefan. He'd been better about not butting in to these exchanges lately, but he did still know his stuff better than her, and it was worth checking. He looked even less sure than Adelie felt, but he gave a quick shake of his head. To Phoebe, Adelie said, "I think we're fine. Keep going."

With the conversation over, Stefan put his hand over his headset's mic and leaned down closer to Adelie. "Have you looked at the projection?"

Finger on the laptop's touchpad, Adelie found her cursor, then the button to bring up that display. Immediately the cool wash of greens across the Soot diagram heated up, well into yellow along the leading edges of the wings and down the flanks. The colours flickered and jumped, much more than just their usual rippling. Here and there Adelie saw momentary spikes of hot orange. "This can't be right." She realised too late she hadn't covered her mic, that the rest of the stable crew would have heard.

"I agree." Stefan said immediately, lowering his hand. "Elice?" Then he paused, eyes still on Adelie. "Sorry, your prerogative."

"It's ok." Adelie looked past him to where Elice sat at her terminal at one end of the long desk that now hosted the four members of her data science team. As always when the race was underway, the slender coder's attention was fixed on her screen, her fingers constantly in motion. That didn't mean she hadn't heard or wasn't paying attention. Adelie said, "Elice, can we use the projection?"

"It's real bad today." She sounded strained, her voice clipped short. "We think it's the altitude changes, the raw data is too spiky."

"The sensors should not have any trouble with the altitude," Stefan said slowly.

"I know that," the coder snapped. "The sensors are fine, it's what they're telling us about Soot that's hard to process."

Adelie looked at Stefan and found him looking back, face tight. Most likely, the problem was just that their predictive model for Soot was based on such limited data, from races in very different conditions to today's. But if any of those projected temperature spikes were real, and they missed them…

"Stay off the projection," Elice said into the silence. "Phoebe will have to make her own judgements about Soot's condition."

"Here comes Lyonne Ertku into the stadium now, Squillo's just launching from his perch… I think Marca's going to take it."

"It'll be close."

"The gap was only a couple of seconds before Lyonne came in, and his last lap was poor."

"An extra three litres of fluid makes for a lot of extra weight when you have a three-thousand-foot climb straight out of the stadium."

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"Indeed. And look, there's Marca at the green ring, up comes Squillo and they've got it over Lyonne and Phosphora by half a length or so."

"Squillo's really flying beautifully today."

"He is, meanwhile further back, it looks like Arden Markwe has finally shaken Feran Andoal's pursuit, he's pushing hard after Teda Nioli… who's coming in to perch, look."

"That's going to make her vulnerable."

"It is, but I wonder what's happened to Feran?"

Phoebe saw a flicker of sliver along the ridge-line and realised it was Corredeira appearing from behind the far side of Boddelensgjedde, out of the fifth ring. The silver dragon weaved a bit as he pulled into the final ascent to the sixth ring. They were a long way ahead, but Corry looked tired.

Feeling suddenly warmer in her shoulders, Phoebe stretched herself a bit forward on Soot's back. His stroke was steady and powerful, and she could match it easily. She felt him respond to her posture, wings sweeping that little bit harder.

They slid into the shadow of the rock spike, and Phoebe leaned to hold Soot in tight again. His rhythm didn't falter despite the cliff only a few feet off his left wing-tip. In her head, she tried to picture what Feran had been doing, that trick timing on Corry's strokes.

The fifth ring came into view, nestled in the high notch in the ridge. Phoebe did her best to guess the distance, adjusting the timing of her legs to drag a little on Soot's beat, pulling his strokes shorter. He hesitated slightly, but went with her.

Picking her moment, Phoebe bobbed hard against the stirrups, and Soot caught on. They ducked under the top of the ring with a sharp snap of the dragon's wings, and Phoebe had to haul back against the speed they were suddenly carrying. Soot delayed his next stroke an agonising fraction of a second to steady them, and then it was up towards the sixth.

Once they were through and into the dive, Phoebe radioed home. "Feran's tiring. How do we look, Adelie?"

"Um, we're still struggling with the data, but if you think Soot's good then he's good."

"Corredeira's coming in to perch," Petunia cut in.

"Can we do two more laps?" Phoebe wanted to try Feran's tighter line a couple more times.

"I think so." Adelie hesitated, and Phoebe wondered what might be passing between her and Stefan. She finished, "You might have to decide for yourself."

"Okay. Tell me if there's any warnings."

"Lap thirty-four, Phoebe's perching."

"She's been doing well, Soot looks happy."

"Indeed. Will it make a difference, do you think? They were a long way behind Feran in eighth before Corry perched."

"He's not exactly set the timesheets on fire since coming in, though."

"Hmm, one fifty-six four, one fifty-five eight, Phoebe more like one fifty-five dead. There's a lot of laps left."

"We'll see, here comes Feran through the stadium, Soot's on his perch. Won't exactly be close when Phoebe sets out again."

"It won't, but this is mature strategy from Tenebrae, you'd have to say, wouldn't you?"

"Aye, at least, they're not rushing or panicking. Might pay off in the end."

Soot rose through the green ring at the end of the perch lane, sharply leaning towards the mountain and the second ring already. Phoebe let him lead, squinting ahead to pick out the shape of Corredeira against the mountainside. He was a speck, but still not up to the second ring.

Sun poured over the low glen like honey, the heather and grasses glowing. Out to the left, the sea was picture-perfect blue, the wind plucking hints of white from its chop. The air tasted faintly of salt and a little more of dragon breath.

Into her mic, Phoebe said, "What was the gap?"

"Twelve point four seconds," answered Petunia.

Up ahead, a flash of reflection ran over Corry as he finally swung through the second ring. Phoebe grinned.

"Arden's taking a very aggressive slipstream behind Incandesia down the dive there, that's very close."

"He could have Coro round from seven to eight."

"He could indeed, that's extraordinary, this is some old-school racing from Arden, Fleet really isn't flinching at all."

"I hope Lautern have warned Niki he's there."

"Does it make a difference? There's the over-speed, and Fleet can sweep tighter round the rocks-"

"He's going for it, Niki could block him but I don't think- no, ze's taking the standard line, they're going to be wing-to tail into the stadium but Fleet's carrying so much more speed."

"Arden's just cruising past Niki now, look at the crowd, they're loving this."

"Well they might, that's a beautiful, brave piece of flying."

"Not often you see a lunar dragon passing a solar on raw speed around here, even on the downhill."

"It isn't."

"So if Arden can do that, what's up with Feran?"

"I don't know, Sam, I really don't, he's still slipping back towards Phoebe, the gap's only eight seconds."

"Nineteen laps to go, do you think Phoebe can catch him?"

"She was four tenths up last lap, three the lap before."

"Last lap or two, then?"

"I'll be surprised if we see a pass that late, unless Feran makes a mistake."

Soot climbed steadily along Gutefjellet's bladed shoulder, a slight lean all he needed to stay on-heading through the third ring. His stroke felt good, the even rise and fall transmitted directly into Phoebe's legs so that it was easy for her to keep pace. Ahead, Corredeira was clearly visible, big enough that it was possible to think in terms of his real size rather than as a tiny toy.

"Three point six seconds," Petunia said neatly.

With eight laps remaining, that meant they still weren't gaining quite enough to catch Feran. But Soot would push himself harder the closer he got to Corredeira's tail. Phoebe pushed her own rhythm just slightly, urging him on in the climb. She said, "Adelie, any warning signs?"

"Shading yellow in the core, but we're not worried."

"Good, thanks." She wanted to say something more, it really sounded like Adelie was coming into her role as head vet. What did you say for that, though? Especially with Stefan also listening on the line. "Good work."

"Four laps to go, Bob, this is a solid charge Phoebe's putting on."

"It's not enough, she was half a second faster that lap and that's better than the last two, but it won't get her past him."

"That depends if Corredeira's got anything left for Feran to get out of him, doesn't it?"

"It's a matter of where she can pass him. The only places Soot really has the edge on speed are at the top through the fifth and back into the stadium."

"A last-corner swoop, maybe, on the last lap?"

"Won't work, remember Arden didn't actually pass Niki until halfway down the stadium, the race'll be over by then. And even with Corry looking as tired as he does, Feran has enough tricks up his sleeve that there's no way she'll pass him over the summit."

The sixth ring was positioned as if balanced perfectly on the small concrete pillar of the triangulation point on Boddelen's summit. The afternoon sun was high enough to barely leave any shadow on the north side of the mountain, and the ridge gleamed like the teeth of a saw. Soot lunged through the ring and into the descent, and Phoebe laid herself as long as she dared on his neck.

His stroke surged, harder than it had on previous laps. Corredeira's tail weaved back and forth only a little over a length ahead of them. Concentrating on matching her dragon's pace, Phoebe only half-registered Petunia telling her the gap. Close enough that it felt doable, far enough to ache.

She let Soot set his own pace. He still felt steady, and asking Adelie would be a formality at this point. Below, bare rock and scree gave way to scrub. Phoebe's shoulders were heavy, and her goggles pressed wearyingly at her temples.

She pushed the feeling aside. They were still closing, she still needed all her concentration. If she was going to outwit Feran through the fifth ring, the margins would be paper-thin.

"There's Lucia up over the summit of Gutefjellet for the last time, this race is in the bag for her, she's got a nine second lead over Marca Calwehr and they're both taking it pretty easy now."

"Never mind that, here comes Phoebe."

"Indeed, that's Soot only a few feet behind Corredeira as they come down to the seventh, but it doesn't look like he's got much closing speed left."

"Feran must be flogging the life out of Corry but he's into the turn ahead, Phoebe's not slicing the turn like Arden did, she's still got Soot deep in Corry's wake."

"That's incredible precision from Phoebe, keeping Soot steady like that so close to Corredeira."

"Formation flying. Looks good for the crowd, but the race is over now."

"You think so? No last-ditch move up on the ridge?"

"That'd be crazy and dangerous. There's no need for that sort of thing with only one championship point at stake."

"Isn't that what contesting a championship is about, though? These are the top two championship contenders right now."

"A real champion doesn't risk throwing away her dragon's life on stupid stunts."

As they dropped into the shadow of the Boddelensgjedde, Soot settled into the line Phoebe had planned, so smoothly that she almost felt she hadn't guided him at all. It placed them just inside Corredeira's left hindquarter, inches higher in the air, so close Soot could have stretched forward and taken a bite out of the trailing edge of Corry's wing.

On the silver's back, Phoebe saw Feran twitch his neck quickly to glance at Soot. Corry, already a touch unsteady with tiredness, wavered at the shift in his rider's weight. Phoebe grinned, feeling the cold mountain air pluck at her teeth.

Corry's wing all but blocked her view of the fifth ring on its upstroke, but Soot knew where it was. As Feran bobbed to send Corry into that tight, closed-wing manoeuvre, Phoebe lunged forwards, pushing Soot lower. His wings came up on their half-folded return stroke and he waited, trusting her.

They dropped under Corry, maybe ten feet of descent adding to the enormous down-and-back sweep of Soot's next stroke, that folded his wings at just the right moment so that he could fit through the ring at a twenty-degree angle. Phoebe tensed as she went under Corry's right talon, feeling but not quite seeing the silver waver again as Soot cut the air under his wings.

Corredeira was still sliding out leftward, over and across Soot's path, and Phoebe waited and waited, the climb to the summit of Boddelen getting tighter and sharper to their right until there the air above was finally clear and she hauled backwards against her stirrups and Soot heaved and they were climbing up inside Feran's line, out of Corredeira's shadow toward the gleaming rock of the peak.

"That's stupid! She could have killed him!"

"She's always had a flare for the dramatic aerobatics."

"That's more than dramatic, that's dangerous, you don't fly under another dragon like that."

"It was in a ballistic zone, though, that's legal."

"That's stretching the definition of a ballistic zone, you can't claim they were diving."

"Well, it's a famously vague rule, Feran's taken advantage of it many times before."

"He'll be fuming when he gets back to the stadium, and rightly so."

"Phoebe's through and clear for the last points-paying position. She always gives us something spectacular."

"I don't like it, Sam, that's immature and irresponsible, to take such a big risk for one point at this point in the championship."

"Surely that's going to depend on where she is six races from now. One point could make all the difference."

"If that's how she's thinking, that's rank arrogance for a rookie."

"Isn't she entitled to think like that? She's still third in the championship, and after a couple of bad races she needs every point she can get."