Authors: Matthew Reilly
They were gate race specialists, the US Air Force priding itself on its pilots’ abilities to most efficiently navigate any course.
Word was, Carver and Lewicki’s Air Force navigators trained on state-of-the-art computer navigation simulators for ten hours a day, so that optimal race-plotting became almost second nature to them.
But when it was revealed at the 1-hour mark that at 740 points each, they were both ten points behind the leaders, Jason and Fabian, the crowds and the commentators went wild.
The television commentators - with the help of their own course-plotting computers - immediately analysed Jason’s possible raceplans based on his course-plotting so far.
‘Check this out,’ one of them said. ‘From the start, Chaser went south, while everyone else went north. Now, he’s coming back north, where the streets aren’t as congested with other racers anymore, and he’s stealing solid 20-point gates on his way. And now look here - he’s just jumped onto the Henry Hudson Parkway, still heading north. Now where could he be heading? Okay, here comes the computer’s assessment of his plan: what the hell - ?’
The same thing happened on every other sports channel.
Shocked commentators saw the Bug’s plan.
‘No way!’
‘He can’t be serious!’
‘The computer must be wrong…’
‘No, it’s working all right…and, holy Toledo, it’d bring him back to the Start-Finish Line way ahead on points, easily in 1st place! Folks, according to our raceplan computer, Jason Chaser the popular young racer in Car No.55 is going for the Cloisters. He’s going for the 100-point double! And, by God, if he makes it, according to calculations, he’s gonna win this race, too!’
RACETIME: 1 HOUR 30 MINS
At the halfway mark, the top five racers on the scoreboard were:
DRIVER NO. CAR POINTS
1. CHASER, J 55 Argonaut 1,250
2. FABIAN 17 Marseilles Falcon 1,250
3. CARVER, A 24 Mustang-I 1,220
4. LEWICKI, D 23 Mustang-II 1,210
5. ROMBA, A 1 La Bomba 1,160
Jason was racing well - fast and hard - but it was the Bug who was having the race of his life. Word of his daring plan had spread, and every race fan in New York was on the edge of their seat, wondering if the
Argonaut
could possibly complete the double
and
win the race.
But Fabian stayed with him. And in the southern part of the course, the two US Air Force racers were now accumulating points very well. It was also widely known that Alessandro Romba, the world champion, intensely disliked gate races - he would be thrilled if he retained his 5th placing in this race.
Elsewhere, other things were happening.
As the race entered its last hour, racers again began to get desperate, and they started taking more risks, started taking corners more recklessly - and when two speeding hover cars hit the same intersection from different directions, catastrophe could occur.
It was one such collision that took the Chinese racer, Au Chow, out of the race. He’d been in 7th place when he’d come blasting out of Central Park - just as one of the other tail-enders, the American Dan Rein in his Boeing-Ford, had been zooming down Fifth Avenue to pit.
The two cars clashed at right-angles - with Rein careering spectacularly through Chow’s nosewing, shearing the Chinese racer’s entire nosecone clean off, in the process almost taking Chow’s legs off.
Rein came out of it with a crumpled nose, but he managed to limp back to the pits. Chow’s race was over - and since he’d only garnered 2 miserable points in Race 1, so was his time in the Masters.
RACETIME: 2 HOURS 45 MINS
‘I like your style, Bug!’ Jason yelled as the
Argonaut
roared up Riverside Drive, occasionally ducking inland to plunder some 40-point gates on the high Upper West Side - all the while with Fabian hammering on their tail.
‘Everyone thinks you’re this sweet little mousy guy, but I always knew you were a glory-seeker!’ Jason said. ‘Only you could come up with a raceplan that’s points-heavy and history-making!’
The Bug replied with three words.
Jason nodded. ‘Death or glory. You bet your ass, little brother.’
Up and up they went, zooming northward toward the Cloisters, their race now an equation of distance and time.
The 100-point Cloisters Gate was the single farthest point on the course from the Start-Finish Line, and they had 15 minutes left in this race.
But the Bug had planned well - basing his decision on the distance to the Cloisters, their speed, the big points available and the ever-diminishing state of their mags. He’d planned it down to the second.
But there was still the Fabian issue.
Try as he might, Jason just couldn’t shake Fabian. The wily Frenchman was clinging to his tail, riding on the Bug’s brilliant strategy - no doubt informed by his pit crew that it was a winning one.
A couple of times, Jason tried to lose Fabian in the maze of the Upper West Side, but to no avail.
And then, as the race-clock hit 2:45 and Jason set his course for the Cloisters, Fabian did it for him.
Either he lost his nerve or he took a call on his radio to try a new plan - most observers thought he lost his nerve.
Whatever the reason, Fabian pulled off the Parkway, swinging right, and headed back down toward Midtown - not prepared to take the risk of going all the way up to the Cloisters; preferring to take the points from lesser gates and get back within the 3-hour time limit.
Now the
Argonaut
shoomed northward, alone. Heading for the Cloisters.
Jason gripped his wheel tightly as the minutes ticked by. At 2:50 exactly, the
Argonaut
roared into the Cloisters,
the crowd there rising in a delighted Mexican Wave as it zoomed past them and -
bing!
- whipped through the
archway there, collecting 100 points for its trouble. ‘Yee-ha!’ Jason yelled.
The Bug whooped it up too.
‘Right,’ Jason said. ‘Now it’s time to get back.’
RACETIME: 2 HOURS 52 MINS
Over-cautious racers rushed back over the Start-Finish Line, finishing a full eight minutes early, determined to bank their hard-earned points and avoid penalties for returning late. It was conservative racing, but in gate races, one never knew…
According to the Bug’s plan, the return journey was to be swift and simple.
Zoom due south all the way down Central Park West, along the border of the Park, and then swing onto Broadway as it angled in toward Midtown - collecting a couple of easy 10-pointers there - before turning onto 42nd St and heading for Fifth Avenue.
It was all going to plan until, at the very bottom of Central Park, the two Renaults of Fabian and Etienne Trouveau appeared from out of nowhere, slotting into identical positions on either side of the
Argonaut
.
Ostensibly, they were just other racers legitimately trying to get back home as fast as they could - but the way they buffeted the
Argonaut
, slashing at it with their razorsharp bladed nosewings, Jason knew that this was something more.
They were trying to put him out of the race.
For good.
He held them off grimly, banging from one to the other, hemmed in on either flank, at one point roaring down Broadway on his side - but then as he turned left onto 42nd St, only one right-hander away from home, the French racers got him.
The three cars took the left-hander onto 42nd St together - with Fabian on the inside, Jason in the middle, and Trouveau on the outside.
And at that point, with cool calculation, Fabian pushed Jason into Trouveau.
With nowhere else to manoeuvre, the
Argonaut
slid right, its nosewing coming closer and closer and closer to Trouveau’s glistening bladed nosewing…
…and they hit.
CRACK!
The
Argonaut
‘s nosewing splintered and broke and Jason lost all control.
The
Argonaut
veered downward, rushing toward the hard surface of 42nd St - while the two Renaults flittered away like a pair of nasty ravens, their job done.
Jason somehow managed to pull his nose up and the
Argonaut
slammed into the roadway, landing awkwardly on its belly, right on top of its magneto drives.
Mags flew left and right, out from under the bouncing car: one, two, three, four of them…
…and the
Argonaut
- once beautiful, now battered and smoking - slid to a screeching halt in the middle of 42nd St, one turn and 800 metres away from the Finish Line.
RACETIME: 2 HOURS 56 MINUTES
The crowd in the grandstand closest to the crashed
Argonaut
sighed with dismay at the unexpected crash. The commentators on TV went bananas:
‘Oh, no! Chaser is down! Chaser is down - !’
‘Ladies and gentlemen, the race leader has crashed - !’
‘And with only four minutes to go! In what could have been one of the best gate-race runs ever! Oh, the shame!’
Fabian and Trouveau both swung right, onto Fifth Avenue, and a few seconds later, roared over the Finish
Line on 34th St, seven blocks away.
The
Argonaut
sat nose-down - crumpled and broken - on 42nd St, alongside the majestic New York Public Library.
Inside the stationary car, Jason raised his head weakly. The first thing he did was check behind him.
‘You okay?’
The Bug groaned but nodded.
Jason keyed his power switch.
The
Argonaut
‘s internal organs ticked over but did not catch. The car remained still.
Jason tried to start her up again. No luck.
‘Come on, car!’ Jason yelled. ‘Don’t let me down!
You’ve still got two mags! There’s still time for us to get over the line!’
He keyed the power switch one last time.
Vmmm
.
The
Argonaut
rose exactly two feet off the ground - and stayed there.
Jason pushed forward on his thrusters, but the car remained in a stationary hover - its compressed-air thrusters coughing pathetically - the car held up only by its two remaining magneto drives.
It had lost forward thrust.
The
Argonaut
wouldn’t - couldn’t - go forward.
Jason’s face fell. If this had been a regular Masters race, he could have run for the Finish Line with his steering wheel, as the Bug had done back in Race 50 at Race School. But this was the only race in the Masters that was Car Over the Line: the
Argonaut
had to cross the Line.
Jason looked up. ‘Oh
damn
.’
RACETIME: 2 HOURS 57 MINS
With three minutes to go, 8 of the 12 starters had crossed the Finish Line. Four remained out on the course: the crashed Au Chow, Raul Hassan, the second LockheedMartin driver and Dan Rein in his mended Boeing-Ford (both trying to get more points), and Jason.
At the time he crashed, Jason was in the lead on points.
But now, unmoving on 42nd St, all agreed that his race was over.
The TV commentators overlooking the Finish Line bemoaned his crash.
‘This is such a shame…’
‘Could have been a history-making drive…’
‘But he’s young, he’ll learn…’
‘That’s right, Bob, a gate race is never over until you’re over that line.’
But then, one of them kicked back his chair and stood up, pointing up Fifth Avenue, and raised his voice above them all:
‘Wait a second!
What is that?
’
Every spectator on Fifth Avenue turned northward at the same time, and they all saw it together.
And for the first time in history, Fifth Avenue fell completely and utterly silent.
For what they saw totally took their breath away.
Through the glorious slow-motion confetti snow, they saw an object emerge from 42nd St and come out onto Fifth Avenue.
It was the
Argonaut
.
Hovering low above the street.
And behind it, bent low with exertion, were two small figures.
Jason and the Bug were pushing it.
Slowly, gradually, with all their strength, Jason and the Bug pushed the
Argonaut
out onto Fifth Avenue.
The wide avenue stretched away before them - to the Finish Line, 500 metres away.
They kept pushing, and at first, their slow journey went in silence - the crowds massed in the stands on either side of them just watched them in sheer speechless shock.
And then someone yelled in a classic Noo York accent: ‘Come on, kid! Push that sucker home!’
And with those words the spell was broken and the crowd exploded with applause and started urging Jason and the Bug on with roars that shook the heavens.
* * *
RACETIME: 2 HOURS 58 MINS
Two minutes to go. 200 metres to go.
Step by agonising step, Jason and the Bug pushed the
Argonaut
- their
Argonaut
, their tough little car - down the home straight.
The crowds on either side of them were now in a frenzy, urging them on with rhythmic chants of: ‘
HEAVE! HEAVE!
’
Sweat dripped off Jason’s brow, splashed to the ground. The Bug leaned with all his might against the tailfin of the hovering
Argonaut
, pushing with his back.Th
e race-clock ticked over to 2:59.
One minute to go.
But still 120 metres to travel and the boys were exhausted.
The commentators were abuzz with excitement:
‘…In all my years calling sport, I have
never
seen anything like this…’
‘…We’ll have to look at the points tally. Chaser was 60 points ahead of his nearest rival before he crashed. At this points ahead of his nearest rival before he crashed. At this hour mark. The question is: How many points will he lose for being late?’