KazAlkemi
rush99999
FourtyTwo
Sylvan
Tachi
LadyAmber
Red Wizard
Krasnaya
Bacon
Sky Blue
Al-Saqr HQ, Abu Dhabi, UAE, AU - April 21st, 2094
Testing Ground
“Control, this is Hamid. All systems are green. Let’s see what she can do,” the Morroccan test pilot said. He gave the instrumentation a final glance-over, then tightened his focus on the controls, and with an imagined flick of the mind, the engines pulsed, magnetic vectoring aligned and the ship rocketed forward. The track ahead was lit up by drone-carried holographic markers, each perfectly positioned to put their new setup - and secretly its pilot - to the test. “Handling’s solid as always,” Hamid reported through strained but practiced breaths as he hit each checkpoint milliseconds ahead of its benchmark. “Engines are beastly. She wants to be pushed.” And so he did. In the control room, the operators couldn’t help but smile as they heard the unmistakable exhilaration in his voice. “Woo!” he shouted as yellow warning lights came on concerning the unusual rate at which the ship devoured the track. And upon his return to the garages, applause greeted him. As he climbed out, he clapped the mechanics on their backs in cheer. “Yeah, we’re going places with this one.”
Meanwhile, in the Simulator Room
The slow drone of the simulation cluster was peppered by sharp bursts of comments as Layla and Kais ran the gamut on the Portugal track. Their physical check-ups after Italy had come and gone, as had the brooding of their chief medical officer. All in all, a strange feeling of pressure had been building despite their recent successes.
In-mind, the multicolored wireframe snake that was the Autódromo do Algarve had their full attention. Layla blazed through the corners of the tightly packed hillside, dodging opponents in all its claustrophobic hooks and turns, but Kais noticed her times were slipping. He mentally clicked off the simulator. “You’re getting slower,” he said, his voice matter-of-factly, and more than pointedly confrontational. Layla threw her head round to face him. “And you’re still not as funny as you think.” “I’m serious,” Kais pressed. “Is it the modulator? Or is it you?” Layla’s face soured with an uncharacteristic frustration. “What do you want me to say, Kais? Having to break out the ice this often is annoying, fine. But I’m not stopping.” Luna was coming up. Things had to be perfect then. “Worry about yourself more.”
The next run was bad. ‘The safehouse! Tell us where it is!’ The cold barrel pressed against his head.
The one after that, worse. ’You’re not alone,’ The light faded from his eyes. ‘I’m here. I’ll make it mean something.’
Then, it was over fast. Layla’s craft swerved in strange ways, her vitals spiked on the display. A red alert illuminated her pod, and the simulator auto-cut its power. Kais was out of his seat in seconds, cursing under his breath, but the safety mechanisms had done their job, kicking in before she felt the full psychological punch of being a craft ripped apart. The sim engineer rushed in with a precautionary coolant dispenser, but Layla went to sit up straight and waved them away in protest. “I’m still functioning. I’m fine,” she said. “I’m fine.”
Fight or Flight - Al-Saqr HQ Conference Room 'Casablanca'
Team Principal Omar paced the conference room, his voice filled with determination as he opened the meeting with the usual formalities. Many of the seats had department leads and experts for the monthly review, but two of the seats in the room were occupied by faceless holographic tags with names Kais had never seen before. Board members, stakeholders, R&D partners, perhaps? Who was Omar in talks with?
“We’ve come too far to fail now.” Omar stated. “Al Saqr is not just any team. We are the Falcons. We fly fast, and soar high. We do not just race, we redefine. What it is to race, what it is that we are capable of. And our results this year speak for themselves. Nine points behind Silver Apex. Nine. That’s nothing, if we play our cards right.” His eyes swept the room, to the faceless holo’s, then to Layla and Kais, and Kais swore his eyes narrowed the slightest bit. Then he turned back to the room, and started with the first points on the meeting’s agenda. “How are developments?”
“Our tests on the magnetic vectoring and pulse drive have been a great success.” Dalia Mansour, of propulsion, said. “With the increased control the neural interface gives us, we have been able to increase the speed in simulations without too much risk. We have already trialed the new engine-grid layout with Hamid.” Beside her, the Moroccan junior test pilot nodded in agreement. “It turns as tight as ever, but has a higher speed capability. We’re still hammering out some remaining kinks, but by Silverstone, we should reliably be able to hit an extra 9%, sustained.”
CMedO Salma Nasri’s voice cut through. “That’s great for the ships, but what about the pilots? Layla’s diagnostics are deteriorating. Overheating is a regular occurrence, even in practice sessions. Risk of overstimulation is close to 12% now. We’re pushing her systems too hot in my professional opinion,” she said with emphasis - she seemed to have waited for this moment to throw down the gauntlet, and pressed a touch-key on her holo-tablet. Various graphs of rising data points appeared in mid-air beside a full-body scan of Layla’s body, displaying heating in most of her synthetic systems. Parts that originally laid in the yellow margin of caution, were now starting to run into the orange-red, apparently incapable of keeping up with cooling her down the more data and fine-grained micro-controllers they tried to shove into her. It effectively made her an additional supercomputer cluster within the ship, but clearly not without risk. A risk which Layla wasn't alone in: Kais' own inculcated reflex loops seemed to handle their neural link slightly better, but they started pushing less-than-pleasant memories, and made for absolutely debilitating headaches at times.
Layla turned towards their team’s head doctor, her gold eyes lit by determination and practiced excuses. “Yes, we have been overclocking the systems: we have a lot of information now to know exactly where we can push it. I can handle it.” Salma’s expression hardened. “You think you can handle it. But the numbers don’t lie, Layla: you’re burning through your systems faster than they can recover. If you keep going like this you’re going to break down your mods before long.” “I have backups, they’re replacable.” “And what about you? Not every track has snow for emergency cooldown, Layla! What do you think a crash at these levels would do to you?”
Juan Diaz, lead mechanic on the energy systems, spoke up. “If I may, we have started work on hooking up the pilots’ internals straight into the ship’s cooling systems, besides continuing the work on the neural mod, of course,” he said, passing the torch to head neural engineer Remi Tewe. “Indeed. We’re pushing data streams we never dreamt possible, and we’ve been spreading them over the pilots’ neurological systems mostly by intuition, but optimizing the mappings for each pilot is difficult. We’re progressing steadily, but both of these developments need more time, frankly. I don’t know any team that does cooling of their pilots this way, for one, and most neural links only map into the shallow layers of the cortical structure. I don’t think we’ll have a fully production-ready version until Monaco, and we’re making overtime finetuning it for Luna, but if there are too many concerns, we could limit the modulator to keep the risk within safety margins for the next race.”
As he went on to discuss the details, Kais leaned in towards Layla, his voice low enough it wouldn’t be heard on the recording of the meeting’s minutes, but still firm. “No shame in a tactical retreat, Layla, you have been acting nervous lately, you’re pushing yourself too hard.”
Layla turned. “Wasn’t it you who supported the neural modulator adaptations to begin with? You wanted to push the limits just as much! And now you want me to backpedal, when we’re this close to a breakthrough? Go ahead! But I’m not stopping. I know what’s at stake, and I’m not going to let the team down now.”
The meeting continued for some time, discussing testing, finances and other pressing matters, but none caught Kais’ attention any further. Then Omar closed the meeting, and people went back to their business as usual. Later, in his office, a strange chirping came over the data lines, likely some of the usual interference from so many digital systems interacting. But to Omar, having the cryptographic decryption key, it sounded more like ‘Our investment stands.’
[Chat log]
Kais: “Meet me at the sims.”
Nadia: “At this hour?”
Kais: “We do whatever it takes.”
Kais: “Meet me at the sims.”
Nadia: “At this hour?”
Kais: “We do whatever it takes.”
The lab was lit, the machines on standby hummed soflty. Kais leaned over the neural calibration console, his brow furrowed - concentration, or frustration? Nadia shuffled in with some reluctance, her eyes red from having rubbed them for pretty much the entire duration of the trip back to the labs. “You know, I do need to sleep sometimes,” she muttered and put down a pair of Zap energy drinks as she took her place beside him.
“We’re changing the setup,” Kais began without preamble. “I’ve been replaying Layla’s races for the past few hours now. I think I know what her overclocking feels like. Now we need to find the edge of the knife, and nudge it back a little, just enough. I need you to go over diagnostics.”
Phone Home
The holo-screen flickered to life in the small living quarters Layla technically, physically, called her home. She made sure to adjust her positioning: everytime she saw her own reflection in the holographic screens, she found that her prosthetics defaulted to sitting more like a statue than anything else. Then, the scheduled call went through as it did every week, at exactly the same time, and the visuals of her parents came through, soft, aged, fragile.
“Layla,” her mother’s voice echoed through the speakers, her Jordanian Arabic dialect thick. “How are you? How are things over in the big city?” The question came through as it did every week, at exactly the same time. And as always, there was pride and joy in her eyes, but also that look. That look for her to simply come home. “Oh you know, busy.”
Layla sighed, and she quickly shifted the topic to her parents. “How’s the store doing?” Her mother went through the mundanity about their small store, their customers, gossip, that one handsome guy that would be such a catch. Layla made sure to nod and laugh at the right moments. But the unspoken still lingered. “Sounds like you’ve been having your hands full with it. You do seem to have gotten more grey again!”
“Well, you know us, we like to worry a lot.” Her father replied, half off-camera. “We saw the race last week. Very impressive, binti. We couldn’t dream of achieving anything like that.” And Layla tsk-ed. She had been so, so close to Amy. And yet, short of the mark. Again. “It went okay. Could’ve been more. I felt it again, though. We’re so close now.”
Her mother didn’t even acknowledge it. “Well, whatever ‘it’ is, you look tired of it. Are you sleeping alright? Eati-- nourishing yourself well?” Her father’s voice cut in from somewhere off-screen, a low voice, but clearly still meant for Layla to hear. “It’s no use, habibti. She’ll just say we don’t understand. Just like with everything else. We only have a store, after all. And our little binti is off ‘becoming more’. Fulfilling that purpose of hers.” He scoffed a little, his voice halfway between disapproval and desperation, and under his breath he whispered, “Machines and tools have a purpose. If only she understood how much more she is than that.” A defeated sigh finished the comment, then he went to grab something to drink.
The conversation turned back awkwardly, and Layla went over the usual things. Colleagues. Stupid meetings. The next race. Then her father sighed heavily, and stepped into frame. “Promise us you’ll be careful.” “I promise,” Layla said softly, even as every fibre of her being rebelled against the words. Her parents exchanged a quick glance, smiling through their worry. “Good luck in Portugal. We’ll be watching.” Her mother finished. “Thanks, I’ll make you proud!” “Same time next week?” “Same time every week.”
Then the holo-screen cut to black. ‘Connection closed’.
Formula Anti-Gravity Racing Round 5: Portuguese AGP
Autódromo Internacional do Algarve, Portugal
May 6th, 2094, 1500 GMT
Autódromo Internacional do Algarve, Portugal
May 6th, 2094, 1500 GMT
The trip to Portimão, Portugal had been uneventful when it came to the day-to-day operations, but the tension within the Al-Saqr crew was palpable. They had gotten away with the neural modifications on sheer luck it seemed, both in terms of results and in keeping it under the radar of the regulators, but how long could that last? The Autódromo Internacional do Algarve glimmered with its minimalist sheen, and inside the paddock, the usual pre-race preparation bustled: the setup of the racers, the garages, the data pipelines, the quiet, streamlined confidence. Yet Layla’s usual optimism, the very glue that had held the team together in their focus and drive for years now, had made way to an almost nervous atmosphere. Kais noticed her eyes flashed over to him, her fingers hovering over the neural calibration panels. Then she stood up and barged up to him. “You think I wouldn’t notice during practice?” she said with a low voice, but with an accusatory combative edge he hadn’t expected coming from her petite stature compared to his own. Behind his back, Kais gestured to Nadia to stay out of it, and she quickly busied away to other tasks. “The last config of my modulator got your fingerprints all over it, pushing the update at what, 3am? You tampered with it!”
“I put in some guardrails.” Kais said, his voice authoritative, hoping she would accept it if he made it sound like there simply wasn’t another option, and that it wasn’t an issue at all. “Very well calibrated. Shouldn’t hinder you. But it should keep the mods from melting right out of your body.”
Layla stared him down, an anger in her eyes Kais hadn’t seen from her before. “What happened to not coddling me, huh? Kais, I need you to trust me to know my limits. Now more than ever: we can’t afford to go back to the drawing board when we’re this close!” And Kais hissed back. “Listen, I get it, Luna’s coming up, and you don’t want to feel like you’re holding us back. But...”
“No, you don’t get it, Kais.” Layla snapped back, her eyes cast into the sky in frustration. “Why am I always supposed to push the breaks because someone else is afraid of the future?” Layla said, a restlessness building. “This isn’t just about me!” She left a silence as she breathed in. “Look, you’re not the only one who’s been through shit, alright! Luna is a dangerous place. Mining cave-ins, regolith slides, I’ve had friends taken by radiation cancers. Ever seen a micrometeorite hit? Every frontier takes its toll, Kais. But we can’t let it hold us back. We fight on. For all of us, and for all those that didn’t make it. We break through. Break free. I thought of all people, you would understand...”
Kais stood his ground as he was trained to. Staring her down, taking her in. As he did, he couldn’t help feeling admiration for her spirit. But there was something else too, a feeling which, to anyone else in the world, would be instantly recognizable as fear. “You know what?” Layla slightly softened, her prosthetic shoulders dropping the tension that was never really there to begin with. “For all that big talk about pushing limits you’ve grown a mighty big soft spot.”
“Maybe.” Kais said. Nodded. Grabbed his bag. Hesitated. Then, before walking off towards the track, with eyes cast away, admitted: “I didn’t think it’d come to this. And I didn’t think I’d care.” The words came difficult. “If you think you can handle it, I’ll stand behind you. If you can’t…? The future can wait. Just, whatever you do… don’t make me watch another teammate go down.”
And later, in qualifications, their times suffered. First up was Amy again. Paul and Nora did fantastic. Cassie, Jamie Hart and Han close behind. Then Kais at 9th, and then, Layla came behind all of them at a disappointing 12th. She sat in the pit, her eyes aimed up but looking at nothing. Her mind turned inwards to her neural link’s version control. Her hands clenched, migraine throbbing - she needed more, more processing power -, the midnight update taunted her. Layla felt her cybernetic eyes ache with all-too-human phantom tears. Then she chose ‘Delete’.
Interview +1, DELTΔ HYPER Couch
"Kais, Hamid, welcome to Delta Hyper."
Kais offered a nod, letting Hamid take the lead. Kais was not in the mood for interviews, especially not with the Arabic Union pilot next to him. He seemed to be everything Kais wasn’t: aside from Layla, Hamid had been the inspirational face of their team in their public relations towards the younger generations of the Union and beyond. The young pilot was eager. Maybe a bit too much.
"Thank you for having us. It is a pleasure to be here. And among winners, too."
"Absolutely, and you have two older, wise pilots to learn from and work with."
"Yes, Layla and Kais are pushing boundaries, and they are an inspiration."
"Well, that is very nice of you, Hamid. Kais, do you think from being a little older on the grid, you are a good mentor for younger pilots?"
The question was deceptive, and it gnawed at Kais’ composure. He tapped his knee with his fingers. The question made him sound like a relic to be phased out, like he didn't have much more to give, despite modern medicine and his genetic modifications. He crossed his arms. “Mentor,” he said, and sucked in some air through his teeth, as if tasting the word, then let it out in a slow exhale. “Racing isn’t something you can just pass down like that. It’s more personal. What works for one might not for someone else. And Hamid’s got talent. It’s up to him where and how far he takes it.”
Hamid smiled. “That’s humble of you to say, Kais. But talent is nothing without guidance.” Very slick.
Soundtrack: Mdou Moctar - Tarhatazed
“Alright then,” Kais said as he leaned back, his gaze sharply measuring up his counterpart's every reaction. “First lesson: how you handle pressure is a large part of the work. Most younger candidates fold when the going gets tough. First crash, first controversy, first team disagreement, and they're out. How would you deal with such things, Hamid, especially with so many in the Union looking up to you?”
Hamid donned his attractive smile, leaned back, one leg over the other in laid-back confidence. “The Arabic Union has given me so much. Bearing its flag is an honor. One I’ll gladly weather any pressure for, both on the track and off. And getting to share it with legends? With you and Layla? I’ll just have to make sure to work hard every day to catch up to you.”
He crossed his arms, mirroring Kais’ pose, and the warmth of his smile sharpened into an edge. “‘cause that’s the thing about racing too, isn’t it? You’re only as good as your last one. And I’m going to make sure my next one will be one to remember.”
“And the one after that…” And his smile grew.
“And the one after that…”
DELTΔ HYPER
Episode 5: Trading Paint
