Friday March 3rd, 2094, 08:15
The video opened on a slow pan of Auckland, the camera drone hovering some 25 meters above the ground in front of the main entrance of the circuit and getting a good view of the nearest track features, the mag tracks over the harbor and the sky tower corkscrew in the background as well as the gathering crowds. As it finished a full 360° pan, it rapidly descended to head height to get Beatrix Ward into frame, the new Carrera Condor driver clad in a team branded zip-up hoodie, black pleated skater skirt and wearing a pair of aviators from her merch line and a wide smile while walking backwards toward the gate, arms wide open to welcome the audience. Longtime viewers and people giving it a bit of thought would’ve known the drone had a screen on it showing what the camera saw, allowing her to essentially reverse with a rearview mirror on foot, but at a quick glance she was walking backwards without checking over her shoulder with complete confidence.
”Welcome to Auckland, lads and lasses. Beautiful city, amazing people, one Hell of a race track and my first weekend as a bona fide Formula Anti-Gravity pilot. What a feeling. Obviously we’ve been here for the pre-season testing last week, but… that doesn’t even compare. The last time my heart was racing like this we were 17 points off the leader in WRC 2090.
And I thought to commemorate this, I’d do something weird.” She took off the hoodie and tied it around her waist to reveal a lime green long-sleeved shirt with an image of her 2091 Junior Formula AG craft sliding sideways along the ground in a shower of lenticular-printed sparks and smoke after her antigrav repulsor had failed halfway down Kemmel straight and the caption ‘Slightly suboptimal’ above it printed across the front and a velcro grid along the sleeves holding patches depicting the individual images she had painted on her arms attached to their respective places.
”What do you guys think?” She spun around mid-step with a waltz spin to show it off, ”Merch that grows with us as life keeps going. Pick your favourite colour and print, and instead of me trying to sell you a new shirt at the end of every season, you can just get the patches. It’s cheaper for you, uses less resources to make it and if you only want some pictures and not others, maybe you only want the good without the bad, you can! Or maybe you don’t like me and you want to make a wall of shame out of the left arm pictures.” She giggled at the self-deprecation, ”This is just a one-of prototype so far, so let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in, or if you have some ideas for improvements. I’m all ears.
And with that said,” She beckoned the drone closer with a hand gesture, leaning in closer to whisper to it as if to share a secret, ”Let’s see what mischief we can get into.”
The video continued sped-up, filmed over her shoulder like in a third-person video game as she entered the circuit and headed toward the paddock occasionally stopping to chat with someone, take a picture or sign something, only interrupted once by a slow motion shot when she tripped on a staircase and just barely managed to stay upright, finally fading to black as she entered the Carrera Condor area.
The next one was shot with the drone in front of her as she walked through the paddock.
”So, there was a meeting I can’t show you, hence the cut, but I’ve just been told that Ava and I have Delta Hyper interviews coming up. Now, I have two options here:
Option one, I go find her and we go to the interview.
Option two, I leave her to her fate and go straight away because a little birdie told me the boom mic guy is cute.”
There was a pause as if she was weighing her options.
”Now as much as a cute guy with a big stick sounds interesting, I’m thinking I’ll start the season by being a responsible teammate and go find mine. Good thing she’s like 19 feet tall, she’ll be hard to miss.” Bea grinned, craning her head to look around. ”More in the official interview, and don’t forget the scheduled fan meets, Saturday at eight PM and Sunday an hour after the race.” She blew the camera a kiss before the video ended on a screen with links to her social media and merch store.
Episode One: Finding their Feet
The first shot was of a little girl, maybe five or six, sitting atop an overturned boat completely drenched and laughing hysterically.
The second was the same girl, around seven, dressed in a wetsuit and life preserver and standing on the top step of a podium holding a sailboat-shaped trophy above her head.
A mud-stained rallye buggy with a crumpled roof getting thrown around a chicane on a wet, pothole-filled road somewhere in Wales with the co-driver’s voiceover. “... brake, left four tightens into tight hairpin left, don’t cut- cool it, Bea! Mind the cracked frame!”
“Boring.” Came a one-word reply as the engine tune indicated an upshift.
A three axle World Rallye Championship truck hurtling around a long curve along a Finnish gravel road, front left wheel hooked in the ditch on the inside of the turn to help guide it along, the same co-driver reading pace notes at the rate of a machine gun. “...fourty, big jump over flying finish.”
The truck straightened out just before the jump, soaring over the finish line marker boards and landing in a cloud of dust and pebbles, easing to a stop.
“That felt good. That felt really good.” The co-driver breathed a sigh of relief at a normal cadence.
“I sink I bit my tongue on the laft one, fuck.” Was the driver’s response, the same young woman as before.
A Junior Formula AG ship struggling through some corners before understeering into the wall on the exit of La Rascasse, team radio coming on a second later.
“Bea, you alright?”
A dejected, frustrated sigh. “Yes. Just get me out, man, end this fucking pain.”
That same Junior Formula AG craft sending a wild one down the outside of Turn 13 at Istanbul Park before switching over to cover the inside of T14 and clinching her first win of the series in a photo finish, the same woman’s elated voice coming over the radio. “FUCK YEEEEES! BY MILLIMETRES!” A few heavy breaths, ”I’d just like to say ‘thank you’ to everyone in the garage. I don’t know how you pieced that pile of carbon dust I gave you after quali into a working ship, but at this point I’m convinced that if I gave you breadcrumbs, you’d reassemble the loaf in time for breakfast. You guys are absolute legends, each and every one of you. Dinner’s on me tonight. Thank you!”
Beatrix sitting down on the Delta Hyper couch. “My name is Bea Ward, I’ll be racing for the Carrera Condor Formula AG team in the 2094 season and hopefully beyond.”
Aurora asked her first question, Bea smiling at the art compliment in an unspoken ‘Thank you’. “And everyone who likes them can get some for themselves from the Carrera Cordon merch store, because we need every penny.” She grinned, “Sorry, I had to.” She wiped the smirk off her face before continuing.
“Not much of a sketch yet, obviously after the time between the announcement and now plus pre-season testing I got my easel set up and I know what kind of paints I’m working with and who’s painting with me.” She carried on with the art analogy, “But the ship being what it is, the team isn’t expecting podiums. There’s also some people who don’t like that I’m here, they’d prefer someone else to be sitting here right now and to a point I can sympathize, so my goal for this season is to prove to the team that they’ve made the right call and to the sport that I belong. As long as I’m finishing equal or above where I qualified and I’m not too far behind Ava, I think it’ll be an alright year.”
There was a brief pause as the answer was officially over. “Now watch me get outqualified by both Fitzroy craft.” She added in jest.
Saturday March 4th, 2094, 19:20
“...and that’s both Carrera Cordon ships done, improving on the Fitzroy times as expected, here’s the team radio:” The commentators’ thoughts were interrupted by the double beep and team radio graphic popping up on screen.
“Okay Bea, that’s projected P18, point six one behind Ava.” Her race engineer’s voice came over the radio, Alistair Vale’s calm, measured voice a contrast to Bea’s response.
“Aaah. That fast sector’s still kicking my *BEEP*.” The whine of the engine going quiet in the background as she eased up the throttle, “But it felt better than pre-season. I think this setup is working.”
“Yeah, not bad for your first Saturday. Engine mode ‘Slow’ please and set to recharge.”
25 minutes later, in time for the grid to have settled around them, Bea was out of the craft and racing suit. Getting the breathing liquid out of one’s lungs was neither quick nor pleasant, meaning she only caught the tail end of Ava’s debriefing before the team principal León Alonso, a broad-shouldered man with thick eyebrows and square jaw, outlined her goals for the race - Don’t let Kovalenko through, get past Mensah, keep Waldgard behind her if possible but let him through if it’s a choice between that and crashing or a prolonged energy battle that would let the Fitzroys catch up.
Straight after that was one of the highlights of a race weekend for Bea as she was off to the fan zone. She always seemed more energized there, signing hats, taking pictures and answering unscripted questions, a more relaxed and honest affair than the usual post-session conferences, while sipping a can of ice tea. No one knew, least of all her fitness coach, that it had a decent amount of brandy in it to help get the lingering chemical taste of the breathing liquid out of her mouth.
“Who do you think is gonna be your biggest competition tomorrow?” A young Japanese woman asked while taking a selfie with Bea, arms around each others’ shoulders as if they’d been long time friends.
“Ava, obviously. It doesn’t matter how good or bad your ship is, your teammate is always racing the same machinery, they’re always the most fair comparison. Of the other teams, that would be Waldgard. He’s right behind us, he’s not gonna want to stay there and he’s got the machinery under him to do something about it, but we like our chances on this track. Mulder I’m not even going to bother, he’s going to run rings around us and not run into a challenge until he gets up to the Al-Saqr ships. Poor bastard though, breaking down straight out of the gate.
What’s your take on the ELS? Think it makes the sport better?” Bea listened to the woman’s opinion before turning her attention to the next person.
“So you see Ava as the opposition.” An 80-something, violently Texan man with a freshly signed cowboy hat said.
“Not entirely, I think we both see each other as assets on this track since it’s a good mix of things we’re both good and bad at. Plus we’re nowhere near the points, that’s gonna cool the team rivalry as well. If points are on offer, that might be another matter.
Are you getting your travel money’s worth so far?”
“So you’re expecting P13?” A handsome bloke with a local accent asked, holding up his can of beer for a toast.
“That would be amazing, but I’ll call it P14, Ava P13. Hope for the best, expect the worst, you’ll live a happier life.” She shrugged as she returned the toast, a few others joining in, “Millers qualified really well, I think they’re beyond reach this time around. If we get a good bit of luck, maybe we could even get 12th and 13th, but I’m also hoping to get invited to Astrid’s parties one day so maybe that’s not such a good idea.” Bea added laughing, the fans joining in. “You’re getting a head start on that I see, recommend some local beer brands?”
“What would you say the best part of being a racer is?” A boy no older than 12 asked.
“Honestly, talking to you guys.” A chorus of “Awwwww!”s erupted, “Don’t get me wrong, the racing itself is a hoot-”
“15 degrees and 300 BPM!” Someone a few meters over shouted over the din of the crowd.
“Exactly! But I think every properly raised person likes to make other people happy, and these informal fan chats are a really easy way to do that.” She continued as she removed one of the patches from the prototype shirt’s right sleeve and handed it to the boy, the look of joy in his eyes illustrating exactly what she meant. “What got you into racing?”
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