Sweat dripped down my forehead as I put my helmet on. The mechanics were still scurrying around the car, double-checking for possible malfunctions or broken parts. A curtain of light separated the garage from the outside. Every now and then, a car passed by, but I wasn’t worried. There was still time left, and every minute, the track was getting better as cars left a trail of burnt rubber on it.
Ground knocked my helmet. “Car’s ready!”
I nodded, glancing at the clock that hung on the garage’s wall. Nine minutes… that’d be enough for two separate runs with new tires, unless something dramatic happened. At least it isn’t going to rain.
The mechanics backed away from the car. Giving a smug smile, I flipped the ignition switch. My body vibrated in sync with the engine’s rumble. After waiting some time for the engine to properly warm up, I pressed the gas gently, rolling onto the pit lane. I saw some cars parked in their squares, where pit crews were hastily changing their tires or adding fuel. Piers’s blue and yellow car was nowhere to be seen – he must have been on the track already.
During the out lap I built up my concentration. Sweetie was somewhere in the stands, but seeing her from the crowd would’ve been impossible in any case. After a few slow corners, Sweetie had already faded into the background noise of my mind. I swerved my car from side to side, warming up the tires, having to let a car on a flying lap pass me. The corners in the first and second sector were already imprinted into my mind, and thus, I had no problem memorizing the best driving lines. From the middle of the autodrome, the entire oval was visible. So big was the whole structure that I couldn’t help but shiver once more. The view never got old.
Slow left; third gear. The next corner was a sweeping right onto the oval. I floored the throttle, and was pushed back by the tremendous forces in play. In seconds, the world around me became a blur. I was inside a narrow tunnel of clarity – the driving line. My car tilted to the right as it climbed up the oval. There was no time, no place, no life – the finish line was still half a mile away, but it came closer with a tremendous speed. In the tunnel, I continued to accelerate, barely noticing the concrete wall a few feet left as I slowly swept to the right.
The tilt eased as I coasted to the main straight. A small dot – another car – was visible somewhere in the distance. Merely glancing at the blackboard being shown to me, I pressed on, keeping my eyes trained at the deceivingly faraway first corner.
My car had now reached its maximum speed – 180mph. The vibrations were hard and the roar of the engine almost deafening. My ears hurt a bit. It was thankful that the helmet had at least some sound protection.
As the corner got closer, I hovered my left back hoof over the clutch. The distance markers started to get distinctly visible.
150 yards.
125.
100. I pushed the clutch, moving my other hoof to the brake. For a split second, I floored it, feeling the seat belts constrict my chest.
75. Easing the brake a bit, I slightly steered the car to the left to brace for the right-hander. I put a hoof on the gear stick, and hastily switched from sixth to fourth.
50. The world became clearer. The tunnel was still in front of me.
Switching to third, I steered the car right, taking the line for the corner. Comparatively, it was fast, but after the oval bit, the difference in speed was astounding. I took the corner with ease, immediately bracing for the left-hoofer that came after.
The first sector was short, and soon I found myself shuffling for first and second in the slower parts of the track. My car felt slippery at times, but I managed to avoid any big mistakes. It was my luck that no cars on in- or out laps were there to slow me down, and when I again emerged to the right-hoofer which swept onto the oval, I felt somewhat comfortable with my lap. Again, I floored the gas, entering the tunnel that was the correct driving line. I could only see what was ahead of me, and felt every bump on the track with my entire body.
I passed the finish line without paying much attention to the board, though I still noticed that it read Vite – Piers was leading the qualifications. This time, I braked a bit later into the first corner. That was a mistake.
Without warning, I felt a low vibration, seeing a bit of smoke come off from my front tires – they had locked. I had to ease off the brake too soon, and not being able to do the usual flick left before the corner, I entered it on the wrong line and with too much speed. Despite my best efforts, the car pushed too far to the outside. I managed to keep on track, but had lost valuable time – the lap was nigh useless from the start.
The vibrations got worse now that I had a flat spot on the front tires. After a few corners, I slowed down my pace: I’d have to get a new set of tires for another run. Now that full concentration was no more needed, I coasted through the track, my mind wandering away from the track. My stomach twisted as I thought about Sweetie, who’d undoubtedly seen my huge mistake. Don’t do that. Focus. Even during an in lap, something could happen.
I safely returned to the pits. My crew was already out with the tires, and I stopped at my square. The mechanics surrounded the car, and I took my helmet off; changing the tires would take about thirty seconds.
“Setup changes?” asked Ground.
“No need. How is my time compared to Piers’s?”
Ground shook his head. “Not enough. Piers has 2:04.55. You’re a whole eight tenths behind at the fourth place. A good lap, yes, but from what I saw, you have room for improvement in the last sector… and be a bit more careful in the first corner. No sense wasting a lap right away.”
“Alrighty, then. Time left?”
“Not much.” Ground took a glance at the clock on the garage’s back wall. It was barely visible from the much brighter outside. “Under four minutes. You only have enough for one go. It better be good.”
I snorted. “Duh.”
The tires were changed in about ten seconds, and I put my helmet back on. Fourth place wouldn’t be good enough. Even though a second-row start wouldn’t be the end of the world, getting stuck behind a slower car was a possibility – not to even think about having to overtake Piers. Besides, pole position would grant a bonus point, and I had no intention of letting that slip away… while winning would grant ten, the Pan-Equestrian Championships had a tendency to get very even. Last year’s memories were still haunting me: I had lost by two points. At least Piers didn’t take the title. Concentrate.
Almost all of the cars were now out, and I had to take great care to avoid slowing anyone down as I rolled along the track, warming up my tires again. My body was uncomfortably sticky with sweat. Driving didn’t help with that; all of the wind flow was directed over me by the small sheet of glass just over the steering wheel.
I picked up as much speed as possible in the last corner. Getting onto the oval going as fast as possible was vital. I fared well, again being pushed towards my seat. As I sped through the oval’s curve before the main straight, I noted that the distance towards the car in front of me wasn’t very long. Cursing in my mind, I continued onto the straight, gas still floored.
Top speed. Again, I was in the tunnel. The same board as before was shown to me – Piers was still in the lead.
150 yards. My eyes were fixed at the track ahead of me. I could almost see the invisible red line first flicking to the left, then turning into the first corner in a wide arc.
125. I braced myself for the braking.
100. Flooring the brake, I was pushed onto the seat belts.
75. A small flick left.
50. I let go of the brake and switched to third. Turning in gracefully, I kept the car in balance, managing the slight slide by tiny movements of the wheel. The track was easy to feel. My arc into the corner was perfect, and I exited it with a good amount of speed, having to brake a bit heavier than usual for the next corner.
With the good start in the important first corner, I breezed through the slower parts of the track. I could feel every bump of the tarmac. At the moment, I was a part of my car. However, after a tight chicane, the motor’s rumble changed the tiniest bit. The sound was higher than normal… somehow off. Nevertheless, I continued the lap, confident that I’d beat Piers for the pole. Luckily, the car in front let me pass before the all-important last corner.
Once more, I floored the gas, feeling the acceleration with my whole body as I climbed up the oval. I grabbed the gear stick, wrenching it to sixth.
There was a loud crack, and the car began to slow down. I tried to shift down, but it was too late – I freely rolled on the oval. My speed was dropping every second, and the car that’d let me by passed me. Clenching my teeth, I wrenched the stick from one position to another, eliciting no responses from the car. I was unable to look at the stands as I pulled my car to a halt just before the pit lane. My crew was already running towards me.
Sighing, I pulled the helmet off. A few cars sped past me on the oval, their engines roaring. Sweat dripped down my forehead. The crowd cheered to something, but I couldn’t make myself turn my head. I hit the wheel with force, feeling a stinging pain in my hoof seconds after. Piers had won.
Ground Dweller trod to the side of my car, panting. “Everything alright, Scootaloo?”
I sighed, keeping my eyes at the board in the distance. It still read Vite. “I’m not hurt… but no, everything’s not alright. I lost.”
“Is there a problem with the engine?”
“No.” Shaking my head, I again fiddled with the gear stick. “Gearbox.”
Ground smiled in relief as I turned my head. “Good. An engine failure would have spelled disaster. Changing the gearbox won’t take more than a few hours. Now, if you’d rise up…?”
I complied, grumbling curses and joining the mechanics at the back of the car. We started to push it. Our garage was over a hundred yards down the pit lane. It was going to be a tough exertion. “We’re gonna miss the press conference,” said Golden.
“Good.” I kicked the car, regretting it immediately after. Stop being stupid. Punishing yourself for something like a gearbox failure is ridiculous. “I didn’t look forward to seeing Piers’s smug grin anyway… and I will wipe it off his face.”
The long exertion gave me time to think. My thoughts turned to Sweetie, and the prospect of hopefully talking to her soon lifted my mood up. Her smile would make my day, regardless of my position on the grid. Fourth or sixth – none of it mattered that much compared to having fun with my friend. Of course, having taken a few counseling sessions to find out ways how to best keep my attention on racing, I knew that not caring was a mere mental defense. Nevertheless, I felt like I was destined to beat Piers in any case.
Back in the garage, I put my helmet onto a large shelf in the back, sighing. The mechanics took the situation in their hooves right away, leaving me standing around with nothing to do. Knowing that the press conference must have still been going on, I opted to sit in one of the metal chairs and wait for the storm to pass.
“You can go, Scootaloo,” said Ground finally. He was overseeing the changing of the gearbox. “This will take at least a few hours. We can talk about the race setup tomorrow. There’ll be plenty of time before the race.”
“Whatever. Have fun with that!” I exclaimed rolling my eyes, making Ground smile and shake his head as I walked out of the garage. The day was still young – it was only about 4pm, so I’d have time for whatever I wanted to do. However, I had decided to spend the evening thinking about tomorrow and forgetting the rest of the world until after the race would be over. Losing wasn’t an option.
“Scootaloo!” Filthy stepped from the crowd that had formed on the pit lane. Some paparazzis were following in his hoofsteps, and having noticed me, scurried to towards my direction.
Filthy was about to say something, but the wave of journalists pushed him aside, pointing their cameras and microphones at me. My heart sunk, and I instinctively stepped back. “A few words, Scootaloo?” asked one of the reporters, a yellow earth pony. Her azure mane was in a ponytail. “I’m representing Celestia’s Dawn.”
The two magic words that could open my mouth in front of the press had been spelled out. I sighed; if my main sponsor’s representative was asking for a short interview, I couldn’t refuse. “Sure, sure. Go ahead.”
“What was the problem with your car?”
I shrugged. “Gearbox.”
When I refused to elaborate, the mare continued to the next question. “Naturally, the rivalry between you and Piers has been and will be a hot topic during the championships. Piers already got his say in the press conference. What would you like to respond to him?”
“Wasn’t there. For all I care, Piers can go play his little games in a dark corner.” A few of the ponies raised their eyebrows, causing me to shiver. I didn’t like being in front of the public eye. “I don’t care what he says. I’m here to win.”
“Um… what do you think of your chances for tomorrow?”
“Well… I’ll try my best to win. If I can’t do that, then I’ll try to get as many points as possible.” The journalists scribbled my answer in their notebooks.
“But what about your chances?” continued the same mare, again pointing her microphone at me. I was starting to get annoyed.
“I can win. That’s all you’re going to get out of me.” Filthy had finally managed to wade through the mass of ponies, and appeared by my side. He slyly winked to me, and I winked back.
“Excuse me, everypony, but we have important things to talk about. I’m sure Scootaloo will answer further questions at a later time.” Grinning, Filthy pulled me back to the safety of my garage. He slid the door closed, making the mechanics jump.
Filthy cleared his throat. “So, you coming tonight?”
“No,” I replied, taking worried glances at the mechanics – I didn’t want to mess them up in this. Fortunately, they seemed too preoccupied by changing the gearbox to care. “Sweetie didn’t want to go, so neither will I.”
“Are you sure, Scootaloo? The food and service will be exquisite, or so I’ve heard.” Filthy had a ponderous look on his face. “Perhaps we could find some sort of compromise? You could be there for an hour and then leave.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Why do you want me there in the first place? You know how bad I’m in front of the media, Filthy. From what you’ve told me, I can assume that there will be loads of paparazzi there.”
“Having you there would boost my prestige in the eyes of potential customers.” Filthy smirked. “It’s as simple as that – it really is.”
Filthy’s charisma was misleading, and for a moment, I seriously considered accepting his offer. But after what Sweetie had said, I just couldn’t. I wouldn’t be tricked this time. “No, I’m not coming. Please don’t make this any harder. Whatever you say, I –“
“Y’know, Scoots, I know you. Sweetie has some sort of personal problems with me, but you shouldn’t let that get in the way of our friendship.”
My stomach twisted. Filthy was trying to use me, yet his demands had a very good basis in our past relations. I couldn’t deny that I owed a big part of my success to him. No. Don’t let him do this to you. “No. I said no. Just… stop, okay?” I glanced at the car, seeing that Ground was now listening to our conversation. He was frowning. “I’m thankful for all the support you’ve given to me through the years, but I’m not coming. If I let my focus slip away, all of that might have been for nothing! Think about that for a moment, Filthy.”
Filthy opened his mouth, but then closed it. He shook his head. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he sighed. “I’m being an ass right now. Of course I shouldn’t – and can’t – force you. I’m sorry for that, but if you could still consider the offer…”
I stomped the floor hard, making Filthy jump. “Stop it. Right now. I don’t have time for this.”
“I…” Pausing, Filthy turned his eyes towards the floor. He grimaced. “Yes. This is getting ridiculous. See you, preferably soon.” Filthy walked to the door and pulled a small lever, making the door rise back up. The wall of sounds that had previously been muffled now hit me like a boulder. Fortunately, the journalists didn’t reappear as Filthy trod off.
“What was that all about, Scootaloo?” asked Ground with a worried voice as soon as Filthy had vanished back into the crowd. “That’s not the Rich I’m used to seeing.”
“He just… ugh…” I shook my head furiously, feeling anxious about how Filthy had tried to coax me in his scheme. “Filthy wanted me to attend a party with him, apparently to boost his arms sales… and you’re right about him having changed. Honestly, I’m afraid that he’ll really turn into one of them. Back in the day, he was a honest stallion, somepony to respect, but now… I don’t know. I don’t know…”
Ground shrugged. “It’s not like I know him or anything, but I’ve heard that he’s a fair pony. I’ll return to oversee the others. Like I said before, you can go. Relax a bit.”
“You’re right… I think I’m in need of some relaxation.” I walked to the open door, preparing to get swallowed by the crowd of ponies that had thankfully gotten smaller. “Until tomorrow!”
I quickly grew anxious as I waded through the mass of ponies. There was noise everywhere, and occasionally, a curious filly or a reporter tried to tag along with me, but I brushed them off quite rudely. My mind was already elsewhere – I wanted to get out of here and just lay down in the comfy bed of my hotel room, preferably with Sweetie there to keep company. You can’t have Sweetie every night. Remember the priorities. As last evening’s memories resurfaced, I smiled. We had had a good time.
The hallways under the stands were mostly empty, as access was granted only to VIPs and team members. The unpainted concrete walls looked almost like those of bunkers – it sure was lonely down there. Magically enchanted lamps painted everything with unnaturally white light, creating an otherworldly experience. And just like an alien from outer space, Piers appeared in front of me. My heart skipped a beat. We stared into each other’s eyes, and I saw that my nemesis was just as surprised as I.
“What are you doing here?” I asked with a low voice.
Piers snorted. “None of your business. Get out of the way, Scootaloo. Or, rather, out of the country. It’s already apparent that I’m going to dominate these championships.”
I let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “That’s some unbelievable bullshit. I’m better than you, and I think you know it. You should concentrate on getting over that before bragging about shit.” My temper was already flaring up, even though I understood how ludicrous the situation was. Our stupid rivalry was so overblown that it could have been from a bad B movie.
“In your dreams.” Before Piers could continue, I pushed him aside, walking past him. He fell on his haunches, dumbfounded. I could hear him shouting something from behind me as I moved along, but I closed my ears to his words. My heart was pounding and my hooves were shaking. This is just ridiculous.
Soon I was back outside. Piers hadn’t followed me, though a few paparazzi spotted me right away. With no intention to answer any further questions, I ran to my car. Ponies and their vehicles were littering the parking lot, so all I could do was wait. I let the others honk their horns, idly sitting in my car. In only a minute, the air became incredibly hot. Luckily, I hadn’t been followed to my car, so I could open the window without having to face a wall of microphones.
I was left basking in the hotness of the sun for what felt like hours. When there was finally enough room to maneuver the car, I turned it on, making my way out of the parking lot. I joined the slow-moving trail of cars on the highway. The trip back to downtown Meerperl would take a while.
--
When I finally crashed into my hotel room, the cool air made me sigh in relief. I sat on the bed, letting my body sink into it. Even though the soft and cool bed was inviting me to lay down, I was still anxious. Filthy had changed even more than I had thought. He used to be a pony to trust, but now... I really didn’t know anymore. Life had a bad tendency to shape ponies in ways that twisted them from the inside.
The grandfather clock in the corner of the room told me that it was half past six. Getting back after the qualifications had taken a ridiculously long time. I felt a bit tired, and my thoughts drifted between Sweetie and Filthy.
Focus.
I took a firmer position on the bed. Sitting on its edge, I closed my eyes. Practice. In a few seconds, a view of the track opened in front of me. Igniting the imaginary car, I picked up speed in the oval, racing through the tunnel towards the first corner. Just like in the morning, I used the distance markers as pinpoints to time my braking correctly. I turned the imaginary wheel, and this time, the first corner went perfectly.
A slower left, after which came a small straight. Sweeping right; 4th gear. Another straight. I was starting to get a hang of it. I had learned long ago that “dry runs” through the track were very important, and had grown so accustomed to them that I could just summon myself onto an imaginary circuit in an instant.
After a few laps, I opened my eyes. Images of the track continued to loiter in my field of vision, but I was already used to that. Sounds of faraway sirens and echoes of bangs came in from the open terrace door. Wait, what?
The rattle of bangs continued. Gunshots. I dashed to the terrace, trying to pinpoint where the sounds were coming from. Of course, they were mere echoes, so I couldn’t find the source as I scanned over the view with my eyes. The ponies below didn’t seem to have heard the noises – they were still performing their daily routines, and there was no panic to be seen.
I juggled the idea of finding out what was going on, but decided against it. After all, it was none of my business, and I had no will to get involved in any sort of shooting.
The sounds continued for a while before dying out. Of course, returning to my mental training was now impossible... I knew that there was much more violence here than in Equestria, but the thought of a pony shooting another still made me shiver. Killing was such a horrific act that even thinking about it made me feel sick to my stomach. To keep my mind from wandering too far into the wilderness of terrible thoughts, I once more took the Daring Do book in my hooves – I was a slow reader, but had almost gone through the whole book already.
As time passed, the gunshots faded into the back of my mind to make way for the jungle that Daring was in. What if I went for a walk in the jungle with Sweetie? That could be awesome.
But just as I reached the last chapter, there was a knock on the door. I jumped up from the bed, wondering who it might be. Had I told Sweetie my room number, it would likely have been her, but I hadn’t done that. I took a deep breath before opening the door.
“Frau Scootaloo?” asked a timid voice when I swung the door open. One of the hotel workers, some white earth pony, was standing in front of me. She flinched. “I... uhm... Germane?”
I shook my head. “Nope. Sorry.”
The mare bit her lip, taking glances around her, as if to find somepony else to do the job, but she was alone in the hallway. “You must go zee reception... jemand... want... talk with Frau Scootaloo.”
It took a moment for me to understand the mare’s words. Her ears were drooped, and she looked like a scared foal. “Alright then, Frau. Thanks for letting me know.”
Mumbling something, the mare trod off with such haste that I was about to call her back, but it was obvious that she didn’t want to have anything to do with me, so I closed my mouth before a word got out. Being in a foreign land was weird... I’d never have thought that just being an Equestrian could make one scary. After collecting my thoughts, I made my way to the reception, walking down the ridiculously wide staircases.
When I entered the hall, Sweetie was standing by the reception desk, talking about something with the receptionist. It didn’t come as a surprise that it was Sweetie who had asked for me, but I wasn’t sure whether I really wanted to see her. After all, I did need this evening for relaxation and gathering my focus, and blabbering with Sweetie was unlikely to make the latter possible. As I walked towards my friend, I noticed a couple of unicorns by the doorway. The stallions were wearing the same brown uniforms that I’d seen on the ship. Only now did it occur to me that they were soldiers. Fortunately, they didn’t seem to carry guns.
“Hey, Scoots!” exclaimed Sweetie, her voice lacking its usual vibrant joy. “I’m sorry if I interrupted anything, but I felt like I simply had to talk to you. I got lost in the crowd after the qualifications, and when I finally got to the parking lot, you were long gone.”
Sensing that something was wrong, I cocked my head. “What’s the matter?”
“Not here. Let’s go for a walk.” Sweetie walked towards the door, and I followed her without hesitation, nervously glancing at the soldiers. The other one cast a cold stare at me, making me shudder as we passed them. For a moment, I was afraid that they’d grab us from behind and put us in hoofcuffs before we got out, but my fear proved to be baseless.
Sweetie led me through a few unfamiliar streets. In no time, the buildings of Meerperl made way for a large field, bordered by the jungle natural to the island. The edge of the town was almost clear-cut: the tall buildings simply stopped by the field. On the other side, a few hundred yards away, stood a manor much like the one I’d seen yesterday. It was surprising how close such a view was from my hotel without me even knowing about it. Only a few ponies could be seen close to the manor, while some more were by the buildings on this side of the field.
“So, why did you bring me here?”
“Because this is a much nicer place than Queen’s Rest.” Sweetie’s whole body was quivering. It was barely noticeable, but the frown on her face revealed that something wasn’t right. “And there aren’t many ponies out here. The truth is that I’m afraid for your safety, Scoots. Have you already heard what happened just an hour ago?”
Of course. “No, but I heard some gunshots from the distance. What do you know about that? Sweetie, please don’t tell me that you’ve aiding some group of rebels...”
“I’m not,” said Sweetie sternly. “Sometimes they’re too rash. Especially today. They attacked a full dinner party in the outskirts of the city.”
“A dinner party? Wait...” Sweetie told you not to go there. She must have known that there would be an attack. “The one where Filthy was? How did you know about it?”
“Look, I just had a hunch! The attacks haven’t been exactly rare for the past year!”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
Sweetie nodded, looking me directly in the eyes. Despite the fact that she could very well be a supporter of some rebels, my anger melted almost instantly, getting replaced by a terrible feeling of guilt. How could I not trust one of my best friends? “I have nothing to do with them, Scoots, I swear. And before you even ask, Rich is okay. Apparently, he was relieving himself just when the insurgents started shooting... quite the luck, if you ask me. I know all of this from a friend, who was working there as a waitress.”
“I’m sorry for not taking your word for it right away, and I’m really glad that Filthy’s okay, but... what did you mean when you talked about my safety? It’s not like I’m involved in this mess.”
“I don’t think any foreign celebrity is safe,” said Sweetie, taking a glance behind us. “The government is protecting you and your fellow racers, though. We can only hope that the situation doesn’t get worse.”
“Oh.” A shudder shook me. My life is in danger?
Sweetie directed the course of the conversation elsewhere, and we traded a few words about the qualifications. It turned out that Piers had openly scorned me in the press conference, which didn’t surprise me the tiniest bit; I’d probably have done the same, had I taken the pole.
Soon, I found myself listening to Sweetie’s rant about the lush Neighcaraguan jungles and their various perils. Hearing about the poisonous snakes and malaria-carrying mosquitos wasn’t exactly wonderful, but could prove useful if I ever had to venture in them. The prospect of a day’s hike in the countryside with Sweetie wasn’t completely out of the picture. I’d have some free time after the championships were over.
Eventually, the nagging feeling of ignoring my real reason for being in this country in the first place hit me. “It’s been fun talking to you again, but I really have to go now, Sweetie. The race is tomorrow, and I have to keep my concentration at its fullest.”
Sweetie frowned, looking like she wouldn’t have wanted to go anywhere. “Do you have to go already? I’d rather stay with you. We could go to some place to dance again.”
Focus. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. The race goes first.”