Hover Car Racer Part 43

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 G.o.d, if he makes it, according to calculations, he's gonna win this race, too!'

CHAPTER TWELVE.

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 Ma.r.s.eilles 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 acc.u.mulating 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. .h.i.t 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 a.s.s, 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-diminis.h.i.+ng 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.'

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

RACETIME: 2 HOURS 52 MINS.

Over-cautious racers rushed back over the Start-Finish Line, finis.h.i.+ng 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, slas.h.i.+ng 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, rus.h.i.+ng 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 d.a.m.n.'