The Rising Sea (NUMA Files 15)

As Han backed away, one of the mechanics lowered the carbon fiber door and offered a thumbs-up. Kurt eased the car out onto the track and spent the first two laps getting used to the layout, the navigator and the instant and precise feedback that came through the steering wheel.

By the third lap, he took the back straight at over a hundred miles per hour, racing along the waterfront as the city lights glistened on Nagasaki Bay. He slowed considerably for turn five and yet as the track tilted to the right while turning to the left, the car still felt as if it was going to fly off the track and into the bay. He ran each of the next two laps at slightly higher speeds and then pulled into the pits, ready to begin the race.

He stopped thirty feet from where Han’s people were readying a yellow and blue version of the car Kurt was in. The paint was different and the CNR logo was plastered all over it, but aside from a few additional antennas, the cars were identical.

Kurt popped the door open. Despite the cool night temperatures, it was already sweltering in the cockpit. He pulled his helmet off for some air.

Akiko came up to him. “Are you trying to be my hero?”

“Your hero?”

“Defending the cause of humanity in its epic battle against technology.”

Kurt had to laugh. “I’d say yes, but, in all honesty, I’m just trying to get our host off balance. Keep an eye on him while I’m out there.”

She leaned in and gave him a kiss. “For luck.”

The robot car roared to life and, once it was up and running, Han walked back over to Kurt. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Good,” Han said. “We’ll have to keep it short. There’s a storm coming in and we don’t want either vehicle out on the track if it starts raining.”

Kurt nodded.

“Enjoy your ride,” Han said. “First car across the finish line wins.”

Kurt pulled on his helmet, tightened the strap and nodded. The doors were closed and the cars lined up in a staggered formation, with Kurt thirty feet ahead.

Staging lights on a pole at the side of the track went from red to amber, then amber . . . amber . . . and finally green.

Kurt raced out of the pit quickly and worked the car rapidly through its paces. The staggered start allowed the two cars to get out of the pits without colliding at the narrow end of the lane. Moving faster than he had on the other laps, the first turn arrived quickly.

“Right seventy,” the navigation system announced.

Hitting the brakes hard, Kurt felt the rubber grab and his whole body slam against the straps of the racing harness. He worked the steering wheel in a constant state of adjustment, skirted the orange and white border of the track and slammed the throttle down as he left the tu

rn.

The car jumped forward so deftly that Kurt was thrown back in his seat in a way he’d last felt when being launched off an aircraft carrier as a passenger in an F/A-18 Hornet.

“Chicane left,” the navigator told him.

Heavy on the brakes and another sudden decrease in speed followed. Kurt worked the steering wheel hard to the left, then back to the right. This was the slowest portion of the track, followed by a short straight and another turn.

“Left forty.”

This turn was easy to navigate and Kurt held his speed all the way through, though the car was sliding a bit before the end.

“Right thirty.”

Kurt had considered the navigator to be a distraction during the practice laps, but now, pushing the car and his own reflexes to their limits, he found it incredibly helpful. It gave him cues at exactly the right time and directed his eyes toward the apex of the turn, freeing up his mind to process everything else that was going on.

He left turn four, hammered the accelerator and cycled up through the gears quickly. The back straight was a long stretch, uphill at first until it passed under a vacant observation bridge, where it went downgrade in a straight line toward turn five.

“Left seventy, off camber.”

Kurt hit the brakes hard, felt the blood rushing to the front of his face and swung wide before cutting across the turn. Just like every other lap, he felt the car drifting, pulled toward the fence and the waiting bay by the invisible force of gravity. Since the car went where the eyes focused, he kept his eyes glued to the inner part of the turn.