The Rising Sea

35

Kurt had been expecting high-end sports cars, tuned for the track, with roll cages built onto them, racing tires and anything unnecessary pulled from the frame to reduce the weight. Stepping into Han’s garage, he discovered three vehicles that were far more exotic.

“These are Toyotas,” Han said, “though you won’t find them at your local dealership.”

“Something tells me I couldn’t afford them if I did,” Kurt said.

“Probably not,” Han agreed. “This car was an alternate to race at Le Mans last year. Its twin-turbocharged V-6 makes 968 horsepower, but we’ve tuned it back to a mere 700 for our purposes.”

“I suppose that’ll be enough.”

Kurt walked toward the gleaming orange and white machine. The car itself was a work of engineering art. The front end of the car had a lethal look to it — a pointed nose connected by carbon fiber panels to two swooping fenders that curved over the top of the performance tires and then dropped down behind them like a passing wave. A teardrop-shaped cockpit rested snugly in the center. The front was a graceful curving windshield that gave a near-panoramic view forward, while the tail end held a massive wing and three vertical fins that helped stabilize the car. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear this thing could fly.”

“Get it out of shape and it will,” Han warned.

“I’ll be careful,” Kurt promised.

Thirty minutes later, Kurt had changed into racing gear and strapped himself into the driver’s seat. Dressed in a flame-retardant suit with a five-point harness and a helmet pulled down tightly over his head, Kurt was ready for the battle.

The cockpit was snug, a tight fit for someone of Kurt’s size. It surrounded him in billeted aluminum and a padded roll cage. Several easy-to-reach toggle switches sat on a platform to his left. The steering wheel was removable and seemed positively tiny in Kurt’s hands. The twin-turbo V-6 shook the car as Kurt revved it.

While Han’s assistant readied the automated race car, Kurt got used to the controls. The pedals were so close together in the footwell, he could press both with one foot if he wanted to — useful in certain maneuvers, but not something he wanted to do accidentally. The paddle shifter was easy to reach and simple to operate. He flipped a switch and the four powerful headlights lit up the track in front of him, revealing black macadam lined with alternating orange and white rumble strips.

“The robot knows the track,” Han told him. “To make it fair, I’ll give you five laps to get used to it yourself. Take the car out. Work it up to speed. Try not to put it in the wall or into Nagasaki Bay. Turn five at the far end is notoriously dangerous. It’s off camber, so you’ll lose adhesion there. If you hit the fence, the car will flip and you’ll be lucky to survive the impact.”

Han reached inside the car and flicked two additional switches. “This turns on the telemetry,” he said. “And this one will activate the navigation guidance alerts.”

“Guidance?”

“Similar to your phone, although far more accurate,” Han said. “It’ll tell you which turns are coming up and how sharp they are so you won’t be surprised. Like having a navigator sitting by your side.”

“That annoys me enough in regular traffic,” Kurt joked, “but I suppose I could use the help.”

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 turn.

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.

The rest of the lap went smoothly and Kurt raced through the start/finish line with a nine-second lead on the robot car.

“One down, four laps to go,” Kurt said.

From the elevated viewing stand in the pit area, Han watched his ten-million-dollar robot car chase Kurt around the track. To his chagrin, the second lap was even worse than the first. By the time they crossed the line, Kurt was ahead by more than ten seconds.

He glanced at Gao. “There must be something wrong with the car,” he said. “How is Austin beating it?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Gao replied. “Austin had five laps to warm up his tires. Our car is racing on cold rubber. It has less grip in the turns and the computer is keeping the speed down. By lap three, we’ll be equal footing. We’ll catch him by lap four and pass him on the front straight. By the end of the race, our car will be twenty seconds ahead of him. It won’t even be close.”

“You’d better be right,” Han said. “I don’t like being embarrassed. Take the safety protocols off just to be sure.”

Gao looked at his boss questioningly and then did as he was told. With the flick of a switch, the automated car was instructed to ignore its safe operating parameters and win at all costs.