Free Tracked by Jenny Martin

that we’re powerless to do anything about it.
    â€œPerhaps you should rest,” he says. “I will wake you when we arrive.”
    I sit back to appease him, but I don’t close my eyes.
    It’s a twenty-minute ride through the rough edge of the city and then we finally make it to Capitoline’s outer rim. Benroyal Racing HQ may not look like much from the outside of the gates, but it is sprawling and I’m sure the plain brick facade of the track conceals plenty of jaw-dropping surprises.
    As the Onyx approaches the cameras, the lion-crested gates swing inward to welcome us. I’m on the inside now, and I’m both wary and traitorously thrilled about the high-tech, steel-boned snares that await me.
    The driver drops us off at the far end of the track. My new flex gets us inside and I follow Goose down the main corridor. We turn a corner and there it is. Benroyal’s main garage.
    â€œBehold.” In a grand gesture, Auguste sweeps his hand through the air. “Our fair kingdom.”
    Go ahead and call me a sellout, because I am more than giddy. I am rusting awestruck.
    Even though the cement walls and floors are painted the standard blue-gray, the bay is so beyond ordinary. The open space seems to stretch forever and there are people everywhere. Apparently, it takes more Benroyal jumpsuits to fill out a crew than I’d ever imagined. I’m definitely not in Benny’s tin-roofed shop anymore.
    In the farthest corner, sparks fly as fabricators smooth out sheet metal and mold it to a frame. Opposite them, two engineers are testing three identical rigs on separate decks. I’ve seen this kind of setup on behind-the-scenes circuit feeds, but I’m still amazed how they can test horsepower and suspension and chassis by mounting the vehicles in place and spinning the wheels. There’s even a synthetic track control that simulates the turns. I watch the engineers. Flex screens in hand, they make notes on the data.
    In the middle of the bay, there’s another rig, but since it’s almost completely draped by a blue-gray slipcover, it practically melts into the background. I almost missed it. A cluster of jumpsuits mills around its frame.
    â€œShall we?” Goose starts walking their way.
    I’m only too happy to follow. When we get closer, I recognize a friendly face. Bear is hanging back, standing behind the crowd, but he’s head and shoulders above the rest, so I don’t know why I didn’t notice him before. Benroyal’s tri-colors—the deep red with gold piping and the black vertical stripe—look good on him. The uniform’s a little tight in the shoulders, but I’m thrilled to see him blend in with the team.
    â€œHey there,” a voice calls out.
    I turn, and Cash is beside me. To say the jumpsuit looks great on him would be an understatement. The high- collared zip-front fits him like a perfectly tailored second skin. And I can’t imagine his hair and eyes—all the darkness in him—looking better against any other shade.
    Cash owns this look.
    I should be civil and say hello, but suddenly my throat wants to close up and I have to squeak out the words. They come out louder than I’d like. “Hi. What’s up?”
    â€œMiss Vanguard,” Goose announces. “This is your circuit team.” He smiles at Cash and passes him a flex screen. “Cash, would you do the honors and introduce each devoted member of the crew?”
    Cash is obviously caught off guard, because while I’m sure he’s acquainted with everyone, he looks none too thrilled once he takes a look at the roster. “Um, sure. I guess you already know me, so let’s start with your over-the-wall guys . . . This is Billy and Arad, they are your tire changers. Corky and Joshua are tire carriers, and Dev here is your jackman . . .”
    In turn, Cash introduces them all, and I know it’s going to take a