Cassian “Cass” Varn stood in the elevator as it rose, lifting him far above the streets of Nova Cascadia. The longer the ride lasted, the higher up the corporate ladder he was climbing. These were not people who ever set foot among ordinary citizens. Their offices floated as far from the masses as money could buy, and they would no more use the ground-floor lobby than they would walk home; personal quadcopters waited to whisk them to penthouses just as elevated.

  He checked in with Vex. The car was still misbehaving, hardly the good news Cass had hoped to carry into this meeting. Now he was walking into the lion’s den unarmed.

  When the elevator doors slid open, a young man stepped forward. “Marcus Penny, Arch-Tech brand partnerships,” he said with a quick smile that faltered the instant he registered Cass’s battered leather jacket and its sun-bleached sponsor patches. He recovered quickly. “I’m glad you’re here. Arch-Tech hasn’t backed an Ultracar team in years. Feels like the right time to return to the grid.”

  “That’s great,” said Cass, trying to sound enthusiastic and acceptable to these white-collar types. “I know we’re a new team, and I didn’t think that when I started hunting for new sponsors, a corporation as big as Arch-Tech would agree to….”

  Marcus held up his hand. “Sorry,” he said. “We haven’t agreed yet. If it were up to me, we probably would have, but I’m not at the level to make these kinds of big decisions.”

  “Oh,” said Cass. “Then this is?”

  “You are going to meet a few of our executives,” said Marcus. “They are the ones who will make these kinds of decisions.” A door to a boardroom opened. “That’s you,” Marcus pointed to the door.

  “Are you coming with me?” said Cass.

  “No,” said Marcus. “Above my pay grade. I just wanted to welcome you and try to give you the lay of the land.”

  Cass thanked Marcus and then walked into a boardroom where several Arch-Tech executives were seated at the table. “This way, Mr Varn,” said a disembodied voice, and one of the chairs at the table lit up. The room likely had a directional speaker embedded so some AI could speak directly to him. The executives watched as Cass approached; the AI was likely giving them a custom briefing at that moment.

  As Cass sat in the soft seat, he really felt out of place in his leather jacket. Across from him were people wearing bespoke suits and outfits that likely cost more than their employees' average annual salary. Given how much was riding on this meeting, maybe he should have thought about that?

  “Hello, Mr Varn,” said the woman sitting across from Cass. A holographic display in front of her said she was Evelyn Korsakov, Chief Financial Officer for Arch-Tech. “We took this meeting on short notice, so I hope that does something to indicate this company’s interest in sponsoring your team. Although we still have to make a decision on that. Why, in your words, should a company such as Arch-Tech sponsor you?”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Cass took a breath. “Coming right out with it,” he tried to chuckle, but found his audience was not in the mood. “We’re the newest team in one of the biggest sports in the world. The cars are some of the most sought-after advertising real estate you can find. Why wouldn’t Arch-Tech want their logo on a car?” Cass gestured to the table between them. Within the table was a rotating hologram of Arch-Tech’s logo, a silver helix, rotating in a black void. “Frankly, I think the colour scheme of our car and your logo would look good together.”

  Evelyn gave a smirk at that, which Cass found promising, but then the other member of this meeting, Harlan Crowe, spoke. “It is valuable advertising space, as you said. However, there is more to it than just the logo on a car. Arch-Tech is a proud company. We are leaders in the world of implants and AI integrations. It would not be in our interest to have our company associated with a team that may never get out of last place.”

  Cass grew a little aggravated at this and was about to say something when Harlan held up a finger to stop him and kept talking without missing a beat. “I’ve reviewed some historical results. First-year teams rarely do well or last more than a year or two. Not to mention the propensity for new cars to fail spectacularly when their AI or some other component goes awry.” Harlan paused for a moment and looked at Cass. “How was your last test?”

  Cass looked Harlan in the eye. The confidence the man showed when he looked back indicated that he knew exactly how the last test had gone. “Not well,” said Cass.

  “I think so,” said Harlan with a small smile. “Play the video,” he said to the room. A virtual screen appeared over the table and began displaying footage from Vex’s last test run, including the spin-out.

  “How did you get this?” said Cass.

  “Drones,” said Harlan, as if it should be obvious. “We research our investments.”

  “These sorts of incidents don’t inspire confidence,” Harlan continued. “You know that, too, Mr Varn. I know your own history with cars going wrong. It’s not just the sponsors who suffer.”

  One of Cass’s eyes twitched as a stab of pain shot through his skull. An old implant, broken and unrepairable, but still a thorn in his side every time his blood rose. It was clear Harlan had done his research on Cass and knew exactly where to poke him. Was that the point of this meeting? “That wasn’t my fault,” said Cass. “We were sabotaged.”

  “As you’ve always maintained,” said Harlan. “Even when the official investigation pointed to you as the cause.” The event in question had occurred years earlier, when Cass was an Ultracar driver himself. His car had collided with his teammate’s. His teammate’s car had burst into flames. The safety and life-support systems had failed, and his teammate had boiled alive in the gel-filled titanium tube that was supposed to keep him alive.

  “It wasn’t my fault!” said Cass, standing up and pounding the table.

  Harlan raised an eyebrow while Evelyn leaned in and held up a hand. “I’m going to ask you to settle yourself,” she said.

  As Cass exited the boardroom, several security guards were already assembled to escort him out. “That bad?” said Marcus, who had been waiting outside. “We can fix this.” Marcus tried to reach Cass, but the guards stopped him.

  “I don’t want this,” said Cass, pushing away from Marcus before being restrained by the guards.

  By the time the guards had half-carried Cass out the front door of the tower, a message had appeared on his phone from an unknown contact. “Come to Circuit’s End tonight. I can save your team. –N”