Terho and TRÆ had left Hodori the previous week on an unprecedented high, leading both championships on the first outing of the season with a dominant drive from the Abovian. It had helped to prove, even to the members of the team itself, that the multinational outfit was a true contender for the season, and gave everyone a much needed morale boost going into race two.
Terho's only other appearance at Talbott Autodrome had been in his debut season, and it had been part of his multi-race run of bad luck. He had managed to qualify third after a lackluster practice session, but was forced to retire less than halfway through the race with a rare engine failure in his V+T machine. This time around, practice had gone quite uneventfully as well, Terho finishing 16th but less than three tenths from first place; the pace had been good, the car had worked fine, and Terho had been able to adapt to the racetrack.
Talbott Autodrome, however, isn't his favorite type of circuit, and in qualifying it showed. Down to his final flying lap, he found himself floundering in 11th.
"Give it one more go," radios Aada after Terho's penultimate flying lap. "Okay," he replies, a little frustrated, keeping his foot down.
The Liventian track is quite a challenging one, and is apt neither for Terho's style nor his car's abilities. The active aero helps him slow down for turn one, where he hamfists the car into the apex, and then lurches the car forwards for the slower turn two. Keeping up momentum, he accelerates off past turn three, clipping the peculiarly straight angled apex, and hugs the inside out of four for a good exit into five and through six, braking heavily for the turn seven hairpin and relaxing out on the straight. The racetrack is littered with corners like turn three, which seem deceptively sweeping but have pointy apexes which tighten the turn considerably after the exit. After the initial seven-corner extravaganza, the circuit turns more tedious than terrific.
Turn eight he takes flat, riding the kerb on the inside and letting the active aero, calibrated perfectly after practice, glue the car where needed. The corner could be taken quite quickly but required clinical precision; otherwise, Terho could find himself up on two wheels and promptly skidding off into the lining walls.
Turn nine is quite tight but sweeps out on exit, and Terho brakes hard again. He locks up slightly without losing too much time, and carefully navigates the car around the apex, accelerating towards turn ten and placing his full trust in the vehicle's grip to lift only before the braking for 11, a chicane too long to not brake but too short to consider it more than one turn. Terho turns in a fraction too early, nearly launching himself off the kerbs on the inside, but swerves somewhat violently to avoid the collision.
Turn 12 is quite tricky, but he lunges in from the outside and dabs brakes only before turn 13, right around the second sector timing beam. His steering wheel marks +0.101. Not good enough.
Turn 14 is relieving, as after that corner the track widens out for a moment down to the turn 16 hairpin, out of which he slams the throttle and rockets down the straight, flat through 17 until the heavy braking past the speed trap before the long chicane at 18 and 19, the second corner out of which he nails his foot to the floor. This last section he's driven cleanly, focused and determined. He brakes hard one final time for the hairpin at turn 20, panting as he plants the throttle, feathering at the entry to 21, and accelerates down the pit straight to conclude his final lap, a drop of sweat running down his eyebrows.
01:40.124 flashes his steering wheel. P8.
"Bring it in," says Aada, having kept quiet all lap. "That's P8"
"Damn," grunts Terho.
"You did good, though," she says encouragingly. "Purple sector three."
The news does little to cheer up the Abovian, but does make him frown in confusion. "Gap to leader?"
"Only nearly four hundredths," Aada replies, the chagrin in her voice clear. "It's really close out there."
When he hears this, Terho sighs, and unclenches his tense grip on the steering wheel with a sigh of relief. "Not bad then," he says, almost chuckling. Aada doesn't budge, not apathetically, but nervously professional in her second race engineer outing.
Once he rolls into the paddock, the first of the two AGP 002s, Terho climbs clumsily out of his car and looks up at the final standings. Hot damn, he thinks, iBen off pole by just three thousands. Really fucking tight.
His glance drifts away from the screen, and Edvin's approaching eyes meet his. He's holding up a finger and, as usual, has a tablet in his other hand. Today, Terho only gets the finger.
"Hey," Edvin says, a pair of headphones curled around his neck. "Nice job out there," he continues sincerely. "You were kinda loose but pretty quick."
"It was fucking tight," Terho replies, echoing his thoughts. "Car was excellent though," he adds.
"I know, I know," Edvin nods. "We've added the second active aero source this weekend, so we need the feedback on that. The car now replies to your speed, throttle and g-force readings, like before, and progressively improves the system based off of your recent—well, quickest—laps."
Terho nods happily. "Yeah, it's working fine," he says.
Edvin frowns at him. "You okay?" he asks quietly.
Terho nods again, speechless. After a pause, he speaks. "Yeah," he says. "Sorry. I was kinda hoping for more than eighth, especially around this track."
Edvin puts a hand on his shoulder and pats him encouragingly. He speaks softly, supportively. "Hey, seriously, you did well. Keep that place and you score some good points. We'll go over race strat tomorrow but just keep it between the lines and ahead whoever is behind and you'll do fine." Terho smiles. "Now go shower," Edvin says. "You sort of smell."
Terho sits idly on the grid, his visor flipped up, the midday sun curling around the reflective blue fiberglass and piercing his eyes. He taps the steering wheel with his gloves, unsure if he's waiting for the engineers to roll away from the grid in preparation for the race or if someone will come up to him to prod him about something. Despite his inactivity, he's in a brilliant mood, eager to let loose on the racetrack. Edvin had been quite encouraging the previous day; after all, he had been extremely close to pole, much like everyone else. The car was working marvelously, the team was motivated, and the race win was anybody's game. Plus, if iBen could make up a place and Terho managed to weave his way to the podium, TRÆ could take a massive points haul out of the weekend.
All he needed to do was curb his eager anticipation.
It's Aada, who again rests her elbows on the headrest, that arrives at last, tablet in hand.
"Hi!" she says excitedly, in stark contrast to her weary mood during Saturday qualifying. She looks well rested, if maybe a little too well rested.
"Here," she continues, handing Terho the tablet showing the setup summary. "Same old story as last time, check that everything is fine." Terho nods to his best effort, his neck restrained by everything from his helmet to the HANS, and scans the screen. While he reads, Aada resumes.
"So last week in Hodori we only used the most basic active aero setting," she says. Terho briefly looks up at her. "We weren't too sure about adding the progressive improvements we have this weekend, but data shows that on quicker tracks we don't really need that; you're quick on those, and so is the car."
Terho mumbles an mhm.
"On a track like this though," she says, stretching out an arm as if showing the Abovian the circuit, "it's probably a good tool to have. Do you think so?" she says, like a children's TV show character, awaiting his reply.
Terho, increasingly impatient having sat on the tarmac for a while, replies a dry yes.
"Good," jabs Aada, not irritated, but equally as distant. "Now it's very important you keep us updated on how the car is handling this race," she begins, sternly, a magnitude more serious and concerned than before. "Nortec has finally developed a remote killswitch for the aero should it malfunction, or cause any issues. We can now revert to setting one, based off the raw inputs only, or just shut it off completely should you need that."
Now, Terho is listening attentively. Aada carries on.
"If you, or we, realize it's going all wonky, we'll talk and reset the system. But we can only do it once, just in case the chip overheats."
"There's the compromise," mutters Terho humorously, uttering his first full sentence of the conversation. He promptly zones into the conversation, having been but a bystander until then. "The car was absolutely fine yesterday though, Aada," he says. "What if I botch some braking points or something and the computer learns my mistakes instead of the proper stuff?"
Aada thinks for a moment, then replies, "It won't." She doesn't sound super certain. "The system learns after a large number of laps to get a reliable reading. Unless you're all over the place for twenty laps it shouldn't cause issues."
As she finishes, both her and Terho smiling, an air horn sounds across the grid. "Gimme the tablet," Aada says, taking it from Terho's hands. "All alright?"
"Yeah," Terho replies.
"Okay, good luck," she says, waving widely as she walks back away towards the pit wall. Terho ekes out his hand from the monocoque and flaps it around as well. The trolleys roll away, the umbrellas close and all the people on the tarmac begin to attend to their battle stations.
Soon, the first set of red lights comes on, and then the next [and Terho blinks] and the next [and he breathes] and the next [and he grunts] and one more [and he curls his fingers] and they're off [and he drops the clutch] and Terho's off, and the race is on, and the Eelandi GP of Rustom Ibuna and the dark fractal McPahan of Digiri inch closer to the menacing roar of AGP 002.
", Xiaopeng tersely responded... Emoji included.
