Page 11 of Hyperspeed
But after working with her in private over the last few months, I couldn’t deny that my driving skills had improved.
We’d barely made it two steps when the press surrounded us. Reen tried to scare them off with her snakelike eyes and sharp tusks, but these journalists were relentless, flashing cameras like vultures circling a fresh kill, all hungry for the next big scoop to cash in on.
Microphones and cameras jabbed inches from my face. I clenched my jaw, fingers twitching to swat them away.
“Revvak, how does it feel to be the first Iskari driver?”
“Revvak, do you feel pressure to succeed?”
“Revvak, what does this mean for the future of the Iskari?”
Nina, Zenith’s publicist, had already advised me to keep my mouth shut. So I stayed silent, ignoring their constant questions. I kept my face blank, back straight, and chin held high. If I showed them nothing, there’d be no risk of a ridiculous story just because I looked at someone funny.
When we walked through the entrance to the paddock, the press held back by security, the tightness in my chest eased. But I waited until we were safely in Zenith’s garage to exhale and let my shoulders slump, knowing their cameras were on me until the last possible moment.
I knew that talking to the press was par for the course in this job, even if I didn’t enjoy interacting with others. I’d received extensive media training as part of my signing, and Nina had prepared me for many questions and scenarios. So if a journalist cornered me, I had a Rolodex of ready-made answers I could throw their way that wouldn’t negatively impact me or the team.
What irked me most was how the journalists’ questions fixated on my species instead of the season ahead.
I understood it to some degree. I was a novelty, a shiny new toy. More than just another rookie. But in the end, I was more than just my heritage—endangered or not. There were plenty of species that’d never driven in the ASL before. But I could guarantee everyone would scrutinise their skills, not their origins.
“Revvy!” Zylo’s low voice reverberated through the garage, and I tried not to cringe at my unwanted nickname. We’d only met a few days before the practice sessions. Nina had explained that they’d wanted to keep my signing under wraps until the last possible moment, but Zylo was notoriously bad at keeping secrets.
Like me, Zenith wanted the spotlight to be on my racing skills. It was why I’d agreed to race with them when Tavoris approached me. Vortex Racing had also offered, but they’d have been happy to milk my heritage dry if it brought the team more money and attention.
In the end, my final decision had been easy.
More experienced drivers would kill to be on a team with a six-time galactic champion. I knew how lucky I was, even if our personalities were like night and day.
From the beginning, Zylo had taken me under his wing. His advice and feedback had been kind yet constructive, and unlike with Kai Mercer, I was more than happy to listen to what Zylo had to say.
He skipped towards me—yes, skipped—and dropped a heavy arm over my shoulders. “Ready for your first race?”
I’m shitting myself.
But I couldn’t tell him that. I didn’t want to let him down . . . or for certain dickheads to overhear and think I couldn’t handle the pressure. So instead of being honest, I just nodded. “So ready.”
If I said it enough times, manifested it, I was sure I’d believe it.
If Zylo saw through my bullshit, he didn’t say. He just placed his hands on my shoulders and squatted until we were eye to eye. “It’s okay to be nervous, Rev.”
The words were quiet, meant only for the two of us. A warm, friendly smile spread across his face. I wanted to tell him yes, I was nervous. My bones felt heavy with it, and it had nothing to do with the gravity on this planet.
But I was used to masking my weaknesses.
“I’m fine.”
Zylo didn’t push. He just grinned wider and slapped my shoulders, hard enough to almost buckle my knees. Because he was so strong and tactile, Zylo may have forgotten how puny I was.
He cupped the back of my neck in a supportive gesture and led me to where our team principal and strategists were waiting. We spent ninety minutes analysing data from practice and qualifying and discussing strategy. Then I tested my reflexes with Reen.
Time passed quickly, and with ten minutes before lights out, it was time to get ready. I approached the starting grid, dressed in my racing suit, helmet under one arm. Rows of sleek, roaring machines lined the asphalt like predators ready to pounce.
Drivers settled into their cockpits, helmets locked in place, visors shielding their eyes as they prepared to start the race.
I spotted Kai and Jax at the front, chatting away while admiring each other’s vehicles.
Jax’s vehicle was burnt orange, almost bronze, with yellow accents along the nose and thrusters. Kai’s was an obnoxious metallic red with over-the-top gold accents, fading to black at the rear wing. The design made it stand out on the track. Perfect for a man who obviously needed to be seen.
