Hover Car Racer Read Free Page A

their race-plan on it. He handed the map back to Jason who passed it on to Syracuse.
    Syracuse stared at the map for a long moment. Then he did a strange thing. He pulled out another map of the course, and compared the two. Jason saw that this other map also had markings on it, showing someone else’s race-plan.
    At last, Syracuse looked up, and gazed closely at Jason and the Bug, as if he were assessing them very, very carefully.
    He held up their race-plan.
    ‘May I keep this?’
    ‘Sure,’ Jason shrugged.
    Scott Syracuse pursed his lips. ‘Jason Chaser, hover car racer. It’s got a nice ring to it. Farewell to you both.’
    Jason and the Bug arrived back home in Hall’s Creek around seven that evening, with the Argonaut strapped to a trailer behind their dusty old Toyota hover-wagon.
    Hall’s Creek was a little desert town in the far northern reaches of Western Australia. The exact middle of nowhere, Jason liked to say.
    The lights were on in the farmhouse when they arrived, and dinner was on the table when they walked in.
‘Oh, my boys! My boys!’ Martha Chaser cried, running to the door to greet them. ‘Jason! We saw it all on the television: that silly boy who crashed right in front of you! Are you both all right?’
    She swept the Bug up into her arms, engulfing him in her wide apron-covered frame. ‘You didn’t hurt my little Doodlebug, did you?’
    The Bug almost disappeared in her embrace. He seemed very content in her arms.
    ‘He’s okay,’ Jason said, taking a seat at the table. ‘Only thing he suffered was the humiliation of coming dead last in front of Jean-Pierre LeClerq.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Never mind, mum.’
    Just then, their father, Henry Chaser, came into the kitchen, his overalls caked with dust from a day’s work on the station.
    ‘Well, hey there! The racers return! Good racing today, sons. Tough call with that kid who banged up your tail.’
    ‘Damn idiot mangled our steering,’ Jason groaned as he wolfed down some mashed potato. ‘Wrong place, wrong time, I guess.’
    ‘Oh, no,’ Henry said, smiling. ‘No, no, no, no. You lost your steering, Jason. You put yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
    ‘Now, Henry, leave them be…’ Martha rolled her eyes. Her husband was a hover car racing enthusiast. He watched it on the television all the time, loved to analyse it - the classic couch coach. It was he who had introduced the boys to mini-cart racing in the back paddock at the ages of five and three.
    Jason took the bait. ‘No way, Dad! I didn’t put myself in the wrong place. It was just plain bad luck…’
    ‘No it wasn’t,’ Henry said. ‘It was racing . I think this was a good lesson for you both. Racing not only involves beating the other top contenders - it also involves avoiding those who aren’t as talented as you are.
    ‘Sometimes racing isn’t fair, Jason. Sometimes you can do everything right in a race and still not win. Hell, I remember once in the Sydney Classic, the leader was ahead by two whole laps and then he got sideswiped by a tail-ender coming out of the pits. Just like that, he was out of the race - ‘
    The doorbell rang.
    Henry Chaser got up, didn’t stop talking. ‘…Guy was way out in front and he just got nailed by this stupid rookie. God, what was his name? Hell of a driver, he was. Young fella. Got wiped out a couple of years ago. Ah, that’s it, it was…’
    He opened the door. And remembered. He turned back inside. ‘…Syracuse! That’s who it was. Scott Syracuse.’
He turned to face their visitor.
    Scott Syracuse stood in the doorway. Tall and formal.
    Henry Chaser almost swallowed his own tongue.
    ‘Oh. My. Goodness,’ Henry stammered. ‘You’re… you’re…’
    ‘Good evening, sir. My name’s Scott Syracuse. I met your sons at the race today.’
    ‘Ah…ye - yes,’ Henry Chaser said.
    Jason stood up. ‘Mr Syracuse? What are you doing here?’
    Scott Syracuse remained in the doorway. ‘I came to ask you a