Sally McDuff prayed before her monitor.

The crowds in the stands rose as one.

And the two hover cars - the blue-white-and-silver Car 55 and the all-black Car 1 - whipped out of the last turn and rocketed down the home straight and in a blur of speed, crossed the Line together.

CHAPTER TEN.

LAP: 20 [OF 20].

To the naked eye, it appeared as if the two cars crossed the Finish Line together, but the official laser digital photo of the finish of Race 25 would later show that after eight hours of racing, after twenty hard-fought laps, Car No.1, the Speed Razor, driven by Xonora X., and travelling at 365 kilometres an hour and accelerating, had crossed the line 4.2 cm behind Car No.55, the Argonaut, piloted by Chaser J., and travelling at 320 kilometres an hour.

After a perfect lap from its daring young driver, by the paintwork on its nosewing, the Argonaut had qualified for the Sponsors' tournament.

PART IV: THE TOURNAMENT.

CHAPTER ONE.

CHOOKA'S CHARCOAL CHICKEN RESTAURANT HOBART, TASMANIA.

The Bug squealed with delight as he popped the top off his well-shaken can of c.o.ke and sprayed it into the air like a triumphant pro racer on the winner's podium uncorking a bottle of Moet champagne.

Beside him, Jason and Henry Chaser cheered; threw their fists into the air.

It was Thursday night and the Chaser family was celebrating Team Argonaut's win in Race 25, and its subsequent qualification for the Sponsors' Tournament on the coming Sat.u.r.day.

Family tradition dictated that it was 'winner's choice' - the family member (or members) being celebrated got to choose the restaurant and the Bug had quickly chosen his favourite restaurant in all the world: the chicken burger chain, Chooka's Charcoal Chicken. As such, the entire family - plus Sally McDuff, who was by now an honorary Chaser anyway - now sat around a plain formica table surrounded by the remains of chicken burger wrappers, onion rings, French fries, and c.o.ke cans. Everyone was laughing and smiling and recounting their favourite moments of the nail-biting race.

Well, not quite.

At one stage in the dinner, Jason noticed that his mother wasn't joining in the festivities but was, rather, staring off into s.p.a.ce, seemingly lost in thought.

'Are you all right, Mum?' he asked.

She turned abruptly, as if roused from a dream, quickly regathered her smile. 'I'm fine, dear. Just thrilled for you boys.'

The world had been spinning for Jason since his downto-the-wire, skip-the-last-pit-stop win over Prince Xavier earlier that day. His memories of the afternoon were a blur of images: He remembered returning to the pits after the race, being lifted out of the Argonaut by a jubilant Sally, high-fiving the Bug, and standing on the podium in his battered boots and denim overalls, and watching on the big screen as the 10 points Team Argonaut received for winning elevated the Argonaut to 12th on the Championship Ladder.

He also recalled Scott Syracuse coming over to him after the victor's presentation, and looking at him closely.

'You skipped your last pit stop again, Mr Chaser.'

'Yes, sir. I did.'

'You weren't worried about making the same mistake twice?'

'No, sir. I knew I could make it this time.'

'So you decided not to take my counsel?'

'No, sir. I just decided to follow something else you told me about mistakes, way back when we were doing pit practice and I kept creeping out of my pit bay.'

Syracuse frowned. 'What was my advice then?'

'You said I shouldn't resist my mistakes. That I should learn from them. So I decided to learn from my last mistake - the other time I skipped my last pit stop, I shouldn't have. This time, it was okay.'

'By exactly 4.2 centimetres...' Syracuse observed.

Jason smiled. 'My dad once told me you can win by an inch or a mile, sir. Either way, it's still a win.'

And with that, for the first time Jason could remember, Scott Syracuse smiled.

He nodded graciously. 'Well done today, Mr Chaser. I can't possibly imagine what awaits us when you race in Sat.u.r.day's tournament.'

He began to walk away.

'Mr Syracuse!' Jason called after him. 'My family's in town and we're going out to celebrate tonight.' He paused. 'Wanna come?'

Syracuse hesitated for a moment, as if this were the most unexpected question in the world for him.

'Sure,' he said at last. 'That'd be...very nice. What time?'

Jason told him.

Syracuse said, 'Well, I have some work to do, some lessons to prepare, so I might be a little late. But I'll be there.'

And sure enough, Syracuse arrived at the restaurant exactly 45 minutes late, just as a cla.s.sic Chooka's ice cream cake with the Argonaut's number 55 on it was delivered to their table.

As Syracuse joined them, Jason wondered if he ate takeaway chicken burgers very often. As it turned out, Syracuse handled his greasy burger with ease.

It took all of four seconds for Henry Chaser, official armchair racing expert, to start asking Syracuse all about his professional career.

'You know,' Henry said, 'we were talking about that time you tried to cut the heel in Italy once. That time you got caught in there for - what was it - four hours?'

'Four and a half,' Syracuse corrected.

'What happened?'

Jason also waited for the answer.

When he spoke, Syracuse seemed to choose his words carefully: 'Let's just say, I didn't expect my career to end in New York later that year.'

And with that he looked to Jason, as if expecting him to deduce what such a cryptic answer meant.

Jason thought about it.

'You didn't expect to crash out later that year in New York,' he repeated aloud. 'Which means you expected to race in Italy again, in future years...'

'Correct.'

Then it hit Jason.

'No way...'

Syracuse nodded slowly. 'You've got it.'

'You were doing research,' Jason said. 'You were reconnoitring the Italian short cut for the next year.'

Syracuse nodded, impressed. 'Well done, Mr Chaser. To this day, you're the first person to have figured that out.'

Jason couldn't believe it. It was so deviously clever. He said: 'Everyone thought your taking the short cut was a desperate attempt to catch the leaders, but it wasn't. You had no intention of catching the leaders at all, or even winning the race. You spent four hours searching the maze, working out its secrets so you could use them in future years.'

'Four and a half hours, thank you very much,' Syracuse said. 'And then Alessandro Romba wiped me out in New York later that season and I never got to use that knowledge. Tough break. But I thought your use of the short cut in today's race - following that Xavier fellow in - was just as clever. I hope you were taking notes as you went through. Because that knowledge will be with you whenever that short cut is used from now on - well, at least until the School reconfigures it.'

Jason beamed at Syracuse's praise, and glanced over at his father, recalling his words from two days earlier: 'When you start learning as hard as you can, I guarantee he'll start treating you differently.'

Henry Chaser knew how much it meant. He just smiled knowingly.

Beside Henry, however, Martha Chaser had become lost in her thoughts again.

At length, Scott Syracuse stood up from the table. 'Thank you all for a lovely dinner, but I fear I have to go.'

'Hey, thanks for coming,' Jason said.

'Don't stay out too late, Mr Chaser. Just because you qualified for the big tournament on Sat.u.r.day doesn't get you out of cla.s.ses tomorrow. Lessons will take place as usual.'

'Aw! Don't you ever take a break?' Jason asked. 'See you in the morning, Mr Chaser. Good night, everyone.'

CHAPTER TWO.

THE INTERNATIONAL RACE SCHOOL.

HOBART, TASMANIA.

FRIDAY, 31 MAY.

The next day was like an episode of that old TV show, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous - albeit an episode that Jason watched in bits and pieces from the window of a cla.s.sroom overlooking the Derwent River.

Jason knew that the Race School's annual Sponsors' Event was renowned for its carnival atmosphere, but he hadn't been prepared for the sheer opulence of that atmosphere.

The whole of the river had been decorated with flags and banners. Hover boats happily tooted their horns, welcoming the flotilla of yachts and hover vessels that descended upon Hobart.

Around lunchtime, gigantic hover yachts began to arrive at the Royal Hobart Yacht Club. They variously belonged to famous movie stars, visiting politicians and of course, the heads of the major hover car manufacturers and race teams. One wholly chartered hover-liner pulled into the main dock and unloaded a bevy of glamorously dressed women and powerfully dressed men, the elite of Europe and East-Coast America.

Last and most celebrated of all, came the professional racers who had once been students at the Race School.

La Bomba Romba, from Italy.

Fabian, from France.

And Angus Carver, the fighter pilot, and member of the elite US Air Force Racing Team.

It was celebrity heaven. The local media just loved it.

Jason, however, didn't really get it.

As far as he was concerned the Sponsors' Event was about winning a knockout tournament. But for all of these people, it seemed to be just as much about attending the School's black-tie Gala Ball that evening and the Victory Dinner on the Sat.u.r.day evening after the tournament, doing deals and being seen at every marquee in between. Apparently, the Sponsors' Event was one of the big events on the global 'society calendar'.

Jason didn't even know what a society calendar was.

And then, around mid-afternoon - to the media's absolute delight - the largest private yacht of all arrived, bearing royal insignia on its bow.

The crest of the Royal Family of Monesi.

Prince Xavier's father, King Francis of Monesi, had come to watch his eldest son compete in the tournament.

And while all this was happening, Jason, the Bug and Sally went to cla.s.s: Jason and the Bug - watched by Scott Syracuse - did simulator sessions on virtual tracks that featured demag strips.

At the same time, Sally was busy erecting two closed-circuit cameras in their pit bay - pit practice was next and Syracuse, feeling that the Argonaut's pit stops had been somewhat erratic over the course of the season, wanted Sally to see for herself exactly what she did before, during and after each stop.

Curiously, both Horatio Wong and Isaiah Washington were once again too unwell to attend cla.s.ses.

Jason suspected they were faking it in an effort to get some relaxation time before the big day. Both Wong and Washington had qualified for the tournament, and strangely when they had been ill in the past, they had raced just fine the following day.

For his part, Syracuse barely raised an eyebrow when he got the call from the School nurse about their illnesses. He just went on with his cla.s.ses.