And if he - just maybe - won the New York Challenger Race, he might race again in a pro event: for the winner of the Challenger got an automatic 'exemption invitation' to partic.i.p.ate in the Masters.

That said, there was one prize handed out that evening which Jason felt he had played some part in.

For one prize eluded Xavier's table - the prize for Teacher of the Year. It was a peculiar omission, as many would have credited Xavier's winning efforts to Zoroastro's superior instruction.

But then, not a few officials at the Race School still recalled Barnaby Becker's disgraceful acts during the Sponsors' Tournament - and they secretly thought Zoroastro had played a part in that.

Which was why the prize for Teacher of the Year went to Scott Syracuse.

Last of all, and rather fittingly, the night ended with the four racers who would represent the Race School at the New York Challenger Race - Xavier, Krishna, Ariel and Jason - called to the stage to receive a standing ovation from their family and friends.

A week later, Jason found himself sitting once again on a gra.s.sy headland, watching the sun rising over the ocean. With him were Sally and the Bug, also gazing at the dawn.

Suddenly - vroom! - a police hovercopter roared by overhead, invading the view.

It flew away to the left, out toward the spectacular skyline of New York City.

Jason eyed the dense collection of towering skysc.r.a.pers, swooping suspension bridges and countless lights of Manhattan Island.

And his eyes narrowed.

PART VII: CHALLENGER.

CHAPTER ONE.

NEW YORK CITY, USA.

New York City, glorious in the Fall.

Rust-coloured leaves littered Central Park. The Chrysler Building glittered like a diamond. The Brooklyn Bridge floated high on its new hover-pylons. And the Twin Pillars of Light - the pair of light-shafts that rose from the spot where the Twin Towers had once stood - soared into the sky.

And with the Fall, came the race teams.

Because in the Fall, for one week, the largest city in America was transformed into a series of the most incredible street circuits in racing.

Fifth Avenue became Race HQ, with the Start-Finish Line set up outside the main entrance to the Empire State Building. Super-steep multi-levelled hover stands lined the broad thoroughfare.

The pits were situated in Sixth Avenue, parallel to Fifth - racers reached them by branching off Fifth Avenue at the New York Public Library and running southward behind the Empire State Building.

Filling the air above the avenues and streets of New York City was a phenomenon peculiar to Masters Week: confetti snow.

It filled the concrete canyons of the city - a beautiful slow-falling rain of white paper. In celebration of their racing carnival, New Yorkers hurled tiny pieces of shredded paper out of their windows, creating a constant - and stunning - mist of white confetti that floated down into their streets. The roads themselves had to be cleaned each evening, since by the end of a given day they would be three inches deep in the stuff.

Today was Monday - it was a general preparation day. Tuesday would see the running of the Challenger Race - widely regarded as a showpiece for the world's upand-coming drivers. Wednesday was Parade Day - when all of the 16 racers who had qualified for the Masters would travel down Fifth Avenue before the adoring crowds.

Then on Thursday, it would all start, one race per day over four sensational days, with the number of racers reduced by four every day. It was kind of like a Last Man Drop-Off, but over the whole series of races - after each race, the last four-placed racers on the leaderboard were eliminated - until only four racers took part in the fourth and final race.

On Thursday, Race 1: The Liberty Supersprint - a tight lap-race through the streets of New York, with a short section of track that whipped out and around the Statue of Liberty. It was here that the racers had to negotiate the sharpest turn in the racing world, a 9-G hairpin corner known as Liberty's Elbow. It was not unknown for racers to knock themselves out on this notorious bend.

Friday, Race 2: The Manhattan Gate Race - 250 gates set amid the labyrinthine grid of New York streets.

Sat.u.r.day, Race 3: The Pursuit - a collective pursuit race in which the drivers raced in circuits around Manhattan Island. Its main feature: bridge-mounted ion waterfalls - glorious but deadly curtains of ionised particles that fell from each of Manhattan's many bridges; the waterfalls nullified all magnetic power in any hover car that strayed through them. The final turn of every lap of this race was Liberty's Elbow; the Finish Line: the Brooklyn Bridge.

And then, on Sunday, came the final race of the series, Race 4: The Quest. The longest race of the Masters, it took racers away from Manhattan Island, up the rural highways of New York State and through the great underground water-caverns to Niagara Falls on the Canadian border. There, each racer had to grab their 'trophy' - an item they had sent there earlier in the morning - and then bring it back to New York City. The first racer across the line with their trophy won.

Jason loved it. Every year, he would sit at home and with his dad beside him, watch every minute of the Masters Series on TV over the course of the whole week.

He'd always dreamed of coming to New York to watch the Masters in person, but it was a long way and tickets were terribly expensive and his family had never been able to afford it. The closest he'd come to seeing it was staying with his cousins in New Jersey and watching some of the races from a distance.

But now, now he was here, in New York (albeit staying with those same cousins in New Jersey), racing in the Challenger Race - with an outside chance of partic.i.p.ating in the Masters.

h.e.l.l, he thought, even if he bombed out of the Challenger, he'd hang around for the Masters festival just for the chance to watch it up close.

This, for Jason, was fantastic. This was a dream come true.

CHAPTER TWO.

THE CHALLENGER RACE (TUESDAY) 15 MINS TO RACE START.

The start-gates stretched across Fifth Avenue. Like School races, the Challenger Race didn't have a pole position shootout. It gave everyone an equal start.

Cars entered their gates from behind, getting ready to race.

Jason eyed the other racers - the best from their respective leagues, regions and schools.

Markos Christos - from Greece, in his car, the Arion, numbered 12 in honour of the twelve labours of Hercules. Christos was the first-placed driver in the European Satellite League, a sub-division of the International Pro Circuit.

Edwardo - from the Central & South American Race School in Brazil. Like Xavier, he had won his School Championship, and from that, a pro contract with the low-level Castoldi Team. Since the CSA Race School wasn't as highly regarded as the International Race School, it had only been given two invitations to the Challenger Race.

Praveen Chandra, from the intense Indian Race School. Zhang Lao, the third-placed driver from the Russo-Chinese League - a gun pilot from the Chinese Air Force, his fighter-shaped car, the Chun-T'I, was numbered 8, since the Chinese believe eight to be the luckiest number of all.

And, most fearsome of all, the two top-placed drivers from the Russo-Chinese League: the Russian twins, Igor and Vladimir Krotsky. In their sleek, identical Mig-90s, the Red Devil I and Red Devil II, Igor and Vlad had been responsible for no less than sixteen crashes in their League races, none of which had injured them, and one of which had been fatal. But then the Russo-Chinese League was known for its rough racing.

But the name on everyone's lips was Xavier Xonora.

He was the hot favourite to win with the bookmakers - his exceptional fourth placing in the Italian Run had made a huge impact. And word had spread of his dominance at the International Race School.

In total, there were 30 racers in the Challenger Race - talented young drivers from all over the globe, every single one of them knowing that victory here could change their lives.

Standing behind the line of start-gates, Jason was just stepping into the Argonaut when someone arrived at his car.

Xavier. Dressed in his black racesuit and holding his helmet.

And standing with him - just for psychological effect, Jason figured - was Dido.

'Just thought I would swing by and share with you an interesting statistic I've only just discovered, Mr Chaser,' Xavier said.

'And what's that?'

Xavier smiled meanly. 'Only on one occasion, when we've both raced, have you actually won the race. And that was way back in Race 25. And today, there's no prize for second place. Only the winner gets the exemption invitation to the Masters Series. And based on the statistics, when we race, I don't often come second.' Xavier turned to go. 'Just thought you should know.'

'Thanks,' Jason said. 'I'll keep that in mind.'

In truth, Jason had been thinking a lot about Xavier.

He knew full well his head-to-head record against the Black Prince: with the exception of Races 25 and 50 (and Xavier's lazy effort in Race 49 which didn't count), whenever they'd raced, Xavier had beaten him.

The simple fact of the matter was that Jason just couldn't overtake Xavier.

It had only been an outrageous move in Race 50 - whipping through all three sets of Clashing Bergs - that had got him past Xavier then.

And so, this past week, Jason and his team had been working on strategies to get by the Speed Razor.

They'd watched the video-discs of all the televised races Xavier had been in, both at Race School and outside it. They'd a.n.a.lysed his pit stops, and how his pit crew behaved during races.

And their conclusion: Xavier was the perfect racer. His defensive techniques were impenetrable; and his crewwork all-but flawless. Indeed, his Mech Chief, Oliver Koch, was so good, not only did he provide lightning-fast stops, he also kept Xavier appraised - on every lap - as to how far he was ahead of his rivals, and whether he was extending his lead, or whether they were gaining on him.

It was the total package.

'He's too good,' Sally had said as they'd sat in front of the television the night before, watching Xavier's finish in the Italian Run: the Speed Razor whipped across the Finish Line, Xavier punching a fist into the air. 'I can't find a single c.h.i.n.k in his armour.'

The Bug said something as well.

'n.o.body's perfect, Bug,' Jason said, staring closely at the TV. 'Hey. Sally. Can you bring me the video-disc of the Sponsors' Tournament?'

Sally brought the disc, and they watched it. Watched Xavier cross the Finish Line ahead of his opponents, including Jason in the Final. Every time he crossed the line, Xavier did the same thing: he punched his fist into the air.

Sally shrugged. 'I think the pattern's pretty clear, Jason. Xavier races. Xavier wins.'

'Yes, it is,' Jason said quietly. Then abruptly his eyes lit up. 'Sally. Race 25. The race where I beat him. Is there any tape of that one?'

'No,' Sally said. 'It wasn't recorded.'

'But it was a photo finish. Do we have a copy of the photo?'

Sally shrugged. 'Sure. I have it here somewhere.' She grabbed her race file and pulled a photo from it, handed it to Jason.

Jason examined the photo closely.

And he smiled.

Both Sally and the Bug saw his lips curl upward.

'What have you found?' Sally asked.

Jason stared at the photo intently. 'Xavier's weakness.'

'And what exactly is that?'

Jason turned to face her. 'Xavier thinks he's a great racer.'