But everyone else in the room, it seemed, had been dazzled by the New York Challenger announcement and appeared unfazed by this.

'No way,' Sally McDuff said. 'They just canned two races...'

'And we haven't qualified for the Sponsors' Event yet,' Jason said.

They looked at each other, not even needing to say it.

If they were going to race in the all-important Sponsors' Event at the weekend, they had to win Race 25 on Thursday.

Second wouldn't cut it anymore.

Now they had to win.

CHAPTER SIX.

The next few days went by very quickly.

Luckily, the weather brightened, and while Races 23 and 24 were still cancelled, Race 25 was cleared to go ahead as scheduled on Thursday.

Scott Syracuse continued with lessons, even going so far as to reschedule new cla.s.ses on the days that had previously been set aside for Races 23 and 24. Most of the other teams had been given those days to rest or work on their cars at their leisure.

It was odd then that on the Tuesday - the original day for Race 24 - both Horatio Wong and Isaiah Washington fell mysteriously ill, and so missed Syracuse's new cla.s.ses. Tired as they were, Jason, the Bug and Sally still went.

That same day, the format for Race 25 was revealed. Put simply, Race 25 - the halfway race in the School season - was a doozy.

It was an enduro, an eight-hour marathon on the School's second-longest course, a multi-faceted track that snaked its way around the island of Tasmania, hugging the coastline, occasionally jutting inland. Since each lap would take an astonishing 24 minutes, the race was only 20 laps long. But this course came with two very special features.

The first feature was a worthy imitation of the signature feature of the Italian Run: a short cut.

The famous short cut in the Italian Run sliced through the heel of the 'boot' that is Italy. As such, the term for successfully exploiting such a short cut is: 'cutting the heel'.

The Race School's short cut sliced across the main isthmus of the Port Arthur peninsula at the town of Dunalley, offering the game racer a 30-second jump on the rest of the pack - if he or she could figure out the correct route through a short underground maze.

And the second feature: demagnetising ripple strips on all the hairpin turns and S-bend sections of the course.

Colloquially known as 'demon lights', demagnetising ripple strips are a standard feature on the pro tour and particularly nasty. They flank the curves on a hover car course and look rather like wide runway lights that float in the air.

Put simply, they are a method of enforcing disciplined driving. If you stray off the aerial track and fly even for a moment over some demag lights, your magneto drives lose magnetic power at an exponential rate. Thus your car loses traction and control. Dealing with demag lights is simple: don't run over them.

Since Wong and Washington weren't around, Jason, the Bug and Sally took the opportunity to talk to Syracuse about tactics for Thursday's all-important race.

'What about the short cut?' Jason asked. 'Should we try to cut the heel?'

'No,' Syracuse said quickly. 'The short cut is fool's gold. It looks like a good option, but in truth it's not an option at all.'

'What if we're behind and it's the only chance we have?'

'I still wouldn't go near it,' Syracuse said. 'It's a trap for the unwise, for those who like short cuts. Indeed, it's designed to appeal to their greed. I would only use it if I knew the correct way through it beforehand.'

'But we can't know that,' Sally said. 'The peninsula mine tunnels are strictly out of bounds. We're not allowed to check them out beforehand.'

Scott Syracuse c.o.c.ked his head sideways. 'No, Ms McDuff. That's not entirely true. There are legitimate ways of mastering such mazes, if you have the patience...'

He left the sentence unfinished, looked directly at them.

'Unless you know the secret of the maze, I would suggest you not use the short cut in Thursday's race.'

With that they finished early, around 2:30 p.m.

Jason and the Bug returned to their dorm - weary, beat.

Truth be told, at that moment, Jason was feeling as low as he had ever felt at Race School. He felt overtired from too many cla.s.ses, underappreciated by his teacher, out of his depth with his fellow racers, and out of races to win.

Which was probably why he was caught off-guard when he and the Bug arrived back at their apartment to find a pair of visitors waiting outside their dorm room, large shadows at the end of the hall.

At first Jason froze, fearing another confrontation with Xavier and Barnaby, but then he heard one of the shadows speak: 'Where's my little Doodlebug!' a booming woman's voice echoed down the corridor.

He smiled broadly.

There, standing outside his and the Bug's dorm room, were their parents.

The Chaser family went out for the afternoon.

They drove out to the ruins of the mighty 18th-century convict prison at the tip of the Port Arthur peninsula, where Martha Chaser unrolled a picnic rug and spread out an array of sandwiches and soft drinks.

And Jason and the Bug spent a wonderful afternoon sitting in the sunshine talking with their parents.

The Bug sat nestled alongside Martha Chaser, looking very content, while Jason told their parents about everything that had happened to them at the International Race School since he and the Bug had last emailed.

He told them about their continuing technical problems, about recent races, about the Black Prince and Barnaby's backroom thuggery (which Martha didn't like at all and wanted to inform the authorities about, but to Jason's relief Henry Chaser stopped her by saying, 'No, dear, this is a battle for the boys to fight'), and about Scott Syracuse's relentless cla.s.s schedule that didn't seem to be replicated by any of the other teachers at the School.

He also told them about Race 25, the race that he and the Bug had to win if they were to get a start in Sat.u.r.day's all-important tournament.

'First of all, son,' Henry Chaser said gently, 'let me just say this about your teacher, Mr Syracuse. Never ever worry about having the "hard" teacher. Trust me, the hard teachers are always the best teachers.'

'Why?'

'Because the hard teachers want you to learn. This Syracuse guy isn't here to be your best friend, Jason. He isn't here to have a fun old time. He's here to teach. And it sounds to me like he's teaching as hard as he d.a.m.n well can. What about you: are you learning as hard as you can?'

Jason frowned at that. 'But he never says "well done" or "good job."'

'Ah-ha. So that's it,' Henry Chaser said. 'You want to get some positive feedback out of him. Want to know how to get that?'

'Yes.'

Henry Chaser smiled enigmatically. 'Jason. When you start learning as hard as you can, I guarantee he'll start treating you differently.'

Jason sighed, bowed his head.

His father clapped him on the shoulder. 'It's okay, son. You're only 14. You've got to learn these things sometime. Now. To more important matters. Tell me again about this race on Thursday that you have to win at any cost.'

Unfortunately the afternoon had to end, and as dusk descended, the Chasers packed up their stuff and started the drive back to the Race School.

On the way back, with the Bug fast asleep beside him, Jason gazed idly out the window of their car, watching the landscape whistle by.

As such, he wasn't really paying attention when Henry pulled over abruptly - to help a biker on the side of the road.

Jason watched as his father, illuminated by the headlights of their car, walked over to the young man crouched beside his bike.

Jason couldn't see the biker's face, but he noticed that the man's hover motorcycle - a nice Kawasaki XT-700 trail rider - was completely covered in a strange grey powder.

'Need a hand, partner?' Henry Chaser said into the darkness. 'Or a ride?'

The biker waved him off. His riding leathers were also, Jason noticed, totally covered in the grey powder.

'Nah. Just fixed it,' the biker called. 'Got some dust in the mag switches.'

Sure enough, he had fixed the problem. The young man's bike hummed to life and he straddled the hover bike, reaching for his helmet.

And in that instant, Jason saw the young man's face.

Then the hover bike raced off into the night, and Henry Chaser returned to the car, shrugging.

Jason, however, sat frozen in his seat.

He had recognised the biker.

It was Wernold Smythe, the clerk from the Race School's Parts and Equipment Department.

'Sounds like it'll be a tough race,' Henry Chaser said as he dropped Jason and Bug off at the Race School. Henry and Martha were going to stay at a caravan park in Hobart for a few days and watch Thursday's big race.

Henry said, 'Eight hours means a lot of pit stops - your Mech Chief is in for a long day. And stay away from those demon lights. Run over some of those and your race is over. And watch out for other drivers ramming you onto them. Oh, and Jason...'

'Yes, Dad?'

'Always remember the Bradbury Principle.'

'Yes, Dad,' Jason sighed. His father always said that. It was Henry Chaser's contribution to sport: the Bradbury Principle. Jason ignored it and got serious: 'What do you think about cutting the heel?'

'Wouldn't touch it,' Henry said. 'The pros rarely cut the heel in the Italian Run and for good reason: it's a Venus fly trap: looks pretty and alluring from the outside, but it'll just eat you up. It'll put you either further behind or out of the running completely.'

'That's just what Mr Syracuse said,' Jason said.

'Scott Syracuse said the same thing?' Henry said. 'Oh! Of course - ' he cut himself off, chuckled.

'What?' Jason asked.

Henry Chaser smiled. 'Scott Syracuse once tried to cut the heel in the Italian Run. It was the last time he raced the Italian Run; a few races later, he had that huge crash in New York that ended his career.

'That time in Italy, Syracuse was way back in the pack because of a collision he'd had with another car, so he decided to try and cut the heel. Now, if you cut the heel in Italy, you can gain up to four whole minutes on the rest of the field. It woulda put him back in contention.'

'And what happened?' Jason asked.

'Two hours later, the race was over and he still hadn't come out,' Henry said. 'He didn't emerge until four hours after the race, and even then, he came out the way he went in. Didn't even find the way through. By the time he reached the Finish Line in Venice, they were dismantling the grandstands! No wonder he advises against cutting the heel.'

'Yeah,' Jason said, frowning. 'No wonder.'

CHAPTER SEVEN.