Bill shook his head. "Fisk, I don't know exactly how you did it—but you've just made us rich. Those sales are going to hit a thousand. It's a bandwagon now—everybody in the world will want a Fusion. We'll get a quarter million dollars in commissions—"
"They'll come to their senses and begin canceling after the excitement passes," Fisk pointed out. Now that he could afford to faint, he seemed perversely to be recovering strength.
"Sure—but the cancellations will be made up by other buyers reading about this in the fax. That always happens. Don't worry—we've got record winnings and the credit's yours. So you took her through mach, did you? I never had the nerve."
"Terrific!" Yola cried, liking the idea of fame.
"Uh—better not," Fisk said, eying the tiny mouth of the approaching tunnel. Bill sounded normal, but Fisk didn't trust the man's condition. He had been unconscious for a fair period and must have lost a significant quantity of blood—and an error in judgment of so much as six inches could be fatal, in that tight passage ahead.
"No, no. Fisk—you did it and you'll get the commission. When I tell the boss how you pulled it out—"
"We'll be rich!" Yola exclaimed with childish avarice.
Fisk hadn't been talking about money. His concern had been to see them through the tunnel alive. Steamco had just entered and at the rate the Fusion was going there would be contact between them inside that darkness. Was Bill intending to vie for position even now?
But it seemed money was a factor, because of the tremendous sales spurred by his mad exploit of moments ago. Yola's greed and Bill's misunderstanding sent a negative ripple through the weary convolutions of his brain. "When you tell your boss that he'll fire you for allowing an unqualified driver to take over and play roulette with machinery and people's lives in the Hurdle. Because you knew about me and he didn't. It was blind luck that got us through—as the tapes of the race will show."
Bill slid the car into the Tunnel as though he had done it all his life—as perhaps he had. "Maybe so," he said soberly. "But luck doesn't usually operate that way—not on the El or the Mountain—and especially not in getting up speed to hurdle wreckage. There was driving genius in your hands and feet, like it or not. But you're right—it's bad business and my boss would rather not know. Okay—we'll split the take, half and half. It's right to share, because I got hurt and you—"
As the Tunnel closed about them the rag-and-strap plug popped out of the hole in the bubble, urged by the suddenly compressing air within the confined space. An almost solid blast of atmosphere rammed in, striking Bill in the face and making a stormlike turbulence within the bubble. The car swerved, partly because Bill could barely see in the gale, but mostly, Fisk knew, because of the drag of the aperture itself. There was no room to compensate here. The stony walls were inches away.
But Yola knew what to do and since no one had told her to do it, she did it. She crawled across Bill's lap, probably kneeing him painfully in the process, fetched in the tattered wad and jammed it back into the hole. The storm subsided.
Fisk was able to speak again. "You were hurt because my daughter ran out in front of us while you were going through Hairpin. She almost killed us all."
"Take the money—take the money!" Yola cried.
"You sure are one for making objections," Bill said ruefully. "What do you want?"
"I think we'd better just walk out of your life when the race is over. A good—"
He had to pause, for they had caught up with Steamco. The Tunnel was lighted, but irregularly—the width varied from one to three lanes with curves thrown in. Passing could be tricky—and Steamco had no intention of being passed.
"A good sales day is the least we can do to repay—"
But Fisk had to stop again as Bill swerved to pass on a subterranean straightaway and was quickly blocked off. Steamco had to know that there was no car to beat but Fusion—all the drivers would have been hearing the radio reports. The only way Steamco could recoup was by finishing ahead—or by putting Fusion out of the race entirely.
The passage narrowed, halting the maneuvering for the moment.
"—the trouble we have caused you," Fisk continued. "I'll find another job."
"Fisk, shut up," Yola said. "You're throwing away a quarter million dollars."
"Fusion nine hundred and eighty-one sales..."
"Look, Fisk," Bill said earnestly as the dark walls rushed past and trickles of wind whined in through the stuffed hole. "I told you I'd cover for you about your lack of experience, laughable as that seems now. You've had experience somewhere—somehow—even if you don't remember it. You're covering for me, really. And I'd never make trouble for your little girl. You don't have to sign over the money for that. I want you to have your share because you earned it. I wouldn't feel right letting you go away with nothing after the way you—"
"I wouldn't feel right taking it." Fisk said firmly. "You were right—any idiot can drive this car and one just did—"
"Fisk," Yola said, "if you don't take that money, I'm going to—"
The dark track opened into a dual lane, then into a broad cavern spiked with stalagmites casting multiple and deceptive shadows. Many trails seemed to be open. Bill goosed the Fusion and angled for the far right opening. The Steamco moved over to block him, staying just ahead so that passing was impossible.
"I'll take the commission myself and make out a check for you," Bill said, as though nothing special were going on. "I'll take all the credit for the race, if that's the way you want it—but you've got to have your share of the commission. I can't take all the money for a race I didn't drive."
"I don't want it," Fisk said.
Bill tried to pass again. The maneuver was impressive at 400 mph in the partially lighted cavern. But Steamco was ready and stayed ahead.
"Fusion one thousand and thirty-eight..."
"I'll give it to your daughter, then," Bill said. "An irrevocable trust for her education, so she doesn't have to run onto any more racetracks."
"Yeah, yeah!" Yola agreed, but with less enthusiasm.
Fisk shook his head. "That money should go to your injured partner."
Another dangerous dodge that nearly put both cars into a post. "Twenty-five per cent to your little girl, then." Bill looked grim. "A hundred grand will cover my friend's bill. You're making me settle for twice that. I don't like profiteering on something like this. I'm hurting in my conscience worse than on my head and I can't dicker with you any more. That's my final offer."
"Flip for it," Yola said. "You go left next split—last moment. If Steamco goes right, you pass and Fisk takes the share."
"Okay."
Fisk was about to demur again, when the radio interrupted: "Folks, you'll be glad to know the drivers survived Duperjet's crash. They blame themselves for misjudgment—too much speed in the Slalom..."
Fisk felt a tremendous relief.
Bill accelerated again, almost touching Steamco's persistent tail. As the post zoomed in on them, the first of a line of them, he nudged right, then cut sharply left. Steamco was caught on the right side, too late to compensate without cracking into the pylon.
"What's the matter with you?" Yola demanded as she and Fisk stepped out of the tube at his apartment building. "We need money and you know it. Why wouldn't you take your share?"
Fisk himself hardly understood his reasons. "What I did wasn't real. Some demon in me wanted the glory of winning the Hurdle, no matter what the cost. I was too sick to control it—"
"That's right. You looked like a corpse, I thought sure you meant to kill us."
"But once the pressure was off I regained control. By then it was too late to undo the damage—"
"But you're the one who brought off the win."