Both trucks coasted through the finish arch and slowed to a stop inside the area beyond it.
When his engine idled down to nothing, the first thing Proxy read was the leaderboard on the far wall.
1 | NYX -- 47:23.441
2 | PROXY -- 47:23.442
He read the second line twice.
The number did not change on the second read, which confirmed the number was the problem and not his eyes.
The finish area had been built with no instinct for restraint and no one around to suggest one.
Grandstands curved around the end of the rainbow road, luminous and tiered, while the finish arch still cycled its colors behind them and the podium ahead sat on a platform elevated to a height that existed only for effect.
The effect was working.
Her door opened before he had finished processing the board.
By the time he stepped out of his cab, she was already waiting at his door, and she had the beam on.
She held up one finger and let that sit between them for a moment.
"One millisecond," she said.
