Page 1 of Dirty Air
FRITZ MÜLLER
DRIVER, VFIBR
“This year is our year!”
Fritz's attention flutters away as the stranger rallies the audience, desperate to convince even one person to have hope in their mediocre team.
The only vent in the hangar strains as it pumps out cold air. All that work and it still can't overcome the sweltering heat of hundreds of employees crammed into a too-small space.
Everyone struggles at VFIBR. The vent isn’t special.
Fritz claps at the appropriate places, but his thoughts remain with the air conditioning.
Did electricity bills factor into the cost cap? Would the team be able to build a better car if the leadership hadn’t demanded stifling suits and ties for everyone in attendance tonight?
Prolonged silence catches his attention, and Fritz blinks, eyes darting around the stage to the amusement of the audience.
“That’s our Freddy!”
Not one lap into the new season and Fritz has already fallen back into the role of aloof, bratty driver. After he specifically told himself to try to pay more attention this year.
Craig, his harried team principal, motions for Fritz to standcloser to the mic and give some sort of inspirational speech to the awaiting troops. It’s only his second season, but the team should know better than to expect too much from him in that regard.
He doesn’t have a problem with public speaking, but he hates false positivity.
Especially in English.
Fritz ducks his head down to reach the mic. Why is everyone in this country so short?
“It would be hard for us to be worse than last year,” he says, finally.
There are few scattered chuckles, but the general mood sours as murmurs spread throughout the crowd.
What else is he supposed to say? VFIBR made a whopping two points last season.
“Nowhere to go but up!” Craig cuts Fritz off, yanking the microphone stand out from under him.
Investors must be in the building. That, or the team is broadcasting this farce live to their fans. All three of them.
“Now, we have someveryexciting personnel changes to announce. We were all sad to see Mauricio go?—”
Fritz wasn’t. He couldn’t understand a word the man said. Clear communication is a pretty basic requirement for anyone hired to be his race engineer.
“—but I am so pleased to introduce… Henry!”
Scattered applause welcomes a bald, stocky man who scurries up the side stairs and across the stage.
He’s attractive, Fritz admits, shamelessly sizing him up. Sharp eyes, tan. He’s younger than race engineers usually are, thirties instead of forties. A hint of muscle stretches the sleeve of his suit when he reaches out to hold onto the microphone stand.
Nice to look at, but if Fritz can’t understand him, he’ll be subjected to another year of avoidable penalties and misunderstanding strategies.
“Thank you for the introduction, Craig. Hello, everyone!”
Henry gives anotherupliftingspeech, but his version is much more technical. Fritz has never seen the man before, but he has obviously been busy in the background, learning everything he can about the capabilities of the new build.
His breakdown is thorough enough to convince even Fritz that this year's VFIBR might have a chance of escaping last place in the Constructors Championship.
Might.
