September 10, 2013

17 couldn't recall a time in which she felt so exhausted, sore, and humiliated at the same time. She was supposed to be the fastest in her class! She should be wiping the course with her challenger's humiliation but she was the one getting the dose instead! 17 wasn't her name. Neither she nor her challenger ever had an official name. They were referred to merely by their sail numbers. And that was okay with her. The number was unique in itself. No other boat carried the number USA 17 on their mainsail. She hobbled back to her berth, furious to see the challenger taking the time to play about. Clearly she wasn't tired!

"This is ridiculous!" She huffed, cuffing the dock harshly.

"Tell me about it." said an old blue yacht docked nearby. "That was the worst I've seen anybody lose, ever! At least Liberty gave it her best shot, you weren't even trying!"

"Oh and what do you suggest I do?!" 17 hissed, rounding on her. She was bigger but not by much. They were close in length though 17 looked larger due to her foils which were bristling along her pontoons.

The other yacht merely blinked as she turned to face her, not intimidated by the 34th America's Cup Defender. Her answer was simple. "Win."

"How?"

She shrugged. "You're the racer here, Black India. You figure it out."

That name, it triggered something in 17. She never even knew she had a name. A proper name. Not just a number. She didn't even know she cared that she had one! Briefly stunned into silence she rasped "Why did you call me that?"

The other yacht simply offered a small smile. "I think you know." She replied and left, leaving 17 to her thoughts.

"Black India." She whispered to herself, savoring the name. She looked down at her reflection, seeing the black hulled catamaran with the distinctive amber eyes staring back at her. Most catamarans had green or blue eyes. Most yachts for that matter as well. But amber was very common in schooners, something that made 17 suspect her heritage.

It was no secret that most Cup winners were descended from the first. America had proven extremely successful in the breeding shed, perhaps more so than she did on the racecourse. 17's challenger was also descended from her. But the eyes were what did it. Amber, like hers. Mind you 17 had only ever seen the black and white photos of her later in life. But she could imagine their color. Vivid shades of liquid gold swirling with flecks of black. Eyes just like her own. And the eyes, told the most important story of all.

17 straightened up, her muscles suddenly no longer sore. She no longer felt tired. It was like a new wind had been breathed into her sails. She turned to her challenger, the Kiwi invader and bared her teeth, foils flicking up and down in a classic "challenge accepted" maneuver. She had done it at the start of this series when they'd first met but this time was different and that difference was clearly seen. Before it was for tradition, now it was for herself!

Aotearoa was secretly pleased to see this behavior from her competitor. 17 had been so closed off it was a wonder she could race or win at all! The Kiwi knew the Yank had been holding back. Everything about her bloodline and her past performance before the start of the Cup said she could run and win races! But it seemed like that spark had been lost. She was happy to know it hadn't died. It would be a tough fight from here on out. And even though she held the point advantage, she knew 17 would do everything she could to close that. And Aotearoa loved a tough fight! She would lose some, and she might yet win this thing. But one thing was for certain, Black India had returned. She wanted her cup and Aotearoa was standing in her way!