Victory Chain

My name is Bruce Tanner. You might recognize me as five-time World Champion International Grand Prix and seven-time Indianapolis 500 winner. I have the trophies to prove it, but one occupies a very special place in the collection.

I had just won the grueling 122nd annual Indy 500 and had spent most of the night at the victory celebration. It was around 2 a.m. when I arrived at the hotel and passed out. Later, as blackness faded into a misty cloud of grey, I wished that I had died. My head felt like someone had inserted a sharp needle at the base of my brain and my stomach churning, threatened to erupt any second.

"What a party!" I thought. "What a hangover!" I opened my eyes and instantly clamped them shut against the stabbing pain of bright light.

I cautiously reopened them and surveyed my surroundings. I was in a chamber with bright, sterile light coming from somewhere overhead, lying on a platform in my underwear encircled by a maze of tubes, piping and wires. In the corner stood a large computer-like machine silently blinking at me. Suddenly, one end of the chamber disappeared and three men dressed in white smocks stood before me.

"Welcome, Mr. Tanner," spoke the taller of the three. "I'm Dr. Jackobsson. How do you feel?"

"Eh--I've felt worse," I said, propping myself up on one elbow. "Where am I?"

"You are in the Institute for Advanced Research in the year 2119."

"What!" I replied, my arm slipping off the platform. "2119? What is this? Some kind of a joke?" My head was now throbbing.

"I assure you, Mr. Tanner," he said, helping me off the platform, "This is not a joke. Here, this should clear your head." He pressed a small instrument to my neck. No pain and the aching disappeared. "Please, put these on and come with me." he said, handing me a soft seamless blue jumpsuit and a
pair of supple low cut boots.

"Where are we going?" I asked as we left the chamber.

"To the Council. Be patient, Mr. Tanner, your questions will be answered."

We stepped into warm sunlight and approached a vehicle floating above the pavement. The side of the machine opened and we entered and sat down. Jackobsson stabbed buttons on the control panel and the vehicle silently moved forward.

"Hovercraft?" I asked, inspecting the interior of the machine.

"No. Electro-magnetic repulsion."

"Magnetic repulsion!" I thought. A line from a very old movie pushed itself into my thoughts as I began to realize I wasn't in Kansas anymore--.

Our craft turned onto what appeared to be an entrance ramp to a freeway. Leaving the ramp, we entered a pathway that reminded me of the old half-pipe water channels I used to race in back when I was a kid. Jackobsson gently caressed a knob on the control panel and we bolted forward.

"Where is this council?" I asked as our velocity increased.

"You knew it as Salt Lake City," said Jackobsson. "That was before the Division."

"The Division?"

"During the last half of the 2040's, Washington could no longer effectively govern the country and friction between the Eastern and Western states increased. To avoid a second Civil War, the country was split by the Mississippi into Eastern and Western sections, each one being autonomous. The division worked out pretty well during the last half of the 21st century, but that was before the establishment of the Regent in the Eastern section. Look! There it is up ahead."

Our vehicle entered the towering city gliding past shining glass encrusted spires that reached out toward the bright blue sky. Turning onto a wide boulevard filled with people crowded on moving walkways, I saw mass-transit vehicles easing along the smooth street with people entering and exiting at the stops.

We rounded a corner and up ahead crouched a pyramid shaped building. Approaching the building, a panel slowly opened and we went inside. We left the car, stepped onto a walkway, and entered the Council Hall. Sitting down at the crowded table, I felt like a specimen on display.

No one spoke, but I could feel their eyes inspecting me. Although the colors were different, everyone there was dressed in the same seamless jumpsuit that I wore. At the head of the table sat a very old appearing man encased in a shimmering white suit. His skin looked like dried leather, but his eyes sparkled like living diamonds from his hairless skull. His voice was deep and surprisingly strong.

"Welcome to New Salt Lake, Mr. Tanner! My name is Salvador Bork, Chief of Council, Western Region."

"What is this all about?" I began. "How did I--"

"Patience, Mr. Tanner," He interrupted. "You were brought here by the Time Dredge. I don't pretend to know the technical aspects of the Dredge; that is Dr. Jackobsson's project. The reason you were brought here is more important," he said, picking up a silver rectangular tablet.

"Our information shows that you are experienced in stock car, formula one and hydroplane racing. Winner at Monte Carlo in 2022 and 2023, Les Mans in 2021 and 2022, Indianapolis in 2024, 2025, 26, 27, 29, 31, 33, World Champion in 22, 23 and so on." He placed the tablet back on the table and leaned forward. His eyes drilled into mine.

"Mr. Tanner, we need you to drive for us."

"Drive for you?"

"Twenty years ago we added to our annual Games the sport of maglev racing. The principle is the same as your ancient auto racing. Of course the 'cars', as you would call them, are much more powerful and the 'track' a bit different."

He pressed a stud on the table and a large screen on the opposite wall lit up. I listened intently to Bork's narrative while images danced over the screen.

"The track is located near the old Bonneville Salt Flats. It resembles a giant pyramid with a height of 3.5 kilometers. The base, or straightaway, is 10 kilometers long and each congruent angle twists like a Mobius strip so that there is only one surface running the entire length."

"It generates its own electro-magnetic levitation field and is enclosed by a protective ionized screen. Should a car go out of control this screen will automatically shunt the vehicle to the side where it be eliminated."

"Eliminated?" I echoed, a cold chill trickling down my spine.

Bork went on to explain that the cars had linear induction engines that used the field generated by the track for power. By varying the amount of induction, the speed of the car could be controlled.

As I listened to Bork, a question nagged at me. "Why do you need me?" I asked. "Surely there are more competent drivers."

Bork's face clouded in thought.

"We need your skill, Mr. Tanner, because our best drivers have been eliminated by Prince Relaphor. During the past five

Games he has ridden them all into the screen," he said, his voice thick with hate.

"The Prince is Regent of the Eastern Union and has been trying to force the states in the Western Region to join him in the movement to reunite the continent. He intends to declare himself Supreme Regent of the land. We cannot win an open conflict with him, so he must be beaten in the Game."

"Why the Game?" I asked.

"No one would question the Game. It is well understood what can happen there. One simple rule governs the Game, Mr. Tanner. Survive." His eyes narrowed. "We no longer have drivers who have been hardened, sharpened by competition. You possess that skill and temperament that we do not have time to instill in our younger drivers. You, Mr. Tanner, are the best driver we could hope to have."

"Why even have drivers?" I asked. "What I've seen here you must have the technology for a computer controlled machine that could do the job better than any human could."

"Let me ask you a question," said Bork, his lips drawing into a thin smile. "We know that your technology was sufficient to have placed a computer in the cockpit of your cars. Would you have enjoyed winning all your races from the sterile confines of some controllers' box? No sound, no smell-- No, Mr. Tanner, I don't think you would. Flesh against flesh, mind against mind, spirit against spirit--".

He did have a good point and my addiction to racing had allowed my curiosity for this peculiar twist in the sport to grow. I was intrigued by the idea and the old familiar urge to get behind the wheel of a new car began welling inside me. I agreed to try and do what I could to help them.

A tall, thin-faced man with calm grey eyes stood up and walked over to Bork.

"This is William Forte, Mr. Tanner. He is Chief Engineer of our racing program and will be your instructor."

"If you'll come with me," said Forte, "I'll take you to our training facility."

"William," said Bork, his forehead wrinkling. "Relaphor's agents are aware of the Time Dredge project. Security believes that several sleeper cells have been activated in New Salt Lake for the express intent of sabotaging the project. Don't worry Mr. Tanner," he said, casting me a quick glance. "You are well protected." Somehow, that didn't reassure me.

The meeting concluded and I followed Forte to the waiting car and we proceeded to the track site. Arriving at the facility, we exited the car and Forte introduced me to James Barton, First Technician on the racing team. He was a short barrel-chested man with a high forehead and thinning blond hair. His hands terminated in long, thick fingers and his grip was cold and mechanical.

"Pleased to meet you," I said. "You must have quite the job here."

"I do my job very well, thank you," Barton replied, with a narrow-eyed stare.

"What was that all about?" I thought as we turned and entered the assembly building, where I got my first look at the racer.

I had never seen such lines on a machine that cried out pure, raw speed. The machine was triangular shaped with a sloping front. Surrounding the vehicle was a thick metal bar extending out about half a meter resembling bumpers, while the drivers' compartment, enclosed in a canopy, was located along the centerline. Inside the cockpit, located on the right side of the seat about waist high, was the throttle stick. This was the control for the induction engine. Twist it to the right induction increased, to the left induction decreased.

Move the stick forward for acceleration, backward for braking. It seemed very simple, but I knew it would require a great deal of coordination to really maneuver the machine.

On the left side of the compartment was a red T-shaped handle. This, I was told, was the emergency braking control. Shove the handle down and all power was cut off causing the vehicle to be pulled off the track by the Field Monitors.

Located in the middle, directly in front of the contoured drivers seat, was the steering wheel. Embedded just above the wheel was the speedometer. I blinked in amazement as I saw the top end of the scale; 500 meters per second! That was over 1100 miles an hour! Above this was a red line, which I learned was

the upper limit of the stress fields holding the car on the track. If this mark was reached, the fields would overload causing the vehicle to go out of control and be pulled into the ionized screen. To the right of the speedometer was the Linear Induction Power gauge. It read from zero to one hundred percent power. Located next to it was the accelerometer. This gauge registered positive and negative g forces from -12 to +12 g's. Forte explained that above 12 g's the pressure suit would likely fail.

"Fantastic!" I said, as we walked from the car into the preparation room.

"We'll suit up and I'll take you out in the trainer," said Forte.

We donned pressure suits and were assisted into the two-seater trainer. Forte made radio contact with Barton in the control center and we proceeded to the track.

Approaching the 'hill' of the giant pyramid at grouping speed, I remembered how I felt on my first roller coaster ride. Rolling through the twist and proceeding up the incline, Forte began feeding more power to the engine. The car leaped forward,

sailed over the crest and began the wild rushing ride down the 'Slide' as Forte called it.

Reaching the bottom the car rolled again as the pressure suit tightened. Once through the twist the car flashed down the straightaway as velocity increased. The last thing I remember as we whipped into the hill was the acceleration force trying to drive me through the seat. When I opened my eyes again I was back in the assembly building. Forte was bending over me with a frantic look on his face.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I feel like I've been hit by a truck! What happened?"

"I'm afraid that's my fault," said Forte, helping me off the small cot. "I gave it too much power going into the hill. The suit protected you from any serious injury."

"I thought I was in good shape."

"Oh, you are, Mr. Tanner, just not conditioned. We pulled seven g's through the twist."

"Seven!" I exclaimed.

"Don't worry," he smiled. "We'll see that you're able to handle it. I've just talked with Bork and he said for you to

take a couple of days to orient yourself, and then we'll start your training."

"A couple of days?" I thought. "How about a couple of lifetimes!"

The training that followed was grueling. Hours spent whirling around in a centrifuge to toughen my body and increase endurance. Days slipped into weeks as I went over the control mechanism and theory of the car until I knew it in my sleep.

The controls were easy to master but the coordination was more difficult. Several times, I had to use the red T-handle. Eventually, I was able to barrel around the track on my own and took part in many practice races to further hone my skills in the car. Finally, Forte pronounced me ready for the approaching Game.

The night before the race, I took a long walk as I always did. It helped to settle my nerves and focus my thoughts on the coming contest. I found myself down at the impound lot where the car was kept secured after undergoing final race preparation.

Walking past the enclosure, I noticed that the gate was narrowly opened. You needed a secure card for entry, I remembered as I squeezed through. Approaching the car I noticed several inspection panels propped open and a figure busily at work.

"Hello there," I said.

The figure jerked up striking one of the panels. With a muffled curse, it turned and I recognized First Technician Barton. There was a nasty looking gash running down his left forearm.

"Hey, you ok?" I asked. "That's a bad looking cut you have."

"It's nothing," he snapped and wrapped a cloth work towel around his arm.

"What are you doing?" I asked. "I thought that once inside the paddock the cars were sealed for the race."

"There was some misalignment in the induction injector manifold. I received permission from Forte to do the adjustment. I will place new seals after I'm done."

"I see."

"Any more questions?" he asked with a scowl.

"What's your problem? Ever since I met you, you've been walking around with some kind of chip on your shoulder."

"Listen, Tanner," he said, wiping his thick fingers on his jumpsuit, "I do my job, and I do it very well. Nobody knows these machines like I do."

"I don't doubt that for a minute," I replied.

"I've spent many years studying, learning the theory and operation of these machines," he continued. "You were brought here to do a job, too. Think you can handle it?"

"Yes," I said, without hesitation.

Barton snapped down the panels and applied the seals.

"Then you'd better head back. You've got a very busy day ahead of you."

Leaving the impound lot I turned and watched as Barton secured the gate. He was, after all, First Technician, so he did know his way around a racer, but also quite a jerk.

The morning of the race I dressed quickly, partly to get on with the thing, but also to try to calm down. After all, I had done this many times before, but this was a bit different--. Arriving at the staging area, I noticed the gathering mass of spectators. The scene reminded me of the Indy 500 or, perhaps in this case, the ancient Circus Maximus.

"We who are about to die, salute you," I thought, grimly.

The preparation team assisted me in donning the pressure suit and I squeezed into the car and checked out the instruments as Forte gave last-minute instructions.

"I'll pick you up on the radio from the observation center. Relaphor will be in the crimson car in the Pole position. Ok. You all set? Good luck!" he said, as he stuck his hand into mine.

I closed the canopy and fed power to the engine. The car glided onto the track and I jockeyed into formation, halfway back in the pack, while out front was the bright red car of Prince Relaphor.

"Communications check, how do you read me, Tanner?"

"Loud and clear. I can see the Prince up ahead."

The pack was now formed as we approached the hill and climbed toward the crest. Coming down the Slide toward the straightaway, I went over the maneuvers. Accelerate, roll, accelerate, coast, and roll again, over and over around the track. That part was easy; the hard part would be threading my way through traffic while keeping an eye on the instruments. "Remember, keep the g loads under ten during the twists and watch that speedometer." I thought.

We rolled into the stretch and approached the starting gate, while the Monitors carefully watched the pack alignment. The signal! The gate snapped open and the race was on!

I twisted the throttle and shot down the long straightaway at 200 meters per second. The pack reached the hill, rolled, and started up. Cresting the hill, I increased power and carefully watched my acceleration. Rolling out at the bottom something flashed by my left side. Someone was making his bid now, but his velocity was too great!

"What's that crazy idiot trying to do?" I thought. Suddenly he was wobbling right in front of me at 350 meters per second! I savagely twisted the throttle open and rolled to the right as the pressure suit tightened. I quickly reversed rolled left, straightened out, and shot down the stretch. Behind me, a red glow erupted and died. The screen was doing its job.

"That was a close one!" yelled Forte.

"Yeah!" I said, my mouth full of cotton.

Up ahead two cars tapped each other and tumbled into the screen, disappearing in a flash of light. I picked my way through traffic, gaining on the Prince with each lap, but I had help.

More and more flashes of light were erupting as I passed pieces of charred, twisted metal. Suddenly, up ahead was the Prince!

I opened the throttle and began closing on him. He shot down the straightaway at tremendous speed as we approached the hill. Rolling and accelerating toward the crest, the g-suit squeezed down hard. My head was spinning.

At the crest, Relaphor accelerated and flashed down the Slide. We rolled out at the bottom and barreled down the straightaway. My brain cleared. Nearing the twist into the climb, I reviewed my strategy. Going down the Slide I needed to hold off on the roll into the straightaway as long as possible. For a split second during the maneuver, there should be a narrow opening as Relaphor would have to decelerate ever so slightly to complete the straightaway orientation. At that point, I needed to be ready.

We started the climb and accelerated toward the crest. I applied more power to maintain my position just behind him. Plunging down the Slide I tensed, focusing on the bright car in front of me. Relaphor started his roll. I held back as long as I dared. There! Now!

I rolled full-throttle and shot past the Prince. Everything was turning a hazy shade of grey as the g forces tried to crush me into the seat. The pressure suit squeezed hard keeping some blood from escaping my brain. Whipping through the twist at the bottom, I glanced at the speedometer. 450 meters per second and I was headed for the screen! I spun the wheel hard left.

The car yawed in what would have been a power slide on a conventional surface. "If the engine will just hold up," I

thought, with bright yellow spots swimming before my eyes,

"I'll make it. If it doesn't, then--," with a sudden jerk, the car straightened out and I howled down the straightaway with the Prince right behind me.

The signal for the final lap! I rolled into the hill with the bright red car closing rapidly behind me. I looked at the speedometer. It was reading zero! My view swept the panel. None of the displays were working and the suit was collapsing! I shouted through the radio my predicament. Forte's voice cracked with disbelief. I was strapped in a hurtling missile with no instrumentation nearing the top of the hill.

We sailed over the crest and shot down the Slide wide open. Rolling out at the bottom, my training took over. I strained my core muscles as hard as I could to try to keep as much blood in my brain as possible. I had no idea how many g's were piling on me, but my field of vision was narrowing rapidly. My speed had to be approaching red line as I felt the surging of the induction engine at full power. Losing steering control as the acceleration increased, I knew I was out of time! I braked, hauling the throttle stick all the way back. The car bucked and vibrated as if riding the rapids of a surging river. Fighting to hold the craft steady, I felt myself being dragged into unconsciousness.

Unprepared for my sudden deceleration, Relaphor desperately maneuvered not to collide. Suddenly, I was spinning in a sharp left turn as Relaphor clipped me from behind. I swung the wheel hard right hard into the stop as I careened down the track. I pushed the throttle stick forward to stop braking, spun the wheel back around and began to re-orient to the tracks' centerline. I glimpsed Relaphor's car tumbling toward the screen. A red glow angrily flared. Giving the car full throttle, I screamed through the finish gate and shoved home the red handle.

The last thing I remembered was the car disintegrating around me.

I came to in the track infirmary with Forte and several medical people bending over me.

"How do you feel?" asked Forte.

"Like I've been pulled through a knot hole." I groaned. "What happened?"

"Your strategy worked. Although it was, how do I say it, somewhat daring. When you braked, the Prince lost control. Frankly, I thought neither one of you would survive when he hit you. That was an amazing recovery! Relaphor went into the screen and if you hadn't used the emergency shut down, you would've followed him. You beat the field overload by about half a second. You're quick, but that was a little too close, Bruce."

As Forte helped me sit up on the bed, I spotted Barton standing in the corner. With all the strength I had left, I stood up and lunged at him.

He turned and headed toward the door but I managed to grab him in a fumbling tackle. I held on as hard as I could while we tumbled through the doorway. I heard Forte shouting as security personnel pried us apart.

"What's this all about?" exclaimed Forte.

"Pull up his left sleeve!" I said, gasping for breath.

One of the guards grabbed Barton's arm and pulled up the sleeve exposing the long red gash.

"I found him in the paddock last night. I startled him and he cut his arm on one of the panels. He told me that there were some minor adjustments he needed to make to the induction system. Said that you had authorized it."

"I said no such thing!" Forte turned to Barton.

"No one knows this operation like me!" shouted Barton, squirming in the grip of two beefy security guards.

"No one questions your ability," Forte said. "That's why you were appointed First Technician."

"First Technician!" spat Barton, sarcastically. "I've been in this program from its inception. I know this operation better than anybody. First Technician! No, Forte, I should be Chief Engineer, not you!"

"So, this was your way of getting revenge then?"

"Revenge?" replied Barton, his eyes squinting. "You are truly naïve, Forte. Relaphor's agents knew about the Time Dredge project but were unable to get through its security. I was offered the Directors position in their program. Finally, I would be free to do what I wanted to do. Better than anyone else-- Better than you!"

"Enough!" shouted Forte. "Take him out of here!"

The last thing I remembered as I hit the floor was Barton, tightly cradled between two security guards, being hauled out the doorway.

I awoke back in the Time Dredge chamber with Bork, Jackobsson, and Forte. Lying on the soft, warm platform I watched as Bork approached, leaned over and put his hand into mine, gripping strong.

"Thank you, Mr. Tanner!" He said, his eyes sparkling. "The resistance groups in the Eastern Region have already begun the dismantling of Relaphors' regime. I've received a personal message from his Vice Regent requesting negotiations for a peaceful transition in their government."

"What about Barton?" I asked, trying to focus my eyes.

"The Council has appointed a special investigation board to examine his activities. I'm sure it will determine appropriate action. We're very grateful," he continued, smiling. "We're about to return you to your own time, but first, I have something for you."

"Wait a minute." I struggled to sit up. "I'm not sure I want to go back. I've gotten used to this--time--and, besides, you have one heck of a race program. I could be of help in training your drivers. No offense, Forte--"

"None taken," he said.

Bork and Jackobsson exchanged a knowing glance. Jackobsson spoke. "I'm afraid that won't be possible."

"Why?" I asked.

"I'll try to explain." Replied Jackobsson, rubbing his chin. "The technology of the Time Dredge is highly experimental. We had a devil of a time keeping it from Relaphors' agents." His face clouded with thought.

"Yes, Doctor?" I said.

He adjusted his smock. "You see, the neural networks and pathways of the human nervous system are, shall I say, 'synced'

with the local quantum time stream. The local continuum is also electrically imprinted on the DNA--".

"Whoa, Doc! I'm starting to loose you."

"Put simply, Mr. Tanner, we had to 'tweak' your DNA imprint to allow your nervous system to stabilize to this continuum. That works for only a limited amount of time. Soon your DNA will begin to depolarize; basically, short circuiting."

"And that would be a bad thing," I said. Jackobsson nodded.

"You can no longer survive in this continuum. I'm sorry."

"So am I," I said, a wave of dejection coursing my thoughts.

"You may experience a little disorientation when you return. It should pass in a few minutes. We are going to place you just a few hours after you left." He smiled. "You might even believe it was all just a dream -- a very vivid dream."

Bork was carrying a small oval shaped container. He reached in and pulled out a round translucent gold medallion hanging from a sculpted silver chain.

"This is the Victory Chain, Mr. Tanner. It is yours now." He bent down and clasped the chain around my neck.

Forte's face wrinkled with a subtle grin.

"You'll be a little sore for a few days, Bruce." He grasped my hand in farewell.

"Thanks, Bill. For everything. I would love to take one more spin in that car." I said as I gripped his warm hand.

He smiled. "Good bye, my friend."

They left the chamber as the machine in the corner began to hum softly to itself. The humming increased to a buzzing roar and I drifted into peaceful blackness.

I awoke with a start. I was lying on the hotel bed and the room was trying to spin. I laid back down, closed my eyes, and waited for the dizziness to subside. After a few minutes, my senses were returning to normal. I switched on the nightstand light and looked at the clock radio.

4:40 in the morning. "We are going to place you just a few hours after you left." Where did that come from? Memories floated at the back of my mind. Maglev racecars, Forte, New Salt Lake. It was a jumbled blur as I tried to focus my thoughts.

"This is nuts!" I said. "I must have had one doozy of a victory party!"

I forced my aching body into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. As I bent over to grab my socks, I felt a strange tug at the back of my neck. I looked down. There, gently swinging from a sculptured silver chain was the medallion.

THE END

Bio: Mr. Kelly is a veteran of the US Navy Nuclear Submarine Service and retired from Hewlett Packard/Agilent Technologies. He is a long-time Sci-Fi and Fantasy fan. This is his first story at Aphelion.

E-mail: C.H. Kelly

Comment on this story in the Aphelion Forum

Return to Aphelion's Index page.