VIRTUAL SEASONS EPISODES

Theorizing that one could time-travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett led an elite group of scientists into the desert to develop a top-secret project known as Quantum Leap.  Pressured to prove his theories or lose funding, Dr. Beckett prematurely stepped into the Project Accelerator…and vanished.

He awoke to find himself in the past, suffering from partial amnesia and facing a mirror image that was not his own.  Fortunately, contact with his own time was maintained through brainwave transmissions with Al, the Project Observer, who appeared in the form of a hologram that only Dr. Beckett can see and hear.

As evil ones do their best to stop Dr. Beckett’s journey, his children, Dr. Samantha Josephine Fulton and Stephen Beckett, continuously strive to retrieve their time-lost father and bring him home permanently.  Despite returning home several times over the last decade, Dr. Beckett has remained lost in the time stream…his final fate no longer certain.

Trapped in the past and driven by an unknown force, Dr. Beckett struggles to accept his destiny as he continues to find himself leaping from life to life, putting things right that once went wrong with the hopes that his next leap…will be the final leap home.

Previously on the Virtual Seasons:

In 2006 Sam Beckett had Leaped into the life of NASCAR legend Francis Strickland with the apparent task of preventing a fatal accident on the race track. Although Sam had managed to prevent rookie driver Kyle Masters from being involved in a twelve car pileup, he was not successful in saving the life of Strickland, whose life was claimed by the wreck. Subconsciously, he has carried the guilt ever since. Now, two years later, he finds himself back in familiar settings...

 

Also included in this virtual episode are some pictures (My apologies if the picture quality isn’t great) and an audio file for your enjoyment. When you get to the audio clip, it’s best to turn up the volume as loud as you can to achieve the full effect. After all it’s NASCAR... crank it up!

PROLOGUE

          When the blue light had faded and the last of the temporal energy had coursed through him, he could smell the unmistakable odor of tobacco smoke as it wafted up into his nostrils in thick, pungent wisps. Also, too, he could taste its strong bitterness in his mouth. Grimacing, he spat as he tried to rid his mouth of the taste as the lit cigarette had landed near his feet. With a crescent wrench in hand, Sam stared at the engine that was only a few inches from his face. To his left, positioned on a small cart, were a couple of small red toolboxes. He lifted his head as he started to stand, however in doing so he smacked the back of his head against the hood of the car. Sam clenched his teeth as he breathed through his nose, the pain beginning to turn into a dull throb. Sam stepped away from the car with a hand firmly placed on the back of his head. Setting the wrench down on the cart he surveyed his surroundings.

        The garage that he was in housed three cars, the one that Sam had been standing in front of included, all the same make and model. The design of the cars suggested that he had Leaped in sometime during either the mid or late sixties, possibly early seventies. A few other mechanics were present but none of them paid Sam much heed, for they were rather involved with their work. The garage was filled with the sounds of metal clanging against metal, along with the occasional loud pitch of a torque wrench. Upon a closer look, Sam noticed that the others were wearing similar uniforms, white body suit with red and blue stripes gracing the sleeves. The pungent aromas of gasoline, oil, and exhaust fumes intermingled and hung thickly in the air. The entrance to the garage looked out onto an empty, wide race track. Inside the garage, however, was rather warm. He could feel a trickle of sweat run down his back.

        “Mister Cole?”

        Sam heard the name being called but didn’t acknowledge it at first as he still looked about the garage. The name was called out two more times before Sam finally looked over and saw a group of four men, all clad in business suits, coming straight for him. Their demeanor implied that they were strictly here for nothing, but business.

        “Mister Cole,” one of them said as he approached Sam, hand extended. After he shook hands with the confused Leaper, he glanced about the garage and then at Sam’s car, which so happened to had sustained severe damage. Several scuffs that went deep into the sheet metal graced the side fenders of the car, the hood as well, while the rear end was impacted at such an angle. “Better luck next time, huh?”

        “Next time,” Sam repeated as he wrinkled his forehead in confusion.

        “That is,” the gentleman added thoughtfully after a moment, “if there is a next time.” When Sam tilted his head slightly the man then asked, “You seem surprised. You were expecting us weren’t you, Jack?”

        Sam quickly recovered from his momentary state of confusion. “Ah, yes, of course. Forgive me, gentlemen, it’s just been one of those days.”

        The man simply offered a thin lipped smile. “Of course. Look, Jack, is there somewhere a bit more private where we could talk?”

        Sam quickly glanced around the garage and had noticed that he was now the focal point of attention of every mechanic present. They all stood near their respective cars, looking on. Sam lowered his eyes as he placed a hand over his mouth, muttering his usual mantra. “Oh boy.”

PART ONE

March 3, 1974

North Carolina Motor Speedway

Carolina 500 Winston Cup Series

        For several long, uncomfortable moments of silence Sam stood there, not knowing just exactly what to do, or even for that matter, what to say. Obviously, the suits were there for business and judging by the balding man’s comments the purpose was anything but pleasant. Quickly adverting his gaze from the small group of onlookers, Sam gestured towards the front of the garage. “Um, this way, gentlemen,” Sam said as he led the quartet over to the front of the garage. When they were standing just outside the garage, Sam got a better view. The race track was rather large and wide, slightly over one mile in length and shaped more like a D rather than a perfect oval. The odor of scorched rubber wafted through the gentle breeze that swept over the area. There weren’t that many people out on the track; it had appeared as if a race had just ended. The grandstands were nearly vacant, save for a few small groups of people in the grandstands, and only a few people occupied the pit area.

        “Jack,” the man said he looked Sam steadily in the eye, “I wish this visit were on better terms, but I don’t think I need to go into detail as to why we’re here.” After earning a quick nod from Sam he continued. “I know that while you’re an accomplished driver the past three seasons haven’t exactly been your best. I’ve tried working with them, but they’re insistent.”

        Sam furrowed his brow. “Insistent?”

        The man sighed, either out of frustration or having to be the bearer of bad tidings. “They want to pull their sponsorship, Jack. They don’t exactly think that you’re doing them any good. Look,” he said as he raised a hand, “I know that you’re trying and all but your losing streak speaks for itself.”

        At that moment Sam didn’t need an Observer or a hybrid computer to tell him what his task was. “Gentlemen, listen. Let’s not do anything hasty, alright? I know I may have had a bit of bad luck, but if you would just give me another shot, I know I can turn things around.” Although Sam was no professional driver, this Jack Cole most certainly was, and hopefully he would Leap out before he had to participate in any races.

        The man shook his head. “I wish I could really help you out, Jack, but I can’t. ATP wants to pull out now.”

        Sam thought for a moment. “Well, what if I could turn things around?”

        “If you could, that would be great, but quite frankly, you haven’t. There’s no guarantee that will get ATP to stay. I’m sorry, Jack, I truly am.”

        “But I can,” Sam said quickly, “I can turn things around. I know I have a good car and a great team. Together I know we can turn it around. Give me one more shot. Please. Let me prove it to you.”

        The man, whose name Sam had yet to learn, rubbed his chin in thought. “I want to but I-”

        Sam interrupted him. “Tell me something, Mister...”

        The man gave him a incredulous look. “Bishop. Already forgetting things in your old age?” Bishop chuckled, the other three quickly following suit.

        “Mister Bishop,” Sam said as he ignored the jab, “how long have I been driving with ATP?”

        “Three years,” Bishop said, “practically since NASCAR started using sponsors.”

        “Three years,” Sam repeated. “Although the last three seasons haven’t been kind to me I’d like to think that ATP has enough faith in me to know that I can turn things around.”

        Bishop pondered that as he licked his lips and scratched his nose. “It’s not a matter of faith, Jack, it’s the simple fact that you’re not what you used to be in terms of driving. Ten, fifteen years ago, you were good. You were quite good, but the times are changing. In fact this season alone has seen three new drivers, and one of them is damn good. And all those drivers are under thirty. You’re fifty-six years old, Jack. You’ve had a great run but you need to know when it’s time to hang it up.”

        “It’s not my time,” Sam told Bishop as the two locked gazes, “not yet. Give me one more shot. One shot is all I ask. You tell those boys at ATP that Jack Cole isn’t finished. This conversation, however, is. Now if you want to see just how damn good I am then you’ll be at Bristol next weekend. I won’t be too hard to miss, my car will be the one in Winner’s Circle.” Sam blinked as he narrowed his eyes; the brief mind merging had come completely without warning. The psychosynergizing was quickly followed by a strong sense of deja vu. Very little of this was making any sense to the scientist.

        “Fine,” Bishop groused. “We’ll be there and we’ll be expecting you to at least finish in the top ten. If not then you can kiss the sponsorship, and your career, good-bye.” Bishop turned to the other three suits. “Gentlemen.”

        Sam watched them leave and then turned around, still rather perplexed by the sudden mind merging, when he saw Al standing in the garage, looking on at the cars as if he were a child in a candy store. Sam walked past him as the others in the garage had taken a strong interest in Sam.

        “Hey, Jack,” one of them said as he walked over to Sam, stepping through the hologram in the process. “What the hell did Bishop want now?”

        “He says that ATP wants to pull out,” Sam said, although he was more addressing Al than the young driver. Al looked over at Sam when he heard him speak, and when Sam raised his eyebrows in a silent prompt Al brought up the handlink and started to input inquiries.

        “Aw, man, Bishop’s said that crap before. They’re not going to pull.” The young driver shook his head and then clapped Sam on the shoulder.

        “Oh yes they do,” Al retorted as he read the data off the handlink. “Originally, Jack wrecked during the fortieth lap of the Southeastern 500 at Bristol International Speedway. His sponsor, ATP, pulled out a week later.”

        “I have a feeling that Bishop means business this time,” Sam said to the driver as he glanced at Al. “I guess I just have to prove my worth.”

        The driver nodded. “You’ll smoke those guys.”

        “I sure hope so,” Sam muttered under his breath as he went back over to Jack’s car. Al followed behind him. Pretending to be working on the car, Sam grabbed a wrench and leaned over the engine, ducking out of view of the other drivers. “So tell me, Al. I’m here to win some race right?” After waiting several moments and receiving no response, Sam looked up at the hologram. He was completely engrossed in the cars.

        “Do you know what that is?” Al asked, seemingly oblivious to Sam’s question. “What you got there is a Nineteen Seventy Four Chevrolet Monte Carlo, second generation, I might add. Under that hood, Sam, is a 454 cubic inch Turbo-Jet big block V8 engine rated at two hundred and forty five horsepower. Not to mention that it’s got dual exhausts. This engine was top of the line back in Seventy Four for the Monte Carlo ; those things could move faster than a virgin at a panty raid.”

        “Al!” Sam harshly whispered. “Please.”

        “Alright, alright.” Al held up the handlink and tapped a couple of its buttons. “It’s March third, Nineteen Seventy Four, and you are at the North Carolina Motor Speedway. You already know that you’re Jonathan Cole and that he’s about to lose his ride. According to Ziggy, Jack hadn’t won a race since the Nineteen Seventy One racing season. His sponsor, ATP Motor Oil, threatened to pull out if he didn’t start placing in the point standings. When he failed to do so they bailed. Jack’s career ended right after that; he dropped out completely from NASCAR. It was his wreck at Bristol that actually did it but it wasn’t until another week later that he actually lost sponsorship.”    

        Sam glanced up at Al. “So all I have to do is make sure that Jack doesn’t lose his sponsorship, right?”

        “Sure,” Al replied as he pulled out a cigar from his coat pocket. After he lit it he puffed at it a couple times. “At least that’s what we think you’re here to do. Ziggy is giving it an eighty one percent chance.”

        His mechanical skills having drifted through the holes of his Swiss cheesed mind, Sam began to work on the engine, starting with the carburetor. “Whatever I do, I just hope I don’t have to drive this thing.”

        Al moved around Sam as he watched the scientist, the handlink beeped a couple times. “What are you talking about, Sam? You did pretty good last time you were here.” As Al spoke he gestured with the handlink as he wrinkled his forehead. “Of course that was probably because your mind kept merging with Frank Strickland’s but you did it.” He noticed the frustrated expression he was earning from Sam. “The important thing is, is that you accomplished what you were supposed to.”

        Sam shook his head. “No, Al. No I didn’t. If I had then Frank would’ve survived that wreck.” Pausing in his work he ducked his head as he stepped away from the car. Facing the hologram, Sam wiped at his brow with his sleeve. “I remember it all, Al. I was right there, but instead of saving him I Leaped out. I Leaped and he died.” Heart wrenching guilt plagued Sam as he clearly remembered the events that led to Frank Strickland’s death. Al must’ve seen it for he looked on at Sam sympathetically.

        “Don’t say that, Sam. It wasn’t your fault that Frank died. You weren’t there to save Frank, you were there to save his team mate, and you did. That Leap, and quite a few others, have taught us that there are just some things that cannot be changed.” A couple Leaps in particular stood out in Al’s mind at that revelation. Twice had Sam lived the life of Howie Lockwood, although Sam’s second Leap had been the most painful, yet cherished for Al. Although Howie had accepted the hand that Fate had dealt him before returning to his rightful place in Time, Al had a much more difficult time accepting the outcome. “Unfortunately,” Al said after a minute as he brought up the handlink, “you’re going to have to get out there on the track.” Pulling up the information on the handlink he added, “Next Sunday at Bristol to be exact.”

        Sam’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Al, there’s no way I’m getting behind the wheel of this car. For one, this car isn’t safe. Look,” Sam said as he pointed at the car, “there’s no roll cage. This thing is one mobile, metal coffin.”

        Al took a closer look at the 99 ATP Monte Carlo as he spoke. “It wasn’t as big a concern back then as it is in our time. Sure, they had some safety equipment but not like they have now. But,” he said as he looked back over at Sam, “you have nothing to worry about, Sam. Cole doesn’t get killed in any wreck. Originally, he never even finished the Seventy Four season.”

        “Still,” Sam said after a moment in frustration, “I don’t know how to drive these things. The last time was because my mind merged with Frank’s and it was him who did all the driving. Jack Cole is a professional driver, I’m not. Granted, I feel his ego is drifting alongside mine but it’s only with the little things, you know?”

        “Sam, all you have to do is make sure that Cole doesn’t wreck during the race. Ziggy isn’t giving good odds on him, I mean you winning. Besides,” Al said with a wave of a hand, “it was Cale Yarborough who won it. He drove a Chevrolet. His number was nine.”

        “If I don’t place in the top ten,” Sam pointed out to the hologram, “then this guy, Bishop, will end Cole’s career.”

        Al inputted the name into the handlink. “Alan Bishop, sales representative for ATP Motor Oil. He’s the guy that they send out to handle all the business affairs with their sponsorship with Cole. Back in the beginning of the seventies, sponsorship started to become a mainstay in NASCAR. Granted, not every car out there at the time had a sponsor, but over the next few years it quicky caught on. A lot of companies were slapping their names on the cars; Cole was one of the first to drive for a big name company. In the beginning, they thought that he would do them some good, you know? But when he wasn’t winning any races, they got nervous. After his wreck at Bristol , they bailed.”

        Sam nodded as he went back to work on the car. “Well this Bishop has it out for Cole. From what I gathered from our conversation, he seems as if he wants him to fail. You should’ve heard the way he was talking, Al.” Sam was about to continue working on the car when another thought had occurred to him. “Wait a minute. Al, you said that somebody else won the race at Bristol , right?” After a brief nod from Al Sam went on. “If I’m not supposed to win the race then how am I to save Cole’s career?”

        “Don’t worry, Sam. I’m sure we’ll come up with something, but you got time. The race isn’t for another week.” Al inputted the command on the handlink that would open the Imaging Chamber door. As he stepped into the illuminated sheet of light he said to Sam, “I’ll go back and talk with Cole. Perhaps he could shed some more light on the subject. I’ll talk to you soon. In the meantime, Sam, the only bit of advice that I can offer you is ‘don’t crash’.” Sam took a half step forward and was about to speak when Al waved just as the door had closed.

        “Perfect,” Sam muttered as he held his gaze on the empty space that Al had occupied for a few moments before returning to work on the engine.

******

        Later that evening Sam had treated the other three drivers on Cole’s team to dinner at a nearby restaurant. Come to find out, three of the four drivers were rather close and had raced with each other since Nineteen Seventy Two. Apparently, from what Sam had gathered, driver teams in NASCAR had originated in the early seventies. Sam decided to use the time given to him to gain a better insight as to the situation that he was sent to correct. The restaurant itself was rather nice, a quaint establishment that was just outside of town from where the Speedway was.

        “I don’t see why you’re so worried about Bishop,” Aaron Turner, driver of the Number 92 Rayvac Batteries car said to Sam as he sipped at his glass of water.”He’s been hassling you about that since last season, I doubt he’s going to do anything about it now. Besides, it was you who helped make ATP known. You’re good, Jack. You’re damn good. You just been having a bit of bad luck.”

        Sam shrugged his shoulders. “I doubt my three year losing streak is just a bit of ‘bad luck’ in Bishop’s eyes. I don’t know, guys, I think he’s serious this time.”    

        “Who the hell knows, eh?”  Robert Matthews said as he ate his meal. He drove the 89 Glynn Paints Charger. “To be honest, though, I’m surprised that ATP stuck it out this long. No offense, Jack, but three years without a win and riding with a big name sponsor is pure luck. Plus, aren’t you meeting with Ray tomorrow to discuss this? I mean, I doubt Ray would sit back and let Bishop walk all over you.”

        “”Things are bound to turn around,” Mark Parker said to Sam. His car was the 85 Prescott Tools car. He was also the newest addition to the team, having joined the season prior. He was only twenty years old. “I think this guy Bishop is a pompous ass like the rest of you all do, but I think he’s just putting a scare into Jack. I mean, why would they pull their sponsorship from the guy who helped make them a well known name?”

        “Because,” Sam said as he swept his gaze across the table, “Alan Bishop wants me out of the picture. He says that I’m too old, that I haven’t been doing ATP much good lately.”

        Silence then fell upon the four as they turned their attention back to their meals. Sam, however, did manage to gain a closer look into the situation. Knowing that Cole had actually helped ATP’s popularity was a bit of leverage to use the next time he spoke with Bishop.

        The familiar rectangular sheet of light had appeared in front of a patron just as he had passed by Sam’s table. Al stepped through and closed the Imaging Chamber door just as the patron had stepped through Al’s image. “Excuse me there,” Al called out to the unknowing patron as he continued on his way. “Some people,” Al muttered as he went over to the table. “Sam, we need to talk. I’ll meet you in the head.” Al tapped a couple buttons on the handlink and his image disappeared.

        Sam wiped his mouth with his napkin as he stood up, excusing himself for a couple minutes. He then made his way across the restaurant to where the restrooms were. Stepping inside he noticed Al standing near the sinks, reading data off the handlink. As he closed the door behind him he started looking around to make sure that they were alone. After a quick search of the restroom Sam went over to Al. As he stood in front of the sink he caught sight of his reflection. Sam held his gaze on the face that stared back at him. Sam could see the raw determination in Cole’s eyes. Sam smirked at the reflection.”Nice to meet you.”

        “Sam,” Al said as he lowered the link, “I’ve been going over some scenarios with Ziggy and it looks like you’re going to have to do some history changing here.”

        Sam’s eyes narrowed slightly as he turned and faced Al. “What do you mean?”

        “Going off of what we have so far, Ziggy says that the best way to save Cole’s career is by winning the race at Bristol .”

        Sam instinctively shook his head, the mere thought of having to sit behind the wheel of one of those cars was enough alone to send a chill down the scientist’s spine. “N-no, I can’t do that, Al.”

        “Why not? You did this once before.”

        Just before Sam spoke a memory, vivid and powerful, flooded through his Swiss cheesed mind. It was powerful enough to send Sam back a couple steps. He could almost hear the voices, echoing from the back of his mind, then gradually becoming louder, filling his ears. Sam closed his eyes.

        Sam had let out a sigh of relief as Kyle passed. The handlink chirped and Al held it up. “Hey, Sam! You did it! You changed history.” Sam glanced over at Al as he read the information marching across the screen. “Now Ziggy’s saying that Kyle’s not involved in the accident, now next you have to get Frank out of--” The rest of what Al was going to say was lost when the car unexpectedly lurched forward, and then began to swerve.

        “Uh… Al… what’s… going… on… here?” Sam asked, each word a mere fight to speak, fear paralyzing him.

        “Oh no, no, no!” Al exclaimed. “ Anderson just nudged you!” As Al spoke the car pulled up and to the right, heading straight for the wall. Sam couldn’t control the car in enough time to avoid a collision so all he could do was close his eyes and pray for a miracle. Sam very slowly opened one eye as he felt something give way on his lap. He glanced down and saw one of his clips from the harness snap, throwing Sam forward. Sam cried out as the hood of the car crumpled up against the windshield.

“Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaam!”

        It was at that moment that Sam felt his body being pulled back into his seat. He tried to budge, but something had bound him to the seat, his hands still gripping the steering wheel. Sam slowly opened his eyes just in time to see the checkered flag waving straight above him. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make sense as to what had just happened. One minute he was headed straight for the wall when his harness had failed. He was certain that he’d crashed. But if –

“Sam?” Al asked, jolting Sam from his thoughts.

“Al? What the hell just happened? I thought I crashed.”

        “You didn’t. Frank did.” Sam narrowed his eyes in confusion. Al simply said, “You Leaped.”

          Sam’s eyes flashed open. He looked over at Al and then went to the sink and turned on the faucet, cupping his hands and splashing some cold water on his face. Shutting off the faucet, he pulled a couple of paper towels and dabbed at his face with them. Slowly lowering the towels, he was met with Cole’s face staring back at him, wearing the exact same concern and dread that Sam was experiencing.“Can’t you see, Al? I can’t go back out there.” And before Al could argue the matter, Sam faced the hologram and jabbed a finger at the handlink in Al’s hand. “Have Ziggy run other scenarios if you have to, but I’m not going back out there, okay? I’ll think of something else to do to save Cole’s career.”

        Al sighed in frustration. He hadn’t, nor did Ziggy, think that Sam’s magnafluxed memory remembered much about that Leap with Strickland. He had to come up with a way to get Sam back out on the track. Opening the Imaging Chamber door, Al glanced up at Sam. “I’ll go back and see what else Ziggy and I can come up with. Just hang in there, Sam.” Al stepped into the rectangular light and with a push of a button the door closed.

        Sam took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. After taking a moment to himself to collect his thoughts, Sam opened the door and went back out to join the other drivers.

PART TWO

          The rest of the evening had been pleasant and relaxed for Sam. After he had gone back to join the others, they spent the rest of the time talking about the old days, how they met, and of course cars. The latter was a subject that Sam did know about and it greatly aided him in engaging conversation. After the meal the three drivers had gone back to their motel rooms, saying that they had to catch a flight early in the morning. Luckily for Sam, Cole lived in North Carolina not far from the race track.

        Early the following morning Sam had met with the team owner, Ray Markham, at his home to discuss a few matters that not even Cole himself had been aware of. Markham didn’t live too far from Cole, having lived the next town over. Ray Markham’s home was a beautiful white and blue painted two story house with a wide porch, complete with a porch swing, and a detached garage. The melodic sound of birds filled the early morning sky.

        Inside the house, the den was filled with the memories of previous races and other events; various black and white framed pictures graced the walls of the small den. Many of them were Markham with various other drivers and mechanics. One in particular had Markham and Cole at a track, with the words ‘Daytona 1960' inscribed on a small brass plaque. Another photograph had been of an advertisement.

        Model replicas of cars were proudly displayed on the oak shelving that was situated just above the stone fireplace. The models had turned out to be of previous cars that Markham had owned. One of them was a Plymouth Barracuda with the ATP logo on its hood. Also on the walls of the den were framed newspaper clippings of races, some of them dating back to 1948, the same year as NASCAR’s inception.

        Other articles included references to Cole’s wins, new car developments, and announcements of newly constructed race tracks. Just by reading a few of the articles, Sam had learned that both Markham and Cole had been involved with NASCAR since the very beginning. The den also possessed a heavy rug in front of a simple wooden rocker chair. Sam was still reading the framed articles when Ray Markham entered the room, holding a couple cups of steaming coffee.

        “Those were the days, weren’t they?” Markham asked as he stood in the doorway, smiling as he watched Sam intently reading the articles.

        Sam was slightly startled by Markham . “Oh, uh, yeah...those were the days.”

        Markham walked over and handed Sam a cup. After taking a good, long look at his surroundings, he said to Sam, “My entire career in one room. Everything from ‘48 to the last season. Doesn’t really seem that long, you know?” Markham sipped at his coffee and went over to the model collection; he picked one up and looked at it closely. “I’ve heard from the other drivers that they’ve been having some problems with the cars out on the track. Both Robert and Mark have told me that the cars have rear end lifts when coming around the corners. Makes things rather slippery on the faster tracks.” Setting the model back down he took another sip of coffee. “They say that it’s like driving on ice.”

        “Great,” Sam muttered as he sipped his coffee. Hearing Markham talk about the drivers’ difficulty with their cars weren’t exactly what he would call words of encouragement. Sam licked his lips and then spoke a bit nervously. “You see, Ray, I-I, uh, don’t feel exactly comfortable getting behind the wheel of a car that’s been having so many problems.”

        Markham glanced over at Sam and said, “I wouldn’t worry too much, Jack. We just have to make a few modifications to the body, we should be fine. It’s nothing that we can’t fix.” Markham then went over to the chair and sat down. “The cars are heading out to the Speedway tomorrow morning and I’ll be up there by Friday.” Noticing the deep seeded concern that Sam’s facial expression revealed, Markham said, “Look, Jack, I’ll have the boys take a closer look see what they can do in the meantime to improve the situation.”

        Sam tipped his head. “Thanks, Ray, I appreciate that.”

        “No problem.” Markham held his gaze on Sam for a few more moments before setting his cup down on the end table that was situated next to the chair. “How you holding up?”

        Sam shrugged. “I’m fine.”

        “Look, Jack, I can only imagine how difficult is must have been for you these past three years.”

        “It’s nothing, really.” Sam went over and sat down in the other rocker chair that was situated to the left of the window. “I’m just in a slump right now.”

        Markham frowned at Sam’s words. With a shake of his head he said, “I’m not talking about the season. I’m talking about Margaret and John.”

        Before Sam could question Markham , Al’s image blinked into view, having appeared next to Markham . The handlink beeped a couple times in Al’s hand. “Sam, Margaret is Jack’s wife and John is his son. Margaret Cole passed away back in ‘63 from breast cancer, and his son, Jonathan Junior, was killed over in Vietnam in ‘65. It’s no wonder that Jack lost his racing spirit.”

        Sam lowered his eyes. “Uh, yeah. It’s been pretty rough. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about them.”

        Markham nodded knowingly. “You know, I still remember how I felt the day my father passed away back in ‘50. Hurt like hell.” Bringing the cup to his lips, Markham took a quick sip. “They say that time heals all wounds. I personally don’t think it does, otherwise it wouldn’t still feel like it just happened.”

        “Sam,” Al said, “Ziggy and I have been running scenarios all night and based off the information that we do have, your best bet is still winning that race at Bristol . I know, Sam. I know how you feel, but there’s no other way.”

         Sam briefly looked away from Markham as he brought a hand over his mouth. He harshly whispered, “There has to be.”

        Al leaned his head back. “Well don’t bite my head off, Sam. We’re trying our best. I had Ziggy check the results for the race at Bristol on March twentieth, 1966, and nothing’s changed. The wreck still happens, but Cole isn’t injured. I’ll be right there with you all the way; I’ll give you pointers.” Al smirked as he rolled the cigar between his thumb and index finger. “This reminds me of the time back in ‘82, it was just after Christa was born actually, that I had this friend who had raced before and I got the chance to take his Ford Mustang out for a couple laps around the track. Oh man, Sam, I’m telling you it was fantastic. Down that straightaway I nearly had that car doing two hundred,” Al motioned with his hand. “The speed, the adrenaline rush, damn do I miss it.”

        Markham looked over at Sam and said, “I guess that the only thing we can do is move forward. Honestly, though, I don’t know how you can do it. Losing your family the way you did...I don’t know if I could handle that.”

        Sam thought for a moment; he called to mind the feelings he had when his own father had passed on. The Swiss cheese Effect may be potent, but even it wasn’t enough to force Sam to forget the pain he felt for his father’s death. “Well it’s not exactly easy, I can tell you. My love for them helps keep me going, Ray. I know that wherever they are, they’re in a much safer place now. I know that one day I will be with them once again.” 

        Markham smiled as something in particular caught his eye. Standing up he went over to the picture and gently removed it from the wall. Sam and Al watched Markham as he stood there; holding the picture as the smile never left his face. “Remember that day, Jack?”

        Sam stood up and went over to Markham and stood next to him, looking at the photo. It was the one of Markham and Cole taken at Daytona. “Yeah I do,” he said slowly. “What a day, huh?”

        Markham chuckled. “You’re telling me. Remember, just before the practice run, the engine had caught fire. I never thought that we’d make it in time before the race.”

        “But we pulled through it,” Sam added.

        Markham sighed as he placed the photo back on its nail. “That we did.” Turning to face Sam, he added, “And we’ll get through this problem too.” Neither Markham needed to clarify what he meant, nor did Sam need further explanation. “Bishop’s just a two bit blowhard in a fancy suit. Things will turn around. This season is ours.” Markham then clapped Sam on the shoulder. “I’m going to get another cup of coffee. You want one?”

        “Sure.” Sam finished what was left in his cup and then handed it to Markham . Markham collected his cup as well and then went to the kitchen, leaving only Sam and Al in the den.

        After quickly poking his head through the doorway to make sure that Markham wasn’t within earshot, Sam went over to Al. “There’s no way I’m getting back in that car, Al.”

        “You’re going to have to, Sam, if you want to Leap.”

        “Not necessarily.”

        Al sighed in frustration. “So you’re telling me that you won’t be bothered at all by Leaping out without helping Jack?”

        Sam held up a hand. “I never said that I wasn’t going to help Jack. I just think that maybe I can do it without having to drive that car.”

        Al held up the handlink and pushed a couple of its buttons. After a few electronic chirps, Al shook his head. “Ziggy gives it less than twenty percent. There’s really nothing else that you can do, Sam.”

        Looking over Al’s shoulder so that he could read the handlink he asked, “What if I spoke with Bishop? Maybe I can convince him to give Jack another shot.”

        Al keyed in the inquiry. “Less than ten,” he said with a frown. “Sam, I doubt that nozzle will listen to anything you say. We don’t have much on him, really. He continued to work for the company until 1989, when he retired. The only thing this guy is guilty of is being a putz. Talking to people isn’t going to keep Jack in that car, okay? I can imagine how difficult this must be for you, but you have to do what you have to do.”

        Sam knew that Al was right. He knew that just talking to Bishop wasn’t going to be good enough to ensure the security of Jack’s career.

        “You know, Sam,” Al said thoughtfully, “perhaps you’re not just here for Jack.”

        “What do you mean?”

        “What I mean is that you’ve been blaming yourself for a situation that you had no control over and it’s holding you back.”

        Sam refused to believe what Al was telling him. “That’s crazy.”

        Al kept on him. “Is it? Ever since this Leap started you been going on about how Strickland’s death was your fault. It wasn’t, Sam. You hear me? You did exactly what you were sent to do.”

        Unbeknownst to Sam and Al, Markham had stepped in the doorway, holding two cups of coffee. He tilted his head back and eyed Sam suspiciously.

        “Don’t you see? I don’t think I can do this.” Sam took a deep breath as he ran a hand through his hair.

        “Can’t do what?” Both Sam and Al looked over and saw Markham step into the room. “Who are you talking to in here?”

        Sam flustered as he shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, nobody. I was just thinking out loud.”

        Markham seemed satisfied with Sam’s response as he handed Sam a cup. He said with a smirk, “Better be careful with that, bud. You keep that up and men in white coats are going to be coming for you.”

        Sam chuckled as he cautiously sipped at the coffee.

        Al keyed in the code that opened the Imaging Chamber door. Standing in its illuminating light he said, “I’ll be back soon, Sam. Hang in there buddy.”

        Markham set his cup down and went over to the shelf where picked up a small framed picture. He smiled at it fondly and then handed it to Sam. “My first and last time in drag race,” he said with a smirk as Sam looked at the picture.

        “Which one were you driving?” Sam asked. He didn’t see the strange look he’d earned from Markham .

        “The one on the left,” he replied with a raised eyebrow. “You should remember that; after all you were the one who took the picture last summer.”

        Instead of trying to recover from the slip up, Sam handed the picture back to Markham with a smile.

        “Who would’ve thunk it,” Markham said as he took the picture back over to the shelf. Placing it back in its spot he said over his shoulder, “A couple of old men like us, doing what we do. I couldn’t believe you talked me into driving that day.” He turned around and looked over at Sam, an amused grin had slowly spread across his lips. “There I thought I was just going to watch a race. I had no idea that you’d arranged the entire thing, Jack.”

        Sam shrugged. “You know me.”

        Markham said, “That I do.” He then went over and picked up his cup of coffee. As he took a sip he looked up at Sam. “Speaking of which, you still want to go to the dirt tracks Sunday night?”

        “Dirt tracks?” Sam asked.

        “Yeah, last Thursday you said you wanted to go to the next race, which is this coming Sunday.”

        “Sure,” Sam replied as if he wasn’t exactly sure on his decision.

        Markham sipped at his coffee, looking over at Sam with a curious eye.

******

Bristol International Speedway

Bristol , Tennessee

        The week had passed by rather quickly for Sam. He had spent the majority of the time mentally preparing himself for the race. Al had repeatedly assured him that there would be no fatal crash, yet Cole was still fated to lose his sponsorship. He hadn’t spoken with Ray Markham since his visit to the team owner’s home earlier on in the week. Since then, Sam had learned about Cole’s personal life. In his home, there were no family pictures, no wedding pictures, nothing that would even remotely suggest that Jonathan Cole had once been a family man. Sam had only found a newspaper clipping and an envelope that had been placed in the far back of a dresser drawer. The clipping had been the obituary of Margaret Cole and the other had been a telegram from the United States Army saying that Jonathan Cole, Junior had been killed in action. Due to the residual of Cole left behind, had Sam felt the heart gripping pain of his loss.

        Sam sat in higher levels of the empty grandstands of Bristol International Speedway, looking out onto the small oval track. He had made the trip to Tennessee the day before via airplane and had checked into a motel. The track was located five miles down the road on Highway 11 E in Bristol . It was a beautiful day; the blue sky void of any clouds and the sun was high. A gentle, warm breeze had rustled across the track, having swept over the scientist as he was in his reflective repose.

        He knew that there was no other way; he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would have to take to the track once again. Even the reassurance from Al wasn’t enough to fully rid himself of the doubt that plagued him. His role as Leaper served to help people, to better their lives. This revelation carried with it two distinct memories; the Leaps involving Strickland and the Allamore family. Even though Sam had made sure that both parents were present when their young son, Stevie, had passed on, a part of him had always thought that he could have done more to save the young boy’s life. It were times like those that had Sam questioning his role as a Leaper. Whose to say that for every wrong he righted, something else didn’t go wrong? No matter how hard he tried he simply couldn’t shake the doubt and fear.

        “Sam?”

        Sam glanced up and saw Al standing next to the narrow flight of concrete steps that led up the grandstands. Sam with his back against the announcer’s booth. The words BRISTOL INTERNATIONAL SPEEDWAY emblazoned just below the windows.

        “Thought I might find you here,” Al commented as he tapped a button on the handlink. He then slipped the device in his coat pocket as he sat down; his image appearing to have been sitting in mid air. “I came here to see how you were doing.” He smiled as Sam held his gaze on the track. “I can only imagine what you must be thinking right now, but I want you to know that you’re not alone on this. I’ll be there with you, every step of the way. I know you can do this, Sam. You wouldn’t be here, after all, if Somebody didn’t think you could do it.”

        “I know what I have to do,” Sam replied after several long, silent moments. “It doesn’t make things any easier. I can’t,” Sam ran a hand through his wind tousled hair, “I can’t even look at the damn track without flashing back to that race, Al. It’s haunted my dreams; every time I try to sleep, when I eat,” Sam closed his eyes and lowered his head as he let out a sigh of frustration.

        “I know, kid. If there were any other way,” Al started to say but when he saw the state that his friend was in; Al shook his head and started over. “All I can do is be there for you; maybe not physically, but I’ll be right there with you, Sam. I know a lot of the rules so I can help you through the race. We got an ace in the hole. Ziggy. What I can do is have Ziggy run a comparative analysis on the race, you see. We can take what data we do have and compare it to the new history as it unfolds. Luckily, the ‘70’s were also the time where NASCAR started to get televised coverage. Back then, it was ABC Wide World of Sports that would broadcast the races. I had Ziggy access the footage from the original race.”

        Sam slowly opened his eyes and nodded; he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Thanks, Al.” He smiled at the hologram.

        Al shrugged nonchalantly, although it was rather evident that he seemed touched as well. “No problem, kid. I’ll help get you through this.” For a minute both men sat there in silence, Sam looking out onto the small oval track while Al felt like there was more that he should say to his friend. “Ah, if it’s any consultation, I’ve been in the Waiting Room talking with Cole, and he thinks you can do it as well.” Al smirked as he fished out a cigar from his pocket. After he lit it he added, “And that’s a professional speaking, too, Sam.” Al then let out a chuckle as he puffed on his cigar. “You know, ever since he arrived in the Waiting Room he’s been rather fascinated with you.”

        Sam tilted his head in slight confusion. “Really? Me?”

        “Yeah you. It seems that ever since he saw your reflection he’s been asking all sorts of questions about you.”

        “What did you tell him?”

        Al took another puff off his cigar before responding. “Just that helping people is what you do.” Sam smirked and then returned his gaze to the track. Al thought for a moment and then said, “You know, Sam, I checked into the history of this place and when the Speedway first opened in 1961, it almost opened under the name Piney Flats. All this,” Al said as he waved a hand at the track, “used to be a dairy farm, Sam. This track is actually a favorite with many of the drivers. Well I should say the older drivers, the ones who were around these tracks in the beginning. All the other drivers are used to larger tracks. Charlotte Motor Speedway is one of the larger tracks, it’s about a mile and a half around.”

        Sam appreciated very much that Al was simply sitting there, chatting with him. Even though it was small talk Sam knew what Al was trying to do. He did feel a large portion of the weight lifted from him when he found himself thinking about other things. “Piney Flats?” he questioned with a slight chuckle.

        Al looked at him and smiled. “Yeah. These three guys, Carl Moore, Larry Carrier, and R.G. Pope were the ones who had the track built, but when they proposed the name it was met with strong local opposition. The rest, I guess you could say, is history.”

        Sam said as he stared thoughtfully at the track. “Racing through history.” In less than two days the very grandstands that he and Al were standing in would be filled with about eighteen thousand spectators.

PART THREE

Race Day

Bristol International Speedway

Bristol , Tennessee

          The day before had been qualifying; Sam had placed in 42^nd position. With that only came a minor alteration in history. The first time around, Jack had placed in thirty eighth position. The infield teamed with people; drivers were making the final preparations before the race while officials had made the rounds, checking the vehicles to make sure that everything was alright. The grandstands were packed, just about every seat had been taken as people made their way to their seats. Small children sat with their parents, pointing out to the various cars and drivers as they saw them.

         The weather was perfect, just like it had been the day before. Sam had met with Ray Markham and the other drivers on the team to discuss the modifications that had been made to the cars in order to help ease the trouble they were having around the turns. Sam found little comfort in knowing this, but he still couldn’t drive away the fear and doubt that had once again managed its vise like hold on him. He closely checked the car, just like he remembered having done the last time he was in this particular situation, and found nothing wrong with the car. The Imaging Chamber door opened, having appeared near Cole’s car. Al stepped through, then paused as he looked over his shoulder. After a moment he tapped a button on the handlink and the door closed.

        “How you doing, Sam?” Al asked.

        Sam looked around to make sure that no one was paying attention. The drivers and officials seemed too involved with their business. Sam ducked his head slight as he talked to Al. “Thank God you’re here, Al.” Although Al was very well aware of the desperation in his tone, Sam was not.

        “Don’t worry, buddy. I told you I’d be here for you.” Once again Al looked over his shoulder. He appeared as if he were listening to something and then said, “You can’t now, but when you make physical contact with me then you can.”

        Sam looked on in confusion as Al spoke to somebody whom he couldn’t see. “What’s going on here, Al?”

        Al nodded and then looked back over at Sam. “Sam, I brought somebody here with me. I think that maybe he can help you out a bit.” He then lowered his arm, his hand gently holding onto something. A moment later another person blinked into view. To Sam, he appeared to be looking at himself, clad in a Fermi suit, although Al could see the real person behind the illusory aura.

        “Jack?” Sam asked hesitantly.

        Jack nodded. “Hello, Sam.” For a moment both the holographic images of Jack and Al flickered and distorted like bad reception on a television set.

        “It’s draining a lot of power to maintain this kind of contact,” Al said to both Sam and Jack. “We don’t have much time, guys.”

        Jack nodded and then faced Sam. “Al here tells me that you’re having a bit of trouble about taking part in the race.”

        Sam nodded. “That’s one way of putting it.”

        Jack and Al flickered and then faded for a moment. Jack’s voice sounded a bit warped, sort of like one would hear through a bad telephone connection. “Al also told me that you feel responsible for another person’s death, that you tried to save him from a wreck.” Sam nodded. Jack mirrored the gesture and then held up a hand. “I’m going to tell you something, Sam. Every driver out there,” he tipped his head towards the track, “knows the risks when they get behind the wheel. There’s no telling what could happen while you’re out there but there’s no point in stressing over something that you have very little control of. Every driver out there, Sam, knows and accepts it. This driver that Al told me about sounds like he was no exception. He knew. He took the risks, just like the rest of us.” Jack and Al’s images became distorted but this time for a slightly longer period of time. When they came back into view, Jack was smiling at Sam. “If it weren’t for these unusual circumstances I’d shake your hand. What you’re doing, Sam, is very honorable.”

        “Thank you, Jack,” Sam replied. He thought for a moment whether or not he should make any mention of it but he followed his heart and said, “And for what ever it’s worth, I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

        Jack slowly nodded. “I have faith in you, okay? I know you can do this.” He glanced over at Al. “Your friend here seems to be quite the NASCAR fan. In fact, his idea of putting a spoiler on the trunk to improve traction on the Chargers is a great idea. If I can remember, I’ll run it past Ray when I get back.” The two holograms crackled and faded once again.

        Al keyed in the command to open the Imaging Chamber door. “Sam, I got to take Jack back to the Waiting Room, okay? We’re taking up too much power maintaining this link. But don’t worry I’ll be back before the race starts.”

        “Good luck, Sam,” Jack said. A moment later his image vanished when Al broke contact. The Imaging Chamber door opened and a moment later Al was gone.

        “Talking to yourself, are we?” Sam spun around and saw Alan Bishop standing behind him, arms folded across his chest, a single eyebrow slightly raised.

        “I was just...thinking out loud,” Sam replied with a hesitant smile.

        “From where I was standing it sure looked like you were talking to thin air. I wouldn’t let the stress get to you too much, Jack. It’s generally not a good idea to go falling apart before the race.” Bishop chuckled as he shook his head at Sam.

        “I’m not crazy,” Sam told Bishop. “Sometimes, it helps me clear my mind when I talk to myself.”

        “What ever works for you,” Bishop said. He then pointed at Sam as he spoke. “Just keep one thing in mind, Jack. If you don’t start placing in the top ten ATP will withdraw their sponsorship.” Bishop’s eyes were locked onto Sam.

        Sam looked past Bishop and saw that the other drivers were beginning to climb into their respective cars. Grabbing his helmet from the front seat of the car, he grinned at Bishop as he slipped it on. “That’s something you’re not going to have to worry about,” Sam said as he adjusted the chin strap.

        Bishop rubbed his chin as he said, “I hope you’re right. I truly do, because I’d hate for you to end your career on such a bad note.”

        Sam paused for a moment as he was climbing into the car. He was about to say something to Bishop, but rather then getting into an argument with the man, he simply smiled at Bishop and then got into the car.

        Bishop nodded to himself, patted the side of Sam’s car, and then made his way over to the grandstands.

        A couple minutes later the time had come to sing the national anthem. The person performing was somebody whom Sam didn’t recognize. There he stood, along with all the other drivers and pit crews, hand over heart, as they, and all the spectators in the grandstands, listened to the anthem. When the anthem was finished, the drivers then proceeded to climb into their respective cars.

        Sam sat in the bucket seat as he took a good, long look at the car. The back seats had been removed, along with the passenger seat. The car had no roll cage, so it held very little to offer in terms of security. The instrument panel housed the tachometer, alternator, fuel and oil gauges. The panel didn’t use normal bulbs to light it, instead it used electro luminescent dash pods. Just below the dash was a switch labeled IGNITION.

        “Sam?” Sam jerked his head over to his right as Al’s image blinked into view. “Sorry to cut things so close but I had Dom center me on the infield. I just had to see them in person. Out there, Sam, are some of the best drivers in racing history. You got Richard Petty, the King, as he’s better know for. In fact, it was Petty who claimed the ‘74 championship. And then you got Cale Yarborough, who originally won this race. And then there’s others like Darrell Waltrip, and-”

        “Al,” Sam interrupted the hologram, “never mind the trivia. I need you to help me through this, okay? I can barely keep my hands from shaking. I don’t know how I’m going to do this.”

        “Sam,” Al said calmly, “you’re not going to be alone on this, alright? Remember what Jack told you; every driver out there knows the risks and accepts them. Besides, nobody gets killed in this race. There’s a couple wrecks but nothing serious.”

        Sam looked over at him as he heard the Master of Ceremonies exclaim to the field, “Gentlemen, start your engines!”

        Sam quickly flipped the switch and the engine rumbled to life. He glanced over at Al and took a deep breath. Exhaling slowly he shifted his gaze back over to the track before him. The cars slowly moved out onto the track. They went around the track once as they followed the pace car. Then, just as they crossed the finish line, the pace car broke from the pack. The cars quickly picked up in speed.

        Sam’s hands clutched the steering wheel as he fought back the fear that had gripped at him with an unrelenting hold.

        Al looked over at Sam. “You’re doing good, Sam,” he said reassuringly. “When you get to Turn One, ease your foot on the brake, but just slightly. You don’t want to slow down too much.”

        Sam nodded. Behind him were three cars, and all were trying to pass Sam. The car began to swerve slightly as Sam struggled to keep a steady hand on the wheel. The cars behind him backed up a bit, as to avoid any potential wreck.

        “Sam,” Al said, “try to keep the car as steady as you can. Especially on smaller tracks like this one, it’ll be real easy to connect with the wall or other cars. The congestion on this track with the power of these cars are like fighter pilots in a gymnasium so take it easy.”

        Al was right; with three cars behind him and surrounded by many others, Sam had very little room. He was coming up on Turn One and, just like Al had instructed, he eased his foot off the gas and onto the brake. Sam held his breath through out the entire turn, having exhaled once the track had straightened back out.

        “Doin’ good, Sam,” Al said. Just ahead of Sam a space, with about just enough room for one car to safely pass, had opened. Al pointed it out to Sam. “There. Speed up a bit, but keep it straight.”

        Sam did as instructed and pressed his foot on the gas pedal. The Charger sped up and quickly claimed the forty first position. Sam’s grip on the steering wheel had eased a bit. Al saw this and smiled to himself.

        The field had completed another lap as the grandstands were filled with the loud shouts and whistles of about eighteen thousand spectators.

        Al held up the handlink, keyed in a couple commands on it and then read the information, but not without smacking its side a few times. “According to the data we have, the race is still playing out like it did the first time around but,” he said when he saw Sam’s eyes widen, “your odds on placing have gone up.”

        “That’s good,” Sam commented as he steered the car. He glanced to his left, and then to his right. He had very little space to maneuver the car. The congestion on the track was terrible, just as Al had said it would, but he had to do something. “Al, have Ziggy run a check on some of NASCAR’s best known drivers. Have her analyze their driving style; maybe there’s something that I can use.”

        Al tilted his head. “That’s a pretty good idea, Sam. I’ll have Ziggy go over some footage of past races,” he said as he keyed in the command on the handlink. “Good thinking.” After a series of electronic beeps he quickly read the data scrolling across the LCD screen. “Okay, Ziggy’s got something for you but it’s going to be a bit tricky. It’s something that really hasn’t been done very often.”

        “What is it?” Sam asked as he continued to scan the track for an opening.

        Al hedged for a moment before he gestured towards a small space near the infield with the handlink. “There, on the outside of the track, is a small space. If you can get to it, you can sweep around those two other cars then you can nab the thirty eighth position.”

        “That spot?” Sam exclaimed as he quickly shifted his eyes towards the spot that Al had pointed out. “I can’t fit in there, I’ll run into the others.”

        “Well, Sam, you got to time it just right,” Al replied. “Wait about another three seconds; the two cars that are just ahead of you should give you just enough room to move.”

        Sam held his breath and mentally counted to three. Then, just as Al had said, the two cars ahead of him had moved forward, giving him just enough space to execute the maneuver.

        “Do it,” Al told him.

        Sam’s grip tightened as he turned the wheel to the left; the car smoothly traveled down to the outside of the track and, as the tires barely brushed up against the lush green grass of the infield, he quickly picked up speed. He passed the two cars with ease and, for a brief moment, Sam had glanced over to his right. He saw the astonished look on the young driver’s face. Sam felt Jack’s ego take hold for a moment as he smirked and waved at him. Just as smoothly as he had executed the maneuver, he brought the car back onto the track and in front of the two whom he had passed.

        Al glanced down at the handlink as it let out an electronic squeal. “Odds are continually going up, Sam. Keep it up.”

        The crowd went wild as they saw the ATP Monte Carlo claim two positions in just one move. Many of the spectators stood to their feet and clapped as others were taking pictures. The thunderous applause filled the grandstands in the bright, early Sunday afternoon.

        Alan Bishop leaned forward in his seat, barely able to believe what he had just seen. Never in the past eleven years had he seen Cole be so aggressive out on the track. For a moment his gaze followed the ATP Charger, lost in thought as he slowly brought a hand to his chin. “What the hell?” he mused out loud with a shake of his head. He glanced to his left when he felt a slight pressure against his side. A young blond haired child sat next to his father, pointing at the track and cheering. Bishop smiled at the boy before returning his attention back to the track.

        “That was one heck of a move there,” one of the commentator’s said to his colleague as they sat in the booth that overlooked the track. He shuffled the stack of papers that lied in front of him on the desk. “Cole is definitely making his presence known here today at Bristol . I have never seen a move quite like that before.”

        “Perhaps this is the comeback that we’ve all been waiting for,” the other commentator said.

        The first commentator regarded the other with a smile and a nod. “Let’s hope so.”

******

        Sam felt his uneasiness slowly slip away with each lap completed. Al sat next to him, occasionally checking the handlink to see how the race was playing out in comparison to its original run. With each lap completed safely the odds would continue to increase in Sam’s favor. Al was throughly enjoying the ride.

        “This is great, Sam,” Al said enthusiastically to the Leaper. “If only I weren’t a hologram. What I wouldn’t give to have another shot, just one lap around the track.”

        “Just be glad you have the safety of being a hologram,” Sam retorted as he approached Turn Two. “I just can’t exactly get up and walk away from a wreck.”

        Al narrowed his eyes at Sam’s comment as he keyed in something on the handlink. After a couple of brief electronic chirps, he lowered the link and looked over at Sam. “Speaking of which, you might want to get ready.”

        “Ready?” Sam asked as he kept his eye on the track rushing towards him. “What do you mean? You said that Cole didn’t wreck until the fortieth lap.”

        “He doesn’t,” Al replied as he gestured with the handlink towards a small grouping of cars about ten car lengths ahead of Sam, “but there’s about to be one here in three seconds so I suggest that you slow down and go high.”

        “High?” Sam asked.

        “To your right near the wall,” Al said, “in three...two...one...now!”

        Just as Al had spoke one of the cars had pushed into the car that was ahead of him. The two cars spun out of control, trails of thick, heavy smoke trailed out and blanketed a portion of the track as the cars skidded off the track and onto the grassy infield.

        “Damn it,” Sam exclaimed as he drove straight towards the smoke, “I can’t see a thing, Al!”

        Al was already one step ahead of Sam. “Ziggy,” he said as he tapped at the handlink’s keypad, “increase the holographic resolution by ten percent!”

        Out of the corner of his eye Sam saw Al’s image take on a slight glow as it rose out of the car, his head protruding through the roof just as the car rushed into the smoke cloud. The pungent aroma of scorched rubber washed over the vehicle, causing Sam to wrinkle his nose. “Sam!” Al called out, “turn right!”

        Sam turned the vehicle to the right; the car gracefully moved to the higher point of the track.

        “Great! Now, the turn ends just after this cloud does so stay in the turn and haul ass!”

        Sam stayed in the turn as he eased his foot on the gas pedal; the smoky air rushed over the car as the cloud seemingly swallowed the Charger. Either beside him or behind him, Sam could hear the screeching of tires and the rending of sheet metal as more cars entered the fray. Then within a matter of moments the heavy cloud suddenly gave way to the track and a clear blue sky.

        “Damn, I love this sport!” Al cheered as he centered himself back where the passenger seat would have been.

        Sam allowed himself a yell of excitement.

        “Oh man!” the first commentator exclaimed, “this is amazing! This is truly amazing! Jack Cole had definitely made himself known here today!”

        “Definitely, Pete,” the second commentator agreed. “The way he quickly avoided the wreck, heck, you’d think that his guardian angel is working overtime today.”

        The commentator, Pete, chuckled. “Well let’s see if Cole has anymore surprises up his sleeve. Coverage of today’s race is being brought to you by ABC’s Wide World of Sports.” Pete shuffled the papers on his desk as he continued to watch the race unfold.

        “He’s good,” said a slick haired, suit clad gentleman as he nudged Alan Bishop’s shoulder.

        “I’d say that he’s pretty damn good,” said the gentleman who sat on Bishop’s other side.

        “Yes,” muttered Bishop as he adjusted his eyeglasses. “I can see that.”

        “He’s not going without a fight,” said the slick haired gentleman. “Perhaps we spoke a little too soon, Alan.”

        Bishop regarded his business partner with an annoyed glance. “Waiting three years can’t hardly be considered ‘too soon’ now can it, Marcus?”

        Marcus shook his head with a slight frown. “Uh, no. I guess not.”

        Bishop sighed and then turned his attention back to the track.

******

        “You’re doing great, Sam.” Al looked over at his friend as he took Turn Three with ease. “You keep this up and you just might win this.”

        “I can’t believe I’m actually doing it, Al.” Sam beamed a smile. “Of course I have you to thank for it.”

        “Don’t mention it,” Al said. “After all it was you who conquered your own fear, don’t forget. It took a lot of guts to get back behind the wheel of one of these.”

        “I know,” Sam said. “I just feel that I was there to do more, you know? After all it’s what we do; we change people’s lives for the better.”

        As Sam spoke a car came up behind him, nudged his bumper just enough to slow the car down a bit. Sam glanced in the rear view mirror and saw a Dodge Charger suddenly backing off. Sam then looked back to the track as he felt his car decrease in speed; it had felt like someone was pulling his car backwards. The car that had been behind him then turned to the right and, before Leaper or hologram knew it, had passed them. The driver of the other car had looked over and smirked at Sam.

        “Who the hell was that?” Al asked incredulously as he glanced at the handlink. “You know what that nozzle just did to you?”

        “He passed me,” Sam said, the look on his face easily expressed that he was still in a momentary state of confusion.

        “He drafted you,” Al clarified. “That was slick.”

        “Drafted me?” Sam kept his eye on the driver who had passed him, looking for a way to reclaim his spot. The other cars were rather close to both he and the other driver.

        “Yeah. That’s when somebody comes up from behind and nudges your bumper and then quickly pulls away. What that does is reduce the wind resistence of your car, slows you down. It’s kind of like a big suction cup to your car.”

        “That’s great,” Sam muttered.

        Al tapped at the handlink’s keypad for a moment. “Right now you’re pretty much stuck, Sam. Ziggy says that if you attempt anything then you’re bound to cause a wreck.” As Sam sighed out of frustration, the handlink beeped a few times in rapid succession. Al held it up and glanced at it. “Ziggy says that after you cross the finish line up there, you’ll be in the fortieth lap. The wreck still occurs, Sam.”

        “How?”

        Al keyed in the inquiry on the handlink. “According to Ziggy there was a wreck just before the forty first lap on Turn Four. Six cars were involved, Cole’s included. According to the transcripts he tried to avoid the wreck but plowed straight into the Eighty Nine car, which just happened to be his own team mate, Robert Matthews.”

        “Alright,” Sam said after a moment as he glanced to either side. The cars were all packed in rather tightly. “Just help me keep an eye out for the wreck, okay? We can do this.”

        The majority of the fortieth lap went without incident. Sam was still unable to pass the driver who had drafted him earlier on. The handlink chirped in Al’s hand and as he glanced at it, Sam rounded Turn Three.

        “The wreck is about to happen here in a few seconds. We can try to do what we did earlier with the other wreck but this one is going to be a doozy, Sam. We’re going to have to pull it off just right.”

        Sam held his breath as the car quickly approached the fourth turn. There, just as he was halfway towards the turn, a car had connected with another and both went spinning out of control. The three other cars that were close enough got caught up in the confusion; two cars had connected solidly with the wall while the third had ran into one of the cars that had bounced off the wall and then slid down the track. Nearly the entire fourth turn was obscured in a shroud of smoke; rubber, jagged shards of sheet metal and other debris littered the turn.

        “Sam,” Al said as he read the data scrolling across the view screen, “Ziggy says that if you go high you’ll shred your tires on the pieces of sheet metal but if you go too low you’ll connect with the other cars.”

        “Then how the hell am I supposed to avoid crashing?” Sam asked incredulously.

        Al pointed to an obscured portion of the track. “Ziggy says that if you can then you should head straight towards that point.” Al thought for a moment and then keyed in a command on the handlink. A thin beam of blue light emanated from the top of the handlink and shot straight through the windshield and into the smoke, acting as sort of a beacon for Sam to follow. The light had shone on a section of the track that was slightly off center, towards the lower point of the track. “Just follow this light, Sam. The space is going to be a bit tight but you should be able to make it.”

        Sam held his breath once again as he turned the steering wheel slightly to the left. The car moved down to the lower portion of the track, and having followed the light, Sam navigated the Charger through the chaotic mess. For a moment the world around him was cloaked in thick, dark smoke. When the smoke gave way once again to blue skies, Sam exhaled, the tension slowly loosening its grip on him.

        The handlink chirped excitedly in Al’s hand. “That’s it. You did it, Sam. You’ve changed history. Ziggy says that you’ve avoided the wreck but you still don’t claim victory. Cale Yarborough still wins this one. So now all you have to do is win.”

        “Easier said than done,” Sam retorted.

        “Once again, Jack Cole avoids potential danger with quick, precise reflexes.” Pete shuffled the stack of papers on his desk as he spoke. “Today has just been truly amazing.”

        “That is has, Pete.” The commentator said. “Cole has just been full of surprises. At fifty six years old, Cole is keeping up with the younger drivers, giving them a run for their money.”

        “Also doing phenomenal out there today,” Pete said as a matter of factly, “is Frank Strickland.  In his eighth year in NASCAR, he’s made a name for himself. He’s definitely a driver whose not to be reckoned with.”

        “It’ll be interesting to see how this race ends,” the other commentator said.

        “I’ll be damned,” Bishop commented with a slight shake of the head as he watched Sam smoothly avoid another accident. “It seems that our good friend, Cole, has the luck of the Irish with him today.”

        “He has improved considerably,” Marcus said.

        “It looks like he’s turning things around,” the other suit added. When he saw the look that Bishop gave him, he quickly averted his attention back to the track.

        “He’s just full of surprises today, ain’t he boys?” Bishop smirked and then let out a sarcastic chuckle.

******

        The next two hours had seen four more wrecks, all of which Sam had easily been able to avoid, thanks to Al and a few clever moves of his own. About twenty five out of forty eight cars remained on the small oval track. Sam, along with most of the other cars, had made a few brief pit stops. Sam had all four of his tires changed and fuel added to the tank. Markham also served as the crew chief for Cole, and encouraged him to keep up the great performance. The race was coming to an end and Sam was still far from first place. It was going to take more than a few slick moves and a hologram for Sam to claim victory.

        “Sam,” Al said. “You’re coming up on the last three laps of the race. Ziggy isn’t giving you good odds on even placing in the top ten. You’re going to have to pull off a miracle if you want to save Cole’s career.”

        “I know that, Al,” Sam said. “I’m doing the best I can, but I can’t seem to get around this guy. He’s the same one who drafted me earlier in the race. Whoever he is, he’s damn good.” The pack of cars had approached Turn Two; Sam was in the last row of cars, his one remaining team mate, Aaron Turner, was two rows ahead of him.  “What happens to Cole if I don’t place in the top ten? I mean I prevented him from being involved in the wreck,” Sam added as he steered the car around the turn.

        Al tapped at the keypad for a moment and then slapped its side with his palm a couple of times when the data had stopped scrolling. “Cole still loses his sponsorship but not for another month now. It seems that you’re performance out there impressed him enough to give Cole another shot, but when he failed to keep it up, ATP bailed.”

        “Damn it,” Sam spat. “That’s not good enough. I just don’t know what else to do, Al.”

        “Don’t worry about it, kid. We’ll think of something but for now just concentrate on the race. You still need to finish, you know.”

        “Yeah.” Silence then fell upon both men as Sam continued to drive the car. The rear end of Sam’s car had suddenly lifted off the ground a bit, causing the car to act as one, giant airplane wing. Sam glanced over at Al as he struggled to maintain control of the vehicle.

        “Sam, just stay calm. What’s happening is that the air is traveling faster over the car than under it. It was a very common problem with the Chargers back in the sixties. That’s why I suggested to Cole about putting the spoiler on the trunk. Dodge ended up doing that for their ‘67 model.”

        Sam didn’t talk as he continued his brief struggle with the car. Then, as the turn came to an end, so did the struggle. Sam had regained control of the car. “Not soon enough, Al,” he said after a moment. His heart was still beating rapidly.

        The car ahead of him continued to block Sam from passing. Sam tried going high but the other driver seemed one step ahead of him as he easily blocked Sam’s car. Sam then, either out of frustration or due to a residual from Cole, had jerked the wheel roughly to the left. The car shot down to the lower section of the track and started to speed when the other driver had blocked him, Sam’s front bumper had brushed up against the rear bumper of the other driver.

        “What are you doing, Sam?” Al asked as he eyed his friend curiously.

        “Trying to get around this guy,” Sam said with a certain edge in his tone. He also spoke with a slight Southern accent.

        “Your mind is merging with Cole’s, you know.”

        Sam didn’t seem to either hear him or acknowledge him as he continued to battle it out with this other driver who seemed to anticipate Sam’s every move.

        The last two laps were witness to Sam and this driver fighting it out on the track. Sam never was able to pass him, having claimed twentieth place as the checker flag was waved. And just as Al had said, Dick Hutcherson had won the race. Another notable driver involved was David Pearson, the driver who would go on to claim the ‘66 championship.

        With a free hand, Sam slapped the steering wheel as he crossed the finish line. “Damn it!”

        “You did what you could,” Al told him. “When you get to the garage I’ll go back and check with Ziggy. I’m sure there’s something else that you can do.”

        Sam had steered the car over to the garage area where the transport trucks would be that would take the cars to the next destination. When he entered the garage, he shut off the engine and climbed out of the car where he was promptly met by Alan Bishop and his two business partners.

        “I hate to leave you alone with these nozzles but I’m going to go back and check with Ziggy. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Al keyed in the command to open the Imaging Chamber door. He stepped through the illuminated sheet of light and the door closed.

        “You were pretty impressive out there today,” Alan then extended his hand. “Perhaps we can reach some sort of agreement.”

        Sam reached out and shook Bishop’s hand. “I’d much appreciate that, thank you.” After the two had shook hands, Sam then thought for a moment. He remembered that Markham had something about the two of them attending some race at the dirt tracks. He figured that his best bet was still through Bishop. He could use the time to discuss things further with the salesman. “Alan,” Sam said with a smile as he clapped the smaller man on the shoulder, “I would like to invite you to attend a race with Ray Markham and myself at the dirt tracks this evening.”

        Bishop shook his head. “I appreciate that, Jack, but I’m afraid that I must decline. I have other matters that I need to attend to.”

        “I think it would be a great opportunity,” Sam said, “to discuss business because there are a few things that I’d like to go over with you, Alan. It’ll only be for a couple hours. And I promise I won’t waste your time. What do you say? My treat.”

        Bishop thought about it for a few moments. He then let out an exasperated sigh. “Why the hell not?”

        “Great,” Sam said.

        “Whatever you have to tell me better be important. Time is something that I don’t have a whole lot of.”

        “You won’t regret it.”

        Bishop held his gaze on Sam. “I sure as hell hope not.”

PART FOUR

          The sun was setting on the horizon, the soft orange red glow filled the evening sky, neatly outlining the thin wisps of cloud that only added to its beautifulness. A warm breeze had rustled through the track, only adding to the pleasant scenery. The wooden grandstands were being filled with spectators. The race had been a special event, which was why they were racing under the lights. Back in the sixties, races were rarely held under the lights. In fact they were practically unheard of. Sam felt more at ease, for this time around he was a spectator rather than a participant. The three quickly found their seats. Sam sat in the middle, with Bishop on his left and Markham on his right. When Bishop wasn’t looking, Markham leaned over and whispered in Sam’s ear.

        “Tell me again why you brought Shiester here?” he asked as he tipped his head towards Bishop.

        “Because,” Sam started to tell Markham what his intentions were, but instead he simply shrugged and smiled. “Just thought it’d be nice.”

        Markham furrowed his brow. “Never thought you were one to butter anybody up there, Jack.”

        Sam didn’t bother to deny that fact. “I got to do what I got to do, Ray.” Sam then caught sight of a concession stand and stood up. “Would anybody care for a soda?”

        “Soda?” Markham asked quizzically. “Jack, they do serve beer here, you know.”

        “Oh,” Sam replied. “Uh, of course. Can I get anybody a beer then?”

        “I’ll take one,” Markham replied.

        “Sure,” Bishop replied with a nod.

        “I’ll be right back.” Sam then made his way through the crowded grandstands and then went started towards the concession stands when he was approached by a dark haired young man, who appeared to be in his early to mid twenties. For some reason the boy seemed rather familiar to Sam.

        “Y-you’re Jack Cole,” he said, as if he hadn’t really believed it himself.

        “Yeah that’s me,” Sam replied.

        The racing fan beamed a broad smile. “I knew it! I don’t mean to bother you but I’m a huge fan of yours. In fact, my father and I saw you earlier today at Bristol . Man, you were great! Never saw moves like that before. Who’d have known that I’d run into you here?”

        “Imagine that,” Sam said.

        “I hope I’m not bothering you, Mister Cole.”

        Sam shook his head. “Of course you’re not. It’s always an honor to meet the fans.”

        “My father,” the young man said, “has been following your career since you first started in ‘49. He goes to all the races.”

        “Really?”

        “Yeah, and I know that you’ll get out of that slump of yours, too. Today was a perfect example, Mister Cole.”

        Sam held up a hand. “Please, call me Jack.”

        His smile widened even more. “Okay...Jack.”

        Both Sam and ‘his’ number one fan laughed.

Project Quantum Leap

January 12, 2008

          Al strode down the corridor that would take him back to the Control Room. Along the way he’d passed by the door that led to the Waiting Room. He thought about going in and seeing if there was anything else that Cole knew that may be useful to Sam but he opted against it. As helpful as Jack Cole had been, Al didn’t think that he could get any more useful information out of him. He sure did have one hell of a time chatting with the driver about the early days of racing. He rounded another turn when he passed by a young Naval officer who was going in the opposite direction. When he saw Al, he quickly stood at attention and snapped a salute to the Admiral.

        “As you were,” Al told the young Ensign.

        When the young man lowered his arm, he then said, “Good evening, Dad. I mean sir,” he quickly corrected himself with a shake of his head.

        “Relax, Ed. It’s alright.”

        Ensign Edward Sharpe IV smiled at Al. He then narrowed his eyes when he saw that Al looked like as if he wanted to ask him something. “Is everything alright, sir?”

        “You’re a racing fan, am I right?” Al asked.

        “Uh, yeah,” Ed replied. He wasn’t exactly sure where the Admiral had been going with the conversation. “I do follow it.”

        Al nodded. “Do you know anything about a driver who used to be in NASCAR about a little over forty years ago? His name is Jack Cole.”

        “Jack Cole?” Ed asked. When Al nodded he said, “Well I do know that he started his career back in ‘49 and drove until ‘74 when his sponsor backed out.”

        “Is there anything else?”

        Ed thought for a moment. “Not really. I mean, he’s best known for how he lost his ride. It’s sad but he didn’t win any races for three years straight and then ATP Motor Oil backed out and Cole dropped out of NASCAR.”

        “Okay,” Al said with a sigh. “Sorry to bother you, Ensign.” Al continued along his way when Ed called out to him. “Yeah?” Al said as he turned around.

        Ed approached him. “Come to think of it, I do remember a story that my grandfather once told me. It was a long time ago but I still remember it.” He paused as he licked his lips, and Al could easily see that Ed was trying to overcome his nervousness that he felt whenever he was anywhere near Al. “This one time, both my father and grandfather were at some race when they met Cole in person. You see, they were huge racing fans, they practically went to every race they could. I haven’t been to nearly as many races but it’s something that I’d love to share with Christa.” When Al only stared at him, Ed quickly got to the point of his story. “Anyway, my dad had spotted Cole and went up to him. It was then that Cole had invited both he and my grandfather to watch the race with him. Well, after the race, there had been this kid who was awesome. His name was Lloyd McPherson and he had won that quarter midget race. My grandfather had said that Cole was so impressed with McPherson that he wanted to bring him on to race in the Winston Cup, but then he was talked out of it by Ray Markham and some guy who had worked with ATP.”

        “So you’re telling me that Cole wanted this kid, McPherson, to replace him?”

        Ed nodded. “Yes, sir. Cole wanted McPherson to take over his ride for him but Ray Markham talked him out of it. The way I think about it, if McPherson had taken over for Cole, then ATP probably wouldn’t have backed out and Cole wouldn’t have disappeared.”

        The handlink in his coat pocket had chirped loudly a few times. Al pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the readout. He then looked up at Ed. “I got to get going, Ed, but thank you very much. You’ve been a huge help.”

        “Is everything alright?” Ed asked with a furrowed brow.

        “It will be,” Al told him. He then smiled at Ed. “Go home, kid. Go take care of your wife.”

        Ed smiled back at Al. “Yes, sir.” He then turned around and headed towards the elevator that would take him to the surface.

        Al watched him disappear around a corner and then headed towards the Control Room. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’ you pile of scrap metal,” he muttered under his breath as the handlink once again chirped loudly in his hand.

        Sam had listened as the young man went on about races, cars, and some of Cole’s previous wins with a genuine smile. He abruptly stopped when somebody had approached them.

        “Ed.” An older man, appearing to be either in his late forties or early fifties, had come up behind the younger man and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve been looking all over for you. The race is about to start.” When he looked up at Sam, he seemed taken aback for a moment and then extended his hand. “Mister Cole, I’m Edward Sharpe the Second, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

        “The pleasure’s all mine, Mister Sharpe. Your son and I were actually having a rather interesting discussion.” Sam smiled faltered a bit and a thought had occurred to him. “You’re name is Edward Sharpe?”

        Edward nodded, a bit confused by Sam’s question. “Yes, and my son is Edward Sharpe the Third.”

        “But I go by Eddie,” the younger Sharpe interjected.

        The name sounded awfully familiar to Sam, but just like many of his other memories, it had fallen through the holes of his Swiss Cheesed mind. “I’m sorry,” Sam said after a moment, “you just seemed a bit familiar.”

        Edward chuckled. “That’s perfectly fine, Mister Cole.”

        “Call me Jack,” Sam said.

        Edward nodded. “I’ve been to just about every race of yours. Then again you probably don’t need me to prattle on about your career.”

        “It’s perfectly fine,” Sam assured him. “In fact I was just about to buy a couple of drinks for my friends before the race starts. Would you and your son like to join me?”

        Eddie perked his head up a bit. “Really?”

        “I’d be honored if you did.”

        Eddie then looked up at his father. “What do you say, Dad?”

        Edward tipped his head. “Of course we’ll join you, Jack. Thank you very much.”

        Sam smiled and then went over to the concession stand where he then went about buying the drinks when he looked over his shoulder. “Would you two like anything? It’s on me.”

        Eddie smirked. “I’ll have a Budweiser.”

        “Same for me,” Edward said with a nod.

        Sam went about purchasing the drinks. After Sam had paid the man, he then led the Sharpes back to the stands. As Bishop made room for the two, Markham looked over at Sam.

        “Who are they?” he asked Sam.

        “A couple of my number one fans,” Sam replied. Markham smirked and then looked over at the track where the small cars were lined up.

        “Jack,” Bishop said as he leaned over towards Sam, “whatever kind of business you’d like to discuss with me, you better do it soon. After the race is over I have to fly back to Atlanta , I got a ten o’clock meeting tomorrow morning.”

        The Imaging Chamber door opened and Al stepped through. The door had appeared on the track. When Al saw where he was standing he re centered his image so that he was standing next to Sam. Or rather, he was standing slightly above Sam, as the grandstands were rather crowded. “Sam, I’ve figured out why you’re here.”

        ‘I know why’ Sam mouthed to Al.

        Al shook his head. “No, no, Sam. I found out that you weren’t here to keep Cole in the car. See, there’s this kid whose going to be racing over there. He wins this race, Sam.”

        ‘And?’ Sam mouthed back to him.

        “And,” Al added, “he was supposed to be Cole’s replacement. That’s it, Sam. You were here to find Cole’s replacement.” Sam looked up at Al as he tapped at the handlink’s keypad. “Ziggy gives it an ninety eight percent chance that you’re supposed to get this kid, Lloyd McPherson, to replace Cole. In the original history, Cole spotted this kid and wanted him to take over but Twinkletoes there,” he gestured with the handlink towards Markham , “talked him out of it.”

        ‘How did you find out?’ Sam silently asked Al. When Bishop glanced over curiously at Sam, Sam quickly averted his gaze to the dirt track.

        “Let’s just say that I asked someone whose as into racing as I am. Anyway, Sam, the race is about to start, but remember that when it’s over you’re supposed to get this kid into the Winston Cup.”

        “Thanks again for letting my father and I join you, Jack,” Eddie had said as he leaned to the side, looking just past Bishop.

        “No problem, Eddie.”

        Al’s glance over at Ed was quickly followed by a double take; the resemblance between father and son was amazing, especially with the way Eddie was smiling. Ed the Fourth had the exact same one whenever he would be around Christa. “Amazing,” he said to himself.

******

        About a couple hours later the race was finished, the crowd began to disperse. It was rather dark out, the lighting of the track shone bright in the night. Bishop looked over at Sam and said as he stood up, “I thought you wanted to discuss business, Jack. Instead I wasted my time.”

        “Not exactly,” Sam said to Bishop. “Give me a moment if you will.”

        “I’ve given you enough of my time, and I’m afraid that I must get going.”

        Sam looked over and saw the young driver, Lloyd McPherson, making his way across the track. His uniform was caked with dirt; his knees, elbows, and even parts of his chest were covered. “I’ll be right back, gentlemen.” Sam quickly made his way through the grandstands, momentarily leaving behind a very confused Markham and Bishop. Edward Sharpe the Second looked on at Sam rather curiously as well.

        “Excuse me!” Sam called out to the young driver as he jogged over to him. Lloyd McPherson stopped and looked over at Sam curiously. Al re centered his image so that he was standing next to Lloyd. “Sorry to bother you, but I had to talk to you.”

        “You did?” Lloyd asked.

        “Yeah, you see I-”

        “Wait a minute,” Lloyd said as he snapped his fingers, “you’re Jack Cole. You drive the 99 Monte Carlo , right?”

        “Yeah that’s me,” Sam said, “but it’s you that I want to talk about. I think you’re a great driver, Lloyd. You got a lot of skill.”

        “Thanks,” Lloyd said.

        “In fact, have you thought about racing in...oh I don’t know, NASCAR?” Sam asked, the corners of his mouth curled a bit in a smile.

        Lloyd took a half step back. “Not lately,” he said hesitantly. “Why do you ask?”

        At that moment Sam and Lloyd were approached by Ray Markham, Alan Bishop, and the Sharpes. “Because I think that you would be perfect.”

        “For what?”

        Sam simply said, “My replacement.”

        Markham then tapped Sam on the shoulder. “Can we talk for a moment, Jack?” When Sam nodded, Markham held up a hand. “Excuse us for a moment,” he said to the others. When they were just out of earshot he looked at Sam as if he’d lost his mind. “What’s going on here, Jack? What’s this crap about your replacement?”

        “Ray, I can’t go on forever. And I know when it’s time to hang it up, alright? The last three years haven’t been my most memorable, you know.” And it was then that Sam realized just exactly why Cole wasn’t winning any races, it was that bit of brief mind merging that gave Sam the insight that he truly needed. “Ever since I lost my Margaret and John, I haven’t been the same person. I’ve lost my racing spirit.”

        “But you did great out there today,” Markham said. “It sure as hell looked like you still have what it takes. Damn, you even made an impression on Bishop; after today he’s bound to keep you in that car.”

        Sam paused “I know that but I can’t keep that up forever. Besides, Lloyd McPherson has a lot of potential. I think he’d be great.” When Markham still seemed to be a bit hesitant Sam looked him in the eye. “We’ve known each other for years, right?” When Markham nodded, Sam said, “Then trust me, Ray. I’m not going to just up and leave. I’ll still be around but I do think it’s time for me to move on to other things.”

        Markham wore a thoughtful expression. “If this kid is going to be taking over your ride then he’s going to need a crew chief.” He then smirked at Sam.

        Al stood beside Markham , the multitude of colors given off by the handlink twinkled brightly in the dark. “Ziggy says that if you can convince Bishop to let McPherson take over then Jack would go on to be his crew chief.”

        “Let’s go run it past Bishop,” Sam said as he slung an arm over Markham ’s shoulders. Together they went back to Bishop, McPherson, and the Sharpes. “Alan,” Sam said to the salesman, “would you be willing to wait on taking ATP’s sponsorship for a while?”

        “Why would I do that?” Bishop asked.

        “Because,” Sam said, “I think I have a way make us both happy.” Sam then turned and waved over at Lloyd to come over. When Lloyd came over Sam said to Bishop, “If it’s alright with Lloyd here I think it would be in the best interest if he were take over my ride. I know that I’m certainly not a kid anymore, for one. And another, Lloyd has the potential to be a great driver in Winston.”

        “I-I wouldn’t mind,” Lloyd said as he shifted his gaze between Sam and Bishop.

        “You think this kid is good enough to run in NASCAR?” Bishop seemed interested but he wasn’t exactly quick to jump on board the idea, either.

        “I wouldn’t be saying it if I didn’t mean it.”

        Bishop nodded and then looked over at McPherson.

        “You know, Alan,” Markham said, “I could use a crew chief. Between that and running the team, it’s pretty hectic. If this kid takes over for Jack, then I can have Jack act as his crew chief. It’ll take quite a load off.”

        Bishop thought about it for several moments.

        “I think you’re getting to him, Sam. The odds are going up.” The handlink chirped in his hand.

        Edward Sharpe the Second and his son, Eddie, walked over to the group, looking on curiously but keeping enough space between themselves and Sam, Markham, and Bishop.

        “Is this something that you would like to do, son?” Bishop looked Lloyd in the eye.

        Lloyd nodded. “Yes, sir. It is.”

        “Then,” Bishop said, “I’ll get in touch with the company. Ray, you and Jack need to get in touch with NASCAR officials and notify them of the driver change.”

        “You got it,” Sam said.

        Bishop then turned to Lloyd, his hand extended. When Lloyd shook his hand Bishop said, “Congratulations, son. If all goes well then you just got a shot at the Winston Cup.” He then reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it and pulled out a business card. He then handed it to Lloyd. “There’s my number. I’ll be in touch with you soon.” He turned to Sam. “Jack, I’ll call you in the morning and we’ll go the details.” He then waved to both the Sharpes and Markham. “Gentlemen, have a good evening.”

        “You did it, Sam.” Al said as Bishop walked away, reading the newly projected data on the handlink. “Lloyd McPherson goes on to the Winston Cup Series where he makes quite a name for himself, his career spanned from ‘74 to ‘99. After that he retires from racing and moves up to Washington with his wife. Oh and get this, Sam. You remember that rookie driver you met when you Leaped into Strickland, Kyle Masters? Lloyd is Kyle’s uncle, and he ends up being an inspiration for the kid later on. Jack Cole goes on to be McPherson’s crew chief until 1987. From there he retires and still resides in North Carolina . Ray Markham stayed active in NASCAR until his death in 1988; he passed away from a heart attack.”

        “Thank you so much,” Lloyd said as he pumped Sam’s hand. “I don’t know what to make of all this. It all happened so fast, you know.”

        “I know good talent when I see it,” Sam told him. He then turned around and saw someone very familiar to him standing near the grandstands, talking with somebody. Sam quickly excused himself from the group and jogged over to the two men, leaving Markham and Lloyd to exchange glances. Sam stopped when he caught a much better sight of the young man under the track’s lights. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “Frank Strickland?”

        Al blinked into view next to Sam. “Sam, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

        Sam ignored him as he went over to him. “Excuse me.”

        Frank turned around. “Yes? Can I help you?”

        “Um, well, I was thinking that maybe I can help you.”

        Frank looked over at his friend and then chuckled. “Is that so? And how can you help me, Mister Cole?” Frank took a moment and gave Sam a look over.

        Sam asked Frank if they could talk alone for a moment. When it was just the two of them Sam said to Frank, “There’s something that I need to tell you but I don’t know exactly how to say it.”

        “Forgive my rudeness,” Frank said, “but this is a bit strange, don’t you think?”

        “Yes,” Sam slowly replied, “I-I do.”

        “Sam,” Al said, “don’t tell him anything. In fact you should be Leaping any moment now.”

        After a brief moment of pondering, Sam knew that there was no other way of telling Frank so he placed a hand on his shoulder. “Frank, I need you to remember this date for me, alright?”

        Frank looked at Sam with a curious eye. “Sure, bud.”

        “February 25^th, 1990.” Sam then felt the familiar tingle begin to course through his body. It started at the top of his head and slowly crawled down his body.

        “And what’s so special about that date?” Frank asked as he smoothed his brown mustache with his thumb and index finger.

        The tingle had amplified; the tinge of blue clouded his vision. “Because, that’s the day-”

        The rest of what he said was abruptly cut off as his entire body was engulfed in blue light. The light reached a crescendo as the electrical energy coursed over his body; the light shot forth in a dazzling display as once again he found himself in the timestream, hurdling through its infinite corridors towards his next destination.