Starshine Sector: Crypto Racing "The Raytona 5,000" Part 2
Starshine Sector: Crypto Racing
“The Raytona 5,000”
Stock Rocketcar Racing In The 24th Century
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Author's Note: This is part 2 of the story “The Raytona 5,000” from my series “Starshine Sector: Crypto Racing”
Part 1 can be found here:
Explore more stories from the Rocketbilly universe at:
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(continued from Part 1)
That night Zane dreamed of fast cars and powerful fuels. Nitromethane, high octane gasoline, exotic plasma, spin-modified aluminium dust, and all the rest. But mostly he dreamed of cars, trucks, vans and superbikes propelled by the magic blend of antigravity and ethanol.
He dreamed of racing every rocket powered vehicle ever created. And the few times he woke up in the night, he realized that if he could win the Raytona 5,000 he would have that opportunity.
Then his dreams turned dark. Visions of losing the race. Mechanical problems beyond his control multiplied in his imagination. The finish line became a portal to every different way in which he could lose. A gloom suffused the universe as hidden malevolent forces plotted his demise and orchestrated events against him like chess pieces. Unsportsmanlike evil tugged cables and flipped bits in utterly rigged games that shaped and constrained his existence.
After mega-universes of nightmarescape, Zane was awoken by his wristcom's beeping alarm. He ate a breakfast of eggs and proto-buffalo, he got on his rocketbike and rose into the sky.
Race day weather was warm and sunny. Weather much like you'd experience on a perfect race day in Daytona Beach on Old Earth. The giant wheel-shaped space station Raytona had been designed to create exactly those conditions.
Zane dodged clouds playfully as he cruised over the city to the raceway. At the perimeter gates, sentry bots recognized him and let him through to the race pits.
Like smoke machines at a rock concert, the racecars' cryogenic fuels created billowing clouds of vapor. Alcohol and oxygen were briefly visible as white steam-like puffs, wisps, and swirls. Then a big fuel tank would vent and 50 feet were temporarily obscured in white haze. Strategically placed smart burners, fire squelchers and robo-accumulators ignited, contained, and reclaimed concentrated vapors to minimize fires and suppress explosions.
Morning at Raytona Super Space Speedway on the biggest raceday of the year. Everyone on this special day was part of a cult dedicated to racing excess. Exotic cars, trucks, vans and RV's. Ultra fans adorned like crazed lunatics with their favorite car's color and number, carrying or consuming the sponsor's product in copious amounts. Bikinis, trikinis,, and all other types of kinis. Wagers, bets, and odds updating in realtime from across the galaxies on holographic screens everywhere.
The pit crew greeted him respectfully but each was busy, eager to focus on their own area of responsibility: Mechanic Ann, inspecting spare parts and rehearsing pitstop routines with the mech-bots. The Racing Control trio of Mark, Leon and Joe establishing data feeds from over 3000 sensors in the racecar and upgrading components with the latest software patches. Tex coordinating with race officials and networking with the other teams. Scouting for the latest news, gossip and info that might be helpful.
Zane breathed in deeply. The air was tinged with the smell of moonshine. A pleasant, benevolent sun warmed his skin. This massive temporary scene felt like home. If he could win today he would always have a place here. He would always be embraced by Raytona as one of its own. He wanted that more than anything.
Tex looked jaunty in a new Mylar cowboy hat that matched his new Cryo suit. The Cryo-suits turned them all into silver knights looking much like a fighter jet crash crew. Tex yelled into his suit microphone over the roar of rockets.. "Zane! You've got a visitor!"
Three feet tall but with an enormous head and gigantic multifaceted eyes, the alien racer from the Outer Worlds approached. He spoke through a translator device worn on his throat. "I'm BZKTLZREEEETRET000011101010101..." The device, unable to translate some complex word, broke into static. "I go by the name Bugz." Zane thought the alien smiled as he said it, but it was hard to tell. Bugz extended his small insectoid hand to shake. Zane reached down and shook gently. "You have a sense of humor, calling yourself Bugz. I like that. I'm Zane."
The alien made a clicking sound and the translator emitted a chuckle. "I call myself Bugz because to humans I appear buglike. It puts them at ease. And I get a kick out of seeing them handle the name and my appearance diplomatically. I don't take myself too seriously outside my racecar. I'm only serious on the racetrack."
Zane nodded. "I welcome a racer from the Outer Worlds. Our universe of allied worlds gets bigger every day. Racing should be part of that. I’ve heard that you’re a great champion."
Bugz shrugged. "I was born to race. I've won every race in my galaxy. Here the racing is new and exciting. I know almost no one. But I’ve followed your career. I can see what others cannot. Physics. How things fit together. Details. Your gravity drafting is nearly perfect. I admire your skill."
Zane felt humbled - a weird feeling for him. "I look forward to racing with you
and learning more about your ways."
Bugz leaned forward slightly and the volume of his voice dropped in the translator. "Racing's not for hatchlings; we battle for victory. But unless you cross me, I won't cross you. With you I cooperate." He seemed to smiled again, bowed, and turned to leave.
Zane bowed and watched him walk away. "Weird," he said under his breath.
From the opposite end of the pits came three Rocketbilly racers. THE 3 Rocketbilly Racers. The “Holy Trinity” of Raytona professionals. They’d each won the race at least twice and each came close to winning again almost every time.
“Lightnin’ Raybeam Reynolds.” Sporting his famous moustache and bootlegger hat. He was from some obscure Rocketbilly world, but for the last twenty years his home had been the race circuit. Living out of a mobile garage. Dominating, crushing his competition. An unprecedented 5 Time Winner of the Raytona 5,000. Mr. Competition.
Wahoo Jenkins. Wild-ass racing animal who lived like he raced - - high performance, on the ragged edge between ultra-control and out of control. A scraggly beard covered his face. His quiet, contemplative stare could mean either than he was cruising right along his desired line or that he was poised to unexpectedly explode into random action at any moment.
Bash Zoomar. Aggressive driving personified. Bender of rules in pursuit of naked will-to-conquer. Muscle-bound and scar-covered from his military days where he learned tactical driving. His car was always built just a little heavier than everyone else’s, with bumpers, fenders, hood and trunk reinforced for bumpercar style action that drove the race fans wild - - and drove his opponents into the wall !!
They sauntered up and Raybeam Reynolds, their natural leader and diplomat, came up first, extended his hand, and took the lead. Zane shook all their hands as Reynolds continued to talk:
“Zane Polestar! Welcome to Raytona. Me and the boys just wanted to drop by and have a little chat. We think it’s hilarious that not only did you win your wildcard entry in a card game, but you are actually an amateur racer with a local reputation. Dreams coming true, that’s what Raytona’s all about. Your dream HAS come true. Just remember, some of us are real professional racers here and this is our job. Stay out of our way, know your place, and just enjoy being here.
“Some racers spend their whole lives trying to earn a spot in the Raytona 5,000. You got a lucky card.
“You already won. Now one of us is about to. And don’t get any ideas about goin’ out in a big splash by wrecking one of us. You wouldn’t be foolin’ no one by using an intentional wreck to cover up for all your racing inadequacies. Stay towards the middle of the pack and nobody will hardly notice you don’t know what the hell you’re doing. No offense, we know you’re a hell of a dirt track racer and can gravity draft pretty good.”
“No offense taken,” Zane said, looking straight back at Reynolds defiantly.
“Tell you what, son,” Wahoo said. “Know your place, stay out of our way, and maybe after the race we’ll all get together for a nice game of cards.” He patted Zane on the shoulder. “Maybe even let you win.”
The three turned and walked away. Zane noted how their gaits synchronized. They looked like members of a military fighter jet demonstration team marching in unison. It was ridiculous. Who did those star-hillbillies think they were. Zane was born in the Rocketbilly Worlds. But he grew up in Starshiner Space. He was immune from their hillbilly cosmic racer mafia clan wuju act. They could go vibe out somebody else.
What Zane knew but wouldn’t bother explaining to these rubes was that he had already raced the Raytona 5,000 a million times in his dreams. Today, and hopefully many times again, he would race it in the real world.
Tex pushed Zane aside and struggled past with handfuls of equipment. "Why don't you take a walk Zane, give us some space to work. There's a lot we've got to do. Driver not required! Just get focused for the race and stay out of our way!"
Zane stepped away. Tex was a Pit Boss for a reason.
Feeling restless with nothing left to do but wait for the race to begin, Zane decided to call Cindy Sand. He tapped the number on her card and transferred control to his wristcom. As the phone rang, it projected a holographic display of Cindy's current LIVE! Broadcast.
Cindy stood broadcasting live across the galaxies in full 3D holographic VR. Several camera robots floated near here, providing the best possible images to be merged into the synthetic livefeed. She wore a blue jumpsuit with white racing stripes on the arms and legs. She could almost be a racer herself. The jumpsuit was fitted tight and it showed off her athletic curves. She was leggy and lithe.
She pointed towards the horizon where a bright star appeared. It traversed the sky quickly. "Another first this year - the Nitrogunx Industries' eye in the sky - - their fast orbiting satellites able to provide an overview of the action at each of the 5 raceway locations!"
The broadcast showed holographic VR from the satellite's point of view. It zoomed in for a close shot of the racers below. "Nice holographic lenses!" Cindy narrated.
"One Nitrogunx satellite is at each super space speedway location. They orbit synchronized with the racecars so they pass overhead as the leaders pass each grandstand. That will be quite a view!”
The satellite streaked by overhead, leaving a faint trail that plasmated the upper air of Raytona's artificial atmosphere. Looking like a particularly long-lived and brilliant falling star.
"More amazing tech from Nitrogunx Industries! I'm Cindy Sand coming to you in live holographic VR from right here in Raytona on the biggest raceway that ever was. The biggest raceday that ever could be. Stay tuned!"
The "on live" lights went out on the holographic cameras and Cindy instantly shifted to a casual stance. Suddenly she seemed more like a jaded world-traveling professional a bit annoyed at the antics she had to always report on at face value. Her wristcom vibrated and she answered the incoming call, puzzled by the number. Zane Polestar came on the screen. He smiled like a used aircar salesman.
"Cindy! I wanted to see if we can meet for a post-victory interview and quiet, romantic dinner for two at The Phoenix around 8?"
Cindy smiled back. "I think I've already got an interview scheduled with the winner but I'll check my calendar."
"What if I send you some flowers?"
“Right now you could send me a bouquet of cryptotulips and it wouldn't make any difference. Til I know who the real winner is, I can't make any plans. This is one of the network's biggest broadcast days. Ever. Just like the race. One of MY biggest days."
He nodded. "For both of us."
The klaxon blared its 5 minute warning.
"I'm going live!" she said, and hung up.
Tex yelled from beside Zane’s racecar. “Time to suit up!”
Racers put on their racing suits and cyberhelms and began breathing the suits’ internal air supplies and adjusting the temperature settings. The racing suits were sleek armored spacesuits. Absolutely necessary since the racecars weren’t pressurized. The cars’ windshields would shield them from most of the aerodynamic pressure and the vacuum-core body panels and electrogravitic fields would insulate them from most of the thermal variances in space. But only within their suits was there consistently pressurized air for them to breath and live.
Zane's crew got him settled in his cockpit.
An announcer’s voice boomed throughout the grandstands and within every racer’s cyberhelm. “Start your engines!”
Lift rockets ignited and the cars rose a meter above the raceway. Most of their weight was dissolved by antigravity plates within the cars and embedded in the raceway itself. The cars' remaining weight was supported by those lift rockets on their undersides.
Main engines above the cars’ bumpers rumbled to life. The main engines’ considerable force even at idle was counteracted by small hissing retro rockets on the cars' front grilles.
Zane started his rockets and eased his orange number 8 car to the start/finish line. 30 stock rocketcars hovered, rumbled and sputtered in a line… waiting for the signal to leap away.
A cybernetic race-starting maiden stepped to the centerline of the racetrack in front of them. She was from Virgomech, the 4th location on the race. Most folks from Virgo had some cybernetic parts and she was no exception.
She raised her silver arms toward the sky and paused. Absolute silence reigned on every radio channel and throughout the grandstands filled with rapt spectators.
The Racerchain counted down, each number with a beep. Its internal logic would signal the start. The computer and its blockchain controlled the arena’s vast repertoire of racing control systems: lights, speakers, 3D VR Holographic multiplexed signals, sensor data from cars, spectator services and vending, mechanical gates, “think tank” computer banks, and the huge alcohol turbine generators that powered it all… The whole of Raytona Raceway, its sections spread across 5 worlds millions of light years apart like sections of a transdimensional snake, seemed to pause a moment. To inhale. Poised and balanced, silent yet energized. A robotic snake ready to strike. A living super-entity with racecars about to surge through its veins.
Time froze, yet small movements remained. White puffs of alcohol and oxygen vented from the racecars, igniting into clouds of fire. The cars drifted and wavered just above the racetrack. Small things like bugs flying by and bits of debris blown by the wind seemed magnified.
Final countdown to zero - - then the random pause until the starter flags would wave! Until the special digital bit in the Racerchain’s computer code was triggered or “flagged.”
The bit flipped to positive. The cybernetic maiden’s silver arms fell and the wait was over. Green Flags waved throughout the stadium, on every holoscreen, and throughout the computer code. Starter lights flashed everywhere.
The Raytona 5,000 of the year 2315 had begun!
With a tremendous roar like some giant beast, 30 stock rocketcars leapt off the start/finish line. Flames 10 meters long shot from the main drive rockets above their rear bumpers as they launched using full overboost.
At first glance the cars looked almost like their 20th century Earth stock car ancestors. Boxy shapes patterned on the "stock" passenger cars of Old Earth. But they had no tires, were propelled by rockets, and levitated above the raceway on small lift rockets underneath.
In the stadium grandstands - packed nearly full and seating half a million race fans - a corresponding great roar rose up! Zane's sponsor rep Sam stood up as part of the great wave of those around him. He waved his Orange Crunchballs pennant. "Crush them Orange!" he yelled.
Zane's car graphics looked excellent. The Orange Crunchballs logo with its bold white jagged "crunch" graphics made the car seem even faster. Zane was racing number 8. It said so on front, back, top, sides, and even bottom.
The other racers' cars each tended toward a particular color. Some were awash in flames, covered by neon grids, or entangled by electrical bolts. Each sponsor's logo was highlighted and their characteristic graphics amplified to punch through all the visual noise.
Zane pulled back on the wheel. Vernier rockets on his car's nose and tail fired obediently and pitched the rocketcar's nose up. Diagonally the racers ascended, into the lessening atmosphere.
The Raytona 5,000 began with a dash to space - - to the first jumpgate.
A glowing energy field like a comet surrounded each car, becoming brighter as the speed increased and more plasma flowed. 30 luminous trails arced upward toward space.
Inertio-gravitic fields ionized plasma in a bubble around each craft, causing the glow and trails. These gravfields reduced the air resistance tremendously. But that was less of a factor as they rose into space. The roar of wind decreased to a hiss. Still there was the rumble of rockets and the many sounds of pumps, servos, gyros, turbines and other parts of these alcohol fueled beasts called stock rocketcars. They seemed to be living things, and they sounded like it.
The glowing energy field around each car became more round like a ball. Without air pressure to make it streak and leave a trail, it naturally formed a sphere.
Already the wheel shaped space station Raytona was receding in the distance. Its artificial atmosphere only extended a few miles, then rapidly thinned out. The planets would feature more atmospheric time and more atmospheric heating as the racers zoomed inbound through the planets’ expansive atmospheres.
In space the gravfields protected racers from cosmic rays, solar radiation, and thermal extremes. Wild cosmic energies and exotic space emanations wafted through the starry void, but no solar storm was going to cook the racers since their gravfields reduced all forms of incoming energy.
Redirecting inertia, reducing gravitational forces, and stabilizing the cars’ thermal and radiological environment - - those gravfields did a lot! Without them, the cars could neither fly nor race. Their rockets would be completely incapable of lifting them off a planet. But with them, they were able to attain speeds during the race of more than 1200 miles per hour - - within an atmosphere! In space they were certainly capable of going much, much faster. But their top speeds in space were limited by the short periods they spent there as they dashed to and from each jumpgate.
While in space they weren’t slowed down by air. A stray hydrogen atom or the odd organic molecule might be encountered even in what was generally referred to as “the vacuum of space.” But the stray atom’s rebound off your hood would be imperceptible. In space there was practically no air resistance and therefore no aerodynamic stock car style drafting. Yet drafting continued to dominate the action!
Instead of drafting on aerodynamic flow fields, they drafted on the gravity fields themselves. “Gravity drafting” or “grav-drafting” was the way.
Gravitic plates on the racecars’ floors generated the gravshields. They not only reduced gravity, they redirected inertia as the racers turned. That’s why the racecars (and most other spacecraft) seemed to “fly through space,” turning while maintaining speed as if they were flying through an atmosphere.
You could get pulled along by another car’s field - - could cling to and ride along with its energy bubble. But you weren’t stealing energy from their field. Their gravfield got a boost from yours and everyone else’s nearby. A group of such racers in a drafting pack could travel faster together than any of them could travel by themselves.
That was, after all, why flying saucers travelled in packs. Why there were long trains of close-flying cargo ships ferrying goods between the stars. Why gravity bikers zoomed through space in tight groups like they did. By flying through space together, they could move faster and burn less fuel. Part of each’s boosted field boosted the fields of the others.
Cooperation was encouraged by the rules of physics!
Physics guaranteed that the Raytona 5,000 would feature lots of close, tight drafting action both on the racetrack sections and in space. Cars would angle and juke, feint, bump, and sideswipe as they all fought for the premium boost zones within the gravfields’ merged energy.
Their gravfields didn’t shield all the gravity, or else there would be no need for lift rockets. They didn’t shield all the wind resistance. Otherwise, they wouldn’t maneuver on the ground-level racetrack sections almost exactly like twentieth century stock groundcars did in the Daytona races of Old Earth. And they didn’t redirect all the inertia, otherwise they wouldn’t feel tremendous g forces during the loops, ramps, and banked turns.
Zane maneuvered to within centimeters of the bumper in front of him and fought an urge to relax. He could draft with the best of the best in space - - in his sleep! It felt surreal to be here now, racing in the greatest race ever. Like being a dream.
He wondered for a second if he might conceivably be in some kind of dream or simulation, and the thought made him chuckle. What would it matter? What difference would it make? The correct approach to life or to simulated life was exactly the same: Win the race. Get the girl. Save the centroid of your own personality matrix and you would save the corresponding elements of the outward universe.
He tugged the steering wheel left and gave a gentle ‘hello there’ tap to Lightnin’ Raybeam Reynolds. It was important to let these hardcore Rocketbillies know that a Starshiner wasn’t afraid to mix it up.
Raybeam’s green number 23 car returned the tap with some added force and knocked Zane’s car into the vehicle to his right. This pale blue car took offense and swerved hard at Zane. Zane pushed forward on the wheel and dodged low, sending the blue car slamming into Raybeam. The bumpercar vibe spread through the pack and suddenly it seemed less like a race and more like a demolition derby. Racing at the very edge of control, it didn’t take much to send cars spinning off to collide with one another in ways that would take them out of the race. Ultimately a massive pileup ensued, a snarling cloud of smashing vehicles and flying parts. A full third of the racers - - mostly those towards the back - - were taken out by the wreck.
Zane saw the mess in his rearview but stayed focused on the cars ahead. His orange car was fast, but not the fastest. His driving could make up the difference. Nobody could stay closer to the bumper of their draft leader than Zane! Or could so subtly shift left and right, building up force for his next maneuver forward. He used his legendary grav-drafting skill to leapfrog from one racer to the next and soon passed everyone and became the leader.
Bugz followed, drafting right behind him but not scraping or bumping. Zane wasn't worried about getting hit by Bugz. The bug-eyed alien drove with superb control and was such a good racer, he didn't need to stoop to demolition car tactics.
Just behind them the other cars battled for position and formed two loose draft lines followed by a chaotic mess of stragglers.
Jump Gate 1 came into view ahead. A ring within which plasmated a spidery jump web, a portal through space. It would take them to the next section of raceway in another world, millions of light years away.
Tex appeared on a pop-up window in Zane's cyberhelm. "Your systems are looking good!" said Tex. "You are Go for Jumpgate 1! We're moving ahead to the next pit area. We'll see you in three minutes at Sundew!"
Like the other pit crews, Tex and his team would scramble through a jumpgate located in the pitstop area, arriving at the next pit stop location ahead of Zane. That would be in Rocketbilly territory, Planet Sundew.
In this way they would jump ahead of him throughout the race to be available at the pitstop in each section of the raceway. 5 different jumpgates. 5 different worlds.
Zane passed through the gate. Stars accelerated to a blur, there was a glowy tunnel, then the blur decelerated back to stars. Different stars in completely different positions. In several seconds he had traversed (or “transposed”, as the physicists insist) millions of light years. To the Rocketbilly Galaxy of M59 Ultra Dense. M59 for short.
Near a large blue and green planet. That was Sundew - the largest of the thousands of planets that clustered around a local star group. Capital world of Rocketbilly Galaxy M59. Famous for the stellar alcohol they distilled from the stars' organic vapors… The high octane star liquor called “Sundew".
The draft lines had tightened up behind Zane and Bugs. Raybeam Reynolds was just back there, along with the other Rocketbilly racer heros Wahoo Jenkins and Bash Zoomar. Velocitee’s self-driving car was about 12 cars back. The long trail of rocketcars approached Planet Sundew.
They hit Sundew's upper atmosphere and the draft line diverged. The cars were pushed apart by the plasma bubbles that formed around them as they penetrated denser air at megasonic speed. They diverged further as racers chose different lines for reentry.
On Zane's cyberhelm, glowing lines represented each racer. He glanced about them and data from each car was displayed - speed, location, estimated fuel status, etc. Several were highlighted with a red triangle; those were under a mandatory pit stop condition due to worn out rocket nozzles, leaking fuel lines, broken body panels, or other critical damage.
Some cars had an orange triangle with a countdown-to-failure number within it. Predictive logic had detected an upcoming failure in one or more of their components. In many cases - - based on the racer’s driving style, burn rate, estimated nozzle erosion, structural degradation rate, and other factors - - the racerchain could predict down to the second exactly when a component would fail.
Zane’s Racing Control Team sent a datastream of recommended approach angles.
"Approaching apogee", Tex alerted. "Fire retro rockets when ready." The cars entered and left planets using modified versions of the paths a satellite would take to and from orbit. They fired their retro rockets to slow them enough to not burn up due to friction with the atmosphere.
Zane pulled up on the controls to approach high. Small vernier rockets on the hood and trunk fired brief spurts, tilting his nose up. The inertio-gravitic field redirected part of his momentum in the direction his car pointed.
Tex came on the display. "Careful not to go too high. You'll come in too steep!"
As Zane's rocketcar rose above the other racers, he moved further ahead of them, expanding his lead. They were being slowed by the greater atmos drag in the denser air below.
"Steeper's faster" replied Zane.
"Not if you break apart on re-entry!"
Panels on the rear fenders of his car popped open and braking rockets fired forward, assisted by the smaller retro rockets on the front grille. Retro-rockets would do part of the slowing. Atmospheric drag would do the rest.
The car's inertio-gravitic field heated the air as it shrieked through it. A meteor glow of plasma formed around the vehicle, absorbing and burning off most of the excess heat as luminous green ions. The cars seemed to be surrounded by glowing comets as they descended towards the raceway on the planet surface below.
Sundew City was already visible down there - a huge complex of domes and organic shapes designed like a glistening swamp plant. Whole saucer-like sections could detach and reposition or go off visiting elsewhere carrying with them their own neighborhood. Smaller saucer craft flitted everywhere bearing cargo and people.
"You're at Max Q!" Tex advised.
Max reentry Q - maximum aerodynamic forces during atmospheric penetration - and Jake could feel it. The vibration and heat were intense.
It felt like the car was about to shake apart. Smoke came off body panels on the front and sides. He hoped the panels wouldn't burn through and blow their vacuums! It was those insulating vacuums that protected against the worst of the heat. If they failed his car would blow up. He might survive thanks to his ejection seat with its built-in emergency grav-field. But his dreams of victory would disintegrate with the car.
30 seconds later he was through the worst of it and smoothing out. Trailing smoke, but not trailing parts… that much was good.
Joe from Racing Command reviewed the telemetry data. "Panels still functional. Cryo tubes got their outer shells charred but no burn-throughs.”
“That was luck, not skill. Listen to us next time,” Tex added.
His steep descent through the atmosphere had threatened his car, but it had extended his lead. His was the first car to descend onto the raceway. For a moment he had the whole section of raceway to himself.
Wherever there was a racetrack surface you had to zoom down and hover right over it to get the maximum boost from its embedded gravity plates. Otherwise you'd be passed up by those who did. The racetrack's gravfield added to the strength of your own car's field and made both stronger. Faster racing through synergy, just like how the drafting worked.
(continued in part 3)
***************** links to other parts of this story ******************
“The Raytona 5,000” (Part 1)
“The Raytona 5,000” (Part 2)
“The Raytona 5,000” (Part 3)
“The Raytona 5,000” (Part 4)
“The Raytona 5,000” (Part 5)
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