| abstract
| - Jovian Orbit Jupiter. The massive gas giant looms before you, taking up a full third of the void from your orbit. The faint ring is visible above you, rocks and dust littering the dark hoop about Jupiter's equator. The Great Red Spot swirls under you in all its malevolent glory, large enough to swallow a trio of Earths in its maw. The Galiean moons spin about the king of the planets, Io violent and destructive, the others peaceful farther away from their planetary master. You've heard tales of the vast gaseous composition of the violent atmosphere below, but the steep gravity well here has thus far kept prospectors at bay. Through the miracle of contragravity, floating observation and landing platforms have been towed into Jupiter's atmosphere to host this year's air race! The wind speeds are incredible, and the atmosphere highly toxic, so the platforms are covered in force bubbles to keep out the extreme radiation and the freezing hydrogen winds. The twisting three-dimensional course has been laid out in floating, more or-less-stable (a space tug is pushing one back into place) pylons marked with strobe lights and radio transmitters. A commotion at the biggest observation platform indicates the race is about to begin! A disc-shaped podium extends from the platform on a retractible bridge, with its own small force bubble over it, and a pair of aliens stroll down this bridge to wild applause from the race-loving fans on the viewing platforms. One is about six feet tall and the other about eight, but they look like they would be much larger if they would just stop slouching. Both are wearing bomber jackets, leather flying helmets, incongruous silk scarves and so on. The big one grabs the mic and holds it close to his rubbery forest-green visage, bellowing through six-inch tusks. His rough and gravelly voice is projected from loudspeakers mounted to each platform: "RIGHT DEN! Dis is da Gran' Galactik Space Olympix air race an' da Gran' Galactik Assembly has asked ME, Air Kommanda Uzgob, t'host it!" "An' me, Gimzod," adds the shorter alien, who gets a smack on the head from Uzgob's great ape-like hand for daring to speak up. "Normalwise you'd be hearin' 'bout how dey wants a CLEAN race an' all dat," Uzgob sneers. "But not from ME! I likes it FILTHY. Gimme a real dirty race, wif plenty'a bangs an' crashes an' great lashin's a dakka! Dat's a PROPPA air race! Ain't worf it if nobody gets hurt." Uzgob slams his fist into the podium and roars into the mic, "So gets yerselfs ready, cuz it's GO TIME! WAAAAAAAGH!" A klaxon blares from the loudspeakers, a wild cheer goes up from the observation platforms, and the red lights over the starting pylons switch directly to green without counting down! Bell UH-1 Iroquois had some radical modifications made to his body to allow him to fly on Jupiter while he was getting repaired after Dinoball. So now there are little hovering concentric rings around the tips of his blades for unclear reasons. They sure do look spacey, though! Blades is not entirely thrilled to be here. Flying is not his favourite thing in the world. However, the Autobots have to represent, and Blades at least does have a sense of duty, for all his flaws. The Huey hovers at the starting line, regarding the ref. That does sound... awfully appealing. But he's on live television! What would Hot Spot think if he saw Blades slamming into everyone left and right? Probably 'typical.' Occupying nearly two lanes, Fusillade bobs in the vicious crosswinds, adjusting her tack with microrockets. There is, in fact, a smaller racer lotinger in alignment with her nosecone and the start line. With a nasty heh heh to herself, she ratchets her wings fowarward with an obvious clunk-clunk, clunk-clunk for each degree they sweep forward. <> she sing-songs confidently, still roused from her previous victory in the heavyweight full combat tussle. At the referee's bark, she ignites her afterburners, setting off spacecar alarms as she punches eagerly through the murky, challenging atmosphere, sending the smaller craft tumbling from the vortices slung off her wing! Combat: Space Going B-1R Lancer sets her defense level to Aggressive. It doesn't matter if it's gaseous, poisonous, radioactive or whatnot; it has an atmosphere of some kind and that's all that is important to Talia McKinley and the Firehawk. Which thankfully already got modifications for the VTOL to operation in alien planetary conditions as part of the martian operations. "MC makes it sound more like a demolition derby than a race." Flicks up a hand to flip down the visor to her flight helmet. "Not that Ah'm complainin' none!" <> she muses over short-wave as the Firehawk pulls into position next to the Protectobot. Then smirks out the cockpit window at him. <> Followed by a <> as the light goes straight to green, hits the accelerators for the thrusters and slams the controls forward. An odd shambling rumbles up to the starting line, looking a little more than suspect. First thing noticed, it is some sort of F-16 modeled craft. That's not what is out of place here, though. What is are odd cardboard added wings to give the already Jet wings a more forward pointed appeal, and of course.. the horrible spray paint job. From cone to thruster, the jet is spray painted red with sloppy almost unledgable purple lettering on the side that reads: Redshift Spaceship. <> Backfire jests, getting into position. <> he adds, chuckling. When the light goes green, the Seeker gets going.. thrusters ignite behind him as he slams forward. The cardboard attachments quickly peel away. :/ Combat: Shifty Red Spaceship sets his defense level to Fearless. Robotic Bald Eagle is here!... unfortunately. He's barely able to remain aloft in the ferocious winds, bobbing to and fro and squawking all the while! Fortunately, he seems to have had an addition to his armor--a little antigrav booster welded to his chest, helping him stay up. Once the light turns green, his thrusters flare up and he zips away! Slowly. He lags behind the other racers by a considerable margin. "Why couldn't we just race in America!?" he screams. "And what's with the green guys? THEY DO NOT LOOK AMERICAN!" <> Fusillade announces, before quietly going <> as Backfire's disguise falls away. Autobot Shuttle moves cautiously through the turbulent atmosphere, scanning the area around him with interest as he reaches the starting line. This is much more interesting than the usual track. Caught up sight-seeing, he barely notices the host making the beginning announcement. As a result, he is caught off guard by the sudden change in the lights. Biting back a curse, he roars forwards a beat late. Combat: Autobot Shuttle sets his defense level to Aggressive. Race: The racers speed around the track, and the scoreboard lights up with the new race standings...======================[ Racetrack Attack! ]=======================
Racer Pos Lap Defense-Level VSC-25 Firehawk 5 0 NEUTRAL -- Bell UH-1 Iroquois 8 0 FEARLESS -- Shifty Red Spaceship 11 0 AGGRESSIVE --=====================[ Sorted by Leadership ]=====================
Bell UH-1 Iroquois has to push his rotors to the max to even try to keep up with the fixed wing aircraft and shuttles, and even then, he falls short. He will doubtless need a full overhaul by the time the race is over. Blades jockeys left and right and looks back, but he's not close enough to try to gig someone with one of his landing skids, which is a shame, because there is a sea of purple out there that Blades could be maiming. He grumbles, "Just wait until onna those 'cons get closer, and... wham!" Uzgob chortles delightedly as the contestants hurtle off the line, three of them well ahead of the others. "Oh, dey brought a RED one! No wonda it's up inna front! Looks like da 'umie is atta back wit some kinda burd. An' den da kopta in da middle! Come on, kopta, use yer blades fer what they's for! Choppin'!" Robotic Bald Eagle notices that he's side by side with.... a human?! Giving the VTOL a stern Eagle Glare, Americon tries to push his thrusters harder, though in the vast, cloudy atmosphere, it's difficult indeed to see if that's helping any! "Stay out of my way, human! I'm the official eagle of NASCAR!" Combat: Robotic Bald Eagle sets his defense level to Aggressive. Space Going B-1R Lancer does a bit of a double-take, flicking her nose canards in surprise as the defrocked Backfire manages to keep up. <> The bomber doggedly hunkers down, settling her engines in SPORT SPACECRUISE, <> She wing-waggles at Ranger, half in coy greeting, and half in menace. VSC-25 Firehawk quickly gets over the start catching her slightly off-guard. That and the partial downside to the Firehawk's VTOL design is that it takes a a bit longer than all the jets and shuttles to get up to speed due. It's the tradeoff for the mobility it gains from the seperate lift and propulsion systems. It doesn't take long before exhaust is flaring brightly behind the Firehawk, and in all sorts of flickering colors due to the unearthly composition of Jupiter's atmosphere. "Y'all look more like a turkey prewrapped in tinfoil fer the cookout," she retorts back, but otherwise pays the robo-eagle little mind. Combat: VSC-25 Firehawk sets her defense level to Fearless. Barreling along, the red painted F-16 uneasily wobbles from side to side when the cardboard attachments fly off (hopefully not hitting anyone's windshield behind him!). Maintaing balance, <> he tries to comeback, even now the red paint quickly running and trailing down the backhalf, from the halfassed application. Race: The racers speed around the track, and the scoreboard lights up with the new race standings...======================[ Racetrack Attack! ]=======================
Racer Pos Lap Defense-Level Robotic Bald Eagle 12 0 AGGRESSIVE -- VSC-25 Firehawk 17 0 FEARLESS -- Shifty Red Spaceship 1 1 AGGRESSIVE -- Space Going B-1R Lancer 2 1 AGGRESSIVE --=====================[ Sorted by Leadership ]=====================
Bell UH-1 Iroquois is stuck in what appears to be a no man's land between the two packs. He curses quietly to himself, "Slagging boring, is what this is. Redline my systems and end up ahead of a leaking bird and some human. Maybe that Fusillade will lap me..." The observation platforms let out another blaring honk from their loudspeakers as the leaders come screaming back around the track and sweep past the MCs over the starting line! The scoreboard updates, flipping from LAP 00 to LAP 01 with a clack, and photo flashes pop in the stands. Strange blimp-like aliens float over the pylons, dangling tendrils to try to grab unlucky competitors! Apparently they paid some kind of track fee because the MCs don't seem to mind this at all. "Watcherselfs, got some up-close spectaters!" Uzgob yells into the mic, sounding more hopeful than concerned. Ah, it's all fun and games in the Decepticon empire, until things get competitive. Fusillade had originally entered on a lark, but now she's taking this a bit more seriously when she considers that she might have a chance. Warily keeping track of the Autobot shuttle, she barks out at the Seeker, <> She half rolls, exposing her now-swept wings and sculpted backshroud to the stands and photography. She flares ailerons and tailslabs, for what good they would do, and slows slightly to avoid capture! Combat: Space Going B-1R Lancer sets her defense level to Neutral. Robotic Bald Eagle is seriously offended by that remark! "WHAT!? Why, you! I am a proud American eagle, and I resent the comparison to a turkey! Even though that was also nearly the bird of our proud nation! One of Benjamin Franklin's less proud moments, I'll admit!" He tries clamping onto the VTOL's tailfins with his beak and throwing his wings out to slow her down! However, this is impeded by the drifting tentacles, which he is forced to bat away every now and then with his wings! Combat: Robotic Bald Eagle misses VSC-25 Firehawk with his Ram attack! Keeping pace with Ranger and Fusillade, in the face of -not- being a speedy red spaceship, Backfire cannot help but be happy with his standing. But it is early yet in the race, and so the Seeker does his best to slightly pull ahead of Ranger and twirl in the air flitfully. <> If the Seeker is lucky, the red paint that is trailing from his aft will find it's way to Ranger's viewshield. If not, well he just made an awfully big target of himself. Combat: Shifty Red Spaceship sets his defense level to Neutral. Combat: Shifty Red Spaceship strikes Autobot Shuttle with his Here's PAINT in your eye! (Ram) attack! [Pulled -3] Autobot Shuttle is slightly surprised to find himself at the front of the pack alongside two others, one he doesn't know and, oh hey, that's Fusillade saying... something with a waggle, he's not quite sure what. Before he can respond, though, she seems to pull ahead. Maybe he should focus on the race. Especially since there appear to be some unusual - things? People? - whatevers impeding the track up ahead...and that unknown seeker just blocked his view. Damn. Combat: Autobot Shuttle sets his defense level to Protected. Decepticon behind her, sudden obstacle in front of her. It doesn't really leave time for a snappy retort to Americon's ranting as she takes evasive maunevers, the tailfins snapping just out of the eagle's reach as the Firehawk veers upward and tilts its turboprops at an angle, so their exhaust currents buffer the space jellyfish away. And this is where it's dual propulsion systems really shine, as even with the adjustment to the turbofans the acceleration thrusters keep the craft moving forward. "Yeeehah! It's like dodgin' cows inna twister!" Race: The racers speed around the track, and the scoreboard lights up with the new race standings...======================[ Racetrack Attack! ]=======================
Racer Pos Lap Defense-Level Robotic Bald Eagle 15 0 AGGRESSIVE -- VSC-25 Firehawk 1 1 PROTECTED -- Shifty Red Spaceship 6 1 FEARLESS -- Space Going B-1R Lancer 11 1 NEUTRAL --=====================[ Sorted by Leadership ]=====================
"Da bomma's alone up inna front now!" Uzgob yells into his mic. "Halfway round again already! Dat thing's movin' like a squig on fire! Den we gots da kopta an' da red fing, den da lifta an' da 'umie! An da burd's gettin' lapped! Watch out fer burdstrike, har har har!" Robotic Bald Eagle fails to find purchase on the VTOL and she speeds away from him! And unfortunately, he finds himself in the grasp of the blimp aliens, who reel him in with their tendrils! "AHHHH NO, DON'T MOLEST ME!" he cries. "Wait, what?" one of aliens says in a bassy voice. "What do you take us for? We wouldn't do that." "Oh, phew," Americon says, wiping his brow with a wing. "WE'RE GOING TO EAT YOU!!!" "AHHHHH!" Americon screams, and his thrusters roar as he propels himself from the horrible creatures and their foul grasp. Alas, this misadventure has slowed him down. Combat: Robotic Bald Eagle sets his defense level to Neutral. As she clears the impromptu hazards both alien and mechanical Talia glances briefly at the readout for the capacitors that power the acceleration systems. So far so good. At least the VTOL nature of her strikecraft allows it to take the climbs and dives in the track without losing too much forward momentum. Gives a sympathetic wince to the Auto-shuttle stalled out, but now's no time for holding back to help unfortunately. <> Fusillade gloats, gleeful at still being the lead. <> she concludes, before squeezing a bit more out of her engines. The blue and cyan burns clean, causing shimmering ripples in the methane atmosphere around her, but thankfully, none of the combatants have managed to catch the atmophere on fire -- yet. She snaps her wings forward to slice through a few of the dangling tentacles, causing the remaining length to recoil back into the bodies of the looming track foulers. <> she cries out fiestily at the shrill squeals from them, and begins jostling for position as she begins to close on the tail end of the pack. Combat: Space Going B-1R Lancer sets her defense level to Fearless. Autobot Shuttle tries to remember the layout of the course ahead while his vision is impaired. He thinks he's doing quite well, not getting siezed by any tendrils, or hitting any other racers or innocent bystanders, until he can see again, whereupon he finds he's somehow managed to loop in a circle. <> Re-orienting himself, he kicks in his engines and throws himself back on course. He's got some ground to make up. Combat: Autobot Shuttle sets his defense level to Fearless. In Blades's mind, on either side of him, a little First Aid and Hot Spot in angel wings appear on the right, and a perfectly normal looking Blades appears on the right. Angel First Aid and angel Hot Spot start to speak, but the perfectly normal little Blades just raises a blade and smiles. The Huey snaps back into it. He knows what he needs to do. And that is try to ream Backfire across the sky and see just what he bleeds. Combat: Bell UH-1 Iroquois sets his defense level to Fearless. Combat: Bell UH-1 Iroquois misses Shifty Red Spaceship with his Ram attack! Race: The racers speed around the track, and the scoreboard lights up with the new race standings...======================[ Racetrack Attack! ]=======================
Racer Pos Lap Defense-Level Robotic Bald Eagle 1 1 NEUTRAL -- Bell UH-1 Iroquois 9 1 FEARLESS -- VSC-25 Firehawk 12 1 FEARLESS -- Shifty Red Spaceship=====================[ Sorted by Leadership ]=====================
Hanging back after keeping Ranger from quickly following on Fusillade's heel, Backfire narrowly avoids collision with Blades. Doing his best to keep up with the others, he redoubles his efforts to put space between him and the others. Combat: Shifty Red Spaceship sets his defense level to Fearless. BWAAAANK go the klaxons as someone completes the second lap! Fusillade, as it happens. "Looks like we gots a clear winna already!" exclaims Uzgob, watching Backfire and Ranger coming around the curve into the home stretch, while Blades and Talia are neck and neck halfway back. "But Boss, there's three medals," Gimzod points out. Uzgob slaps him absentmindedly and rubs his slablike chin, adding, "an' two more not-so-clear! In udda news we gots warning of electrical discharge inna atmosphere, so... well, dere ya have it!" Sure enough, lightning strokes flash alarmingly between several of the pylons, while arcs snap off of the floating platforms and raise the hair of the spectators (those who have hair or hair-equivalent cilia). Bell UH-1 Iroquois should maybe listen to the advice of hallucinatory angel Protectobots more often... Nah. For now, however, his fuellust relents. That Firehawk is a fellow VTOL! Even if it is a traitor VTOL like a tiny V-22, boo. Blades heckles, "Fixed wing flight is for losers!" Then he is smote with a bolt of lightning that does actually very little, because his metal skin makes a Faraday cage. It does leave a black mark on his pristine white, however. VSC-25 Firehawk speeds along, doing it's best to keep up with the faster ships actually made for spaceflight, but not really gaining any significant ground in that matter. She frowns at the announcement of potential space lightning, but after a few moments of consideration pulls back on the throttle a bit, not wanting to risk blowing out something important and being forced from the race entirely by space lightning. Better to take the section with caution. "Technically I have rotors INSIDE wings," she retorts to Blades with a chuckle, taking the jab with her usual country girl humor. Combat: VSC-25 Firehawk sets her defense level to Guarded. Robotic Bald Eagle sees someone coming up from behind him as he races around the track! Is that...? "AIR RAID!" he says with a certainty, falling behind. "Let's see how you like the ol 'get sucked into the engine' trick!" But then he sees that it's not Air Raid at all, it's Fusillade!!! His optics bulge as he tries to dart out of the way before it's too late! Fortunately, he manages to jink out of the way just in time. And also he is aided by a sudden lightning bolt which knocks his systems out and sends him spiralling down towards the center of Jupiter. Again, however, this misadventure has cost him dearly! Combat: Robotic Bald Eagle sets his defense level to Guarded. <> Fusillade cheers as she swings back, rolling to the other side to allow photography of her her white underbelly, popping bomb bay doors open for a little more titillation. It's a curve, and requires banking, she'll justify if ever asked. And then Americon... wait, what? <> she calls out, perhaps playing to the crowd a bit. Between her and Americon's maneuvers, she pulls wide, bleeding off some of her forward momentum. Combat: Space Going B-1R Lancer sets her defense level to Neutral. Autobot Shuttle makes up some of the distance lost, to find himself behind that annoying red guy again. This time he keeps a wary optic on the guy, just in case, flying a touch more cautiously. Combat: Autobot Shuttle sets his defense level to Aggressive. Race: The racers speed around the track, and the scoreboard lights up with the new race standings...======================[ Racetrack Attack! ]=======================
Racer Pos Lap Defense-Level Robotic Bald Eagle 5 1 GUARDED -- VSC-25 Firehawk 17 1 FEARLESS -- Shifty Red Spaceship 4 2 AGGRESSIVE -- Space Going B-1R Lancer 13 2 NEUTRAL --=====================[ Sorted by Leadership ]=====================
"Aw," remarks Uzgob, "I wanted t'see 'em crash." Bell UH-1 Iroquois complains, "I wanted to see them crash, too." His protesting systems demand that he take a break, so he nudges the dials down a tad. Any harder, and he'd blow a gasket. Combat: Bell UH-1 Iroquois sets his defense level to Neutral. "Looks like da kopta passed da 'umie, an' da lifta-droppa passed da red one!" Gimzod adds, standing up a little straighter to talk into Uzgob's mic. "Whatsa matter, red one? You should be goin' fasta!" Chewing up the scenery, Fusillade soars foward, whipping past several other small racers, while also keeping tabs on the radio chatter. She hrns to herself as she draws near the human in the VTOL, recalling a previous firefight. <> she remarks coolly, keeping her distance, a far cry from the mayhem she caused in previous aerospace races! Disappointingly cautious, even. Combat: Space Going B-1R Lancer sets her defense level to Guarded. Robotic Bald Eagle regains power, lifting back up to the track as he shakes off some of the carbon scoring on his body. "Ow, that was close!" Then he sees another 'Autobot' coming up the track! "FIREFLIGHT! Well, I'll just use this trick on you!" But as he approaches 'Fireflight,' he sees it's actually Fake Redshift!!! "FAKE REDSHIFT!?!?" he screams. "Agghhhhh!" He veers away sharply and into Ranger's viewport, largely by sheer accident. Combat: Robotic Bald Eagle sets his defense level to Fearless. Combat: Robotic Bald Eagle strikes Autobot Shuttle with his Ram attack! Okay, clear of the discharge section. Talia starts to ease the throttle back up, taking a glance at rearward sensor displays around her cockpit as she does so. Here comes the Lancer up from behind. Bites her lip for a moment, considering. Tempting... does she keep pushing, or does she try to give the faster shuttle a chance to catch up? Apparently her sense of teamwork is what wins out. The Firehawk is picking up speed, but as Fusillade starts to pull up near it Talia jerks the controls hard to one side, throwing the craft into a barrelroll that swings its extended pylons threatingly. She's not attacking, it's a defensive maunever to ward off potential attacks... that never seem to come yet. Combat: VSC-25 Firehawk sets her defense level to Aggressive. Robotic Bald Eagle is pancaked across the viewport, optics bulging. Back behind Ranger, AGAIN, Backfire feels another mischevious streak building in him as he trottles forward and attempts to nudge the back of the craft with his nosecone. <> Then Americon comes in and steals ALL the GLORY! :(<> Race: The racers speed around the track, and the scoreboard lights up with the new race standings...======================[ Racetrack Attack! ]=======================
Racer Pos Lap Defense-Level Robotic Bald Eagle 9 1 FEARLESS -- Bell UH-1 Iroquois 17 1 NEUTRAL -- VSC-25 Firehawk 4 2 AGGRESSIVE -- Shifty Red Spaceship=====================[ Sorted by Leadership ]=====================
"Har har har, dat's more like it! What kinda puny grot runs a whole race witout at least one crash? I LIKE dat burd, Gimzod. Givvit a medal!" "But Uzgob, it ain't won anyfing yet." Uzgob slaps Gimzod and sprays spittle off his yellow tusks as he commands, "Den givim a Loser's Medal ya stinkin' gitface!" Gimzod slouches off as fast as he can go to find, or order the creation of, a "Loser's Medal." Autobot Shuttle manouvers smoothly as he passes Backfire and permits himself a small moment of satisfaction. Aaaaand then out of nowhere finds some hideous deformity spread-eagled across his screen in glorious red-white-and-blue. Yelling in surprise, Ranger slams on the brakes, hoping to dislodge the thing. As it slowly peels off, he curses and kicks in his engines /again./ Having lost more ground. Robotic Bald Eagle tumbles away at the sudden deceleration, and is unable to harass the accelerating Ranger any further. Or anyone else for that matter, as he rights himself, resumes proper altitude, and flies after the other racers as best he can. "Yeah... you run... I'll get you... Fake Redshift..." It's not clear if he understand what recently happened. Combat: Robotic Bald Eagle sets his defense level to Neutral. Well shoot, despite holding back the bomber still passed her. Then again, it was sort of pointless, as she was already a lap ahead. And the birdbrain keeps picking on the shuttle. As the Firehawk levels out of it's roll Talia keeps the thrusters at an even output, trying to at least hold a decent position and maybe wait for an opening. << I AM WINNING ALL THE SPORTS!>> Backfire cackles madly, Americon's interference allowing him to move up to second place. Not 'winning' in the traditional aspect, sure. But totally WINNING in the Charlie Sheen warlock adonis DNA tigerblood way. At least halfway done with the race now, Fusillade finds herself in good shape. <> Fusillade pours on the speed, still warily surveying Ranger as he recovers, and Talia in her VTOL. They seem to have their hands full with Americon and Backfireshift. Combat: Space Going B-1R Lancer sets her defense level to Fearless. Bell UH-1 Iroquois stalls out and is stuck! Oh no, he is going to crash! He attempts to crash in the general direction of... himself??? Combat: Bell UH-1 Iroquois sets his defense level to Protected. Combat: Bell UH-1 Iroquois misses himself with his Ram attack! [Pulled -3] Race: The racers speed around the track, and the scoreboard lights up with the new race standings...======================[ Racetrack Attack! ]=======================
Racer Pos Lap Defense-Level Robotic Bald Eagle 16 1 NEUTRAL -- Bell UH-1 Iroquois 0 2 PROTECTED -- VSC-25 Firehawk 15 2 AGGRESSIVE -- Shifty Red Spaceship=====================[ Sorted by Leadership ]=====================
Bell UH-1 Iroquois while inverted and carreening downward, manages to get his rotors restarted just before he falls into one of the more liquidy layers of Jupiter. He rectifies and skims over the surface, droplets streaming off his skids, and he mulishly attempts to regain altitude, chugging along. Combat: Bell UH-1 Iroquois sets his defense level to Aggressive. Robotic Bald Eagle peers behind himself, and grins evilly when he sees Air Raid again! "Ah-ha! Air Raid! You thought you escaped me last time!.... though.... huh... this reminds me of something... something that happened last time I tried to get you... Eh! It'll come back to me later." And so, once again, he decelerates, putting himself right in Fusillade's path, hoping to get sucked into her turbines! "Wait, I just remembered what happened last time! Air Raid was... actually... Fusillade!? OH NO!" He tries to pull away again, but will it be in time!? Combat: Robotic Bald Eagle strikes Space Going B-1R Lancer with his Ram attack! Keeping this hellacious pace up, Backfire knew it would eventually lead to stalling and overheating of interior systems. Smoke trails from the thrusters, not the good kind, and the mid-point of the craft as well. <> the Seeker grumbles, ship slowly pulling to a crawl. Combat: Shifty Red Spaceship sets his defense level to Protected. Looks like the Protectobot had some trouble. And Talia frowns a bit as she eyes her own readouts. Despite the modifications this Jovian atmosphere was running systems pretty ragged. With a huff of frustration she has to settle on just keeping pace for now. Slow and steady... well it might not win, but at least she's getting a chance to show off what her airframe can do in a relatively less vicious setting than direct combat. The Firehawk is having little trouble with the twists and turns of the track itself at least. Closing in on the 4th lap, Fusillade thrills to herself as she vaults ahead another considerable length along the track. The eldritch glow of St. Elmo's Fire dances along her wing and tailtips as friction builds up along them. <> There's a series of klaxons ringing out as the bomber goes into a flat spin from the birdstrike. Red, white, and blue confetti shreds out along with flames from her number three engine, several gashes opening up her right wing from the bird shrapnel. Combat: Space Going B-1R Lancer sets her defense level to Neutral. Autobot Shuttle metaphorically grits his teeth as, in his attempts to regain the ground he lost due to vicious, unprovoked and apparently accidental attacks, he finds himself in proximity to Fusillade and... that odd little Decepticon. Wincing as he anticipates another attack, he watches in astonishment as the crazy little guy... attacks Fusillade? Bizarre. Race: The racers speed around the track, and the scoreboard lights up with the new race standings...======================[ Racetrack Attack! ]=======================
Racer Pos Lap Defense-Level Robotic Bald Eagle 19 1 NEUTRAL -- Bell UH-1 Iroquois 7 2 AGGRESSIVE -- VSC-25 Firehawk 5 3 AGGRESSIVE -- Shifty Red Spaceship=====================[ Sorted by Leadership ]=====================
While Uzgob and Gimzod are distracted by the matter of the "Loser's Medal," one of the hangar doors in the contestants' landing platform is cranking open. Thick black smoke billows out from inside, mixing with the hydrogen atmosphere as it filters through the force dome, and with a roar of engines (both prop AND jet, bizarrely enough), a crazily camouflaged blue-and-red fighter jet comes tearing out, swerving onto the course and weaving haphazardly through the contestants! A slavering green face is hunched over the controls as the plane, which looks like a Junkion's idea of an F-86 Saber if they had only read about them in books, belches streams of smoke from one end and milk-bottle-sized bullets from the other. It doesn't take Uzgob long to notice this invasion. "Gimzod! Gimzod, git back ovva here! Wot's dat extra racer 'bout!? 'E's gonna wreck everfing if 'e don't skrag 'imself first!" Gimzod climbs up on the podium to peer out with lopsided binoculars. "Dat's Killboy, Boss. Guess 'e didn't wanna be left out." Uzgob shoves his slab-like hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket and nods with paternal approval as the motley-colored scrap-fighter swerves and judders around the course, getting in the way of everyone it doesn't shoot at. "Good ol' Killboy." Robotic Bald Eagle is finally spat out of Fusillade's turbines in a rain of beautiful, patriotically themed confetti, falling away from the bomber, smoking. It's such an awe-inspiring moment that some in the audience actually stand up, put their hands to their hearts, and begin singing the national anthem. And much like Popeye's spinach, this snaps Americon back out of his comatose state! "BRAAWWWK!" Re-aligning himself, he roars back up to the track to race again! Wait, what's that blue and red fighter jet doing? Americon flies closer to investigate, getting right beside Killboy's cockpit. "HEY! Hey! You're supposed to have white on it, too!" he yells. "YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG!" The space bomber tumbles wildly as she proceeds to correct her path, black smoke and metal billowing out from her destroyed engine. A wing nearly lops the Kommandant's hat right off of Uzgob's brow and Killboy's riveted tailspans. Swearing profusely, she points her nosecone to the center lane of the track, and pours on as much speed as her still-functional engines can bear. Combat: Space Going B-1R Lancer sets her defense level to Fearless. Bell UH-1 Iroquois threatens Ranger over the Autobot channel mostly for the Pit of it but otherwise continues to chug along. The orky airplane gets Blades's attention, but it is too far away for him to try to hook a landing skid into, alas. Combat: Bell UH-1 Iroquois sets his defense level to Aggressive. Smoke still billowing out the sides, Backfire does his best to reboot the system and flood the engines with as much coolant he can muster. <> he cowls out, doing his best to solve the problem. Combat: Shifty Red Spaceship sets his defense level to Protected. And there's the Lancer again behind her. That dame is fast, she's gotta give her credit for that much. That weirdo Seeker and Ranger are struggling a bit farther behind. With a grunt Talia turns her attention back to the consoles for a moment. Then glanced over her shoulder out the cockpit at the spaceplane closing in. "Ya ain't in the clear yet missy!" Abruptly the Firehawk veers sideways, trying to clip Fusillade in the side and at least give the other flygirl something else to consider before she's able to get entirely back on her bearings! "Enough racin', Imma in the mood fer a little rodeo!" Combat: VSC-25 Firehawk misses Space Going B-1R Lancer with her Ram attack! <> Fusillade calls out to Talia as she sails past. Autobot Shuttle slows without realising it as his attention focuses on what's going on around him, that oddness with the Decepticons, that unannounced racer careening about the track, Oh, and now the Terran trying to get in on that little bust-up. Time to be a little cautious, perhaps. Combat: Autobot Shuttle sets his defense level to Guarded. Race: The racers speed around the track, and the scoreboard lights up with the new race standings...======================[ Racetrack Attack! ]=======================
Racer Pos Lap Defense-Level Robotic Bald Eagle 5 2 NEUTRAL -- Bell UH-1 Iroquois 16 2 AGGRESSIVE -- VSC-25 Firehawk 15 3 GUARDED -- Shifty Red Spaceship=====================[ Sorted by Leadership ]=====================
<> Fusillade cheers as she sees a very large, very clear, path in front of her. She sizzles past some more of the tendrils from the floating tentacle spoilers, and rolls evasively as Killboy pelts her with bullets. Lightning plays across her surfaces, but the bomber pushes ahead. Combat: Space Going B-1R Lancer sets her defense level to Fearless. The klaxons sound as the fourth lap is completed! "LAST LAP!" Uzgob shouts into his mic. "We's got da bomma in first position, den da red one an da lifta-droppa tied second, den some uvva gits an' Killboy inna back! Open up yer go-fasta levers an' push all ya know-wots an' widget-fings, cuz it's almost ova!" The angel First Aid and Hot Spot reappear over on Blades's right. The perfectly normal Blades appears to the left of the Huey. 'It wouldn't be sporting!' the little angel Protectobots seem to say, but again, the tiny little Blades just draws a blade, grins, and points at Backfire. Blades knows he wants to. And... maybe Ranger will catch up, if he does? The Huey tries to hook the poorly painted red F-15 with a landing skid. Combat: Bell UH-1 Iroquois misses Shifty Red Spaceship with his Landing Skid (Ram) attack! [Pulled -3] Robotic Bald Eagle decides to take a bit of a break, and so he perches on the wing of Killboy's fighter, his own wings folded up. Still, maintaining this perch requires a bit of effort, so it's not as much of a break as Americon might have hoped. VSC-25 Firehawk fehs as Fusillade manages to evade, but not without at least keeping her on her proverbial toes. For a moment she flicks on a side display, bringing up a map of the track after the last couple of laps. Checks the straining systems, and pulls back on the throttle again. Hard to tell if she's just giving her bird a breather before hitting the thick of the lap... or possibly waiting to catch someone on the loop around... Combat: VSC-25 Firehawk sets her defense level to Guarded. Finally kicking his systems back online, Backfire finally dials it up a notch and zoooooooooms down the racetrack to try and cement the Decepticon domination in this event. <> he shrieks towards the end of the mad cackle, narrowly avoiding Blades' skidding. Pulling around the Protectobot, Backfire does his best to fly like hell. Fun fact: Redshift was actually Backfire's mentor during the Decepticon Rookie Exam days!! Combat: Shifty Red Spaceship sets his defense level to Fearless. <> Fusillade hollers. Autobot Shuttle , noting that things seems to be calming down for a moment (bet /that/ won't last,) decides he can risk a little extra speed, then he notices Backfire, already ahead of him, avoiding Blades and pulling away. Oh, what the hell, enough caution for now. Combat: Autobot Shuttle sets his defense level to Fearless. Race: The racers speed around the track, and the scoreboard lights up with the new race standings... Race: Space Going B-1R Lancer crosses the finish line!======================[ Racetrack Attack! ]=======================
Racer Pos Lap Defense-Level Robotic Bald Eagle 11 2 NEUTRAL -- Bell UH-1 Iroquois 1 3 AGGRESSIVE -- VSC-25 Firehawk 6 4 FEARLESS -- Space Going B-1R Lancer 1 5 FEARLESS --=====================[ Sorted by Leadership ]=====================
Surprised by Americon, Killboy flips open his canopy, which immediately snaps off and tumbles away into Jupiter because it was attached with a hinge instead of on sliding rails. He sticks his head out and shouts something incoherent at the patriotic tape on his wing, long purple tongue flapping in the freezing hydrogen wind... and then immediately chokes on the toxic atmosphere, loses control of his jet (with propellers attached to make it "go faster"), and augurs into the service platform that serves as the 'pit!' There's a tremendous explosion as the fighta-bomma and what little ammunition hasn't already been fired off detonate the avgas tanks, and the platform lists and then sinks, burning, into the lightning-spiked atmosphere. "Looks like Killboy's down again, Boss," remarks Gimzod. "'E dead this time?" Uzgob doesn't sound too concerned. "Nah Boss, I see a chute. Looks like 'e's gonna try t'land on Jupiter." "Chuffed for'im," Uzgob replies. "Dat's our Killboy." <> Fusillade frantically glances around to see how secure her position is, and within a whiff of the line, transforms, sailing across the finish line and photofinish booths with a sideways John Woo lunge, cheesy grin, and two thumbs up. The sleek bomber rears up, wings collapsing onto hips even as the rear fuselage splits to form arms. The horizontal stabilizer slides up, the forward fuselage folds up accordian style, and Fusillade hops up on thrustered feet. Old-timey flashbulbs pop in the stands as the first contestant crosses the line!, a good half lap ahead of the next two, who are neck-and-neck as they have been throughout most of the race! Silver is up for grabs! Finding himself neck and neck with Ranger, Backfire rams to the side while chiding. <> he laughs, trying to dig the wing into his side. Combat: Shifty Red Spaceship sets his defense level to Neutral. Combat: Shifty Red Spaceship strikes Autobot Shuttle with his SIDE CHIDE! (Ram) attack! [Pulled -3] Robotic Bald Eagle yells back at Killboy, "WHAT? WHAAAAAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU, THE WINDS ARE REALLY LOUD? WHAAAAT? HEY, WHAT'S WRONG? YOU DON'T LOOK SO GOOD!" He hops off the fighter when it begins flying apart, though. "Oh, well, I'll have to ask him what he was saying after the race!" he says, and spreads his wings as he flies back onto the track. Combat: Robotic Bald Eagle sets his defense level to Aggressive. The Firehawk more or less just lazes along for a bit, giving the ship a much needed chance to recover from the strain the alien environment is putting it through. But Talia isn't taking it so easy, watching the racing proceeding around her. Just a little longer... just a little longer... and there's the Seeker coming up trying to catch the others. The strikecraft dips downward, almost looking as if it's losing power or something.... until Backfire is passing by and Talia jerks back fully on the controls, causing the ship to snap up violently as she hits the thrusters to full once more and takes avatange of its vertical ascencion to try and come up under the Seeker while he's ramming the shuttle. Combat: VSC-25 Firehawk sets her defense level to Fearless. Combat: VSC-25 Firehawk strikes Shifty Red Spaceship with her Interference From Below! (Ram) attack! [Pulled -2] "Ha ha ha, yeah, duke it out, you little savages!" Fusillade calls out over the boom mikes while slurping a Midnight Borealis that Slash has managed to already press into her palm. Bell UH-1 Iroquois cheers when the other VTOL manages to run into Backfire. He just wishes that was him. But it's not. Autobot Shuttle cries out as that wretched Decepticon hits him again, drawing sparks and causing his engines to stutter out for a moment. <> His mood brightens somewhat as Talia beans Backfire a good one. Hey, he still has a chance... plus, he feels a guilty little savage satisfaction at the sight. Combat: Autobot Shuttle sets his defense level to Protected. Race: The racers speed around the track, and the scoreboard lights up with the new race standings...======================[ Racetrack Attack! ]=======================
Racer Pos Lap Defense-Level Robotic Bald Eagle 17 2 AGGRESSIVE -- Bell UH-1 Iroquois 9 3 AGGRESSIVE -- VSC-25 Firehawk 6 4 PROTECTED -- Fusillade 8 5 FEARLESS --=====================[ Sorted by Leadership ]=====================
"Har har, lookit 'em, all tangled up!" Uzgob chortles, pleased with all the crashing and smashing. "An' while dey krump eachovva ova second place, da 'umie anna kopta's comin' up from behind! Could be a cunnin' surprise!" Screw winning. That impact was much more satisfying. Even if it is a competative sport and not a battle Talia takes a big of vengeful satisfacting in finally slamming into one of the Decepticons. Now Ranger just needs to get his thrusters back in gear! Unfortunately the impact knocked one of the turbines out of alignment, forcing her to slow her ship down again afterwards, less she do worse. She'd rather save going down in a literal blaze of glory for an actual battle. Combat: VSC-25 Firehawk sets her defense level to Neutral. <> Backfire cries out, being lifted into the air when Talia knocks up from under him. <> he grates, trying to readjust himself and streak for the finish line. He can't help it if Ranger gets in the way, can he?? Combat: Shifty Red Spaceship sets his defense level to Fearless. Combat: Shifty Red Spaceship misses Autobot Shuttle with his Jetwash Rinse & Repeat (Ram) attack! [Pulled -3] Groove suddenly sits up in the bleachers. "Has the race started?" "For first loser, YEAH!" Fusillade replies to Groove from the stands, halfway through her drink. Bell UH-1 Iroquois hollers back to Groove, "A Decepticon's already won, 'bot! But Velum's buying drinks. And that McKinley lady whammed Backfire but good." Combat: Bell UH-1 Iroquois sets his defense level to Neutral. Fusillade stands up, and hops up and down, "Go go go go Backfire!" Groove gives Fusillade a big smile. "You know, I think it's just great everyone is participating. So who ended up winning?" Groove saunters over to the Decepticon, plopping down next to her. "I'm hoping that next year the Olympics are in the Teatree 9 system. There are mad baths there that are super good for your gears, very spiritually healing, you know?" Groove looks back out to the race, and pops two...tabs. Autobot Shuttle lets out a whoop as his engines restart and he surges forwards once more, hopefully he won't have to recover from any more incidents like that one. Uh-oh, spoke too soon, no sooner has he started moving than he comes the Decepticon again. But not this time! Veering sideways half-a loop, he dodges swiftly and continues onwards. Combat: Autobot Shuttle sets his defense level to Neutral. Fusillade stares at Groove, and one hand stretches out unconsicously toward a roundel. "Oh, you kmow, someone on the large size, who isn't afraid to bust a move." She grins at him, before considering his wishes. "Can't... say I've ever heard of them. They got any good resources aside from the baths? What's in them that's so healing?" Race: The racers speed around the track, and the scoreboard lights up with the new race standings...======================[ Racetrack Attack! ]=======================
Racer Pos Lap Defense-Level Robotic Bald Eagle 4 3 NEUTRAL -- Bell UH-1 Iroquois 9 3 NEUTRAL -- VSC-25 Firehawk 16 4 NEUTRAL --=====================[ Sorted by Leadership ]=====================
"Mostly psychedelics." Groove looks back out to the race. "Congratulations on winning, and on having a solid mantra regarding fear. A lot of people just end of being shackled by it, and don't end up busting anything. Not even moves." He offers her a tab. "Want to come on an adventure?" VSC-25 Firehawk is mostly just cruising along at this point. Not worrying about the finish line, as Talia is paying more attention to another chance to keep some other pests off Ranger. She doesn't trust that Seeker staying back there any longer than he has to.... The finish line comes into view again as the leaders come around the corner! Ranger in the front lapping Talia, Backfire a few lengths behind him, and Blades and Americon bringing up the rear! The crowd continues to cheer, getting their cameras ready for what could be a photo finish for silver and bronze... Bell UH-1 Iroquois tries to hook Backfire with a llanding skid, because he seems to have stalled out again. Maybe he can... hitch a ride on Backfire? Not that such an idea really makes any sense. Combat: Bell UH-1 Iroquois misses Shifty Red Spaceship with his Ram attack! [Pulled -3] Robotic Bald Eagle is sad. There is no one left for him to ram or crash into, or otherwise annoy. A small tear drips away from one of his optics, falling away and sparkling in the light. Or maybe that was condensation. "Oh, hmm." Fusillade mentally makes note to not waste Empire resources on razing the system. "Will it make me light up positive for perfomance enhancers? They still haven't awarded the medals yet." She shiftily glances around, and swipes the mystery tab and chugs it with the radium-enhanced drink. "Where we goin'?" Manuevering around the stalled Blades, Backfire curses himself for falling behind the Autobot shuttle AGAIN! Crap, maybe he lost his edge in revealing he wasn't Redshift afterall? << I mean, no I'm Redshift! I really really really am Redshift, FEAR MY SPEED.. or something.>> Jet thrusters alight behind him, hopefully carrying him closer to the finish line. Groove smiles really big. "To Awesometron. Buckle your seatbelts and fix your tray tables ma'am, because you're about to experience a sense of total awareness and kinship to your fellow mech." He stretches, and then looks a little disappointed. "I'd give you some sharpies to draw on me with, but Wheelie took all of them. Sorry about that." Autobot Shuttle pulls comfortably away from Backfire, at least, comfortably enough not to have to worry about another attack, and the air around him seems to be mostly clear, apart from Talia. Still, he resists the temptation to get complacent and finds a little extra to throw into the engines. Race: The racers speed around the track, and the scoreboard lights up with the new race standings... Race: Shifty Red Spaceship crosses the finish line! Race: Autobot Shuttle crosses the finish line!======================[ Racetrack Attack! ]=======================
Racer Pos Lap Defense-Level Robotic Bald Eagle 9 3 NEUTRAL -- Bell UH-1 Iroquois 12 3 NEUTRAL -- VSC-25 Firehawk 7 5 NEUTRAL --=====================[ Sorted by Leadership ]=====================
Hack and Slash loom a bit more closely, hands clasped with mild alarm coupled with resignation at Fusillade's experimentation. "Hey, I think they just tied," she aspirates out in delight at Backfire and Ranger. "Hope they'll share." "Or maybe you came in at a new beginning, Velum." Groove says out loud suddenly, before looking around and realizing no one is there. "Hrm. Stronger than I thought it would be." Bell UH-1 Iroquois 's pager suddenly goes off, and he has to pause a moment to look at the message. Blades says after a moment, "What." Then, "Uh, gotta take this. Some tourist just took a dive off one of the blimps. Gotta go catch 'im." That said, he choppers off to go rescue said tourist, hopefully without any knives involved. "It's a foto finish!" roars Uzgob, grabbing a nearby event staff by the collar in one of his giant green hands and shaking him. "Gemme a foto! Of da finish!" Fortunately Gimzod is already on the case, and runs up holding one. It clearly shows Ranger a whole length ahead of Backfire as the two streak through the lasers between the finish pylons. "We gots our winnas!" Uzgob yells into the mic, letting the little grey staff alien go. "Gold goes to da bomma, da fastest in da place! Silva is for da lifta-droppa, almost as fast but not da fastest! Bronze for da red one, which don't make no kinda sense to me... an' Lead for da burd, da best loser! Dat's it, race's over!" Uzgob throws the mic through the force dome into Jupiter's howling atmosphere with a whoop and slouches away back into the platform, followed by his loyal Smartboy. Crossing the finish line, Backfire transforms and GLARES daggers at the track's scoreboard. "CURSES! I almost had it.. insepid Autobutts and their hooman germs!" he rages. Fusillade murmurs, "Easy to be gracious when sittin' pretty. Like the swirls in stands," she points blearily at the camera flashes. Robotic Bald Eagle grumps. "I lost the race again! Ah well. Oh, hey! I wonder what that guy was trying to say to me..." He dives down into the murky clouds. Several moments later, Americon flies in through the forcedome, with Killboy gripped firmly by the shoulders. "Hey, guys, this guy was trying to ask me something, but I think he passed out or died or something?" He flops Killboy down where the announcers were a moment ago, and looks around. Doesn't see anyone. "Huh. They were *just here.*" VSC-25 Firehawk chugs off for the landing platforms to get that misaligned rotor taken care of, and then catch a transport shuttle back to the inner planets. Fusillade belatedly realizes, "My leg hurts." And begins to float toward the medical tent. Autobot Shuttle allows himself a little roll as he places second, he thinks, assuming he understood the announcer correctly. Then, transforming, he lands neatly on his feet and peers around vaguely. There are... medals or something, right? Killboy coughs and seems to revive almost immediately, his mechanical arm and leg twitching uncannily before reaching into his flight jacket to produce a cigar. He jams it in his blubbery lips, draws his firearm, and shoots the end off the cigar with a deafening BLAMMO to light it. For a moment the cybork pilot lies there quietly, then jacks himself up with a clattering sound, gives Americon a thumbs-up and stumbles away. Panels shift at such an incredible speed that they seem to blur and....contract? until the Autobot Ranger stands before you Groove waves cheerfully after Fusillade. "Not for long it won't!"
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