"Who's that mech in the corner who doesn't come out of altmode?" Sideswipe asked, meaning the black '73 Dodge Challenger in the corner.
Ramsey paused. The Challenger was his own personal car, but Sideswipe's mistake was easy to understand. Except for the Autobots, every single vehicle with wheels on Diego Garcia was beige, utilitarian, and military. The Challenger, in superlative condition, fitted in perfectly with the silver Corvette, the yellow and black Camaro (when it was present), and the others, save for the fact that the design was thirty or forty years old.
Bumblebee, standing around watching while Sam caught up with Lennox, decided to have a bit of fun with Sides. "That's old Silverblack, isn't it, Ramsey? Pretty old, doesn't say much. Didn't he arrive before Sideswipe did?"
The old human caught on. "Yeah, he's hell on wheels when he gets going, though."
"Think he'd like to spar with me?" Sideswipe asked, excitement rising in his tone.
"Dunno," Ramsey shrugged. "He's in recharge at the moment, maybe you could ask Ironhide."
He lowered the carlift. His excuse for that was that he was getting too old to lie on a trolley and slide underneath cars anymore. His reason was that it stopped his patients from getting bored or scared and transforming mid-maintenance. He'd seen enough crunched fingers in his life without getting a set himself.
Ramsey cleaned his hands on a handy rag. "There, Sideswipe, good as new,"he said, pouring himself a couple fingers of Jamesons from the everpresent bottle. It mysteriously disappeared five minutes before every surprise inspection Lennox had tried, and the wily old mechanic had managed to get a clause into his contract saying outright that alcohol blood level testing was not allowed. Sideswipe had opened a book on when he'd get in trouble for his drinking.
"Thanks!" Sideswipe said, transforming from mech to altmode a few times. "That's definitely got that sticking plate fixed."
Half an hour later, an angry Corvette stormed into Ramsey's workshop, where the man was selfmedicating.
"You lied to me!" Sideswipe yelled. "That's just a car! It isn't an Autobot!"
"I never did," Ramsey snarked back. "You just assumed it was."
"You did too! You said he was in recharge!"
Ramsey pointed to a point a foot to the side of a battery charger. "And so old Silverblack is, fixed a problem with the alternator but the battery wound up going flat before I did fix it."
"You said to ask Ironhide if I could spar against him!"
"I thought you meant racing," Ramsey said, eyes twinkling with drunken innocence. He turned to an amused Optimus Prime who had followed the angry warrior. "Sparring means racing, right?"
"Well," Optimus said, trying to come up with something that would satisfy both parties.
"Slag, it isn't as if it's any threat to anyone, let alone beat me in a race," Sideswipe muttered, still smarting over Ironhide laughing at him, of all people, falling for it.
"Why don't you put your money where your mouth is, big bot?" Ramsey slurred. "Tomorrow, high noon, coast road around the base perimeter, loser has to submit to the winner's wishes for a month!"
"Only if you're sober and fit to drive," Optimus broke in, "and only for a week. With the proviso that this deal will be suspended in any emergency."
"Done!"
That evening, the major item of gossip was the upcoming race. The prevalent opinion was that the Autobot would win.
"I don' care!" Ramsey slurred. "Even if ol' Shideshwipe goesh a ga-jillion miles an hour with alien rocket boots on, I'm still gonna do my best to make humanity proud."
"That's the way, man!" Epps said, slapping the old man on the back. "Can... can I drive Silverblack to the starting line?"
Ramsey slammed his tumbler to the table, slowly turning to face the military man. His bearing was steady, and his face seemed as sober as a judge. "No. No one touches my baby. At all. Ever."
"Well, we all know what la infierno car is going to ask for," Figgs said.
"Wash and wax every day," Ramsey said gloomily, knocking back more of the Jameson. "How in hell is a Dodge Challenger supposed to beat an alien robot car?"
Sideswipe and Optimus paused as they walked past the humans' recreation room. Optimus gave Sideswipe a silent look.
"Well... I could limit myself to the physical abilities of a 2010 Corvette," Sideswipe said reluctantly.
Optimus nodded.
"So you're going to have the power and handling of a modern Corvette?" Ramsey asked the next morning. For a wonder, he was sober.
Sideswipe nodded. "My word on it."
Ramsey grinned evilly, then got into the Challenger. With a flick of the switch, a massive roar filled the garage as he shot off towards the starting line.
While the engine idled, he popped the bonnet for the soldiers to marvel at the powerplant.
"Read 'em and weep, boys," he said smugly. "454 cubic inches of muscle."
"Where's the carburettors?" Lennox asked.
"Electronic fuel injection in my baby," Ramsey said proudly. "I got me an ECU and everything. My nephews could play Need for Speed on this thing."
"That suspension doesn't look stock either," Epps said, from where he was lying on the ground looking up at the back end.
"That's cos it ain't," Ramsey said. "Leaf springs are what you get on Silver Cross prams and medieval ox carts."
The light dawned on Sideswipe. "You knew we were just outside the door listening last night, didn't you?"
The old man nodded unashamedly. "Knew and planned on it."
"Betting is now open," Smokescreen said from the sidelines.
"Now, you here to talk or you here to race?" Ramsey asked.
Sideswipe's optic shutters narrowed. "Shut up and drive, squishy."
On the sidelines, Optimus stepped forwards at the insult, but Lennox stopped him with an arm across one of Prime's feet. "Don't. Talking smack before a race is... tradition, I guess."
Slamming the bonnet shut, Ramsey got into the car and slotted in a CD, skipping to the track he wanted and pausing it.
"Right, ladies and femmes," Mikaela said, stepping forwards to just in front of and safely between the two powerful sports cars. Her, Sam and Bumblebee had stayed overnight to see the race. "On a count of three. One..."
Ramsey unpaused his CD. "If You Want Blood (You Got It)" began to make itself known. Loudly.
"Two."
Sideswipe revved his engine.
"Three!"
With a massive roar, the Challenger leapt forwards, easily outpacing the Corvette and reaching the first corner, where it skidded around in a controlled powerslide. Sideswipe caught up, apexing the turn perfectly.
"How do you think it'll work out?" Epps asked.
"Hard to say," Mikaela said, shading her eyes with her palm. "Ramsey has a lot, and I mean a lot of power in that monster, plus he's modified the hell out of it. Trick axles, independant suspension, EFI, the lot."
"But," Sam said, knowing she wasn't finished.
"He's still driving a musclecar from the Seventies, plus his reflexes aren't what they used to be," Mikaela said reluctantly. The old man was a lot more likeable than Sideswipe, who many of the Autobots apologetically said was still on edge from his brother being missing. "That's a lot of mass, plus the chassis really wasn't designed for good handling. The new 2010 Corvette, on the other hand, was redesigned for handling. It lapped the Nurburgring in seven and a half minutes, which is pretty fast."
The humans watched, a bit more sober after that. Some of the onbase technicians had set up monitors at the starting line, and hooked them into the security system so that everyone could see the races progress.
A pattern was developing rather quickly. Ramsey easily roared into the lead on the straights, while the Autobot corvette ate up the difference on the corners.
"Shit," Mikaela said.
"What is it?" Optimus asked, worried. Something about this race had given his lasercore fits even yesterday.
"He's going right to the edge of what his car can do," she muttered. "One slip... just one slip..."
"He's lost it!" one of the tech's screamed at the top of his lungs. "He's crashed out!"
"C'mon!" Sam yelled, diving through Bumblebee's open door window. After his girlfriend got in too, the Camaro took off for the crash site. After waiting for the human base medic, Ratchet took off in hot pursuit.
The scene was not good. The Challenger's bodywork was dented to hell, and the old man's body was slumped over the steering wheel. Blood was pouring copiously from a headwound, staining the interior.
Sam leapt out of Bee, racing the last few steps. The now concave door stuck, but gave way under ferocious force from both Sam and his girlfriend.
"Get back from him!" the medic roared at Sam. Jolted out of his fear, Sam lifted his hands free, holding them up as if he was in a Western. "Ratchet, any spinal cord injuries?"
"No, for a wonder," Ratchet said, "but he has a black eye, massive bruising, and a slight concussion."
"Thank God," the medic breathed. "Could've been worse. A lot worse. Okay, kid, carefully help me move him. If you hurt him further I'll break your leg."
After helping the man transfer Ramsey onto a stretcher with the utmost care, the man started to deal with the elder's injuries. Sam sat on the battered doorsill.
"It isn't fair," Sam said. "God, I feel so useless."
"Hey, nothing you could do," Sideswipe ventured from the sidelines.
Sam's face scrunched up. "No, I mean, I got this feeling like I should be able to fix this, make it better."
"It isn't your fault," Mikaela said, crouching in front of him.
"No, I mean that... I don't know, it's like this conviction, you know? Not like a criminal conviction, more I'm absolutely certain I can do something to fix at least something about this crash, you know?" Sam said. One of his hands drew into a fist.
"Sam," Mikaela said uncertainly, "why is blue lightning coming out of your hand?"
The urgency in her voice made it through to the teen, who pulled his hand up to look at it.
"Weird, I can't feel a thing," Sam said, right before he was sent flying from the Challenger as it seemed to massively shudder.
"Shit," the human medic said. "Someone help me load them too. Ratchet, mind transforming?"
"Not at all," the Autobot medic replied.
"I'll put a tarp over the car for now," Lennox said. About to throw it over, he paused. "Wasn't this door bashed in?"
The medic paused as well, looking over. "I don't know, maybe. Look, I need to get this lot to the sickbay."
Lennox shook his head, throwing the tarpaulin over the '73 Challenger. He looked wistfully at the massive tough blue-covered hulk. "Man, that thing could go."