Author's Note 5.4.08: Urgh. Is it Sunday already? Bleh.

Well, I've moved now and mostly settled in, so I should be getting my rhythm back pretty quickly. I hope to update the actual story before the end of May. Don't worry, it's a doozy, so it'll be worth the wait.

And be sure to check out the art (link in my profile to either the gallery or the livejournal); I've doodled a bit of Nic in Animated style.

This one's a little short, but here it is.


5: On Vacation

Bonneville Salt Flats.

It certainly lived up to its name, an expansive plain of glittering white salt, stretching further than his sensors could reach. Blue-hazed mountains floated in the distance, their bases actually beyond the curved horizon.

The anticipation. He felt like he was going to pop a gear any second. Oh, Primus, what a place!

He was so trained on the marvel spread out before him that he only heard the crunch of sturdy boots on the packed salt crust behind him. Nic, helmet under arm, leaned companionably against his Tomahawk shell.

"Can't believe it took us two years to get around to doing this."

"Duty before leisure. Now please, Nic, get on or I may rattle myself apart."

Her laughter turned hollow-sounding as she settled the helmet over her head. "Good grief, Whip, we're on vacation. Relax."

Relax? Relax was stasis, or recharge. Not racing, pushing oneself as fast as possible.

"Think of it as getting an idea of your top speed when that spaz Blurr isn't around."

An objective-- that was better. Something to focus on. Even so, it was strange, this sensation of being totally and completely free to do as he wished, whatever and wherever that meant. No enemies to evade and outsmart, no mission to complete.

"Blurr's boasting means nothing. He cheats."

"He does not." Nic slung a leg over the seat.

Wheels pivoted slightly, getting a feel for the surface's character, calculating traction and force. "What do you call artificially increasing his own processor speed, unsanctioned chassis alterations--"

"Whoa, hang on... your aphasia. Slow down."

Grumbling, Whiplash dug back through processor logs. 'shut to crew hall mar especially bin leasing...' Well, Pit. Overclocked spaz Blurr might have been, but at least people could understand him. Mostly.

"Forget Blurr, then." Nic leaned low over his chassis, settling into position. "You said speed is your gift. Well, give it to yourself for once. This is what you were built for, Whiplash.

"Show me how to fly, partner."

Speed... for speed's sake.

He didn't trust himself to speak any further, but his engine roared, saying plenty.