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The Early Years - Diver's Canyon
Fri May 7, 2010 4:37pm

The 13th Annual Diver's Canyon race was to be Demios's debut. As he and Trans rolled down the "Staff Only" road, Demios turned to look at all the commotion. A veritable carnival played out in front of the massive metal structure that served as the race's starting line. He saw tents and pavillions of all shapes and colors, with street vendors, performers and con-artists plying all of their trades. The last time Demios had seen something like this, he'd been in the crowd, sneaking wallets from the back pockets of the patrons. Some of the machine in the bed had been paid for by that money.

Hopefully those days are behind me. He thought to himself as he turned to watch as they drove into the metal structure. Diver's Canyon had once been under water, but due to the massive destruction wrought by the Maverick Wars, even the world's oceans had been thoroughly fucked up. Now, it was a twisty, nasty serpentine trench of jagged rocks. Trans had picked this particular course since it was a "low speed" course.

In the world of Land Chaser races there were two kinds of races. High Speed races were super-sonic in nature and the machine mattered much more significantly in high speed races. The dangerous ones that shot through ruined cities or moutain ranges, never slowing down and were very often fatal. Low speed races were just as dangerous and usually as frantic but due to the tight nature of their courses, there was rarely time to run up to super sonic speed, letting lower powered machines or those with better burst to burn ratios shine. The virgin Mars would, of course, be capable of super-sonic flight but only barely. She definitely couldn't compare to the latest batch of Land Chasers which went Mach 2 or better.

As the truck rolled down the interior of the structure, Demios saw all sorts of racing teams. Weapons were, theoretically, banned from use during a race but that rarely, if ever, stopped the racers from arming themselves as evidenced by the brazen and open display of munitions. Demios had watched plenty of races end up as little more than super-sonic firefights and the brilliant explosions always got a loud cheer from the crowd.

"A'right, Dem. I got one'a m'best mech-heads out here. Y'best pay attention to what he's got t'tell ya." Trans said as they slid into bay 34. The 18 Wheeler ground to a halt before the rumble of its engine died. Trans and Demios climbed out of the cab. Trans led Demios towards a small knot of people. They were all suited up in dark green coveralls, a similar color to Demios's armor. "Jack! G'over here an' meet'ch'ya pilot!"

A tall cyborg broke away from the group, the top of his coverall tied around his waist, showing off two metal arms. He couldn't've been much older than his early twenties. "Hey Trans. This the guy?" Jack said, turning and looking towards Demios.

Demios nodded, "I'm Demios, nice to meet you." He offered a hand.

The cyborg's grip was both surprisingly light, considering the machinery, and surprisingly firm. Apparently they were in good repair. "Jack Schnell. Lessee what you brought me, eh?"


Demios stood over Jack's shoulder as he and his crew worked on the machine, "Well, this ol' Thresher's in good repair but you'll be a little under powered compared to your competition." Jack said over his shoulder, "Looks like Trans's custom plasma manifold fits in well. We'll tune it down to give you better burst thrust."

"For the tight turns." Demios said, nodding his approval.

"Right. We'll tighten up the steering too so you'll turn more with less effort and..."

As Trans, his team and Demios pored over the 'chaser, Trans stood back puffing errantly on a cigarette. He had seen some real promise in Demios, the first time he worked with him. Although Trans had gotten out of the habit of fencing stolen parts, an old associate of his had convinced him that Demios's haul would be worth it. The green reploid had laid hands on a half dozen miltary grade Reploid Cortexes, each easily worth a quarter million a piece. He cut the young reploid in for twenty percent. Business concluded, they went for a drink and had gotten on pretty well. Demios had told him about his dream of one day owning his own Land Chaser and going legit.

Trans himself had been a racer once and decided that he would be willing to part with one of his old land chasers for two million. Demios had readily agreed. Trans hadn't expected to see the reploid again but within a month, he had collected the two million credits. He became even more impressed once he heard through the grape vine of a new Reploid in dark green armor, bringing in half a million in bounties in only a week. They had all been small fry, several of them from the same gang, and yet Demios had the tenacity, drive and commitment to put his life on the line for his dreams.

Then, after having watched his first time in the saddle, he knew he was seeing something special. Most people when they first sit down on a professional Land Chaser can barely recognise the controls. Unlike civilian or military grade 'Chasers, which hard limited nearly all the controls besides the throttle and direction, professional Land Chaser pilots trained years to control the multitude and often complicated control schemes of professional land chasers. With only hands on the handle bars, they controlled rear thrust, anti-grav control, downward thrust, at least two sets of maneuvering grav plates as well as gyroscopic pitch, yaw and attitude. Even with a good computer, each of the different fingers of a 'Chaser pilot had two different tasks on a professional bike.

When he watched Demios, sit down in the couch like it was any other Land Chaser and not only manage to get it to go the direction he wanted to, but ramp it up to full thrust while still doing maneuvers on his first flight... Well, color Trans impressed.

His cigarette expended, he pushed the butt out on a nearby wall before checking his chrono. "Tw'nty min'tes till green flag!" He yelled.

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