DRIVER MACH 1

by ÆGEON DAVIS

  “Never mind this human, Mechanica,” Spectra said, finishing her transformation and working out the kinks caused by wrecked parts. “He’s more of a moron than the other humans we’ve seen before.”

  Her degrading comment didn’t bother me, and to my surprise, a multi-armed crimson robotic woman rolled her way from the wall. She was broader than Spectra, bulkier in frame, and had six wheels, with two on her shoulders and the four she rolled on. Her melon-shaped breasts were full and in charge complementing her larger derriere.

  What I thought was a ponytail hanging from behind revealed itself to be a large tow rig harness and hook. She was like a monster tow truck. Her hair was jet black and framed her soft, round, tanned face. She fixated her brilliant blue eyes on me at first, and onto my human form, but then darted them toward the broken Spectra.

  “My dear,” Mechanica said, swinging her wide hips around and lowering the tow bar for Spectra to grab. “You took a tumble on da’ track? I’m not sure we have enough Gel to get you da’ parts we need.”

  “There won’t be necessary, Mechanica,” Spectra said, glaring at me. “The CarTsar has ordered this idiot to fix me up.”

  “Well, honey, no one is taking a job from me,” the big-boned, Mechanica said. “On my planet, I was da’ best technical engineer to ever come out Straights of Vondir.”

  Her tone was as boastful as it was proud. I admired her energy when she spoke, and my eyes fell to her subtle bits of soft skin wedged between mechanical parts. But before I could let my mind wander, I felt the urge to ease their tensions.

  “Ladies, ladies,” I said confidently, holding my hands out and eyeing the two bickering women. “I am not here to take any jobs from you. I just want to do what the court ordered me to, and return to where I came from.”

  “Where does your clan hail from?” Mechanica asked while she crossed her arms.

  “Well, I am glad you inquired, fine lady,” I said in my best Thor impression, trying to muster the confidence around these dazzling alien women. But then I remembered the words of my uncle and the truth I had learned about myself. “Sorry, what I meant to say was I am Grease Monkey from the Banana Peel Go-Kart Clan.”

  Spectra rolled her eyes at my newly formed title and walked away into the pit while muttering, ”Hopeless.”

  Mechanica held her stance, and then belted out in laughter, “A grease monkey? You need to work on your delivery, honey.” She grabbed my hand and rolled me toward the spray-painted sign above a door that read: Pit 10.

  Pit 10 pit was a dump. The plastic roof was worn and punched through with varying sized holes and provided the only source of light. As I stepped inside, I saw two mechanic bays with two car yellow car lifts propped above it. In the center a ‘cherry picker,’or engine hoist, was planted firmly between the bays. Tool sets of an alien nature were scattered about in unorganized disarray that only my father would turn over his grave for.

  “Nice place,” I said sarcastically.

  Two figures worked a large stamping machine across the way. Steam shot out as the extensive press came down and shot out a small molded portion of plastic.

  The short yet voluptuous brunette was bent over, her bottom forming the shape of a peach as she stamped and sat down a molded portion of the plastic. Her hair was pulled back into a pony tail just like Spectra’s and I could see her body type was also of a hybrid robotic alien nature.

  “This weather stripping is gonna’ help seal our panels,” the small robotic woman said to the other figure while she performed what looked the same task. When the first woman moved around the car, her frame revealed only two wheels on her shoulders and a pair of handlebars extending from her trapezius muscles. Her breasts were well rounded and set into a revealing blocky green, red, and white motorbike frame. The alien woman turned and from her back, each spinal column was a part of a padded rider seat, curving graciously into a pert ass.

  “Yeah, that’s if you can get it bond with your outer shell,” the other woman fired back. Both alien humanoid women were brightly colored in red, green, and white like an Italian race car. I almost couldn’t tell each one apart if weren’t for the differentiating way the colors fell upon them. As the second woman came into the light, I could she was the exact same model or series as the woman she was talking to. Her breathtaking eyes held a more stern look and her brunette hair fell down to shoulders instead. They looked like a pair of bubbly Olivia Cookes.

  “Trixie One, Trixie Two,” Mechanica called out in motherly tone. “Quit rummaging through that trash. We have a guest in our home.”

  Trixie One and Trixie Two perked up and I noticed the gaze of the two gorgeous woman fall upon me. I certainly appeared to be on the spot. As they sauntered toward me, I could make out each panel and contour of their toned bodies and speculated they were a pair of motorcycles.

  “This is Grease Monkey of the Banana Peel Go-Kart Clan,” Mechanica said, holding her tow hook above my head.

  The bubbly robotic women appeared to be excited and giggled in sync while covering their mouths in one of the cutest displays of innocence. Their tuned-in personality was amazing, mimicking each other’s nuanced expressions precisely.

  “Call me Lorean,” I corrected the island beauty.

  “Nice to meet you. Oh my god, we have to tell you, you smell wonderful,” the bright bubbly twins said in unison. I blushed from the comment as they continued to catch a whiff of my scent..

  “That’s Trixie One and Two,” Mechanica said, with a hint of smile. “Dey can be quite forward, honey. Blurting how they feel seems to be a common trait for the Scabian species, I’m afraid.”

  “Yes, indeed. We also share the same brain,” they agreed on at the same time and then assured me with a wink.

  The Trixie twins eyes were soft despite being composed of robotic parts. It was like their sexy alien side exuded under that façade of an electronic shell. I could distinguish Trixie One from her arraignment of red, green and white. She stepped closer to me, carefully inspecting my skin. As she ran her hand along my forearm, I could see her face sadden a bit.

  “Is there something wrong?” I asked as she touched my arm. She was unresponsive, so I looked to Mechanica.

  “They long for their natural bodies,” Mechanica said, grabbing the robotic panels aside her large breast and pressing them together to give them a good jiggle. “We all do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We were taken from our worlds to compete here in the Intergalactic Gauntlet,” Trixie One said. “Trixie Two and I were considered some of the best motorcycle stunt women in Scabia.”

  “So, you are held here against your will?”

  “Yes, our Team Captain holds a lifetime contract with the CT,” Spectra said from across the room, running a terry-cloth-like towel through her fibrous hair . She was wrapped in a longer one as if she just showered. “We were sponsored by Corvus.”

  “Please stop saying sponsors. It sounds like they are straight up slave drivers,” I corrected them. “Now, why do they do it?”

  “Da’ CarTsar set up contracts to get him da’ girls, he turns them into rearranging form, and he pitches the Intergalactic Gauntlet to media outlets across the Galaxy,” Mechanica said, pointing to hole in the roof. The sky darkened into a hazy sunset. “You see those floating tings in da’ air?”

  “Yeah,” I said, barely looking, but remembering what I had seen when I first arrived.

  “Those are da’ satellites from various worlds around the Galaxy covering the event,” Mechanica said. “It’s a multi-billion-credit industry.”

  “Right,” I said. It was no different than Earth, I thought, save for the indentured servitude part

  “Will you ever be released?”

  “Yeah, if we win Pit 1,” Trixie Two said from the old rusted car. “Only then will the champions have the power to leave.”

  “I take it the current winner is staying for good?” I asked.

  “Yep, it’s the CarTsar’s Iron Racers,” Spe
ctra said. “They are bunch of bad-ass bitches.”

  “Wait, you are all women. Are they any male racers?” I asked curiously.

  “Some. The CarTsar believes men are best kept rugged—like as trucks or heavy rigs—built for work. As for women, we get the more sleek and curvaceous vehicles,” Trixie One said, rubbing her hands along her hips and waist.

  Mechanica grabbed me around the shoulder, embracing me with a large, affectionate multi-armed hug, “Not just men are rugged. Jus look at me, honey.”

  I chuckled at her comment and walked outside to the Pit wall. She pointed down to the remaining Pits, “There are ten Pits. Each one signifies what place you are in the race between the legs.”

  “Between the legs?” my male brain blurted out.

  “Legs, as in sections of da’ race. Da Great Nurdle Reef is one of three.” Mechanica chuckled. “Right now, we qualified in dead last: Pit 10.”

  “Right,” I said, looking back at the Indy racer girl and the pair of motorcycle babes. “So what are all your positions on the team?”

  “I’m the tow truck technician,” Mechanica explained. “Trixie One and Two are the runners. When dey are not combined with themselves, in ‘Twin Connection,’ they split off and divert threats away from our superstar speeder, Spectra.”

  Awesome! Just like Smoky and the Bandit. My inner kid squealed with elation knowing the movie transcended not just generations but galaxies as well. Long live Burt Reynolds.

  Then we all looked to the gorgeous blonde F1 racer. She was dazzling to look at and exuded the star quality even Old Hollywood would ogle. She placed her hand on her hip and arched her back, exemplifying a perfect ’S’ curve.

  “Spectra was the last to arrive,” the Trixies said. “She’s herself a much better match than we are combined. We are thankful to have her.”

  “Don’t forget about Corvus,” Spectra added.

  “Corvus?” I asked.

  “Corvus was our Team Captain and sponsor, but I wouldn’t worry about him. He hasn’t upgraded us in months. Probably still trying to unlock a Special Ability at the Casino, ” Trixie One and Two answered.

  “Now, each comes wit more capabilities than the last. Since we are in Pit 10, we have access to only the plastic bits of sand from the beach and a stamping press to mold new panelling,” Mechanica explained. “But as we progress to the final Pit, which is Pit 1, we gain more tool resources, Team Captain Special Ability Unlock, and the potential to level up our engines, parts and body frames. Let’s dat’ Fuel Gel, honey.”

  “Fuel Gel?” I asked inquisitively.

  Trixie One jumped at the opportunity to explain and grabbed my hand in excitement. “Fuel Gel is what gives us energy. It’s made by the CarTsar himself. You will need one unit of it to enter the Gauntlet.”

  “We were only compensated the last-place amount,” Spectra said, pulling the fist-sized packs from a panel that opened on her thigh. She then tossed a few to each of the women. “We can each have three to power us up. That leaves one Gel Pack for me to compete in the next race.”

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “The refinery is the CarTsar’s personal mineral resource manufacturer for his top contenders. He sources his wrought-iron from there,” Spectra said, eyeing the sloping hill that descended from the mountain down to the Pits. “And as you can see this whole island is made of plastic hurdles. It’s like a giant garbage reef surrounding a volcano. He uses the volcano to recycle the trash swept up here and give him an advantage in accessing raw materials.”

  “He smelts from it and uses it for his Iron Racers,” Trixie One said.

  “Those wrought-iron flying crafts are too heavy, but they can rip through our plastic paneling like tin foil,” Trixie Two added almost immediately after her identical twin.

  “Yeah, we don’t stand a chance in hell. Spectra is open wheeled,” Mechanica said. “We been working on getting to Pit 9 so we could add some stronger bumpers, but alas she failed again. Looks like we will have to refine some more nurdle sand to make da’ part.”

  “Pit 8 has the McFly additions,” Trixie One and Two squealed together, turning simultaneously in place.

  “Wait, McFly?” I asked. “As in George McFly?”

  “Oh my god, do you know him?” the Trixies excitedly asked me, seeming as if he were a celebrity of some sort. “We wonder if he smells as good as you?”

  “No, no,” I corrected them. “George McFly is a fictional character from one of my all-time favorite movies on Earth.”

  “Uh, no, honey,” Mechanica said. “George McFly was a champion of da’ Intergalactic Gauntlet.”

  I was astounded. The fact that they were using plastic to fight steel was absurd. These women didn’t have a chance in hell of winning.

  “So, tell me, Lorean,” Spectra said, with an auspicious glare. “How did you get here exactly?”

  “Well, my TesLorean…” I trailed off, forgetting about my problems. These women needed my help and if there was ever a time to act, it was now. “Forget it. Right now, let’s focus on bringing you back up to speed—so to speak.”

  7

  The Visor

  In the morning, they promptly gave me a one-piece jumpsuit that read Pit 10. The suit was snug and hugged every inch of my body in typical hero fashion. In addition, around my neck, a thick padded brace attached to the back of my collar and rose up behind my neck. From the brace, a neural implant device was implanted and connected my body to the suit.

  I was exhausted and overwhelmed from the crazy events that manifested before me. A flunky stunt driver, with mechanical knowledge from Earth, had been whisked away to a distant planet where racers battled it out for their freedom. You try sleeping on that and see how much rest you get. But here I was now, looking down at an extremely attractive hybrid robot woman.

  Spectra laid in one of the mechanical bays watching me inspect the damage. The years of repairing go-karts with my dad had taught me enough to work with the filler and resin. I missed the intoxicating smell of the summers spent setting and sanding the composite material we knew as the brand Bondo.

  I studied the anatomy of the blonde bombshell before me. It was as if the CarTsar had specifically made them to look like this and reveal their voluptuous womanly parts in an overt sexual way.

  “What are you composed of?” I asked, inspecting her broken tail wing.

  “Da’ CarTsar binds us wit’ an element called shiftarium. Dis’ material allows for synthesis of our flesh to mechanical parts and vice versa,” Mechanica said, rolling up from behind me. She held a sleek head-sized object that resembled a racing helmet from Earth. “Here. Sent from da’ CarTsar himself.”

  Mechanica handed me the helmet. Inside, I could see the exceptional padding line a crash helmet would have along with a durable hinged Visor that could flip up. It was lightweight and grooved out in the necessary spots to protect a human cranium, divulging the smart design integrated into it.

  “Put it on,” Mechanica said.

  I raised the helmet and slipped it over my head. My Visor shield booted to life with flashes of light. A heads up display or HUD interface outlined my environment.

  “This is your Visor,” Mechanica said. “It’s a helmet display dat’ will act as a bridge to our stats and yours. Dis’ is how you will fix us.”

  I held my hand in front of the Visor, watching the HUD outline my palm and read out my chemical composition. In addition, my name was printed to the right with a footnote next to it. I touched the number and a series of Primary Skill Levels swished up from the bottom, listing out their levels.

  Lorean Michaels:

  Terran, Driver

  Primary Skills:

  MACH Level: 1·|—————————·10

  STUNT Level: 1·—|————————·10

  DRIFT Level: 1·|—————————·10

  —LIVE XP—

  Speed: 0·|—————·5

  Strength: 0·|—————·5

&nbs
p; Steering: 0·|—————·5

  Total XP: 0

  Special Abilities:

  [Fixer]

  In addition to the first page of stats, there were many more pages attributing weight, height, etc. I quickly scanned over the numbers accepting their validity and then swiped back to the first page. As I studied the stats out loud, trying to not get offended I lacked some Primary Skill attributes. Although, I did have a Special Ability unlocked. My readouts did not startle Mechanica, and she nodded her head at the results. “A dignified human and already making his climb on da’ Stunt Level.”

  “Hey, I’m a Driver!”

  Mechanica laughed, “Oh, honey. Dey’ used to let Terran men drive in the Gauntlet, but dat’ all changed when George McFly won.”

  “Where is this ‘George McFly’ now?”

  “Well, he earned his freedom and wanted to leave,” Mechanica said. “And the CarTsar was not happy about that.”

  “Whispers say the Terran was murdered because of a debt,” the Trixies whispered.

  Murdered?

  Disregarding the unnerving horror, I focused my attention to the Spectra, who was still laying in the bay. Her body outlined and her attributes read out:

  Spectra Saleen:

  Xoian, Formula One Car

  Primary Skills:

  MACH Level: 1·|—————————·10

  STUNT Level: 1·|—————————·10

  DRIFT Level: 1·|—————————·10

  —LIVE XP—

  Speed: 0·|—————·5

  Strength: 0·|—————·5

  Steering:0·|—————·5

  Total XP: 4

  Special Abilities:

  [Mag Wheels]

  McFly

  Turbo Fighter Jet

  “Okay, do you see her profile?” Mechanica asked. I nodded, so she continued. “Da’ LIVE XP gauges will fluctuate up as she races, and that will pool into her Total XP below. Dis can be fed into da’ Primary Skills above how you see necessary. Every five Total XP earned can get you one level up in da’ Primary Skills above.”