- Joined
- Feb 11, 2009
- Messages
- 11,769
- Reaction score
- 65
[If you have a good reason to be on Kushaa'vo, or personally know Delun or Jamall, feel free to zip me a PM. I'd be happy to include your character if at all possible!]
Racing.
Delun had discovered that he and his century-old guest, Jamall, both loved the sport. Motorcycles, fast cars, prop planes, jets, helicopters, speeders, starcraft; if it was loud and fast, they were both game to try it. It came as a pleasant surprise to him, as he'd been struggling to find some common ground with the Makuran. A century of cultural difference was harder to overcome than he'd thought.
The feline stood against the edge of his shop's blackened steel catwalk and draped his forearms over the handrail. The Alda Industries workshop in Welais was a stoutly-built brick building, tall enough to contain nearly any civilian freighter up to 100 meters long and of reasonable width and height. It had been a foundry two centuries ago, and while Delun kept the heavy forging tools and metalworks in the side shops he had cleared out the main shop to form a cavernous workspace for any project he might want to tackle.
One of those projects was bringing Swoop Bike racing to Kushaa'vo; the jagged crags and rugged mountains around Welais were ideal for races, as were the deep forests and rolling plains in the south. Mohatu was tinkering on AI's latest project - a little toy Del had dreamed up as a foundation for an AI Swoop Team. It was a long, heavy bike, with a powerful fusion generator and a fine-tuned repulsorlift system calibrated for use in Kushaa'vo's high gravity. Heavy plasma thrusters with dynamic electromagnetic thrust vectoring provided forward, reverse, and horizontal thrust. A set of boosters on the belly also gave it extra 'hop' to ensure it could leap over obstacles if its repulsorlifts alone weren't up to the task.
As it turned out, Mohatu had very steady hands and an eye for painting. The feline was fitting on the last of the bike's painted body panels. It had originally been candy-apple red, but the Makuran had added black trim and fire decals. He had also stripped off a vent cover on the rear of the machine and chromed the fusion generator's cooling system, as well as its components in the belly. The result was a very sporty, eye-catching vehicle. It just needed a rider.
Delun had sent out a call for swoop racers in the galaxy, and one managed to satisfy his needs enough for him to go through the headache of getting her the necessary passports and tickets to obtain entry to the Kushari home system. Getting to Kushaa'vo was still obnoxious; any non-Kushari ship had its navigational computer pulled and its long-range sensors disabled before being towed to the system via a series of largely random hyperspace jumps. That process alone took several days, to say nothing of an exhaustive customs check and hull sweep to ensure no tracking devices of any kind were being carried. Combine with a month-long background check - and several hours getting prodded by military doctors - to ensure no diseased or dangerous folk were getting in.
Needless to say, the entire thing was one gigantic mess. One he hoped would be worthwhile; his rider was due to arrive any minute. Delun pulled himself up straight and started towards the stairs at the back of the colossal workshop, while Mohatu applied the finishing touches to the bike and stepped back to admire his work. He wiped his work-weathered hands off on a shop rag, which he thrust into the back pocket of his slate gray cargo pants. The muscular feline wore a black tank-top, which his old Coalition dog tags rested against.
Jamall cast a glance at the entrance of the shop; the massive iron gates, each weight countless tons, swung out just enough to let a stream of golden sunlight in. They creaked and groaned as they opened, the din of their movement echoing in the massive hall before growing silent once they'd opened enough to let in a single person. Somebody'd arrived - the only question on his mind was who.
Racing.
Delun had discovered that he and his century-old guest, Jamall, both loved the sport. Motorcycles, fast cars, prop planes, jets, helicopters, speeders, starcraft; if it was loud and fast, they were both game to try it. It came as a pleasant surprise to him, as he'd been struggling to find some common ground with the Makuran. A century of cultural difference was harder to overcome than he'd thought.
The feline stood against the edge of his shop's blackened steel catwalk and draped his forearms over the handrail. The Alda Industries workshop in Welais was a stoutly-built brick building, tall enough to contain nearly any civilian freighter up to 100 meters long and of reasonable width and height. It had been a foundry two centuries ago, and while Delun kept the heavy forging tools and metalworks in the side shops he had cleared out the main shop to form a cavernous workspace for any project he might want to tackle.
One of those projects was bringing Swoop Bike racing to Kushaa'vo; the jagged crags and rugged mountains around Welais were ideal for races, as were the deep forests and rolling plains in the south. Mohatu was tinkering on AI's latest project - a little toy Del had dreamed up as a foundation for an AI Swoop Team. It was a long, heavy bike, with a powerful fusion generator and a fine-tuned repulsorlift system calibrated for use in Kushaa'vo's high gravity. Heavy plasma thrusters with dynamic electromagnetic thrust vectoring provided forward, reverse, and horizontal thrust. A set of boosters on the belly also gave it extra 'hop' to ensure it could leap over obstacles if its repulsorlifts alone weren't up to the task.
As it turned out, Mohatu had very steady hands and an eye for painting. The feline was fitting on the last of the bike's painted body panels. It had originally been candy-apple red, but the Makuran had added black trim and fire decals. He had also stripped off a vent cover on the rear of the machine and chromed the fusion generator's cooling system, as well as its components in the belly. The result was a very sporty, eye-catching vehicle. It just needed a rider.
Delun had sent out a call for swoop racers in the galaxy, and one managed to satisfy his needs enough for him to go through the headache of getting her the necessary passports and tickets to obtain entry to the Kushari home system. Getting to Kushaa'vo was still obnoxious; any non-Kushari ship had its navigational computer pulled and its long-range sensors disabled before being towed to the system via a series of largely random hyperspace jumps. That process alone took several days, to say nothing of an exhaustive customs check and hull sweep to ensure no tracking devices of any kind were being carried. Combine with a month-long background check - and several hours getting prodded by military doctors - to ensure no diseased or dangerous folk were getting in.
Needless to say, the entire thing was one gigantic mess. One he hoped would be worthwhile; his rider was due to arrive any minute. Delun pulled himself up straight and started towards the stairs at the back of the colossal workshop, while Mohatu applied the finishing touches to the bike and stepped back to admire his work. He wiped his work-weathered hands off on a shop rag, which he thrust into the back pocket of his slate gray cargo pants. The muscular feline wore a black tank-top, which his old Coalition dog tags rested against.
Jamall cast a glance at the entrance of the shop; the massive iron gates, each weight countless tons, swung out just enough to let a stream of golden sunlight in. They creaked and groaned as they opened, the din of their movement echoing in the massive hall before growing silent once they'd opened enough to let in a single person. Somebody'd arrived - the only question on his mind was who.
Last edited by a moderator:
