Phrasing!
The sheet was pulled back, Art sliding it out of view with a little fanfare, and the rest of Omega Delta Squad held their breath.
It was a motorcycle, but unlike any Lockette had ever seen. Tens of thousands of credits had gone into kitting it out, with an integrated autopilot system, advanced shielding, a planetary-wide comm unit, and -- best of all -- a state-of-the-art revolving machine gun, nestled right over the handlebars. A series of older models were lined up along the wall of the garage, with a larger version meant to accomodate Gris. His said "Hoss" on the side...
Lockette's said "The BBCycle".
Lockette: "Uh, it's great!"
Gris lightly punched Mu in the arm, who rolled her eyes.
Gris: "See? I told you she'd like it. She misses her drone!"
Mu Draconis: "Yeah, yeah."
Lockette: "Yes. Excellent... Is this what we're driving tomorrow?" Art nodded, and started showing Lockette all of the controls, while Gris rumbled on in the background. Gris: "We've got about two miles between us and the Drake. I'll be pulling the pod. Omega Delta is on defense."
Lockette: "What about me?" There was a pause. Art stopped fiddling with the console, and everyone looked back to Gris. Gris: "Like I said. Omega Delta is on defense." Lockette tilted her face out of view, running her fingers over the handlebars, smelling the oil on the machine gun. It had been a hard couple of months... A hard year. Lockette: "Right..." A red-orange light blossomed from the center of Gris' chest, where Ghost hid her internals. Ghost: "Command has given you point, Lockette XII-2. Can you handle it?" Lockette smiled, and threw one leg over the bike. Instead of pressing the ignition, she let herself go loose, a nanite cloud streaming from her skin, her sheath array covering her vitals. She bled into the motorcycle through her hands, modifying the internals to her liking, programming the autopilot to her standards, and getting the paint job just right. No one seemed to notice as the lettering faded off the side, replaced with a smooth exterior. The engine turned without prompt, and the grips melded to the shape of her hands. Mu raised an eyebrow. Art whistled. Gris revealed a wicked grin. Lockette: "I think I got it."
Mu Draconis: "Yeah, yeah."
Lockette: "Yes. Excellent... Is this what we're driving tomorrow?" Art nodded, and started showing Lockette all of the controls, while Gris rumbled on in the background. Gris: "We've got about two miles between us and the Drake. I'll be pulling the pod. Omega Delta is on defense."
Lockette: "What about me?" There was a pause. Art stopped fiddling with the console, and everyone looked back to Gris. Gris: "Like I said. Omega Delta is on defense." Lockette tilted her face out of view, running her fingers over the handlebars, smelling the oil on the machine gun. It had been a hard couple of months... A hard year. Lockette: "Right..." A red-orange light blossomed from the center of Gris' chest, where Ghost hid her internals. Ghost: "Command has given you point, Lockette XII-2. Can you handle it?" Lockette smiled, and threw one leg over the bike. Instead of pressing the ignition, she let herself go loose, a nanite cloud streaming from her skin, her sheath array covering her vitals. She bled into the motorcycle through her hands, modifying the internals to her liking, programming the autopilot to her standards, and getting the paint job just right. No one seemed to notice as the lettering faded off the side, replaced with a smooth exterior. The engine turned without prompt, and the grips melded to the shape of her hands. Mu raised an eyebrow. Art whistled. Gris revealed a wicked grin. Lockette: "I think I got it."
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