Dodge Chargers this old don't come with car alarms, so I'd had to do some refitting but when I laid the fob against the Destrier's hull, the LED went from amber to green and the sunroof slid open smoothly. I entered feet first, and felt the seat below me when I was a bit more than hip-deep. Since I'd never actually entered any car like this before, I took it slow and before long I was sitting down in the seat, it's contours adjusting to the shape of my skinsuit and when I placed the fob against the correct panel, the sunroof closed above me.
American cars of this era are quite spacious, but there was only enough room inside the Destrier for one, one-and-a-half maybe if someone lurked behind the seat or sat on the pilot's lap. The only seat was along the centre line, with a manual gear between the occupant's knees and an assortment of controls laid out in easy reach of both hands and feet. Several more could be unfolded at need, but were stowed most of the time, like a keyboard. And right where the steering wheel should be, a helmet rested on the dashboard.
Before I tried that, however, there was the rest of the start up. One end of the fob was a cap over the built in USB port. I removed this and connected the fob to the matching connector underneath my seat. There was a clicking sound and then the windscreen lit up with an HUD, the sunvisors flipped down to reveal video screens and the rest of the controls came to life. From behind me, the life-support began to purr and a tool on my belt confirmed that the Destrier was now pressurised with a viable atmosphere. I unclipped my skinsuit's helmet, then realised that there was nowhere really suited to hold it and ended up cramming it behind the seat. The air was fresh as the day I'd bottled it, and smelt slightly minty for some reason.
A nudge of my foot against one of the pedals sent Destrier jetting forwards and I moved the gear stick to second gear, pulling the nose up and moving through a slow loop until I could see the Saint Bernard again. It looked like the manual controls worked in the right general fashion. That left the... other... controls.
With great care, I lifted the helmet from the dashboard and placed the cables connecting it to the roof of the car so that they lay comfortably over my shoulders. Then I fitted the helmet over my head. It restricted my vision more than the skin-suit helmet did, since the visor was only a horizontal band a couple of inches high and maybe ten inches long, wrapped around my face at eye level. It made a seal with the rest of the skinsuit however and I breathed a sigh of relief. At least the compatability worked.
On top of the dashboard, where the helmet had been, was an old-fashioned lightswitch, the jutting switch pointing away from me. I reached forwards and puleld it back towards me.
For a moment nothing.
Then for a fleeting second I could see everthing...
and it exploded!
D for Drakensis
You're only young once, but immaturity is forever.
American cars of this era are quite spacious, but there was only enough room inside the Destrier for one, one-and-a-half maybe if someone lurked behind the seat or sat on the pilot's lap. The only seat was along the centre line, with a manual gear between the occupant's knees and an assortment of controls laid out in easy reach of both hands and feet. Several more could be unfolded at need, but were stowed most of the time, like a keyboard. And right where the steering wheel should be, a helmet rested on the dashboard.
Before I tried that, however, there was the rest of the start up. One end of the fob was a cap over the built in USB port. I removed this and connected the fob to the matching connector underneath my seat. There was a clicking sound and then the windscreen lit up with an HUD, the sunvisors flipped down to reveal video screens and the rest of the controls came to life. From behind me, the life-support began to purr and a tool on my belt confirmed that the Destrier was now pressurised with a viable atmosphere. I unclipped my skinsuit's helmet, then realised that there was nowhere really suited to hold it and ended up cramming it behind the seat. The air was fresh as the day I'd bottled it, and smelt slightly minty for some reason.
A nudge of my foot against one of the pedals sent Destrier jetting forwards and I moved the gear stick to second gear, pulling the nose up and moving through a slow loop until I could see the Saint Bernard again. It looked like the manual controls worked in the right general fashion. That left the... other... controls.
With great care, I lifted the helmet from the dashboard and placed the cables connecting it to the roof of the car so that they lay comfortably over my shoulders. Then I fitted the helmet over my head. It restricted my vision more than the skin-suit helmet did, since the visor was only a horizontal band a couple of inches high and maybe ten inches long, wrapped around my face at eye level. It made a seal with the rest of the skinsuit however and I breathed a sigh of relief. At least the compatability worked.
On top of the dashboard, where the helmet had been, was an old-fashioned lightswitch, the jutting switch pointing away from me. I reached forwards and puleld it back towards me.
For a moment nothing.
Then for a fleeting second I could see everthing...
and it exploded!
D for Drakensis
You're only young once, but immaturity is forever.