LOMBAX A-GO-GO (a semi-SI Ratchet & Clank fic)

[Tangent]

Prelude: Drift

The Lombaxes did not abandon the Polaris Galaxy lightly. Tachyon's War had been a losing struggle from the very beginning, shaped entirely by Percival Tachyon's aggression and escalation. The soon-to-be Emperor of the Tachyon Empire had begun the war by turning the Lombaxes' own greatest weapons - sealed away since the last Lombax–Cragmite War - against them. From that point forward, every projection run by Lombax command converged on the same conclusion: the war could not be won with the resources they had. What remained was not victory, but the rate at which their civilization would collapse if nothing changed.

The Great Exodus was born from that certainty. Fastoon was meant to be the final staging point, where the Dimensionator would open an escape route into another universe beyond Cragmite reach. Every surviving fleet was directed toward that goal, but the war did not allow time for perfect coordination. As pressure mounted, the evacuation fractured into two parallel efforts: one still attempting to reach Fastoon, and another forced into the Dysporia - escaping the Polaris Galaxy by any available route while rear-guard forces delayed Emperor Tachyon's advance.

The Solana Galaxy became one of several unintended refuge points, though it was never prepared to receive them. Arrival records were incomplete, inconsistent, or missing entirely. Surviving crews were absorbed piecemeal under emergency asylum protocols, and in the process many families were separated permanently.

One unregistered Lombax child arrived on Rilgar during this dispersal period with no accompanying guardians and no recoverable identity record. She was transferred into Blackwater City's foster system as an administrative case, where she would eventually be given the name Rocket…​

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Chapter One: Blackwater City Hoverboard Raceway Registration Pavilion, Rilgar

The registration pavilion smelled like ozone, overheated capacitors, and fried street food, offset by the cool night breeze carrying in the salty scent of Blackwater Bay. Which was itself visible just over the balcony on the South side of the pavilion. The view was, as always, incredible. It didn't matter what time of day or night it was, or if the weather was fair or foul, Rocket was positive that the location for this pavilion was picked for precisely this effect: Just close enough to the bay to get the full impact of the experience, while still being far enough away that the only seaside scent was the salty tinge in the air…

…and not the smelly sewer waste outlet just down the coast to the West.

Not that most of the waste wasn't fully inert by the time it got washed out into the bay. Environmental protectionism might not be a big thing across most of the heavily industrialized Solana Expanse, but nobody wanted to repeat the mistakes of the Blarg either.

You'd think that, after overpolluting Orxon to the point where even they required environmentally sealed habitats to live there, that the Blarg would have treated their first colony world better, but Quartu was fast approaching being rendered uninhabitable as well.

So much for second chances.

The hoverboard course sprawled between buildings and over the bay in a looping series of ramps, obsticals, and death-defying shortcuts. Sunlight flared off anti-grav stabilizers as racers tuned boards, checked harnesses, or pretended not to be watching one another.

Rocket was keeping a casual eye on everyone. Not out of suspicion, really. At this point it was more of a people watching thing than a precaution against would-be muggers and pickpockets. Not that she didn't guard against that sort of thing, of course. She wasn't stupid. Registration days always came with a certain kind of chaos. Some of it good, some of it bad, and almost all of it the sort that didn't announce itself until it already mattered.

Her Gold-tier status was still valid this season, which meant that Rocket should be cleared to compete in the tournament circuit. But she still had to register anyway, just like everybody else. Tier approval handled eligibility. Pavilion registration handled placement, brackets, and whatever last-minute qualifiers the system decided to throw at people before locking the board.

Paperwork never really ended. It just changed shape.

She didn't mind it. Much

Even Skidd McMarxx, reigning champ of the Rilgar Raceway Circuit, still had to register in person like everyone else. Gold tier or not, you still showed up with your board, signed in, and got slotted into a bracket - because the system didn't care who you were if you missed the window, and getting bumped down a tier meant losing access to the better prize payouts.

Not that Rocket raced for the prizes. Well, actually she did race for the prizes - they were nice extra income whenever she hit one of the top three places, and she now had almost enough to seriously think about what model snub fighter she wanted to buy, and she wasn't even twenty yet. How many teens could say that, in or out of the foster system?

But the prizes were still secondary to why she raced at all: She flew because it was fun.

She flew because flying was where she felt the most alive. The most free.

It was where she breathed.

It was where she could forget, at least for a little while, her own horrible luck with a foster system that continuously refused to place her with a qualified Lombax family even though there was a Fastoontown right here in Blackwater City.

Overburdened refugee support system her furry ass. Blackwater City Foster Services made thousands of bolts by keeping her in their system instead of transitioning her over to a smaller bureaucracy that was better focused on her actual needs.

But that train of thought was for another time. She flew because it was fun.

She also flew because piloting translated. Reflex conditioning translated. Situational awareness translated. Training hours stacked whether you were in the atmosphere or vacuum.

Even the nuances of hoverboarding, where your own body was the control system, counted.

And, perhaps most importantly, she flew because she could. She flew because in this universe it was not only possible but entirely plausible for a spunky kid barely halfway through her teens to just pick up the skills, get in a machine, and fly.

God, she loved being a Lombax…

A flash of sandy orange and gold fur and green fabric passed through the pavilion entrance.

Rocket's ears twitched at a semi-familiar sound. Bare feet on tile. Better than average litter and debris control aside, few races considered footwear to be optional in Blackwater City. That was a Lombax footfall. Quiet enough that she had barely heard it. Distinct enough that it had caught her attention even so.

So she turned.

Male Lombax. Sandy fur. Lean build. Green cargo pants. No shoes. No shirt - just a harness. Pilot goggles set high. Board slung casually over one shoulder like it belonged there.

Veldin, if she had to guess, which pinged something vague in her memory, but she had seen so many male Lombaxes that could have been Racket or Ratchet or Ricket or whatever the name of the guy in her dreams really was that it hardly mattered anymore.

Fastoontown was five blocks from where she lived, so she had seen Lombaxes that came close to the hero in her dreams almost every day. She was kinda desensitized to sandy orange-gold fur now. So, instead, she focused her attention on the board, since he might be a competitor, and thus actually worthy of interest.

And stopped.

That scratch pattern—

Left underside rail. Diagonal gouge, shallow at the nose, deeper mid-body. A second nick near the stabilizing aileron. The fact that said aileron looked brand new while the other, as polished and well maintained as it was, still bore signs of accumulated impact stress from months of smashing through crates…

Seriously, she knew that being able to take a hit and keep going had become an industry standard for these things, but Rocket still wondered when taking out as many crates as you could in a pass had become a prestige stunt in almost every major hoverboard competition. There were even mini-prizes assigned by how many crates any particular racer managed to smash during any given race. Smash enough crates and registration was practically free.

It was silly and stupid and Rocket swore that it was like living in a videogame.

Which was as blatantly ridiculous as it was frustratingly true. That, or her half-forgotten dreams and vague memories of a previous life meant nothing other than the possibility that she had caught some weird illness during the Grand Exodus that left her with delusions. Which was a distinct and uncomfortable possibility that Rocket chose to ignore.

Recognition clicked.

She had seen that damage before. Just last month, really, at a hoverboard park across town, when a certain celebrity showoff hadn't been paying attention to who else was already using a stunt track and had entered too hot and clipped her edge mid-drift.

Rocket hadn't forgotten the board. She rarely forgot hardware - especially not a hoverboard that had bent the support frame of hers to the point where it had been cheaper to just scrap and replace the whole thing than to repair it.

Rocket turned away so as to avoid staring too long at the unfamiliar Lombax. Just because he somehow had Skidd McMarx's hoverboard did not mean that he was the guy she barely remembered from a previous life she might not have actually had.

The loudspeaker crackled overhead: "Attention racers! Final call for bracket verification!" Chaos swelled in the registration pavilion as some people shouted, others laughed, and everybody who had been waiting for the lines to get shorter - as opposed to those waiting for their friends in line to be done - rushed to take their place in line.

When Rocket got to the head of the line, she just accepted the pad from Starlene, filled out the appropriate spots on the displayed registration form, signed it, then handed it back over. Given that it was the final call, she chose to not waste Starlene's time, nor anyone else's, with idle chitchat, so she turned to walk away, stepping past the guy from Veldin (probably) in the process.

And then…

The first warning was boots. Hard-soled boots like those used in construction or by the authorities, as opposed to the softer, more cushioned soles favored by athletes and most civilians. Rocket's ears twitched toward the pavilion entrance a half-second before the shouting started.

"Stop right there!" an authoritative male voice called out.

A male Rilgarian burst through the open archway at a dead sprint, clutching something round and brightly colored in his left hand. Bluish-grey scales. Greasy crest. Cheap synth-leather jacket. The particular look of someone whose life choices had recently begun catching up with him.

Two raceway security officers were right behind him. Both male Rilgarians and definitely the source of the hard-soled boot sounds from moments ago. The man skidded, looked wildly around the crowded pavilion, and made a decision that was both immediate and extremely poor.

He dropped the device, which hit the floor with a hollow clack and rolled right past Rocket, bumping into the bare feet of the sandy-furred Lombax from Veldin right as he stepped up to Starlene. He looked down curiously, then bent down to pick the object up to examine it more closely. It was rose-gold and chrome, with a cheerful megacorp logo and blinking neon pink indicator lights.

The label rotated slowly into view as the Lombax turned it in his hands.

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BOOB-O-MATIC
Expandotronic Jiggle Physics Wave Device​

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​

"Huh," was all the guy said as he continued to turn the device over in his hands, revealing a copper button. Because of course there was a button. There was always a big inviting all-too-easy-to-press button on these sorts of things. It was how they lured the unsuspecting, or even fully suspecting, victims into pressing it.

So of course the guy from Veldin pressed it.

The device chirped happily.

"PRANK YOUR FRIENDS WITH THE LATEST IN MEGACORP ENTERTAINMENT!"

Rocket turned just in time to see the glow. "…oh no."

The sphere detonated with a soft fwump, emitting a translucent pink wave that expanded outward like a soap bubble. The radius of effect crossed the pavilion floor for a short distance in all directions before collapsing almost immediately.

Rocket staggered as the energy field crawled across her skin like static electricity turned syrup-thick. There was a pressure shift on her chest, under her vest. A sharp, internal lurch as her center of gravity abruptly changed with her newly expanded breasts. Which were barely contained by her now severely overstrained vest.

Rocket heard shrieks all around her. Some female in various levels of fear and outrage (some due to being caught within the effect, some due to missing out on the free boob job due to being too far away to be affected). Some male (most of whom would later vehemently deny shrieking like little girls). But Rocket's sharp ears also caught the pained gasp of Starlene.

Starlene, who was wearing a more protective bodysuit with a lot less give than regular clothing. Starlene, who just got a point-blank dose of mammary magnifying mutagenic energy. Starlene, who was now experiencing a combination of being unable to breathe on top of probably low blood pressure from her freshly expanded biology.

Rocket wasn't just guessing at that last bit, as she felt a bit lightheaded herself from the blood being diverted into her expanded bosom. Which finally broke free of her vest.

Not important - Rocket would be mortified later, but she had an emergency to deal with right now. Her board clattered to the ground as she lunged forward to catch the suffocating Rilgarian. "Easy," she said, catching the other woman before she toppled. "Breathe. Slow."

The Veldin guy at least stepped up and got Starlene's other arm over his own shoulders, and the two Lombaxes started heading towards the hall leading to the air cab balcony…

Only to be surprised when Rocket stopped them at the elevator.

"Why'd we stop here?"

"There's a clinic on sub-level three, where the quickest access to the raceway tracks is. They can see us faster than the emergency room at the hospital can."

"I would think that a major medical facility…" the small robot that Rocket only just now noticed was on the Veldin guy's back like some sort of tool pack or backpack started to speak up before she interrupted him.

"Blackwater City General services the entire city," Rocket explained as the elevator door opened and they stepped in. "Medical Emergency!" she called out, causing the elevator to scan them and then proceed to drop at a much faster (but still safe) speed than it usually used.

"Anyway," Rocket continued, "the Blackwater City Raceway maintains the clinic for employees and racers. Free care at all levels, all paid for by the Raceway Commission in the name of keeping the profits rolling in. Of course, if you aren't an employee or a competitor, you pay through the nose. Veldin Boy here should be fine though."

"My name is Ratchet."

"Rocket. And I'd punch you myself if I thought for a moment that you pulled that stunt up there deliberately."

"How do you know I didn't?"

"It was a weird round ball with a big shiny easy-to-press button on it! Grenades have safeties! Who wouldn't press that button just to see what it did?"

"Is this a Lombax thing?" the small robot asked.

"Probably," Rocket admitted sheepishly.

The elevator continued its swift but safe descent…

Spoiler: Rocket

Spoiler: Rilgarians

From left to right: Skidd McMarx, Starlene, Slim Cognito, and Celeste.

Spoiler: That Guy From Veldin

 

[Tangent]

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Chapter Two: External Scenic Elevator C, Blackwater City Hoverboard Raceway Headquarters Building, Rilgar

"Ratchet, you should probably let the medical staff check you out as well," the small robot, Click or clunk or something like that, said as the elevator started to slow down as it neared sub-level three. "You were holding the device when it went off."

"But I feel fine," Ratchet tried to wave off any concerns as he shifted his weight slightly under the arm he was helping to hold up Starlene with.

"You should listen to your buddy," Rocket insisted from under Starlene's other arm.

"'S right," Starlene slurred, dazed and lightheaded but still conscious. "Y'r h'lpin' me, sso y'get free care jus' like if y' regis'red…"

"Ah, geeze," Rocket complained. "What the hell did that device do? Besides the obvious, I mean. I feel a little lightheaded, yeah, but I wasn't that much farther away from you than Starlene was, and she's acting like she's practically knock-out drunk!"

"That is because, for all intents and purposes, she is," A clipped, professional voice spoke over the elevator's intercom. "And Starlene is correct. Due to this Ratchet person's quick and decisive move to assist in aiding her during this incident, we are treating it as a good faith intent to sign up properly rather than accidentally aiding and abetting in criminal mischief, although he remains a person of interest for now. Rocket, you will receive a full checkup as well, but initial scans suggest that all you may require should be just a good meal and drinking plenty of fluids over the next day or so. Still, an actual medical checkup might turn up something that a mere elevator scanner might not pick up."

"The fact that there's a medical grade scanner in the elevator at all is creepy as hell," Rocket pointed out.

"Yes yes, we've heard that and similar arguments before," the clipped voice acknowledged blandly. "Such scanners in public places are and will likely remain highly controversial. However, as hoverboarding sports remains a high probability of injury activity, we receive an exemption that allows us to place them strategically for emergency use."

"The military doesn't use them like that," Rocket pointed out drily.

"The military - and most corporations for that matter - have security concerns that we do not need to bother with. This is your stop, please release Starlene to the paramedics when the doors open and allow them to assist you into your own conveyance chairs. Yes, this means you as well, Ratchet. Your robot companion can either walk or ride with you, but he is not to remain on your back."

---

"So, what's the word, Doc?" Rocket asked as she struggled to close her vest. Unfortunately, her newly expanded bosom was now buxom enough that each time she finally managed to get one of the three clasps connected, it failed again mere moments later. Which just made her all the more self-conscious about the new mass on her chest.

She decided to leave the matter of her semi-functional vest for later. It was better than going completely topless at any rate, even if Lombaxes had enough fur for basic modesty anyway. She went nude at the bath houses and swimming pools in the local Fastoontown anyway because that was the practice there and she was used to it…

And she was getting sidetracked by her own thoughts.

Again.

At least she caught it early enough that Doc hadn't responded yet (or Doc was just being polite, but she decided to ignore that possibility for now).

"Whatever that device had been, it induced an actual physiomorphic alteration in the two of you. There's nothing to wear off - this is a static end state, not a temporary condition."

Rocket raised a brow.

"Starlene had asked," Doc clarified.

"And what about Ratchet? He was holding the device when it went off. I don't care if the name implies that it was a gender-specific effect, ground zero inside a morphogenic wave cannot possibly have been healthy for him."

"He can tell you himself, if he is inclined to," Doc stated flatly as she gave Rocket a flat look. "I will say that the device itself shielded him from most of the effect, but some of the morphic energy wave still got through. If he starts complaining about feeling weird, remind him that we literally gave him a datapad with what he needs to know. And I'm only telling you this much because you are technically his team captain."

"Since when?" Rocket asked, a bit taken aback.

"Since he registered with us to get the free medical coverage, actually. We had to put him on a team, Starlene doesn't compete, and you do. Congratulations on your captaincy."

---

"Come along, Veldin," Rocket called out as she passed through the waiting room. "We can visit Starlene tomorrow, but for now Doc says she needs rest and they want to monitor her in case they need to move her to Blackwater General. For now, let's go get something to eat and talk consequences."

"Consequences?" Ratchet asked as he got up from his seat, collecting Clank from the seat next to him and swinging him back to autoconnect to the latch on the back of the harness he wore. "I thought they decided that what happened wasn't my fault?"

"That's still up in the air, but also not what I'm talking about," Rocket replied. "When you signed up for the free medical care, they decided to put you on Team Rocket."

"Who's Team Rocket? I never heard of them."

"Apparently we are. Welcome aboard. And I hope you can actually use that hoverboard, because I'm barred from racing for at least a week and by then the qualifiers for Gold Tier will be over."

"Why did they decide to bar your participation, Miss Rocket?" Clank asked as Ratchet blinked and took in the information.

"My center of balance changed thanks to these bazongas," Rocket groused. "And a week is literally the minimum time that Doc would allow after a sudden significant physiological alteration or some such. Never mind the fact that Lombaxes are sturdier and recover faster than Rilgarians."

"We are?" Ratchet asked, his voice full of curiosity.

"Well, yeah. Didn't your parents or guardian go over this with you?" Rocket asked, tilting her head to look at him as they left the raceway's medical center.

"I grew up alone," Ratchet admitted.

"What about the foster system?"

"What's a foster system?"

Rocket stopped and stared at her new teammate. "School?"

"Yes, I went to school on Veldin," Ratchet snarked.

"And Health Class didn't cover this?"

"What Health Class?"

"What do you mean, what Health Class!? The Refugee Integration Office has been insisting that all school age students of families from Polaris have appropriate health classes made available! Lombaxes are originally from Fastoon, which is in the Polaris Galaxy!"

"I never knew that," Ratchet stated bluntly.

"Can… can you read?" Rocket asked in deep concern.

"YES, I CAN READ!"