"Yo, runner!" someone called, and I spun around. My wheeled pedes screeched against the ground as I swung low, turning on a cred to face the mech who had called. I twitched my helm back, and the goggles I wore to protect my optics settled on the edge of my helm crest.
"Yeah?"
"Got a package for ya."
I nodded and held my hand out. "Half the creds up front, assurance that I'll be paid the rest upon delivery, location of delivery, and ident ping of the one I'm delivering to."
He nodded and handed over a small package. I subspaced it quickly, then accepted the credits he was holding out. The number made me raise an optic ridge. "That's a lot of credits for half. How far away is this package going?"
He shook his helm. "Not far. Jus'... high."
I tilted my helm to the side. "How high?"
He just gestured to the East, where the higher class bots lived. "High enough. That's extra for the trouble. And the ident ping of the mech..."
A signal bounced off my public comm, and I accepted it. The code downloaded into a short-term processor, and I nodded again. "Address?"
He pinged again, and the coordinates made me roll back slightly on my wheeled pedes. "The Prime's Palace?"
He shrugged. "Get it delivered. If they give ya trouble at th' gate, tell 'em Rhythm sent ya."
I blinked once, then nodded. "Sure thing." One more nod, knocking my goggles back into place, and I took off, weaving through bots walking along the sidewalk. Curses and shouts sounded behind me, but I paid them no heed. They always followed us runners.
We weren't exactly the most liked bots around. We had virtually no self-protection protocols. You couldn't, in this business. You couldn't hesitate; that only brought mistakes.
We were all built small, with sturdy, fast frames. Our sparks were strong and bright, and our processors moved faster than most mechs'. We weren't couriers; they delivered messages too important or secretive to be sent over the comms. No, the city loved the couriers. They were the ones who kept to the specified high-speed highways. They followed the rules, stayed inside the lines.
Us runners, we went wherever. Our one priority was getting the package delivered as soon as possible. We knew the cities we worked in by spark. We knew every back alley and shortcut, and we knew the fastest way from point A to point B.
I veered to the side, my processor going a megamile a klik. Sensory feeds from the 'folded' crest on my helm fed information on pedestrian locations and movements, air shifts, and transport routes directly into the processor designed for the express purpose of coming out with the fastest, least risky route. Sensors in my legs were constantly pinging me with sonar readings, collected from the ground as my tires hissed over the rough metal.
"Watch out! Coming through! 'Scuse me!" I shouted as I wove through the walking bots. More curses and shouts. I hissed as someone didn't move fast enough and I clipped their shoulder, scraping the armor on my forearm.
Then I was out in traffic – of the alt mode kind, rather than that of the bipedal mode. Horns honked as I wove between the transports and drivers. I ignored them, just as I ignored the shouting that followed on the sidewalks.
I laughed as I swung between two large transports, losing some paint as my hip scraped against one of them.
This was the part of my job that I loved. The risk involved. I knew that most runners weren't like me. They loved the running, but they didn't love the thrill. Not like I did.
There was one rule when out on the road like this: keep moving. Stopping, hesitating, just got you in trouble. Other mechs and femmes? They used their breaks. They stopped when something was in the way. I didn't; I either found another way around or ran straight through it.
Better than being tossed, which was what breaking did at the speeds we went at.
Not everyone agreed with me, but that was their problem. Most other runners knew me to be a daredevil, knew that I oftentimes went into the dangerous situations than most mechs would even contemplate.
Like now, speeding down the centerline of the highway, transports whizzing by in one direction on my left and in the other on my right. If I slipped... any way I fell, I'd be crushed within kliks.
I laughed at that thought. I didn't care, really. One way or another, we all died eventually. Better to go while doing something you loved, I always thought.
I peeled off of the centerline, turning a hundred-eighty and sliding easily between traffic going the opposite direction. Horns honked again, and a transport skidded slightly to the side. I waved and shot a friendly smile in their direction without slowing.
Energy thrummed through my system. It was close to the end of the orn, but I felt as energized as I had in the start.
Another sharp turn, my tires humming loudly against the ground as I whizzed into a side street. It was empty, save for a couple street mechs with a cybercat. I ignored them as I passed. As a general rule, us runners ignored the thieves, and the thieves ignored us.
Another few sharp turns, a long stretch of wide, busy road, and I was skidding to a stop in front of the Prime's Palace. A burly guard stopped me.
"What'cha here for, femme?"
I pulled the package out of my subspace. "Delivery for this mech." I pinged the code Rhythm had given me to the guard, and he shot me a glare.
"How'd you get that code?"
"From the same mech who gave me the package. Standard procedure, y'know."
"I can't let some random street runner in t' see the Prime."
The Prime? That was the Prime's ident code? I automatically saved the code to a long-term storage bank. "Hey, look, I had no idea that's who I'm delivering to. But I've gotta give it to him."
The guardsmech snorted and made a grab for the package. I snapped my hand back, holding the package against my side. "Hey, look mech," I said, on the verge of snarling, wheeling back slightly. "I'm bound by the same codes the rest of my frametype are bound by. I give the package to the mech it was sent to, and only them."
"Femme, I ain't lettin' you through, so give the package here!"
I backed up some more, easily dodging the swinging grabs. "No!" A thought snapped into my processors. "If they give ya trouble at th' gate, tell 'em Rhythm sent ya."
"Hey! Look, the mech who sent me! His name was Rhythm!"
The guard snarled and backed up. "What's that s'posed to mean?"
I vented. Figured. "Could you comm someone and ask? He told me to tell you if I had trouble getting in."
Rolling his optics, the guardsmech did as I asked fed up with me dodging his grabs. A moment later, he growled. "It don't make no sense, but they're lettin' ya in. There'll be a mech waitin' for you inside."
I nodded and stepped by, not bothering to thank him.
As he had said, a mech was waiting. Average height, but the wide, white doorwings made him look taller, and all the more imposing. His armor was a pristine black and white. An Enforcer. I was used to everyone looming over me, but this mech seemed to tower, his mere presence enough to make you feel a micrometer small.
"I assume you are the runner who came from Rhythm."
"Yes, sir," I said, resisting the urge to bow. "Chaostrail, at your service."
"'Chaostrail'?" he echoed, raising an optic ridge. Then his doorwings twitched once, and he shook his helm. "No matter. I am here to take you to Optimus Prime."
I followed the bot down the hallway, ignoring the stares sent my way as easily as I ignored the curses that followed in my wake. I twitched periodically. We were going so slagging slowly!
Eventually, though, we arrived at a huge, wide door. Pictures were etched into it, but the black and white mech did not pause, pushing them open (doors that didn't have an automatic opening sequence! These were old!) and striding inside.
"Prime, sir, I have the messenger Jazz sent."
"Ah, yes, Prowl. Please, send him in."
"Her," I corrected absentmindedly as I stared at the massive being that was our Prime. He stood in front of a wide window, his posture straight, his shoulders held back. His thick, red and blue armor shone in the cozy lighting. His deep, kind, too-wise optics moved to rest on me, and a soft smile made him a little less imposing.
Not much, though.
Prowl moved to his side, looking dwarfed next to the large – massive – mech, and stood silently.
I bent slightly, not quite kneeling, but coming closer than I had ever really been before. "Prime," I said, dipping my helm.
He chuckled. "Rise, runner. Tell me your name."
"Chaostrail."
"Hm. Interesting designation. Is it chosen?"
"No, sir," I said, helm still turned toward the floor, even if I was no longer kneeling. "Given, by my creators."
A deep chuckle filled the room. It vibrated through my frame and to my very spark, lifting it, making me feel giddy. "For any particular reason, small one? Or did one of your creators have the gift of foresight?"
I stifled a chuckle of my own. "Neither, sir. They were both runners, and I was showing signs of becoming one myself within a vorn of my creation."
"I see. Look up, Chaostrail."
I did as he said. It was impossible to resist him.
"You have a delivery for me, I believe."
Instinctively, I pinged him, then gasped as I realized what I did.
I gasped again when he returned the ping, confirming his identity with a soft smile. "At ease, runner. I was not always Prime. What is it Jazz has sent me?"
I pulled the package out. "This, sir."
He took the small metal box from my hand and opened it. I started backing away. It wasn't my business to know what I delivered. It was just my job to get it there.
"Wait," came from the Prime, the deep voice rumbling through me, and I dipped my helm again as I stopped.
Nothing was said for a time as the Prime examined the contents of the box. I could feel his movements through my advanced sensors, and I could hear the soft whirs and whines of his systems. I knew when he called Prowl up to look at the contents, and heard the soft vent a klik later.
I risked a glance up. They were both slightly hunched over, staring at each other with gleaming optics. Then the Prime turned to me.
"Femme, do you know what you brought me?"
"No, sir. It's not my job to know."
He smiled. "You brought me some very happy news. My bondmate will be returning to Iacon within the orn. I thank you for your service. Please, tell me, how much do I owe you?"
I blinked yet again and shook my helm. "Nothing, sir. Ah... Rhythm gave me more than enough."
He shook his helm. "I told you before. I was not always Prime. I know you runners demand half up front, and half once it has been delivered."
Again, I shook my helm. "Sir, it was enough to simply meet you."
Another soft vent, and he stepped forward, resting a hand on my shoulder. The palm alone was large enough to cover my whole shoulder strut and then some. The weight was warm and soft and comforting. I looked up into smiling blue optics.
He shook his helm good naturedly. "See," he said, and I got the impression he wasn't talking to me. "This is why I miss my old life, as hard as it was. There are good people out there, people who are honest and kind without any ulterior motives. Chaostrail, I thank you for your service."
"Happy to be of it, Prime," I said quietly, grinning openly. He grinned back, the expression making him seem more... real, less mythical, and then stepped back. A nod in my direction, and I knew I was dismissed.
I made my own way out, unchallenged and untested.
I took to the streets again with a grin, racing off without a care in the world.
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