CHAPTER THREE:

[VIP! NEW SCENE:]

[THE CAMERA BLINKS ON. BLACK FINGERS GRIP THE FRAME. IT TURNS AROUND TO SHOW THE INTERIOR OF THE SLAG DISTURBER'S COCKPIT. IT IS STILL DARKLY LIT, THOUGH GLITTERING WITH VIOLET AND ORANGE AVIONIC LIGHTS.]

[IN THE BACKGROUND SHOKTROP AND REDOUT STOMP IN AND OUT OF FRAME AS THEY HURRY ABOUT. PRANG'S FACE DUCKS INTO VIEW.]

PRANG: Welcome back, slagsuckers! This is Prang's log number zero-zero-zero-zero-four. After an excruciating wait, during which there were many zany adventures involving the life-support system, we managed to convince a passing freighter to let us mag-lock onto it so we could catch a ride down the 314 to our final destination: the fuel depot.

[HE STANDS ASIDE AND GESTURES TO THE FORWARD VIEWSCREEN. THROUGH IT A RATHER SHABBY AND POORLY LIT SPACE STATION CAN BE SEEN. IT IS VAGUELY ELLIPTICAL IN SHAPE. SEVERAL OTHER FREIGHTERS AND GALAXY CRUISERS ARE DOCKED THERE ALREADY.]

PRANG: The thrills never stop here, folks.

[HE TURNS THE CAMERA BACK ONTO HIMSELF.]

PRANG: Anyway, now we've just gotta refuel the Disturber and then we'll be off to investigate that Theoretical Weapons Development signature that blipped up on scanners four days ago. Astonishingly, it's remained steady all this time instead of disappearing like all the others did. I am astounded. Astounded, and also kind of thirsty. I wonder if they sell engex here. With some of those circuit speeders mixed in. Mmmm. What was I talking about again?

[PAUSE.]

PRANG: Right! The Decepticon Justice Division. Shoktrop hopes that if we go to this planet and find what we were sent to retrieve, they'll be willing to overlook the fact that it took us like, seven hundred years to get to this point. I remain cautiously optimistic! The fact that I sleep with my gun at night has nothing to do with the DJD or whatever outrageous tortures they might have lined up for us. I mean, seven hundred years, right? Ffft! Seven hundred years. In our lifespan that's like what, a long weekend?

SHOKTROP: [IN THE BACKGROUND] PRANG! SHUT THAT THING OFF AND COME ASSIST US IN DOCKING THE SHIP!

PRANG: [MUTTERING] I can't wait until your job gets outsourced to Autobots.

PRANG: Coming!

[THE CAMERA BUMPS AND SHUTS OFF.]

[THE CAMERA BLIPS BACK ON. IT IS TILTED AT ANY ANGLE NOW, AND BUMPS ABOUT AS PRANG WALKS DOWN A DARK AND DIRTY GANGWAY. HOLOGRAPHIC ADS FLICKER AGAINST THE RUSTY DEPOT WALLS.]

[PRANG'S LAUGHTER IS HEARD OFFSCREEN AS HE POINTS THE CAMERA AT AN ALIEN LOITERING NEAR A GLOWING KIOSK. IT LOOKED A LITTLE LIKE A MANTA RAY WEARING A GIANT MOP.]

PRANG: Ahahaha! Look at that one!

[THE ALIEN OVERHEARS THIS AND GLARES AT HIM.]

REDOUT: Turn that off!

PRANG: Ow!

[THE CAMERA SHUTS OFF.]

[THE CAMERA SWITCHES BACK ON. NOW THE SCENE IS OF A GANTRY OFFICE OVERLOOKING AN EXTERIOR DOCKING BAY. THE SLAG DISTURBER IS VISIBLE THROUGH A GRIMY WINDOW.]

[SHOKTROP AND A ROBOT FUEL ATTENDANT ARGUE IN THE BACKGROUND. PRANG'S VOICE IS HEARD OFFSCREEN.]

PRANG: Welp, it appears that we've hit a bit of a snag in our glorious plan. It turns out Shoktrop isn't willing to beg or barter to get our tanks filled after all. Big surprise. So far the discussion this command decision has provoked has been fairly spirited. Talks are currently underway to negotiate a solution that is satisfactory to all parties involved.

[IN THE BACKGROUND, SHOKTROP GRABS THE ATTENDANT IN A HEADLOCK.]

PRANG: Keep up the good work, boss!

[THE CAMERA TURNS BACK AROUND TO HIS FACE.]

PRANG: Once we're all fuelled up we'll head back into space to check up on that TWD signature. Redout seems confident that this time it will prove to be the real deal. I dunno. Seems hard to believe. What has TWD got us chasing around the galaxy anyway? Some kind of crazy super-weapon? One that was stolen maybe? What is the deal with this thing. Oh. Oh, dear.

[THE CAMERA HASTILY TURNS BACK. SHOKTROP HAS JUST THROWN THE ATTENDANT HEAD-FIRST INTO THE WINDOW.]

PRANG: Oh. Oh, boss. Don't do that.

[SHOKTROP POINTS DOWN AT THE ROBOT.]

SHOKTROP: YOU WILL SURRENDER YOUR FUEL TO US WILLINGLY, PUMP JOCKEY!

PRANG: And chips!

SHOKTROP: AND WHAT?

PRANG: You know- energon! I could use some batteries too.

REDOUT: [OFFSCREEN] Hmm. Some charts of this region of space would be of assistance to me as well.

SHOKTROP: Batteries and maps. What else do we need while we're here?

[AN ALARM BEGINS TO WHOOP IN THE BACKGROUND WHILE RED LIGHTS STROBE ON THE WALLS. THE CAMERA PIVOTS TO REVEAL THAT THE ATTENDANT ROBOT HAS JUST CRAWLED TO OVER TO AN EMERGENCY PANEL AND RIPPED IT OPEN.]

PRANG: Oops.

REDOUT: [sighs]

SHOKTROP: GOD DAMN IT.

[THE CAMERA TURNS BACK TO PRANG.]

PRANG: Well, it looks like the beg and barter plan has officially fallen through. I suspect this is going to turn into more of an assault and abscond plan in short time.

SHOKTROP: REDOUT! PRANG! MAN THE PUMPS! DESTROY ALL WHO STAND IN OUR WAY! WE FUEL THE SHIP AND RETURN TO THE STARS!

PRANG: Saw that one coming. Later, Prang's Logians! Tune in next time as we establish Decepticon supremacy across the galaxy one gas station at a time.

SHOKTROP: NOW, PRANG!

PRANG: Ugh. Coming!

[THE CAMERA BLIPS OFF.]


The world spun beneath them.

"I've gotta say," said Fritz through his comm as he dangled his feet over a one hundred mile drop above oblivion. "I'm not entirely sold on the idea of using a magnaclamp to park my butt onto the station. That is not a good place for any sort of clamp to be."

Redshift waved it aside.

"I come out here all the time," he said. "Works like a charm. And face it - you can't beat the view."

That was true. Fritz gripped the untethered tablet on his lap and gazed down at the surface of Arae-1 with something akin to restrained horror. At that orbital altitude the planet was like a great glass marble, its blue oceans and patches of brown and green earth glazed in swirling layers of white cloud, thick cumulus and stratus and high, wispy cirrus.

They sat on the bottom of the station, on a long stut braced with sensory pods and spindly telemetry antenna. It was a spectacular view, so long as you didn't think too hard about which way was up and which way was down. Way down.

Fritz swallowed. "Maybe I could get used to this."

Redshift laughed over the comm. "Ha! You only live once, friend. Seize the day and all that jazz."

"Yes. Seizing is good. I like seizing. I'd sort of like to seize one of those antennas right now, to be honest with you."

"Oh, you're fine. The clamps work well. Besides, we're all fliers here."

"Yeah. Uh. I don't think I'd like to test that theory right at this point in time. Just in case my comm wasn't the only thing Rivet forgot to bring on-line."

They had just left the medbay where, after a barrage of tests and scans, Rivet had grudgingly declared the grey flier cleared for another eight hours. Fritz had wondered at his scepticism, like the medic wasn't fully convinced yet of his own handiwork. Not a great vote of confidence.

Still, he felt fine. A little stiff as the new body settled and his neural net reconnected to all of his peripheral systems, but otherwise quite hale. Aside from the gaping hole in his mind where something had once resided, he supposed he felt perfectly functional. Green lights all across the board. Just a little disoriented at the moment thanks to his unusual perch.

Redshift peered over at the tablet clenched in his hands.

"So," he said. "Got anything good off that data slug yet?"

Fritz shook off his daze and looked down at the tablet.

"Mortifyingly, yes," he said.

"Oh? This sounds interesting. Do go on."

"It's loaded with data," said Fritz. He touched a sensor and the screen sprang to life, activated by his field. Then it flipped back and forth, trying to determine its orientation in zero-gravity space. "Like, nearly to full capacity. With huge compilations of temperatures and precipitation rates and upper and surface level winds, pressure charts, lapse rates, freezing levels, humidities, uh... clouds, plasma flares, visibilities, records of frontal activity, etc, etc- all from hundreds of different planets."

"Data? All of it being, like... meteorological data?"

"Yes."

Redshift sniggered. "You were a meteorologist?"

"Apparently."

"A weatherbot?"

"I believe the preferred term is 'atmospheric scientist,'" said Fritz haughtily.

"Ha ha! Okay buddy, if you say so! Wait a minute. You did say so! That's something you remember!"

"I know."

Looking mildly distressed, Fritz rubbed between his optics with his thumb. "This stuff, it all clicks somehow. I can't remember my name or where I was constructed, but I can explain to you the developmental stages of a thunderstorm or the difference between an adiabatic wind versus a katabatic wind. That's just great."

Redshift rubbed his chin. "Maybe whoever etched those letters into your brain module did so to deliberately impair certain areas of your memory, but leave others intact enough to function?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I would really like to get my hands on the mech responsible, if that's the case. And then, like. Sock him in the face."

"So does this mean you still have no memory of him?"

"Nope. Not a blip. The last thing I remember is teleporting into the orbit of this planet. I... sorta get the feeling I've been doing a lot of that lately."

"What, teleporting? Seems like it, if the doc is right about your drive being burnt out. You must have done one hell of a tour of the galaxy."

"Ugh. Wish I knew why."

They lapsed into silence and watched the planet slowly turn beneath them.

"A weatherbot," chucked Redshift.

Fritz sighed.

"Hey, don't worry, friend. We're all geeks here. Besides, it could be worse. You could have discovered you were something like a garbage collector. Or, like... a pool bot."

"Oh wow. Now there's a function. Specialty: prepping fluffy towels and chasing away the riff-raff."

Redshift laughed.

Fritz eyed him. "What do you do here?"

"Me? I'm head of the Physics Department on the station. We assist the other departments in their attempt to study the planet using their feeble sciences, but our real project has more to do with creating and sustaining bridges in space-time."

"Really? They sent you all the way out here for that?"

"There were incidents back home," admitted Redshift. "Disturbing ones. I can't go into details, and I don't think you'd want to hear them anyway."

Fritz turned the tablet around and around, trying to sort out its orientation.

"Do you know what's really weird?" he said. "All of the data on that slug goes back hundreds of years. Just thousands of entries were made. But the very last entries, maybe covering a two month span? The data they compile is insane. Like, I wasn't going out and scanning puffy clouds or collecting rain samples. The meteorological events I was studying in those last dozen or so entries were violent. We're talking catastrophic here - intense meteorological disasters on global scales. There were digital photographs and radar and satellite imagery scans stashed on that slug as well. I'm going to have nightmares of apocalyptic red skies and broiling seas for weeks."

"Huh." Redshift leaned back on his hands and gazed at the ragged tropical hurricane spiralling across the surface of the planet below. "You did come in here burned to slag and ticking with radiation. You must have been studying some heavy stuff, buddy."

"I guess if I'm going to be a meteorologist I might as well console myself with the thought that I was apparently a pretty adventurous one. Or suicidal."

"Yeah, you were a bit of a badass, I guess. Oh! Hey. That reminds me."

Redshift fought against the magnetic pull of the two clamps fastened to his waist and stood up. He dragged Fritz with him, who blinked and clung to the tablet.

"Northwest put forward the idea that you should be allowed to assist us with our study of the planet if you feel so inclined," he said. "And if you passed a security check. Interested in nerding it up here on Hyades for a while?"

"I- what? I guess so?"

"Excellent. In that case, let's go introduce you to Turbulence. He's our security officer. Our only security officer, which probably explains a lot of things about him. He just about pitched a fit when Rivet told him you've already been strolling about the station."

Dazed, Fritz allowed himself to be pulled off the strut and floated into space, where he pinwheeled gently.

"Yeah," he said. "I suppose that's bad."

"Guess so! I mean, you were damaged so badly that Rivet couldn't tell if you're an Autobot or a Decepticon when he stripped you down. Not that it's supposed to matter now, what with the war being over. Ha! I'm guessing you have no clue if you're an Autobot anyway, right?"

"What's an Autobot?"

Redout grabbed his ankle and, with a huff of his thrusters, steered them both towards the nearest hatch.

"Oh boy," he said. "Turbulence is going to have a field day with you."


The security office was a closet.

That is an exaggeration. But it was a narrow room in the station's upper hub, another dark and gloomy space thinly lit by the glowing blue planet just outside it's thick windows. There was a desk at the back with a mounted holographic monitor and heavy panels on the walls that Fritz was almost certain either hid a small armoury or an array of remote-activated autoguns.

He lingered behind Redshift as the physicist sailed through the doors. Disturbing-looking energy shackles and inhibitors clung to the walls.

"Turbulence!" yelled Redshift. "Are you here? I kind of hope he's not here," he added to Fritz in a more conversational tone. "Frankly, he can be a bit of a pill to deal with."

"Why don't you try being the only security officer aboard a station full of scientists and see what kind of a mech that turns you into," griped a voice. Redshift and Fritz both jumped and whirled around in time to see a large black and white flier step through a sliding door at the back of the office. He gave them an ill-tempered look as he hit a panel and sealed the door shut behind him. "Go babysit every single department on board this floating laboratory and report back to me in twenty-four hours. Make note of how fried your synaptites are."

Redshift gestured. "Fritz, this is Turbulence. I believe you've met already."

"We have?"

"I was the other jet who hauled you in after you appeared in orbit with the station," said Turbulence. He trudged towards his desk. "Since then I haven't seen so much as a single rivet on your back."

"The doc has a signed note excusing him for his absence," said Redshift hastily. "You can confirm everything with Rivet if you want. So relax. He's just here for a security check."

"I figured." Turbulence sat down heavily behind his monitor and jabbed a finger at an empty seat. "You. Park it."

Fritz parked it.

And was scanned. Repeatedly. Always with the scanning. He wondered if it was just his imagination or if his optics really were beginning to fritz when the red beam of the hand-held scanner seared over the back of his head.

"No weapons systems," said the security officer. He eyed the imagery on his monitor and spoke in a flat voice. "None at all."

"You couldn't figure that out just from looking at me?" said Fritz. He kept his hands in the air like a hostage.

"Not if they're integrated, smartass. I once incarcerated a mech whose arm turned into a rail gun. Figure that one out. Why aren't you pinging as either an Autobot or a Decepticon?"

"Scan his brain module!" said Redshift. He grabbed the top of Fritz's head. "That'll explain everything. Go on, try it. It's a real horrorshow."

Turbulence grunted. "No need. I see Rivet's already sent me a copy of his medical file. Just downloaded it. Seems like somebody went out of their way to make you as unidentifiable as they could."

"So I've been told," said Fritz.

"Will you put your hands down? I'm not going to shoot you. I'm giving you basic access to the station. That's basic access, so don't get too excited. It won't get you everywhere, but a scientist willing to vouch for you should be able to get you between any of the labs that aren't explicitly designated as advisory or restricted."

"And that's it? I don't get a badge or a card or anything?"

"I've already plugged your spark signature into the security system. What, you want a sticker too, with an expiry date on it? Come back when you fully register as an Autobot and we'll talk."

Redshift hauled Fritz from his seat. "Good enough for me! Let's roll, Brains."

"Redshift!"

The security officer's voice thundered across the room as they beat an exit towards the door. Both mechs paused and looked back.

Turbulence glared at them. "Don't go taking him into any areas he shouldn't be trespassing in, or I will come down on you like the fist of Primus."

"Oh, come on. Don't be paranoid. He's completely clueless."

"Hey," said Fritz.

"And besides," said Redshift. "He's a meteorologist. What harm can he possibly do?"


[VIP! THE CAMERA SWITCHES ON.]

[THE SCENE IS NOW BACK TO THE COCKPIT INTERIOR OF THE SLAG DISTURBER. SHOKTROP LOUNGES IN THE COMMAND SEAT WHILE PRANG SITS FORWARD AT THE HELM. STARS BLUR PAST THE VIEWSCREEN.]

[PRANG HAS HIS HANDS RAISED. HE MAKES A SHOW-GIRLY WAVE WITH THEM AS HE SINGS.]

PRANG: Back in space, back in space! Gotta TWD signature to chase! Gonna find us a super-weapon and kill all the scrags who stole it! Kill! Blam! Kill! Blam! Kill! Blam! Finger-guns!

[REDOUT SPEAKS OFFSCREEN.]

REDOUT: Huh. This is a nice camera. Whoops.

[THE CAMERA TUMBLES TO THE FLOOR. BLIP! ALL GOES BLACK.]