Nature of the Beast

One-Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight

Part 6: Charging Over the Edge

IACON OBSERVATORY FOR STELLAR RESEARCH
88 KLICKS OUTSIDE IACON'S OUTER RING
BLUE LASER CAFE
TIME: 1200 HOURS


"You really think she'd lend a voice?"

Corona, Sunflare, and Neutrino sat around a table at a small but quaint outdoor patio 'round the back of the Iacon Observatory. While intended for guests to enjoy the cityscape off in the distance and the shimmering tapestry of starlight at night, it was often used as a meeting place by those who worked there. The place was out of obvious sight but it was also conspicuous enough that it was unlikely to arouse curiosity from said visitors. Meetings were not uncommon among certain groups of co-workers or friends but the astronomers on site were mostly conscientious and would more often than not coordinate so as not to interrupt a group meeting there.

The question, Neutrino's, lingered in silence for a moment as he passed his gaze between his two companions. They'd had this discussion more than once over private comms but physical meetings were a little rarer due to busy schedules. Out of anyone, Corona would be the most qualified to answer a question regarding Zodiac. Corona acted much like an adoptive Guardian or older sister to the little Avioid. Lacking her tribal members' support in the city, a handful of astronomers had taken up the empty roles when she'd first arrived to help the skittish femme adjust, however the one she trusted the most to watch out for her was Corona herself. He himself trusted the Head of Stellar Research, and Sunflare worked under her and thus knew her rather well. Sunflare was also on somewhat closer terms with Zodiac thanks to her sojourn into the Hydrax with Neutrino and his crew. Neutrino liked to think he knew her pretty well, but he wasn't an expert on Zodiac. Out of the three of them, Cori knew her the best.

"'Trino, she fumes against the Council as much as the next Predacon," said Corona, "but her fear of crowds might make this sort of thing far more difficult – near impossible even. She almost never gives her reports in person; she sends them wirelessly with her recorded voice as an add-on. She's terrified of getting up in front of others. Even if she really, really wanted a chance to rail against the Council there's a good chance she'd pass it up because her mind sees that as a performance. That's why she left the Sky Painters, remember. She's simply not a performer. The mere thought of performing or getting up in front of other 'bots sends her down the road to a full-blown panic attack. And it's difficult to get her out of that mind-set once it's started up."

Neutrino gave a weary sigh. Most Preds didn't give two slags what the Council thought of them and just ignored them altogether, sticking to their own ruling body, which was why reforms on the side of the High Council were so slow in the making – the Predacons didn't like cooperating with them because they almost always got the short end of the pipe. And thus the trench was dug ever deeper.

Corona added after a moment of thought, "Don't get me wrong here. She's ranted to me about the stupidity of the Council on more than one occasion and did just fine. But that was with me – one person whom she knows well and isn't afraid to rant to. So long as it's a small gathering she might just manage. But considering all members of the Council and Predacus have to be in attendance at a meeting like the one we're planning, that's going to be impossible."

"It's a Catch-22 scenario we have here," noted Sunflare grimly. "Zodiac needs a small group to be able to simply function enough to speak up. But a small group isn't possible due to standing legal formalities. And that's not even to mention the reporters that are bound to show up, too."

"Exactly," Corona agreed with a sharp nod. "Unless we can somehow make an exception with the Council in some way – either reducing the number or convincing them to use a pre-recorded argument, like the kind of coherent ranting she uses around me – there's just no way in the Pit she's going to have the courage to stand up and speak against them no matter how much she wants to."

All three fell silent as they mulled over the conundrum. Zodiac needed to speak in order to convince the Council to permit Predacons to be star-ship pilots, as she was not only a pilot but a captain, but unless they found a way for the skittish Avioid to speak without locking up from sheer terror their odds of success were dwindling into the single digits. If they couldn't convince her to speak despite the crowd, Predacons would continue to be barred from many formal occupations in the cities, and having Predacons, many of whom were talented fliers, as pilots, their organization would benefit greatly while also helping Predacons as a whole better integrate into "civilized" society. Most of the Council was of the opinion that Predacons did not belong in the cities due to be being dangerous. Certain groups, like the CERF, saw them as benefits. But the one femme most qualified to speak on their behalf was terrified of speaking to the Council simply because of her fear of people and performing.

Sunflare started as a thought struck him.

"Wait. Guys," he started excitedly. "What if Zodiac didn't have to speak alone? That's not a requirement, is it?"

Neutrino and Corona fastened on him in an instant.

"You suggesting we speak with her, 'Flare?" wondered the particle physicist curiously.

"Yeah! I'm thinkin' if she has a support system backing her – like, actually up there next to her, not just on the sidelines – and adding to her own voice, she won't be so nervous. I remember some lyrics from an old Earth song Darter knows: 'Voices joined will never tire.' I don't think that'll be a problem if we arrange it through Councilor Elita-One and the Predacus Councilor Ser-Ket. Each represents the femmes in their own societies. Ser-Ket's kinda temperamental and not one for trusting city-dwellers, so we might have some problems with her. Elita-One in particular I've got higher hopes for. In every instance she's been sitting in on either a criminal case or a political meeting, she's never allowed herself to jump to conclusions."

Neutrino eyed the younger mech as he processed the notion. They would need to meet with the Predacus to arrange this whole concept anyway, and that was in another lunar cycle or so, so the kid's idea was a pretty good one in theory. They just had to hope Predaking and Ser-Ket would be reasonable about meeting with the High Council. Meetings between the two governing bodies rarely if ever went smoothly, and that was mainly due to the bigoted Star Saber. In his own opinion that mech oughta be banned from such meetings, but he was a clever politician and always somehow managed to weasel his way out with honeyed words – and probably bribes, too. He was never one personally to trust politicians but Star Saber he trusted the least. Slagged scraplet seemed to want a war with the Predacons. Mech wasn't right in the helm in his opinion.

"So you suggest us three back her up?" Corona asked her burnt-orange companion.

"Us, maybe her apartment buddy, maybe a Sky Painter or two," Sunflare agreed. "And maybe we could rope in Lieutenant Smokescreen as well? He's a Predacon sympathizer. Open enough about it that the Council sometimes gives him trouble, I think. But I think he'd enjoy the chance to burn the Council over their anti-Predacon policies. I know I'd jump at that sorta chance. It's not ethical."

"Council needs a good reality smack if ya ask me," Neutrino grumbled in a wry, amused manner, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms over his chestplates. "Problem is the Predacons'd be all too happy to provide that smack on our behalf – and probably pound them into the ground for good measure. And then there goes what little progress has been made over the centuries down the nearest drain pipe. We gotta be careful about this, you two. No screw-ups allowed."

Sunflare nodded, "Yeah. I know. Trust me, I know. They got a lot of excess oil to burn, a whole vat of the stuff, really, and if the High Council decides to be stubborn about this simple, frankly practical request they might just ignite that oil vat the Predacons've got. They at least should attempt to be civil about this."

'But oil likes to keep burning, especially if you just keep adding to the source...' he thought privately, remembering Darter's words from an old conversation with her. He could see her grim expression even now. Maybe he could get her to speak up at this, too. She didn't care about crowds. She also wasn't as temperamental as some Preds, though she could get very heatedly vocal when roused. Here, that might be a good thing.

That was what the High Council had a bad tendency to do: add more fuel to the powder keg. And if they didn't learn to cooperate it'd implode in their faces.


ELITE GUARD COMMAND CENTER, IACON
SIC OFFICE

A lone blue and yellow mech sat at a rather untidy desk, idly tapping a stylus on the metal while staring at the wall across from him where a holo-image showed an artistically rendered image of the Manganese Mountains far to the west of the city. It was no so much interesting as it was calming. The mech's expression was that of one nearly lost in his own thoughts.

The report he was writing up consisted a troubling problem that was progressively getting worse. Over the past few decades there had been a slow but noticeable increase in anti-Predacon violence in the cities. Iacon was mostly spared but she was by no means innocent. In Polyhex, Kaon, and the Tagan Heights especially there had been full-blown fights erupting between beasts and non-beasts. A few fights had resulted in multiple hospitalizations on both sides. The Elite Guard did what they could to keep the peace, but as time went on hostilities only seemed to be rising. The instigators of such mech-on-mech violence had even graduated to attacking pseudo-beasts in some cases, which is what he was writing about now. Or, well, had been. He was stuck on wording the report properly. Despite him being on the side of the Predacons he needed to remain unbiased in his official reports. Magnus had made that pretty clear: he could make the unofficial ones to him as biased as he wanted to, but the official ones that went to the Council he had to keep neutral.

*Smokescreen. I need you in my office. Now. We have a budding problem on our hands.*

He jolted out of his mind-fog with a jump. His grip on his stylus slacked long enough for him to lose it. The device slipped from his his hand, rolled across the desk as he tried to grab it. In the end, it still fell to the floor with a metallic clatter. He sighed. Today was gonna be one of those solar cycles, wasn't it? Where even the little things went wrong despite his efforts. Oh, yeah. He was well versed on those kinda solar cycles. They hadn't been happening lately so now karma was paying him a nice little visit.

"I'm coming, sir. One klik."

The mech rose as he put the semi-filled datapad on the desk. Smokescreen forewent the stylus in favor of the door. When Magnus mentioned a "problem" and asked for you by name it was always a good idea to report in to him. Lucky for him that his office was just down the hall, too. Besides, he had a sinking feeling he knew that the "problem" was. If it didn't involve Predacons he'd be very surprised. There had been that unidentifiable something in his voice that warned of politics.

Smokescreen really, really hated politics. Hated it. Just hated it. He'd never understand how someone could just calmly label another living, thinking being as "not a person." Because that basically summed up the issue with the Predacons.

He made his way down the hall towards Magnus's office. The doors hissed open to permit him. The mech was a little surprised to see Chromia in front of Ultra Magnus's desk, hands on its surface, her frame hunched over a bit. She was deep in conversation with him. Magnus, on noting his arrival, told Chromia to halt her report and held a hand up for silence. She fell silent accordingly, turning to face Smokescreen with taunt, none-too-pleased expression. He did note curiously her hands went from the desk to the side of her helm. That usually meant comm. chatter. She stepped off to one side and her gaze became a touch unfocused. She was communicating with someone about something he realized. Who though?

"What's the problem?" he asked.

Ultra Magnus focused on him and began with a simple geographic question: "You know of the Sonic Canyons?"

The younger mech blinked at the unexpected question. "Pretty well. Large canyon system in the southern hemisphere that's almost constantly raining debris because of loud echoes from deep underground. I dunno what idiots decided it was a good idea to build a city there, but it's apparently pretty densely populated. Nomadic Predacon tribes pass through the area sometimes and I think (I may be wrong on this) that Sky Painters train in the northern section. They use it for agility training since it's not so loud there. Heard that one from Corvus Rho. Um...why? What about the place? Did something happen? Quake hit the canyons and we need to help evacuate people or something?"

"Nothing has happened," Ultra Magnus assured grimly. He then added one word that turned that possibly hopeful statement into a grim one, "Yet."

'Well, we're off to a great start here, aren't we?' Smokescreen thought sarcastically. Aloud he asked again: "What's the problem?"

Ultra Magnus explained:

"Chromia received word from an Elite Guard station in the Canyons that there is a stand off occurring between about a dozen or so mechs and femmes of differing factions and a nomadic tribe of Equinines known as the Raging Chargers. We have yet to get the full story from the soldiers stationed there as the problem is still developing, but it seems hostilities are rising by the breem. No shots have been fired as of yet – only verbal ones. That could change in an instant if someone on either side says the wrong thing or decides to open fire. Just because the Chargers' beast models are based off terrestrial equines doesn't mean they aren't afraid to fight back. They can and they most certainly will. It doesn't help that their leader is not one to take affronts lightly and is aggressively protective. Anger Flame-Horn and you set the entire herd off. The Elite Guard in the Canyons needs help dispelling the stand off before it develops into a skirmish. I have allotted that task to you and Chromia. I have also arranged for Jazz to join you. If dissolving the problem fails, Jazz can help incapacitate the Chargers."

Smokescreen nodded. He personally didn't like it, singling out the Preds when they might not be the ones at fault. But unfortunately Preds were strong and temperamental, capable of causing severe injury to a non-beast when provoked. And due to their almost universal pride it was slagged easy to provoke them even if you weren't meaning to. Even the shy Zodiac had shown a faint hint of that pride when he'd found her at the Observatory, unwilling to delegate a fraction of her work to colleagues and instead doing it all herself. Admirable and impressive though that was, that also wasn't exactly the most efficient method – and she'd struck him as being a lover of efficiency with her statement of enjoying being early in submitting her work.

Actually, come to think of it, he hadn't checked in with her since then. He'd been too busy. He noted that down as something to do later. Then he shook his helm mentally and got back to the topic at hand.

"When do we leave?"

"I would highly advise you head to the groundbridge bay right away. Time is of the essence. Jazz will meet you in the Canyons. He's already en route."

Chromia broke in then: "We need to go. Now. Siren says Flame-Horn's gettin' real ornery. Won't be long till the fires start burning."

"Then let's get going. Come on."

The blue and yellow mech darted out of the room, Chromia hot on his heel struts.


SONIC CANYONS
CYBERTRON'S SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE
EXACT COORDINATES: 38°50'23.1"S 6°36'03.1"W

The Sonic Canyons were true to their name. Smokescreen and Chromia stepped out of the faint, whirling roar of the groundbridge and their audials were instantly assaulted by a loud cacophony welling from the massive rend in the landscape a half a klik ahead of them. They did not realize until after the portal had shut that it actually masked some of the noise. When it did shut, the noise only got louder. They could hear the loud clanging of falling debris and the steady chugging of the planet's inner working amplified to incredible levels.

"How the Chargers aren't on the ground whimpering in pain I can't imagine," Chromia grumbled, toning down the sensitivity of her audials, "Even if a Pred's lowest hearing setting is active they'd still get a migraine. I'm already getting a processor ache, and we aren't even at the site yet."

Smokescreen agreed completely, "Ditto,"

He didn't know a lot about the Chargers personally (nomadic tribes were tough enough to get info on) but he had heard tell that certain Pred tribes lived around the Canyons periodically, so maybe they'd developed a tolerance for the sound or were outfitted with tech to lessen the Canyon's stupidly loud racket. Or maybe the Chargers were mad enough that they could just ignore it. That, too.

"Come on. We need to rendezvous with Jazz. He's waiting for us with Siren near Axsixtic Edge. That's where the standoff's happening according to Siren. Sooner we get this sorted out the better. I'd rather not have a pounding helm for the next deca-cycle."

Transforming, Chromia raced off towards the Edge. Smokescreen followed suit but soon shot ahead of her. He wanted to get there before her to keep tensions from rising further, because she wasn't exactly the most tactful femme around when it came to delicate situations like this one. Tensions were already high enough according to her report, so the last thing they needed was to send them through the roof. He liked to think he had a little more experience with Preds thanks to association with Zodiac and some of the Predacus (and Miko; Primus he missed Miko). Rule One with Predacons: show them respect and they would return the respect. That was the problem, since most of the populace of Cybertron viewed them in a low light, meaning respect wasn't easy to come by.

The drive was a short one, and the sight they found was not encouraging. On one side of the Edge, which possessed a trail that led down to the city below, a group of the Canyon's inhabitants were squaring off, blades and firearms at the ready. Jazz and another femme, Siren, were standing between the two to keep the peace. The opposing team was far more spectacular in appearance. "Equinine" just didn't do the Chargers justice. Though they bore the frames of Earth horses and rather drab coloration – bronzes, silvers, blacks, coppers, and even some with marbled patterns – some possessed magnificent wings, and each and every one of them had simmering fires somewhere on their bodies – wings, manes, tails, even around their hooves, made even more spectacular via their tribal crests of flames. One powerfully built Charger colored pure white bore a lance-like horn on his forehelm that flickered with a strong orange blaze. He could only assume this was the Chargers' alpha: Flame-Horn.

And he did not look in a diplomatic mood despite Jazz's and Siren's efforts.

"Put the weapons down, people!" Smokescreen shouted over the general cacophony of the Canyons. "Put 'em down and tell me what the scrap is going on here! We can settle this without a firefight!"

Flame-Horn snorted a cloud of embers and smoke and spoke, "These barbarians refuse to let us enter the city to retrieve basic medical supplies along with one of our own! They imprisoned him and refuse to return him!"

"Scraplet was caught trespassing!" shouted back one of the city-dwellers. "Just 'cause you all are nomads don't mean ya'll can go anywhere you like!"

"And who the Pit are you to go dictating your laws to us, huh? You lock us out of your cities like wild animals, treat us like wild animals, and then expect us to follow your rules?! Just like that?!" a pitch black and burnt orange femme Charger with wings snapped angrily, stamping her hooves.

Smokescreen could feel tensions rising further. Jazz and Siren tried again to get the two sides to calm down and simply talk this over, but it was pretty obvious that option was dwindling by the astrosecond. These Equinines wanted their pal back and they were not taking "No" for an answer. On the other hand, the city-dwellers were adhering to common law but were being a bit unnecessarily stubborn about handing the trespassing beast-former back. Sentences for trespassing were pretty minor, either meaning two or three solar cycles in a cell or a fine. None of the Chargers were willing to wait that long...and he kind of understood why. They lived mainly by the rule of the Predacus, not the Council. To be under their rule out of the blue was enough to make any beast irritable.

"People! People, just calm down!" Jazz implored.

"Enough parlay!" Flame-Horn snorted. "Either you let us in to trade for the supplies we desperately need and relinquish Fireflight to be tried by our laws..."

With a dangerous flourish the Chargers' alpha reared back, snorted more ember-laced smoke, and unleashed a frightening sound. His front hooves kicked as his horn blazed brightly. They met ground again with a thundering impact.

"Or we burn our way in!" he finished.

The herd whinnied, snorted, and stamped agreement. Some mirrored the threatening rear-back.

Jazz shared a desperate glance with Siren, Chromia, and Smokescreen. He wasn't about to say the universal jinx of "This couldn't get any worse," but really this would only get worse. Tensions weren't dispelling. Instead, they were escalating. A firefight wasn't a possibility but a probability at this rate. Something struck the former War saboteur as a bit unusual though. He remembered Flame-Horn's words: they didn't just need the medical supplies – they needed them badly. Was one of their number injured? Was that why the Chargers were so stand-offish right now, aside from Fireflight's imprisonment? They were stand-offish normally but this was more so than he'd ever seen or heard them. Were they pressed for time? If the city's inhabitants wouldn't let them in during the length of Fireflight's stay, and if one of their number was in desperate need of medical supplies that the city could provide...

If true, this had just gotten a lot more complicated. There were only a handful of city clinics that tended to Predacons, and the Canyons was absent from that list. There was one in Iacon, but Preds tended to be leery of groundbridges.

"Well?" Flame-Horn demanded testily. "Will you relinquish our scout? Or must we burn our way into the Canyons?"

The 'bot in charge of the city-dwellers replied back coldly: "He's in our city so he sticks to our rules. Kid stays the standard sentence for trespassing. We can't trust that you won't try to bust him out if we let you lot in. Or let him go scot free if you try him."

Smokescreen nearly cursed aloud. His one hand hovered over the Phase Shifter on the other. That was the one thing you didn't say to a bunch of pissed off, protective Predacons. The fracking idiot had almost certainly just ignited the massive chain of dynamite standing across from them.

And ignite it did.

Outraged, Flame-Horn snorted and charged the opposition. The herd followed his lead as the Canyon dwellers opened fire or charged them with weapons. Jazz and Siren rolled out of the way to avoid being trampled under metal hooves and shot, each readying their hyper-sonic emitters. Smokescreen, still in between the two sides, did not budge, the Phase Shifter shimmering with its pale turquoise glow. Gun fire phased through him along with two Chargers who let out startled whinnies as they raced towards the Edge full gallop. They skidded and raced back around towards the still-firing civilians. The Elite Guardsmech felt one blast phase through his wrist and felt an ensuing zap of discharge. The next shot did not pass through him – it struck him.

'What the heck?! I thought the Shifter was immune!'

"Smoke, get outta there!" Jazz hollered. Without the Shifter the kid might as well be a piece of aluminum foil against a beast. Those hooves could put a nasty dent in him – enough to damage internal mechanisms. A hit by a beast could wind a mech up in a clinic for upwards of a whole lunar cycle, possibly more.

Nearly blindly the blue and yellow mech darted out of the line of fire, heading for the Edge where he hoped the overload of sound might keep the angry beasts at bay. Behind and below him the Canyons yawned into the depths. However, one Charger, a large bronze one, saw him break off and galloped over to him bravely, snorting. Smokescreen whipped out his sidearm and aimed for the Charger's legs but the nimble Equinine deftly avoided each shot, zigzagging wildly. It opened its maw and spat a stream of fire at his hand. The ensuing burning sensation was strong enough to force to him let go of the weapon instinctively. Then, rearing back, it struck out with its front hooves violently, slamming them into chassis with enough force to send him staggering backwards towards the tip of the Edge. Pain erupted around the impact site. He teetered there, desperately trying to keep himself from tumbling into the Canyons. The Equinine charged once more, audials flat to block out most of the din.

Flame-Horn saw this predicament and forewent his own attack. He reared back and bellowed, "TRAILBLAZER! DON'T!"

Too late did that warning come. Trailblazer rammed himself into the Elite Guardsmech with the force of an oncoming train. He was sent over the edge with a startled yelping cry which was soon lost to the Canyon's own loud wail.

"SMOKESCREEN!" Chromia cried.

Flame-Horn bucked, calling out for a flier to find the city-dweller. The black femme who had so readily snapped beforehand about how bad city-dwellers were whinnied that she would. Racing to the edge she leapt off, wings unfurling like great banners. And down she dove into the Canyons. This act of cooperation so close on the attack stunned some of the civilian opposition into a ceasefire. Beasts alike forewent their fire when their alpha called an end to hostilities for the time being. A quick allowance was agreed to: they would be let into the Canyons to help search for the unfortunate Smokescreen and get their necessary medical supplies, though they would not release Fireflight still. The Chargers seemed willing at least to heed that rule so long as they were let in to complete the scout's task.

But if Smokescreen was found dead then Trailblazer would face the full fury of the law – of both governing bodies.


A few hours later...

Pain. That was never a good thing to wake up to. Damn did he hurt like hell.

His optics flickered online only to dim back. Wherever he was it was bright – like, industrial bright. He was definitely in a building. An experimental little movement of his body made him instantly regret doing so. He winced, nearly letting out a cry of pain. Every part of him hurt, even parts he didn't think could hurt. For a brief astrosecond he wondered why he was hurting so much. Then everything came rushing back. The Canyons, the Chargers, the standoff...and him getting knocked over the edge. He remembered falling, falling a long ways, impacting some ledges, and eventually hitting the ground way too hard. He remembered nothing after that.

"Ah, ah. Move and I'll disable all your motor relays. All. Of. Them."

Wait a klik. "...Knockout?!"

Smokescreen's optics moved around the room (as much as they could without moving his helm) until they fell on that familiar flashy red mech who had tried to kill him and the Autobots on Earth in the past. Weird was the day he was genuinely happy to see him. He was busy looking at a scan of his frame. Thanks to it he saw that there were some pretty nasty dents and busted mechanisms. Some minor dings and internal damage had been fixed up but many more major ones remained. It wasn't pretty.

Well. That explained why he hurt so much. That fall into the Canyons had done a real number on him.

Knockout commented as he went about gathering tools: "You're lucky you survived that fall. I'd have thought only a bruiser or a beast could survive a plunge into the upper stratum of the Underworld. That's quite a drop in case you didn't know – almost ten thousand feet down. If that Energon spring hadn't softened the fall you'd have probably wound up as a pile of scrap. Fortunate, that. Almost too fortunate."

Smokescreen cocked a curious brow ridge at the other mech. "You didn't strike me as the type of guy to believe that sort of thing. Even for me that's a little hard to swallow, and I've seen some pretty crazy things."

"So have I – possibly even crazier things than you've seen. And who said I believed anything?" Knockout retorted a bit haughtily, his now blue optics flicking over to look at him, "I'm just making a comment, that's all. Nothing more, nothing less. Some 'bots have that level of sheer dumb luck. Obviously you're one of them. That's what makes you so Primus-slagged annoying. That and that Phase Shifter of yours," he sighed a tad dramatically. "Shame it got damaged. Repairs'd go a lot easier if I could use that, but –"

The red medic was cut off when the doors hissed open to permit a very pretty, dainty femme with a tri-shade green color palate, her soft jade optics twinkling. She held in one hand a datapad, and magnetically attached to her hip was a beautifully crafted photoharp of high quality. Smokescreen admitted to himself that she was really cute and that he was confused as to why she had a musical instrument with her. Photoharps were used by musicians, not medics. She was a medic after all – he knew that thanks to the symbols on her arms. They identified her as an emergency responder and a healer-in-training.

"Doctor, honestly. Shockwave is seeing to the repair with help from some other scientists. It'll be in working order shortly. You can manage perfectly well without it. And stop giving the patient a hard time, please. He did fall into the Canyons. Don't harass him."

Knockout turned and grinned at her. "Oh? And who gave the apprentice the ability to go ordering around her mentor, hmm? Were you promoted to a full medic when I was too busy saving a life to notice?"

"No. But talking isn't going to help Smokescreen, is it?"

"Who knows? It might. He never did know how to shut up. In fact, I enjoyed it while he was under."

The femme rolled her optics, swept past him, plucked the tools out of his hands and traded them for the datapad.

Smokescreen watched the two interact in silence, mainly to satisfy himself that Knockout wasn't giving the pretty girl a hard time by pestering her with unwanted advances. While his tone of voice suggested mutual respect (with maybe a little harmless flirting in it, too) some of his body language spoke otherwise; Knockout was never one to pass up a pretty lady. The femme appeared perfectly aware of that but she was showing plainly in her own body language that she wasn't interested. He had the feeling no matter how Knockout tried to win her, she would be immune to his charms.

"Uh...who're you?" he asked finally. Knockout had never mentioned having an apprentice or assistant or whatever she was. Then again, he communicated with him only sparsely. That, and whenever he did communicate it was almost always about himself. Mech was a massive narcissist.

The femme jolted in realization. "Oh! I'm sorry. My manners aren't usually so bad. I'm just overloaded with work at the moment. I'm Charity. Pleasure to meet you, sir, though I wish we could've met under different circumstances. Better circumstances."

"Ditto."

She smiled, half in kindness and half in apology, "But don't worry. We'll have enough time to get acquainted. You're going to be here for a while. No medic in their right mind would let you go walking the streets even a deca-cycle after falling to the Sonic Canyons. You aren't leaving here till you've recovered to our satisfaction."

Smokescreen groaned. It wasn't the femme he was not looking forward to – she seemed pleasant enough. It was the being confined to a clinic for a long time until the medics gave him the all clear he wasn't thrilled about. Being put under clinic arrest was the worst. That meant he wouldn't be able to go out, explore, walk around and meet random 'bots on the street or attend meetings of the Council and the Predacus or help the Guard. The horror. And that wasn't to mention Magnus might not be too happy about the incident on the Edge once he heard about it – if he hadn't already. His chronometer was saying he'd been out for a good joor or so. Still, while he was confined here he might as well get a call done. Might as well check in on some friends, one highly introverted Avioid in particular.

"...I'm allowed to give someone a call, right? I mean, that's okay?"

Charity nodded with another one of her pleasant smiles. "Of course. I see no problem with that. If I'm not being too nosy, could I ask who?"

"Just a friend I met when she rammed into my helm."

The startled look Charity gave him made him laugh – and the laugh made him wince. He couldn't even laugh right now?


Zodiac was just settling down in her quarters, happily reading a digitized version of a murder mystery novel from Earth. It was one of many the terrestrial authoress had written, but the one she read now was considered an all-time classic even all this time later. She was so absorbed in the story she didn't notice her comm. link ping two times over the course of only a breem or so. In her mind real life could wait. This was way too good to put down right now. Characters who weren't that seemed. a tangled spider's web of lies stemming from the murder of a child and, later, an old man on a train. Primus this authoress was good.

The third ping drew her out of the realm of imagination. Sighing with annoyance the Avioid put the datapad aside and checked who it was. She expected one of the CERF to speak with her, as they had been doing so more frequently. She was not expecting the comm. frequency of the mech she'd rammed into in that plaza a while back: Smokescreen.

"H-Hello?" her voice came out as more of a squeak.

*Hi. Sorry I haven't comm'ed you since we met at the Observatory. I've been super busy lately. Kinda assumed you were busy, too. So...um. How're you doin'?*

"I'm okay, I guess. I mean, nothing crazy has happened. I try to avoid crazy. I prefer reading and working in quiet places and avoiding the Council. I like my little corner of normal."

*...You do realize you don't fit the definition of "normal," don't you? Speed-gifteds aren't exactly waltzing around cities you know. Introverts don't do that either.*

She made a face. "Shut up. A femme can dream of being normal."

The door to Lattice's quarters hissed open to permit the Avioid's apartment buddy. She cocked a quizzical brow ridge at her, glyphs for curiosity flittering around in her field strongly enough to be read clearly. Zodiac responded back with glyphs for accident, slow, and friendship. Lattice's confusion thus lifted to be replaced with a sly smile that made the Avioid cast a withering scowl at her. Still smiling, Lattice drew back.

"So what about you? Anything interesting happen to you?"

*Oh, you know. Went to go dissolve a Predacon/'bot stand off down south. Got knocked into the Sonic Canyons by an angry, rampaging fire horse. Just the usual. Nothing major. And now I'm stuck in a clinic for an unknown period of time run by an ex-'Con who tried a ton of times to kill the team I was on on Earth. But he's cool now. We're sorta friends.* A pause. *He told me to say hi to you.*

For almost a quarter of a breem the Avioid said nothing in return. Her wide-opticed shock at such a statement left her speechless. Smokescreen considered falling into the Sonic Canyons as "the usual?" Primus. She was almost scared to ask what he thought an "unusual" solar cycle was.


Author's Note: Told ya there was a reason for Smoke being in a clinic. :P