Nature of the Beast
Chapter 34
*Note to Alexandria: No, that was not Optimus talking through Counterforce. :P But your other assumption is correct: Smokescreen's nightmare would have been exactly that because he still doesn't feel like he's deserving of it. Take note that, in Prime, he panicked and went against orders when Optimus told him that – and this act coming from someone who respects Optimus enough to risk his life for him and really listen to him, as well as try everything he can to please or impress him.
Johnathan Green stood at the entrance to Mr. Clay's property, taking in the place and everything within its high cement walls. His daughter stood before him, entreating to be allowed to stay a little longer:
"Aw, but dad! I'm helping patch up the mechas! Come on! It's not even dark out! Just a little bit longer? I got at least another hour or two before it gets dark! Come on! Pretty please with a diode on top?"
His eyes wandered around. He admitted to himself that the place definitely seemed secure enough for her to be here on her own, but he was hesitant to trust her here alone without some kind of adult supervision. With the owner of the property missing in action there was no one here to watch her, and he didn't want to pull any more favors with the arena folk like Josh and Dan. They had all done enough for him already. It wasn't that he didn't trust the place – not at all. He did. It was probably more secure than his own home. He just didn't want to leave Henri on her own in a place so far from home. If something happened it would take a while for him to get there.
"Alright." he conceded. "You can stay for a little while longer."
"Yes!" Victoriously one fist was pumped into the air.
"On one condition." he added.
"Name it."
"I stay with you. You're too far from home way out here. You need an adult to keep an eye on things, and Mr. Clay won't be out until tomorrow morning from what I heard."
Henri's fist lowered. She seemed suddenly hesitant. Quickly her eyes flicked towards one of the two vehicles parked beside them like peculiar gate sentries: a rich, dark purple Tesla Roadster with faint lightning markings racing up its sides. He had to admit himself impressed that Mr. Clay possessed one; he'd always wanted one of those as a kid. On the other side of the gate sat the heavy-duty blue and white SUV that he had seen at the Thunderdome and that had held the unusual bird-drone. There was nothing to indicate why she would look at them. They were just vehicles, but he gave them a closer look. The Tesla didn't have the brand logo on its grill, nor did the SUV. Instead, each bore an odd, grim face-like one – the Roadster on its hood, the SUV on its grill.
An eyebrow rose. "Huh...?"
A hand reached out and traced the symbol, finding it warm to the touch. Strange. He'd never seen a brand logo like that before, and just from the differing styles in model he knew they weren't from the same maker. The Roadster was sleeker, smoother, more aerodynamic. Top speed was probably somewhere between one-ten and one-forty. The SUV on the other hand was big, block-y, strong, meant for heavy-duty jobs like lugging heavy equipment or pulling a big trailer behind it. Probably had a massive amount of horsepower to match, though its speed was no doubt lower thanks to its heavier, bulkier build. And why was it warm? Neither vehicle was running, and they looked like they'd been off and sitting there for a long time.
Henri grabbed his hand and planted herself in front of the Roadster defensively, much to his surprise.
"Okay! Let's not touch the super expensive cars that don't belong to you!" she said with a tense laugh. "I don't think the people he's keeping them for would be too happy, yeah?"
Johnathan Green looked at his daughter oddly. This wasn't like her. He remembered she'd acted funny back at the Thunderdome when around the bird-drone and had even spoken to it like it could understand her. He thought back to that instance again for at least the fifth time today:
He reached out his hands to take the bird out of the SUV's backseat, but the bird suddenly jolted back with a twittering noise as if frightened. Round blue eyes stared at him, ones that had once been dim and dark. There was intelligence in them. He could see it now.
Henri had smacked a hand to her forehead. "Nice going, bird-brain..." she had muttered.
The metal bird's head had dropped as if...ashamed. But the curious thing was there had been no controller to tell the metal animal to do so, for the controller he had brought with him under Henri's insistence was still in the backseat of his own truck. A machine couldn't act on its own.
"Henrietta Clara Sophia Green. What in the world is going on here?"
He was still waiting for a solid answer and not an avoidance technique. Every time he thought about it just became more and more peculiar. Machines couldn't do anything without a human providing instructions or implanting code to follow at a later date. That behavior it had displayed had been real-time. There was no way whoever owned that bird-drone had pre-programmed it to react in such a specific situation. It was a fantastic, near ludicrous thought – but what if it had acted on its own? He knew the big tech companies were toying around with the concepts of artificial intelligence, though they were nowhere near being successful at replicating human-like behavior in a machine. Was that why Henri was being so secretive – was Zaylee an artificial intelligence that had, perhaps, escaped from where it had been made? That sounded like a clichéd plot for a sci-fi film to him, not real life.
'And...no. No, that's silly. The car can't be another AI...can it?'
No, that was absurd. So what was really going on here? Why was Henri so secretive? Lying, hiding things wasn't like her.
His daughter tried to drag him away, but he held his ground. There was something strange going on around her, and he wanted to know what to make sure his daughter wasn't in any danger.
"Henri..." he started.
She stopped pulling on him. Her hand released his. She did not turn to look at him though.
"Dad, I can't. Okay?"
"Why not? Henri, is...is something wrong?"
"It's not for any reasons you think. I'm not in any trouble and I'm not hanging around bad people. I'm actually hanging around some really nice people; they're just secretive and don't want to be in the spotlight because there are some very bad people who want to hurt them. I want to tell you the truth, I do. But I'm scared that if I do those bad people after my friends might...might hurt you. I can run. I'm an athlete. You..." she winced. "You're in a leg brace, dad. You can't get around as easy as me. If they get their hands on you they might do a heck of a lot worse than just break your other leg."
He stood there digesting that statement for a minute. The peculiar thing was that he truly felt she was telling him the truth now, but he still got the sense that he wasn't getting the entire story. "Censoring" was the word that came to mind.
"Who are these friends of yours Henri?" he asked. "This is the first I've heard of them."
She blinked. "Oh! they're, um...around." She would've mentioned Felix as being one of her "friends" but this place was pretty open. What if the bad guys were listening?
Again he noted her eyes dart over to the Tesla. Why did she keep looking at the car? Was there someone in the car perhaps? Hard to say. He hadn't seen anyone through those heavily tinted windows. That in itself was curious. Civilian vehicles didn't have such heavily tinted windows – mostly that was seen in military vehicles or ones owned by celebrities.
"Well, um...I'll go back to the polishing and scratch-removing I was doing on Mr. Clay's rig. There's a TV over there if you wanna use it for news or something."
He nodded and let her head over to the massive wolf mecha that lay in the middle of the commons. However, he thought it odd to see that many of the dents and cracks had already been mended. Funny. Had the arena folk helped with that? Josh hadn't mentioned it, but then again he hadn't asked. Shrugging, he headed over to the sofa and took a seat, resting his bad leg on the low table. He might as well get comfortable he supposed. He trusted Henri not to try anything crazy with the mecha.
"Steeljaw."
The werewolf mech turned to face the bounty hunter. There was an undertone of smug success in his voice that told much. One brow ridge rose expectantly.
"Micro-cam's been outfitted to hack. Just say the word and I'll send it in to pick apart the Alchemor's database for the thief we need."
He couldn't withhold his sly grin. Things were marching along more smoothly than he'd anticipated.
"The Hound and the astronomer are indisposed and Drift is absent. Send it now, but wait for an opportunity when that obnoxious little mini-con isn't at his post. Shouldn't be too long a wait. He's shown consistently to be easily distracted."
Nodding, Fracture activated the little insect machine. Wings buzzing in a high-motion blur, he guided it out of the old steel mill and into the low mountains and forests towards the salvage yard.
Phase One had commenced. Phase Two would start the moment they had a willing thief, and that would be simplicity itself once they had the Alchemor's database at their fingertips. That would only take a few local minutes. Finding the thief might take longer, for they could be states away by now. But that was the great thing about hacking a prison ship's database: all the convict's data was right there in front of you. A call, a meet-up, and then they'd be in business.
Hank finished up polishing away a scratch on Frostbite's hide, the sun above sitting about a hand's width above the horizon. There were many more to do, but he was already starting to look a little better aesthetically. Charity could probably finish the job later. But really, heroes deserved the star treatment. At least for a little while.
Her phone buzzed again and she checked it again. They'd secretly been using it as a way to talk without getting her dad suspicious.
Why won't your Æfæn leave? Are you not of age to be left alone?
He'd asked this question to start with, so to see it again after a nearly two hours was a little odd. Frostbite was intelligent; he'd even explained what the weird term he used to refer to her dad meant. She texted back:
Dads worry .-. Same with moms
Ah. Suppose all Guardians show concern for their wards. Something our races share.
She put the phone down with a smile and went back to polishing. Even though he didn't talk much he made sure the grammar was perfect when he used texting. Was this some kind of norm for his species or was she just finding the ones who were the secret English teachers? Was it just easier for them use plain English instead of trying to translate text talk? Food for thought.
Frostbite's body made a sharp hissing noise as he released some of the overheated air from vents on his sides. The act and sound reminded her of those big sighs that dogs did sometimes when tired or bored. He'd done this once or twice before and her dad had taken no notice. On glancing over to the sofa this time though she saw him looking at her and the metal wolf with a funny look on his face. She looked back at him, the picture of innocence.
"Henri...I'm not going crazy...am I?" he asked.
She tossed the wolf a sideways glance out of panic, hoping her dad might catch the hint this time around. But he didn't, and she issued a forced laugh.
"Why would you think you're going crazy?" she wondered.
"Because I swear I've been hearing that rig breathe."
Hank froze, her innocent smile faltered. Uh-oh.
"Breathe? Mechas don't breathe." she argued in a false tone of assurance. "Even I know that."
Her dad's expression looked less than convinced, but he nodded slowly as if to convince himself and went back to checking the channels. Not even a minute passed before she heard him stifle a groan. She looked up to see him making his way towards her, a haggard smile on his lips. She had a feeling she knew what had made him groan. News channels were notorious blabbermouths. If her mom didn't know about the Thunderdome fight, she definitely would after they got done.
"Alright, Henri. I let you stay for a while to help with the mecha and you made some decent progress. It'll be dark in a bit, so let's go ahead and lock this place down for the night. Not easy to work on complex machines like Wolfsbane in the dark y'know, and I can't ask Josh to wait all night for us."
Henri rose, nodding. She'd given her promise after all, and she felt after all her half truths she owed him at least one honest act today.
The gates rumbled open and the two Greens made their exit. A car's engine growled beyond, and soon it faded into the distance.
"Primus! I thought he'd never leave!"
"Come now, Sideswipe." Windstorm scolded. "The man deserves some respect for aiding our allies in the arena in spite of his handicap. I personally believe he might make a useful ally should we divulge out true natures to him at some point in the future. His biographical information on the internet states he has a professional's mark in mechanical engineering from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Very impressive. Of course, we would need either Lieutenant Bumblebee's or Lieutenant Smokescreen's permission beforehand..."
Sideswipe snorted from where he stood at the entrance to one of the isles. He was just glad he didn't have to play dead anymore. So boring. Only Tumbler keeping him company on his hood had kept him from going stir-crazy.
"If Smokescreen asks, I went for a drive."
He stomped over to the gates and impatiently waited as they grumbled open. Before the engineer could tell him to think about his actions, in a squealing of tires and a storm of dust he raced out into the open air.
"Don't even bother." Strongarm argued, arms folding. "Punk never thinks about the hypothetical results. If he gets impounded again, I say let him stay there this time."
Windstorm looked ready to offer a retort but his mouth shut before it came out. He merely shrugged and made his way over to Charity's medbay where Zodiac had moved. Despite what Sideswipe's stir-craziness was saying, Windstorm did like the man, and not just by virtue of his profession. The curiosity he'd seen in his eyes as he'd investigated his Autobot crest had earned him a mark in his favor. Curiosity was always something he'd admired – after all, it was the curious, the questioners, who usually discovered or invented the greatest things in the universe. That touch alone was of someone skilled in the realm of machines, who admired them like an artist did a sculpture or painting, and quite possibly one who may have unconsciously suspected the truth.
That, and he admitted having a fellow engineer around of an entirely different race would make for some interesting academic conversations...
He had to wonder though: would Henrietta reveal the truth to her father in the safety of her domicile? Or would it be revealed in a more precarious manner? Would he even believe her if she told him? Scientists by their nature tended to be skeptical of the fantastic at first because it was unprecedented or even ludicrous. Like the human "giggle factor" that had once pervaded the discussions of relativity and its bizarre implications, would her father dismiss the truth as too fantastic? Or would he actually believe her? Words alone might not sway him, but if he were provided proof – even a little proof went a long ways...
The engineer tinkered with the cryo-dispensers in a broken pod, thoughts elsewhere. He had a feeling that answer would come in short order. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day, maybe next week – but he felt it would come. Henrietta had struck him as an honest young lady. She couldn't keep lying forever. Not only was lying difficult to do, her conscience probably wouldn't let her.
The one unfortunate part about the modified micro-cam was that he'd had to sacrifice most of the "camera" part for the hacking instruments. Though its sight was far poorer he had managed to get it into the scrap yard in one piece. Once in, he'd used the other micro-cam that did have a high-powered camera to guide it precisely where he wanted it: within easy reach of the command center. It was still of a bit of a stretch but he wasn't willing to risk alerting unwanted company. If either micro-cam was found the whole plan would go up in smoke.
He'd already seen the big lug of a mech hauled away and imprisoned alongside his little friend. Fracture had to give credit where credit was due – anyone who could take down a pit-fighter like Groundpounder was certainly a worthy foe. The Beast of Kaon was no pushover.
And so he settled in and began to observe and impatiently wait for the opening he needed. The mini-con was still at his post for now talking to the wordy engineer. Just hearing the stream of techno-babel made his processor pound. Red optics rolled but he listened in anyway; they'd let slip some very interesting things. This waiting was starting to grind his gears even if he knew it was sensible. How Drift hadn't found the first micro-cam before now was miraculous, because that mech had an uncanny habit of of doing just that.
The Dinobot lumbered through with the rule-stickler Elite Guardsfemme lugging a pod that looked recently repaired. Fracture's optics widened a little. That engineer was one busy 'bot. If he kept up at this rate those pods would all be in working order within the next lunar cycle or so. That pace of his could be a problem.
'Maybe this calls for a little sabotage...' he mused. Airrazor and Divebomb were good at that sort of gig.
When the two 'bots passed, there was an opening. He decided to take his chance and close the gap. The hacker-cam was moved off its perch and onto the ground where he mimicked the jerky move sets of an insect. The tactic seemed to work. Smirking, he hit the halfway mark with no problems. He was home free from the looks of things.
Then something batted the thing and sent it tumbling. He cursed.
A check of the other micro-cam made him growl softly. The fuzzy alien creature the Autobots had seemingly adopted as a pet was batting the hacker-cam around like a toy, big hazel eyes wide and nearly engulfed by the black of her pupils. Again and again the hacker-cam was batted and swatted around.
"Stupid alien!" he snarled. "My tools aren't toys!"
He deployed the cables. Extending them, he waggled them to get the creature's attention. When the cat tried to pounce on the thin threads of cable, a jolt of electricity was issued. Yowling, the creature darted away. The plan had another unintended effect that was far more welcome: Fix-It, alerted to the creature's cry and panicked flight, abandoned his post to wheel after the creature.
Now – now was his chance.
Desperately he pushed the hacker-cam forwards and into the command center, keeping an eye out for Fix-It with the other micro-cam. It made it inside with no issue, and the main micro-cam had already scouted for the port he needed. Finding it, it clambered up and hooked into the DSD port with a fitted download plug. The cables quickly bypassed the firewall by causing a weak power surge that only lasted for an astrosecond. Almost instantly data began to feed into the hacker-cam. Rather than waste time downloading the entirety of the database, he filtered through the list in search of those put away for robbery. He came up with a distinct list, and from the looks of things they were all still on the loose.
Smirking, he downloaded the information regarding the convicts: personal frequency, name, list of deeds, abilities, and unique spark signature. He wasn't sure how useful the last would be without his ship's scanners, but he took it anyway.
He disconnected the hacker-cam and had it scuttle back to its perch. He made it just in time – Fix-It came rolling back to his post a mere local minute later. On that final note, Fracture sent out a code burst that would lead the cam back to base. Fake wings buzzing, it took off and began the trek. Fracture wasn't taking any chances and helped guide it himself. Within about three breems he saw it buzz in through the open steel mill doors. Holding out a hand, it landed in his open palm.
"Steeljaw." he called.
From up on the second story, the werewolf mech leapt down. He held up the hacker-cam with a triumphant grin.
"Mission accomplished."
Steeljaw's dark grin resurfaced. "Excellent work. Now we need only review the data and select our thief. Then Phase Two can begin."
"Got a question first." Fracture told him.
"Yes?"
"I think it would be a good idea to send Airrazor and Divebomb into the 'bot base and have them sabotage some of the pods. That engineer is fixing them at an alarming rate. We might also cause a ruckus and distract them enough to free some other prisoners while our thief snags what you need."
Steeljaw nodded. "I see no issue with that plan. I would advise you cleanse your mini-cons of scent beforehand as you did once before now. You know how spectacular a Canipid's sense of smell can be. One whiff can tell them a volume of information. Could lead him back here if you're not careful."
Fracture nodded and turned his focus to the two mini-cons off in the corner turning an old furnace into a tiny fortress for themselves, fighting a mock battle. He made his way over to them.
"Boys." he said.
The mini-cons jerked their helms up to look at him, Airrazor held in a choke hold.
"Bath time."
Two sets of red optics widened. Shrieking, they scattered in opposite directions as if each thought the other was a victim of the Rust Plague. Divebomb wasn't fast enough and was promptly grabbed, struggling and swearing creatively like a virus-ridden rust hound. Airrazor however disappeared into the depths of the mill. Fractured stifled an annoyed groan. Well, he supposed he could make this work with just one. Divebomb was menace enough on his own.
"Go ahead and start reviewing the list." he said to Steeljaw. "I'll get this one cleaned up."
Steeljaw nodded and went over to the make-shift console. There was a list of fifteen names, one of which had already been labeled as "captured": Filch. So he began to investigate what was left on the carte du jour of burglars Fracture had gathered.
Confused, Fix-It wheeled back to the command center. He was still wasn't entirely sure why Tumbler had suddenly yowled and run off, but a quick once-over of the feline revealed no bites or stings that would require a vet's attention. He had picked up an odd smell in the air, like burning...burning something. He hadn't smelled anything like it before. But Tumbler hadn't shown any sign of burns on her body when he'd found her. He was half tempted to hand the feline over to Charity just so she could have a look, but he decided that if the cat was behaving normally and was able to walk she must be okay.
His helm shook as he resumed his post. Cats were strange. That was the conclusion he was rapidly arriving at. Cyber-cats back home were easier to understand.
He activated the holo-display...and blinked.
"What...?"
He leaned in closer. This was odd. He was fairly sure he hadn't left the roster open in a closed display – he'd shut it down before going after Tumbler. Force of habit.
"Lieutenant Smokescreen? Counterforce? Could you come here for a moment?"
Two voices affirmed they'd be there in a sec. They arrived almost in unison.
"What is it?" asked the Elite Guardsmech.
"Look."
He tapped the holo-display. Each split to opposite sides of the command center and peered in to get a better view. They looked at him in search of answers, not quite understanding what it was that he wanted them to look at.
"The Alchemor's roster has been subjected to a filter program."
"Aaand...you didn't do that?" Smokescreen assumed.
Fix-It's helm shook.
"No." He said it with more conviction that either had heard out of him yet.
"What exactly was the filter program used for?" Counterforce asked. "Was it designed to look for anything in particular?"
Fix-It flipped through the filter.
"From the looks of it the program was designed to filter out and isolate any prisoners with a history of heft – fret – theft," he flipped through the filtered list, blinking again, "including Filch oddly enough. If the security breach alert is right this happened roughly a breem ago from now."
Both mechs shared a dumbfounded glance. Weird.
"Lieutenant...I think someone hacked the Alchemor's database. I need to –"
Counterforce interrupted him: "Scan for Decepticon signals in the area. If we have a hacker they can't have gotten far."
Fix-It did as told. A broad electro-pulse was sent out over the nearby landscape, and another just for good measure. Not a single blip occurred for either pulse. The scanner remained eerily clean of enemy signals. Counterforce's expression became dark and perplexed. His questions came, short and to the point:
"Scanner's functioning properly?" he asked.
"Yes. No misreadings, no errors. Windstorm's made sure of that."
"Any of the pack skilled in hacking?"
Smokescreen's helm whipped to stare at him. "You think it's them?" he demanded.
The Praxian said nothing in edgewise. His sun-moon optics were riveted on the holo-display.
Fix-It flipped through the roster of Steeljaw's pack. The results were inconclusive. Steeljaw's realm was sound, Thunderhoof was talented in intimidation, Clampdown was a former informant for the Council, and Underbite could seriously use a formal education. Fracture had recently been added but nowhere did it say he was talented in the realm of hacking – traps, yes; subversive tactics, yes. Hacking? No.
"Rudimentary hacking." a tired voice argued.
All three mechs lifted their helms to see Sentenza stroll in, Backdraft trotting along beside her. She didn't look any less depressed but at least she was up and moving again, and there was even a little tint of anger in her Predacon yellow optics. Held in her right hand was Tumbler, quietly purring.
"Beg pardon?" wondered Fix-It.
She massaged a temple and said: "Don't need to be an expert hacker for this sort of gig. A real hacker wouldn't have left any trace. I don't think it's out of the question that Fracture might've cobbled together some sort of rudimentary hacking program and device and sent one of his mini's to do the job. He's a np'gonz for the Council, the mech to do the dirty jobs – and unscrupulous to boot. Since he's running with Steeljaw now we can assume this hack was for his benefit, not because he's looking for a bounty that might not've been claimed. Claiming the bounty won't work if you have no way to deliver the target home."
They all three found themselves nodding agreement. Reasonable enough argument. Fix-It went ahead and sent a data-burst to Bumblebee about the hacking. Maybe he had some ideas.
"I see your point." admitted Smokescreen. "But why would Steeljaw be interested in thieves? He strikes me as the guy to look for murderers, not muggers or pick-pockets."
"Maybe because there's something he wants?" Fix-It offered.
The Elite Guardsmech cast him an incredulous look. "There's nothing anywhere worth stealing! At least not for a 'bot!"
Bumblebee's voice joined the conversation: [I'd say maybe Fracture's ship but that thing's been stripped to the bones for parts. Other than that I've got nothing.]
Counterforce mused aloud: "Think: without the groundbridge from Fracture's ship the pack's field of operation's severely limited; Steeljaw's file shows him as intelligent. Maybe there's something here, in this region or nearby, that he deems valuable that we wouldn't dream of labeling as such – perhaps something we take for granted. Whatever it is, he's determined enough to get it to hire an unknown 'bot to do the job for him. Why he wouldn't trust his pack I'm not sure. If they can sneak in and hack the Alchemor's database without any of us noticing I'm thinking they could pull off a robbery."
[The fact we got hacked in the first place is terrifying enough.] Bumblebee reminded him. [But with someone like Steeljaw looking for Cybertronian thieves I don't think he's gonna rob a bank.]
"Our Energon stores?" Sentenza proffered. "That's something they don't have and we do."
"I don't think what he wants is as straightforward as that, Sen..." the Praxian murmured. "Of course, he could have multiple targets in mind, that being one of them..."
[I gotta agree with CF here. Steeljaw never thinks small-scale, especially not with a mob boss like Thunderhoof in his gang.]
"Then what in the Pit does he want?" Smokescreen reiterated. This was crazy! None of it made sense!
The three mechs and the Seeker could do little but stare at one another in silence. In their minds the same looping thought process was occurring:
The Alchemor had been hacked.
The hacker had specifically looked for thieves on the prison-ship's roster.
Steeljaw's pack were the most likely suspects.
Ergo, one or more members of the pack were interested in stealing something.
What did they want stolen?
On the wind, a few notes from Charity's photoharp wafted over them.
Author's Note: Second week of school done and dusted. All the classes are pretty fun and interesting – save my Texas Gov't class where the teacher is blatantly saying she is pro-Trump and a Republican when I'm pretty sure you can't do that because it can cause problems. One guy in there literally said that "Oh, immigration from Middle Eastern countries has always been banned!" when we're talking about immigration reform. I literally just told him "No, it hasn't," while trying to restrain the urge to give him a harsh education. God, it's barely been two weeks and I'm already dreading that class the same way I did with College Algebra first semester.
Sad part is? I actually like the teacher because she's fun and funny. It's just that I don't feel safe in there voicing my own thoughts on the matter, unlike my Federal Gov't class. If she could just keep her goddamn opinion to herself...