Extra warnings for chapter:
Current events trigger flashbacks of a character's dark past with vague references to possible torture. Hallucinations. Characters discuss Cybertronian equivalent to sexual intercourse and the equipment and mechanics thereof. Characters are just in a dark processor-space right now. Possible creepy uncle vibe from one character.
Jhiaxus Liege Centuro could not afford emotion right now, with such important work to do. He stood at a workstation in his orderly laboratory aboard his starship, comparing two samples of silvery protomass in separate containment fields. Both had been harvested from his own biomorphic reproductive system – his studies had revealed long ago that a mechanism with active biomorphic systems could postpone 'budding' indefinitely if the protomass were removed before it reached critical 'mass' – no pun intended – and was infused with spark energy. Jhiaxus found the silvery foundations of Cybertronian life fascinating. It was not, on its own, sentient, but it was alive. In this state – that which inferior, throwback factions cultivated into their protoforms – the protomass was pure potential. It was blank, ready to take on whatever characteristics of life with which it may be infused. It might become a sentient being, or merely a replacement limb for one damaged beyond ability to self-repair. It merely needed appropriate input.
The sample on Jhiaxus's right, designated was the control; harvested from the reservoir behind his vestigial cockpit. The sample on the left designated simply Sigma; was the case study. It had been harvested in the same manner, but launched into the tormented space of the Benzuli Expanse on a tethered probe and then retrieved. It showed promise.
Previous experiments with the Expanse had not been so successful. The previous live subject had returned from the Expanse rather wrong. After after cycles of study, Jhiaxus could only conclude that although it moved and persisted in showing other apparent signs of life, the subject was no longer live. Jhiaxus had launched the specimen back into the Expanse, with a tracking beacon, should he need to find it again. He was going to have to replace Rook; good help was hard to find.
The doors opened. Grindcore entered; the drab navy and olive deco, with arm-mounted cannon barrels and battle mask worn outside of combat expressed his status as a military mech. He lacked the appropriate bearing for a Commander, in Jhiaxus's calculation; he jaunted to the console and with the flick of a rotary dial silenced the music.
Jhiaxus sent a wireless command to raise the playback volume, though not quite to the previous level.
"Sending me right into sleep mode."
"You have business here, Commander?" Jhiaxus asked.
"The Prime suggests, My Liege, that you tie-up your studies of the anomaly. We are deploying to New Kaon."
Jhiaxus seethed inwardly, containing the emotion. He had rank and title, but he was not a member of the Imperial Military, as the Prime and his Sub-Commander. In some things, the military currently took precedence. "On whose order?"
"The Liege Maximo. Cyberforming in the Gorlam System is complete. If you have not been able to show our Liege reason to continue your study here, that is not my concern. This Starship and its forces, yourself included, are ordered to New Kaon."
Straxus must have failed, again, Jhiaxus thought. He did want time to continue study of the Expanse, but it was true he had his latest case study he might take away with him. If he lost the resources on New Kaon, it would also also delay his studies.
Jhiaxus looked up to a monitor over his workstation, where a blinking blip lit the screen just over the location of the blue star. "New Kaon is not without its own resources and subjects of interest," Jhiaxus said coolly.
"We depart this duty cycle."
New Kaon knew nothing of the plans of the Imperials. Even Straxus was not informed, though he feared. It was said The Maximo had spies everywhere; and some claimed, dark, otherworldly powers. Straxus did not truly wish to believe in the omniscience of any one mechanism, any more than he believed in Wizardry, yet just just as he feared the real power of the perception of the supernatural on a superstitious population, he had fear of what an organism composed of discreet parts spread across galaxies might be capable. Perhaps The Maximo had no spies; only collective parts of himself. Straxus, a Decepticon, feared he could be part of that collective, without conscious knowledge of his complicity.
For better or worse, the arrival of Lord Starscream and his Seekers had driven the suspicion and fear of the encroaching, too-friendly Empire from the processors of most other Decepticons. While Starscream was outside of the city proper, those he had left in charge of Darkspire, predominantly Thundercracker and Skywarp, were determined to make certain the inhabitants of New Kaon believed strong leadership was present – and it was not the governor.
Thundercracker had taken to spending time without Darkspire between the arena and The Bird Cage. He had not as yet participated in the fights for sport or prizes, but he was now a prominent spectator, rumored to be scouting for Decepticons for his team. He studied the combat with interest. Often, Skywarp was with him, but not all the time. Skywarp had found interests of his own. He also could be found at the Bird Cage for evening refuel, but he had discovered the holomatter arcade was not too scary.
Sunstorm was doing his part to represent the team, when not in the sky playing with other jets, he could be found in intellectual discussion with the denizens of New Kaon. He visited temples, barracks, gaming houses, archives: places both high and low. Otherwise, he returned to Darkspire to support Ramjet, who was finding himself strangely responsible. He spent his time not flying, refueling, recharging, or admiring Red, in Operations. He was doing a fair job of tracking the whereabouts of team members, monitoring communications and deploying Defense drones against loiterers.
Slipstream kept to her quarters. She was beginning to worry the others. Skywarp was not even certain she had been out to fly. Thundercracker said it was time for the third-in command to do her part to keep up appearances. He did not enter her chamber to give the command, but departed for the arena and left others to solve the problem.
Skywarp had been feeling somewhat awkward in regards to Thundercracker, since they kissed the night of the reception, but he did not let it affect his duty. He made appearances in public with his Leader and carried out his orders as usual. Usually, Skywarp was one who could get along well enough with Slipstream; she was less evasive with him than most others. But, she had not appeared or commed for a few days, even when he sent comms to coyly inquire whether she were well.
Skywarp went to Operations. Ramjet was there, a weapons console serving as footrest, as he watched the security monitors. Skywarp did not know how, but Ramjet had been making his self-assigned monitor duty look like fun. He had no appearance of being taxed or wishing to be anywhere else. Red was in a seat nearby, reading something from a datapad. A few empty cubes and cans littered the workspace.
"Can Slipstream still override Operations from her quarters?" Skywarp asked.
"Is the Magnus an Autobot?" Ramjet asked by way of reply. He trusted Slipstream to be able to access anything, but some links were reciprocal. He sat straight, rolled his chair along the floor, and tapped at another console. The monitor now showed Slipstream, apparently seated and motionless, with her back to a door. Thundercracker would be angry if he knew, Skywarp thought.
"Private quarters are not supposed to have cameras," Skywarp noted. He hoped no one had been watching him when in his chamber!
"A Decepticon City Commander would never have use for being able to monitor his subordinate's duty stations." Ramjet was quite capable with Operations now; he had found the technical manual.
Skywarp watched the monitor from one optic, not certain he wanted to see. His fear was confirmed; Slipstream was hardwire connected to her comm terminal and not moving. "Why didn't you tell one of us?"
"Are you going to tell TC?" All it would do was send their peerless leader into a fit of 'disgraceful'.
"Don't call him that."
"She's not in any danger, physically," Red Alert spoke up, "I would have said something, if that were the case. Vortex brings her energon. She takes a break, occasionally."
Ramjet tapped at the console again and brought up on a secondary monitor a piece of previously recorded, time-stamped video, showing Vortex coming in through the door behind Slipstream. He placed an energon cube on her workstation and then left.
"He does know there is no way he is their third...right?" Skywarp asked. He had been fairly certain of this himself, but suddenly feared he had been mistaken and felt need for confirmation.
Ramjet shrugged, and leaned back in his chair again. "Maybe Uncle Vortex was impressed by her interrogation skills."
"Or her disregard for interplanetary treaties and professional codes of conduct," Red added, "He was in prison for what he'd done to First Aid and Blades."
"W-what d-did he do?"
"In legal terms, we call it 'torture'," Red Alert said icily.
Skywarp supposed Red Alert was not going to provide details. He did not fault her personally, but now, whatever Vortex had done, would be the worst thing Skywarp could imagine. It probably did not involve tentacles, but it probably involved glue and rotor blades, and maybe even some creepy, disorienting, isolation within his cargo space. "W-well, anyway, it is dangerous for Slipstream to dive," Skywarp said, putting effort into not stammering. "Even Thundercracker shows concern about her doing it."
"I'm sure you have a completely normal amount of anxiety about it," Ramjet said sarcastically, even as he moved his chair to put himself in front of Red Alert. "Why don't you just warp in there and tell her to get out?" He asked, the back of his wings to Skywarp.
Yes, he should, Skywarp thought. He should be at least as responsible as Ramjet – more.
"She did tell Ramjet at one point that she was trying to find what has happened with Trypticon on Cybertron, but we are monitoring for the same here," Red Alert said. It concerned her, and Ramjet in turn, that they had not had a reply from Cybertron. Did they disbelieve their intelligence on the possibility of the prison being compromised, or had something happened to prevent them from replying? The only reassurance was that the public data nets did not have any news about the prison up and disappearing.
"I am seeing Glyph and Vortex together now, seriously," Ramjet laughed.
"That is not funny," Red Alert said, smiling through her lie.
Skywarp did not get their sense of humor. He did not understand that Ramjet could say absurd things simply to make Red laugh, so she would not dwell on the things that disturbed her.
Skywarp warped from Operations, back up to his chambers shared with Thundercracker. He exited immediately into the corridor and found Vortex already there. "Are you actually stalking her?" Skywarp asked.
Vortex gazed blankly at Skywarp with his red-amber visor. Skywarp found it off-putting, to say the least, but he was determined not to be frightened of his subordinates. Vortex now had the little blue bunny tattoo that signified full membership in their team; it was along his left leg and translated to nose art when in his alt-mode. Skywarp supposed this meant that Vortex, and probably Swindle, would remain with them, even after they departed New Kaon. Still, he did not quite know why Vortex was with them.
"Can you persuade Slipstream to leave her chamber and go out?" Skywarp asked.
"Was that supposed to be a command?" Vortex asked in the static-edged drawl of his calmer moods.
Skywarp focused for a nanoklik on how Starscream addressed his subordinates and then spoke again. "Use your skills of persuasion to convince Slipstream to pull out of her dive and get out of Darkspire for the rest of the day."
"Yes, Sir."
Slipstream found the security measures installed within the data networks of myriad races as much a failure as a wire-mesh door on a submersible built for air-breathers; there were so many small gaps, a flood could pass through. Like the particles of matter passing through the gaps between those of another presumably solid substance, Slipstream slipped through their defenses. She pushed her consciousness through an intricate series of relays: conductive cables, radio communication towers, fiber optic lines, flashing lasers, tachyon transmitters, crystal nodes, ansibles – planets, natural and artificial satellites, research probes, space stations, starships, shuttlecraft – a computing device as big as a mountain, a tiny comm node beneath a child's skin.
Slipstream penetrated and circumvented their protection. She exploited small virtual gaps and worked them, until data flowed freely. She pushed through, establishing, in her wake, a nigh-untraceable maze of compromised systems, until she found the access she wanted.
She was in: connected to a terminal within Trypticon Maximum Security Detention Facility. It was not native to Trypticon, but a select piece of Autobot hardware installed to control prison systems, and connected to the Autobot's Security and Enforcement network, which was in turn connected to the Autobot Council and Elite Guard networks.
Now, the terminal was hers: its system vulnerable and open. Slipstream swam joyously through its circuits, and finally to the sensitive data of its core programming. The kernel shimmered before her in the virtual wireframe perceived by her processor. With care, Slipstream inserted a pre-prepared packet of code.
Her virtual seed merged with the core and instantly began to replicate according to its programming. Virtual tendrils of code began to reach out to nearby subroutines.
Mission accomplished.
Slipstream withdrew, slowly, closing openings she had made, resealing the ethereal passage, as if she had never entered there. She could hear Vortex speaking, but was not quite lucid enough to know whether he whispered or shouted, or from where his voice came.
"Wake up," he said.
Slipstream withdrew fully into her shell. She could sense Vortex in proximity to her right side. She saw the dark, navy and purple mech with urban camo armor at her right side, as she stretched her arms overhead. Slipstream ran her claw-tips over the null rays mounted on each arm, and then reached forward and tugged her cable from the workstation. It retracted neatly back into the housing in her neck. Slipstream touched the claws of her right hand to the port, and closed the small cap over the end of the i/o cable, so the port was hidden and flush with her neck plating.
"Skywarp ordered me to persuade you to get out out."
"He ordered you?"
"The Commander asked nicely, first."
Slipstream trilled laughed. "How were you going to persuade me?"
If someone else had asked, he would have answered, "take you for a ride," but, crazy though he was, Vortex knew that was not the way to persuade Slipstream. The behavior Slipstream generally exhibited intrigued Vortex. He had observed signs of suspicion, in Slipstream, that his interest was common and physical, but Vortex did not think he was capable of those feelings, anymore. He was uncertain how he might persuade her, if she truly resisted. They had avoided resistance thus far, because Vortex complied with her orders and phrased his own plans as suggestions. He had a strong belief, based on observations over a lifetime, that if he pushed, she would not resist, but play along, comply, until true emotions were in danger of being revealed. She took the path of least resistance, until she got emotional, or believed her emotions would otherwise be known, and then she evaded and deflected. Vortex complied in turn, and so he had the opportunity now to be near Slipstream and observe her, without the bitterness, argument or evasion of which others complained.
"I was not even going to try," Vortex drawled, finally. "How was the dive?"
"I accomplished the mission I set for myself," Slipstream replied quickly. There was little evasiveness, Vortex noted. The answer was vague, but straightforward.
Liquid might run along a straight course, if that happened to be the path with least resistance. Slipstream was not evasive to the point of being fluid in all things. She was decisive so long as she perceived a clear and logical path. It served her in commanding sorties as well as in diving. She could be trusted to plan a mission; ask how she felt about another being, and she could not easily be pinned.
Vortex found himself wondering, more frequently, how Slipstream would respond to imprisonment or interrogation. Sometimes, in his graphics processor, he envisioned them in an interrogation room culled from some long past memory. Slipstream was, so far as he knew, the only Seeker among Starscream and his clones, to not once have been restrained, or captured – Dirge had gotten himself lured to a secluded location and nearly killed. Though he wondered, Vortex felt no desire to interrogate Slipstream himself.
He suspected he liked the idea of Slipstream being untouched and unbroken, while having the propensity and potential to break others. It was fascinating. He was starting to fantasize.
"You know the city a little better than I do," Slipstream said.
"Maybe," Vortex replied easily. He had been to New Kaon before. "It is more accurate to say I have contacts here you do not."
Slipstream knew Vortex had not lived in New Kaon that much longer than she had; his team had considered it one port of call among many, but it seemed right they should both get out of Darkspire together. Skywarp had ordered it. They had worked well together thus far. "May I make use of your contacts?"
"If they allow you," Vortex said, laughing, "I would be willing to put in a good word." The celebrity that Slipstream was right now, some would still show bias against her for being young and unproven, yet highly ranked. Others would distrust her simply for being a flier. "Can you act modest, if needed?"
Fair question for one of Starscream's clones, Slipstream thought. "If that is the best means to associated with your contacts." It seemed only logical, to her. Sometimes social engineering was like throwing passwords at a simple security device, other times a lot of personal feelings got involved. "I want to find a source of upgrades: power rectifiers, drive expansions, custom i/o ports...."
Slipstream was not looking for undercarriage neon or landing gear in a new shade. And it did not sound to Vortex like she wanted weapons. That meant he did not need to rely specifically on those contacts he shared with Swindle – though Swindle had some contact with all manner of merchants within the faction. "I know a few mechs who may serve, if you have more specific needs, they will know who else to ask."
Slipstream and Vortex departed Darkspire via the landing bay high in the tower. They flew over the cool-toned Decepticon construction to one of the high-rise towers further from the center. Slipstream transformed to root mode and alighted on the skywalk. Vortex approached shortly, hovered over the walkway, and transformed as he cut power to his rotors. The blades still spun slowly along his back as he straightened.
Needlenose had a fashionable microchip studio in the adjacent tower. Vortex entered first, being somewhat acquainted with the designer. Slipstream entered, from the walk, just after Vortex. The interior was showroom made to simulate the atmosphere of manufacturing clean room. The colors were all white and silver with hints of muted violet: clear Decepticon branding. The materials and surfaces were selected to minimize electrical discharge. There were a number of widely-spaced, vacuum-sealed cylinders displaying sample wares and secure, tiny drawers containing stock of merchandise.
Needlenose approached, seeming to have no other visitors, except for a couple of small, organic Nebulans wearing exosuits, talking amongst themselves in one corner. He recognized Slipstream immediately; having seen captured video on the local data nets. He stared, even as Vortex moved to intercept him. Slipstream had not seen Needlenose at the reception, or at the Bird Cage or even in the skies. He was a pale mech, clearly a flier from the prominent wings in root mode, with light purple and lavender armor.
"Slipstream," he said.
Vortex spoke, "Commander Slipstream is looking for suppliers of hardware her team may use."
"I see," Needlenose said rapturously.
Slipstream did not speak, but made a nod to Vortex, then began meandering about the showroom. Vortex was glad his battle-mask and visor hid amusement so well. It would not do to have the vendor think Slipstream desperate, poor, or powerless before they negotiated, so Vortex continued acting the part of the mean assistant, while she looked like a haughty Seeker who could not be bothered. What Vortex had not learned from watching Swindle operate, he had learned from observing others. Slipstream had access to Starscream's lifetime of memories, and one did not survive being Megatron's Second without some diplomacy to make up for difference in strength.
Vortex might have overestimated Slipstream's need for a good word; it was more she needed a partner to aid her negotiations. They could manipulate Needlenose more easily two-on-one. Of course, this fed the fantasy Vortex had: the other Slipstream that had been forming in his processor space. When he was most lucid, he knew the two were separate, and he knew which one was real. They were not currently in a featureless interrogation room.
Needlenose soon began inquiring with Vortex about their micro-circuitry needs. Slipstream was the one who knew her needs and wants, and Vortex was not about to have Needlenose think him uninformed, so he asked, "Whatcha got?"
Needlenose kept his optics on Slipstream's slow perusal as he began rattling off some well-practiced pitch about bleeding-edge designer microchips, and why anyone who wanted to be anyone, in the Decepticon faction, needed some to give them an advantage in performance – and status merely by installing his chips.
"Commander Slipstream does not need your microchips to improve her status," Vortex said.
Needlenose considered this. He had not been out much, but he was well connected in the virtual sense. There was a rumor going about that Skyquake – infamous for his neon – had recently gotten a black re-deco just to impress Slipstream and Starscream. The rumors about Starscream had been outstanding: his coming back from the dead and arriving in New Kaon, while Megatron and other high-ranking Decepticons were Autobot prisoners. Slipstream put the city in gossip overdrive. Supposedly there were a lot of Decepticons courting her or Starscream, some were planning challenges, and others just wanted to transfer to Team Luna. It might just be possible, Needlenose thought, that Slipstream could lend his designs status.
"Commander," Needlenose called, as he maneuvered past Vortex. "Allow me to give you a gift."
If you pursue, that's all you'll likely do, Vortex thought, onlooking.
"What's the occasion?" Slipstream asked bitterly.
"That is – I should have said – a free sample, yours to try with no obligation or charge."
"Of course," Slipstream said pleasantly. "I can see your designs have some merit. If I like your sample, I might make a purchase in the future, or give you recommendations." There was no guarantee in Slipstream's tone, but there was no bitterness or refusal, either. "Perhaps this model of power rectifier?"
Needlenose nodded. "You have a good sense for micro-circuitry." It was his best, but he was confident a gift now would mean future benefit. Needlenose retrieved one of the securely packaged rectifier chips from a drawer and presented it to Slipstream. She did not subspace the small packet, but quickly tucked it inside her cockpit.
Slipstream spent half a klik telling Needlenose why Lord Starscream was good for the faction and hinted that Team Luna had plans for increasing the numbers in the Decepticon faction again. She left then with Vortex to the skywalk.
Their next stop was Gutcruncher's shop. It was across the city, not far from the center, and along the ground. Slipstream looked up and noted several old, dispersed vapor trails, and then the identifying silhouettes and formation of the Predators: Skyquake and four smaller jets, with Falcon in lead position. Talon tipped his wing from the outside of the formation as they passed overhead.
"You ever walk?" Slipstream asked, then looking down to the dark, ground level streets below.
"To what purpose?"
"Any." To escape the notice of jets overhead, she thought to herself. Slipstream hopped from the skywalk and used her thrusters to slow her descent to the street. She looked up and saw Vortex transform, lower himself, and then transform again. "I want the Predators for our team, except that Skydive is possibly an Autobot spy, Falcon seems unable to relinquish command, Skyquake's personality just clashes, and I'm not sure what Stalker could offer."
"So, really you just want to recruit Talon and Snare?" Vortex made a staticy chuckle.
"I don't want to be the one to break the set."
Vortex understood. He'd worked with teammates before. Onslaught said there was a place for him, even Swindle, if they wanted it. But then, Onslaught had been the one to make the plan that called for Vortex to be where he had, doing what he had, when the Autobots had captured him as an enemy prisoner of war. And, Onslaught hadn't planned a rescue from Trypticon. While Swindle, who was supposed to be disloyal to everyone but himself, had gotten himself involved with the plot to compromise Autobot control of Trypticon, and then acted with such blatant stupidity in getting himself caught that Vortex was willing to bet currency against him that Swindle had gotten himself arrested on purpose, just so he could keep Vortex company...and maybe play with Smokescreen.
"If the set is going to break, it's going to break." Swindle was all about The Kid now, and Onslaught had a plan to join forces with Mega-Octane. Vortex snickered at the image rendered from his imagination: Onslaught carefully planning the order of baths. "It's just water," Slipstream said, but Vortex felt his engine choking.
"If a band breaks up, and there is a femme nearby, it is always her fault," Slipstream said. The real Slipstream, who knew nothing of the water or baths rendered within his processor.
"Earth logic," Vortex said slowly. It had to be. Teams disbanded. It happened. Ridiculous to think feelings about any femme could break a team that was not already fractured over something else, like important matters of supplies, loyalty, rank, courage or honor. "If you are trying to go unnoticed, I could always carry you."
"I didn't say I was trying to avoid anything!" Slipstream snapped.
"You would never say that, Commander."
Slipstream huffed through her vents. She did not like other knowing what she would or would not say, much less patronizingly informing her of their insights. Focus, she reminded herself. "We can walk," Slipstream said, "Let the grounders stare. I hardly had a chance to experience what the streets of a Decepticon city are like, when we were out looking for Dirge."
Vortex walked after Slipstream. He was calvary. He was built to quickly get in and out of difficult spots, even under enemy fire, and take care of mission objectives while he was there. He could drop a squad of cycles, provide cover fire, reinforce his team on the ground, or air lift prisoners or wounded. Of course he could walk. Vortex was not so certain about the design of turbine heels, which he noticed, very many Seekers had, even when their alt modes varied.
Slipstream did not consider her own manner of movement unusual, as it was hardwired into her shell, even though she could perceive that Starscream's manner of movement was airier than that of many other mechs. Secretly, she assumed that her notice of how Starscream moved, at all, was due to the fact she had been in love with him since the instant she came online, and did not consciously consider all Seekers to have a peculiar manner of movement in comparison to other mechanisms. The turbine heels were made of a tempered Cybertronian alloy and quite durable, if anything it was the particular articulation of Seeker joints and transformation schemes that made it seemed they had no legs for land.
The ground level spaces were used largely as warehouses, but there were also services and shops that served the Decepticon populace, either run by members of the faction, or by individuals from other races, which had been admitted to the city and permitted to operate with in it environs. There were for example, full service Chromite parlors, as well as Skuxxoid trading posts.
Slipstream and Vortex strolled past a Torkulonese Spa, just as Motormaster and three of his teammates exited. Vortex had encountered Torkuli before, and the Alya species from their homeworld. Their services were referred to as clinics, spas or sanatoriums, depending on the local translation; the public perception was that patrons were glitched, or malfunctioning in the processor, and used the marketed image of the clinics as places of rest and rejuvenation as a front for their recovery. Vortex chuckled as he saw the team of stunt-driving grounders come from the spa.
"Is he laughing at me?" Breakdown demanded.
"Let's kill the twirly bird!" Wildrider suggested.
Motormaster punched his right fist into his open left hand, suggestively. "You!" He said to Slipstream, "What did you Seekers do to Dead End?"
Vortex's rotors rattled; he almost threw himself between Motormaster and Slipstream, which would have been utterly foolish.
"Wouldn't you like to know!" Slipstream snarked.
Dragstrip sidled up to Motormaster's right side. "Don't do anything to ruin all we just accomplished!" he hissed.
"I want my teammate back!" Motormaster insisted.
"Does it look like I have him?" Slipstream asked.
"You abducted Dead End for your forced breeding program!" Breakdown accused.
"I did no such thing," Slipstream said, then leapt into the air on her thrusters, transformed to jet mode and climbed. She was not going to sell-out her youngest brother to the Stunticons; they could learn the truth when Dirge or Dead End saw fit to give it to them.
"Wrong Seeker," Vortex said, then similarly transformed and climbed.
They flew the remainder of the distance to Gutcruncher's shop.
The entrance was below street-level, under a warehouse and a maintenance station for jets. Gutcruncher was a mech with green and gold deco, and the distinctive 'track-marks' of sealed transformation seams. Slipstream winced as she realized the weld-like swell about the seams meant Gutcruncher would likely never transform again. It was a sign of serious replication error in the self-repair system that came with advanced age, or use of a controlled substance like nucleon. Gutcruncher displayed no other signs of age.
The interior of his shop was in opposition to the clean room image of Needlenose's studio, from which they had come. The grey surfaces were dimly lit and cluttered with shelving units and bins of used parts.
"Anything I can help you find?" Gutcruncher asked.
"Just looking," Slipstream told him.
Vortex and Gutcruncher exchanged appraising looks. Not too much of a market for Cybertronian copter parts, Gutcruncher thought, but then there was not much of a supply, being the copters were rarer than jets or cars. If he had some parts, he could charge a premium to the next copter who was injured enough to be in need.
Gutcruncher gave Slipstream a glance. He'd heard about the recently-arrived Seekers. They brought the number of Seekers almost up to what it had been during the Great War, and being clones the parts were easily interchangable, so there would seem a market. Yet, Gutcruncher suspected their elitism meant they would not take kindly to any selling used Seeker parts, knowing they could only have come from a fallen comrade.
"Let me know if you need any help," Gutcruncher called.
Slipstream slowly perused the wares, as she had in Needlenose's establishment. It was not her true intention to make purchases, but to familiarize herself with the available parts and modifications, before proposing acquisitions to Thundercracker. The bulk of Gutcruncher's stock was general modifications that would be compatible with any Cybertronian mechanism, rather than mods for a specific type or model.
Slipstream spent some time looking over mods intended as replacements or alternates for five-digit hands. Among these were hooks, guns, grappling line launchers, saw blades, and nozzles for ejecting liquid substances. There were even two, three and six digit manipulators available. They were not to Slipstream's taste, but if Gutcruncher had some towline leg-mounts available, she might add those to her list.
Slipstream wandered to the back of the store. Vortex found here there a while later, intently studying the bins of interface modifications. A few nanocycles later, Gutcruncher approached them both. "You two looking to make yourselves more compatible?" he asked.
"More compatible with what?" Slipstream asked in flat, serious tone.
Vortex cackled madly, unnerved partly by the awkwardness of Gutcruncher's assumption about their relationship, but mostly by his own inability to resolve his idealization of Slipstream as unbroken interrogatrix, with the potent visual of the young Seeker femme's claw-tips fondling the protruding metal spike on a particular interface array circuit board.
Gutcruncher grinned, quickly perceiving Slipstream's naiveté in such matters. "Why, compatible with whatever your pretty little spark desires."
"I like the word 'interface'," Slipstream said honestly, thinking it nothing so important she should deny or hide the fact, "It has a nice sound: interface." The Decepticon pronunciation naturally had clear, high tones followed by tones laced with static and hiss. "A shared boundary between adjacent bodies. A point at which independent entities communicate or interact. The performing of interaction between two or more independent entities."
"A beautiful thing to share," Gutcruncher said, thinking to exploit whatever sense of romance the femme had in order to make a sale.
"You speak in the computer science usage...right?" Vortex asked.
Slipstream lifted a mod from another bin, this one displaying a grouping of nubby tentacles. "I am only interested in how they work," she said seriously.
"Well, when one mechanism is attracted to another mechanism-" Gutcruncher began.
Slipstream cut-off his explanation. "I don't want a running commentary of the mechanics involved! I do have some idea what interface equipment does. What I want to know is how it works." Slipstream dropped one of the circuit board modifications back into the bin, and flipped the other to point out the connections. "How does the interface array interface with the mechanism being modified?"
"I'm not a medibot, but don't they have some kind of standard connection?" Vortex asked. He had such a mod, but it had been installed so long ago, that he could not quickly recall the details.
"They are considered internal modifications," Gutcruncher said, "they don't fit external ports, like weapon mods. The hardware was to be properly installed. It need not be a medibot, any skilled technician could do the job with a set of specifications."
"Technical specifications. Yes. What are they? The interface mod must connect in some manner to the neural network. Correct? Through the sensor net?"
Vortex began to suspect Slipstream wasn't looking to make a purchase, but build a better interface array.
Gutcruncher was uncertain both of the answer and Slipstream's motivation in asking. "You don't have to worry your processor about it. If you make a purchase, I'll include the installation guide."
"Who are you to tell me what should or should not worry my processor?" Slipstream demanded angrily.
"Tell me you are not trying to build your own device," Vortex begged with unusual drama, his vocalizer low to keep Gutcruncher, still standing nearby, from easily overhearing.
Vortex's low, pleading tone distracted Slipstream from her rage. She was grateful, actually. Gutcruncher did not deserve to evoke emotional response in her.
"I just want to understand," Slipstream said, turning to Vortex, though Gutcruncher remained a short distance from them. "If the point is to drive a system toward some manner of sensory pinnacle, and the device does that by sending some manner of signal through the neural network, why the mechanical devices at all? Why all the touching and grappling and penetrating of delicate hardware? Why not just send the signal directly? Why imitate such organic exchanges?"
Vortex felt suddenly like he was on the wrong side of an interrogation and something shameful in his past was being dredged-up from obscurity to weaken his defense. Slipstream was so...innocently...demanding. He wanted to answer. "Some intended partners are organic."
"Really?" Slipstream had not considered that. She sincerely did not see the appeal.
"Yes."
"But-but I know. I do not have the memory of doing it, but I remember awareness of others doing it, or at least claiming to have done so. Not with organics. Why is it?"
Vortex was uncertain whether he was fully engaged with reality. "Say again," he said warily.
"Have you done it?" Slipstream asked. She said the words and Vortex heard, but he doubted.
"Yeah." Then, "What about Starscream?"
"This isn't about him!" Slipstream insisted. It was, in an indirect way, but Vortex did not need to have the details. "And, it's not about you, either, so you can relax on that account." She huffed a sigh through her vents. Sometimes, she started to suspect her gender affected her CPU, but then, she thought, it was more likely her gender was affecting all the mechs around her.
"Pay attention!" the other Slipstream said. Vortex flinched, though he knew she was not real. It was not, he knew, a full-on hallucination, and it was not a separate personality. He was not that crazy. She wasn't there. It was just, the more time he spent with Slipstream, the real one, something was triggered, and he did not quite understand what. "Fine. I'm fine," Vortex said, "Just a little...put to the question."
"I didn't think it'd be a problem for you. It's a basic matter of record you have a lot more experience than I do."
Not just with interface equipment. "Ask."
"Why is it? What's the advantage in it?"
"Feels good," Vortex said honestly.
"That's just a signal to the processor."
Vortex predicted a dark turn in the conversation. The signal. Signals could be falsified, controlled, generated at the touch of a button. "The whole process," Vortex said, "Proximity. Movement. Surrender or exchange of control."
"Trust? Love?"
"Sometimes, but not necessary for this."
"But it's possible, for us – I mean for our kind – to feel good without the mods installed."
"Yeah. Possible. With sparks or without. It's all a matter of reaching that state at which the neural network feeds the processor pleasure. Probably as many ways to do it without mods as there are types of mods."
"And so I have to ask, again, why we have them? Doesn't it bother you not to know?"
Vortex chuckled. "I know what bothers you," the other Slipstream said. "Not bothered," he said.
Slipstream vented a sigh. "Vortex."
"I'm here, Commander."
"The mods must make it easier, faster, and allow for access by other races?"
"Yes."
"It sounds like a liability. Something to exploit."
She understood. "It could be."
"With understanding of the technical specifications, one could likely implant a stripped down mod connected to a remote control. Just press a button and the other's system seizes with pleasure. It seems more efficient."
"It seems cold and impersonal."
"Oh."
Slipstream was, Vortex could see, in some ways so like Starscream. She had his streak of cruelty and sadism, but it exhibited itself with the cold, impersonal edge of logic. She definitely had the same volatile emotions, and she fiercely tried to suppress them, clinging to efficiency and strategy. She masked what she viewed as her own flaws with biting banter. She did not seek to be captured, held or restrained. She wanted the chase, but she wanted her freedom to fly away. She was so willing to violate another's will, to dive another mind: bare metal and raw data without intermediary interface; yet, she was resisting the idea of personal contact between shells.
Sensory deprivation would not have worked on her. Glue and blades might have broken her, but not to any useful purpose. And if he let her, she'd violate his core programming without hesitation or remorse.
"You want to find out if you like it?"
"You want to come back online with a new personality?"
Gutcruncher sounded a wordless chirp from his vocalizer, to remind them he was there. Vortex gave him the blank mask and visor, but Slipstream glared hotly. "If you two seriously have the need to debate the history of interface modifications, there is someone currently in New Kaon who may prove informative."
"Who?" Slipstream asked.
Vortex thought he knew. "I know someone," Vortex said. "Commander," he said.
Slipstream gave a nod. She found her focus and made her posture and expression pleasant. "We will return to purchase some tow cables, I think."
"You know?" Gutcruncher asked Vortex. "The prisoner."
"I know who can help us," Vortex said, not supplying further information.
"You know his location?"
"I can find what we need," Vortex said, putting just a little effort into sounding like the situation was effortless. Gutcruncher was probably looking for a referral fee, or to broker information. Slipstream understood the situation and left quickly with Vortex.
"Is there really someone?" Slipstream asked, when they were well away from the shop.
"Yeah, I know who he means. He's been in custody for some time. I actually helped bring him in. Secret Police gave the order for capture and the Governor determined his sentence should be labor as war retribution. But he classified a military prisoner of war, so...."
"War prisoner? Then he's an Autobot?"
"Quintesson."
Slipstream did not know the details, but she knew what all Cybertronians did: they did not like or trust the Quints. As far as she knew, even Starscream had never encountered one, but they were said to be out there. Quints featured as villains in recharge tales. There had been a war, long ago, before the Great War that determined modern factions, when Cybertronians had waged their battle to defeat the forces of the Quintessons.