I'm back~
Chapter 11
"He's what?!"
Prime has to reboot his audials following the outburst.
Ratchet's report on the transmission of their captured soldier had left Optimus to rethink everything… Well, many things….. But it felt like everything.
Of course this would change how the Autobots should approach their dealings with the Decepticons, which meant explaining the new development to the rest of his top officers… Which lead to Ironhide and Jazz's combined shout.
Prime just wishes he'd brought the medic along to better explain things, instead of dismissing Ratchet so he could begin to prep a medically relevant list of supplies to send to the Cons.
"That's not possible." Prowl insists, looking over the image captures of the two supposed spark readings. "It could be a trick to-"
"Ya really think Gears and Ratchet were both tricked?" Ironhide asks with obvious doubt.
"I am suggesting we approach this cautiously. It could be a clone or maybe Gears has been reprogrammed." The Praxian explains, "We know what they did to the Constructicons and that's not even mentioning what we've heard of Soundwave's work on the cybertronian processor."
"He's a telepath and a hacker; not a mnemosurgeon. Despite his reputation, I don't believe even Soundwave could reprogram a mech with the precision it takes to not corrupt a bot's mannerisms. Much less program such a convincing clone."
"All their demands suggest they are stalling for something. Something that takes time. In the least, they're probably limiting their energon consumption and stockpiling the rest until they have enough to resume raids-"
Ah. The usual bickering. It's actually proved a useful tool in the past, helping Prowl's advanced tactical systems incorporate more data than is supplied in his first sets of calculations.
Too bad those systems are specifically geared towards war (though trying to cram in any more programs into Prowl's already overtaxed military computer would undoubtedly do more harm than good).
Prowl continues, "We knew the Decepticons were running low on energon. They're desperate. It would be foolish for them not to exploit-"
"They are desperate." Optimus cuts in. "As we all should be."
Prowl's doorwings hike up and his posture straightens to attention. The other two mechs look to their leader with varying degrees of confusion.
The Prime's hand drifts up to hover over his chassis, above where the matrix safely resides.
"We can't rely on Vector Sigma. With the way this war has been headed, the cybertronian race will die out… We have been granted many avenues to life, and honored none of them."
Traditional carriers; wiped out. Splitting one's spark; limited and used up. Vector Sigma; abused to create fully grown soldiers.
He carefully meets the optics of each of his officers. "I trust Ratchet's judgement. Which means somehow, despite not being a carrier, Gears is capable of holding a newspark. Whether the Decepticons understand how this is possible or not, is unknown..."
The mech's tone is stiff, as if actively trying to keep any emotions from detracting from his words.
"I doubt the significance of a new carrying process evades Megatron. The last thing we want is to put him in a position where he believes that knowledge to be worth the expense of Gears." Prime finishes, turning to face away from his peers.
A tense air fills the room as they each ponder what's been said.
Jazz shifts to lean against the wall with a light hum.
"Ya think they would rather…. open him up… than chance us taking him back before they can figure out how he's able to carry?" the saboteur asks softly.
"I hope not."
Who knew that being a prisoner (when your captors have no interest in making your stay uncomfortable) could be so boring...
…and annoying.
His room is dull and constantly being intruded by curious and/or worried seekers looking to see if he needed anything. (Unsurprisingly, not a single one agreed to his demand to be set free.)
He just wishes they would either settle on leaving him be or monitoring him full time. Preferably the former, but that's unlikely to happen.
The constant intrusions are worse on his nerves than is healthy. If he keeps flinching every time the door opens, the mini is sure he will end up straining a cable or two.
Gears eases himself down the berth to then pace about the room.
He honestly misses the commotion and energy of his fellow minibots. While half the time they fail to understand how Gears thinks, at least they try. At least they cared enough to find things he might enjoy.
These seekers keep bothering him for supposedly some noble reason, only to duck out when the Autobot doesn't just open up and welcome them in or something… What are they expecting? And who gave them the right to look so pitiful when those expectations are not met?
…..Could be their coding compelling them to act this way.
The thought sits uncomfortably with Gears. He can relate all too well and, in his opinion, it's got to be the biggest downside to being robotic instead of organic. A little string of numbers could force a bot to do things their spark would never agree to.
The thought of another seeker stopping by with a mopey expression has the mini's processor made up. He begrudgingly trudges to the door and begins to knock. Sure enough, the door slides open immediately to reveal the blue conehead. Probably had been waiting by the door this whole time.
Now, Gears is not much known for cheering others up – and he doesn't really want to cheer up his captors – just not put them in a position to be tormented by their programming on his behalf. Can't let them go blaming him for all their problems.
"Do you have a TV?" he asks.
Dirge tilts his helm and frowns. Out of the two trines worth of seekers aboard the Nemesis, he was the most mopey one. Always depressed or in the very least a pessimist.
Kinda like Huffer, but with a slower processor.
"A TV or a computer with a big display console. Anything that can sync up with a television station." Gears expounds with a puff of his vents.
The conehead squints at him, confused.
"Why?"
It takes some effort not to shout.
"Because…" The mini says, grinding his denta. "I'm bored."
Dirge's frown lessens somewhat and he begins to look thoughtful…. Before holding out his servo for the shorter mech to take.
Gears does his best to glare down the dark blue seeker and his servo. However, Dirge appears to be unmoved by his silent protest, his offered appendage held steadily out without sign of retraction.
This continued for a few minutes before the minibot gives in (oh so painfully) and lets his own servo be enveloped by the larger one.
He's led to the center of the large room connecting his and all the seekers' habsuites. It's mildly furnished, but still has the two most important things required for a proper movie night (according to Spike anyways). A large couch and a display (in the form of a basic communications station's monitor).
The station's console is nowhere near as expansive as Teletran-1's display, but it would have to do. And the couch would have to be moved from its spot in the corner opposite the console.
He tries to go for the station only for Dirge to hold firm and shake his helm.
"You can't touch that." The seeker says, as if speaking to a naughty sparkling instead of an enemy soldier.
For Primus' sake!
Gears feels his inkling of pity for the seeker rapidly dissipate.
"Then you set it up!" he says, waving dramatically with his free servo.
"He's not a hacker." A new voice states.
The two mechs turn to see Thundercracker standing idly in the precipice of the hallway leading out to the rest of the ship…. Snooping no-good seeker.
"Hacking?! Television is as primitive a technology as it gets." The Autobot grumbles, tugging out of Dirge's grip to mimic the lighter blue flier's disapproving stance. "It doesn't take a hacker to intercept such an open frequency. Everyone on the Ark can do it."
Well… everyone that's tried anyways. Teletran does most of the work.
Thundercracker walks over, calm as ever, and asks, "What is television?"
Gears puts on the most antagonistic smile he can muster before saying, "Human entertainment."
Instead of being disgusted by the idea of participating in anything an organic species had to offer (as the mini was expecting) Thundercracker looks… intrigued…. And then makes his way over to the little station. After a short pause (and a quick search of the human's internet) the seeker begins messing with the station's controls.
It takes Gears a moment to register that the Con is actually setting it up instead of upping the console's security.
A few minutes later, the monitor is running a commercial selling some kind of body solvent.
Dirge glances between the display and Gears.
"What now?"
"Well, I don't want to stand the entire time. So you go move that couch over here," the minibot says to the conehead, before pointing to the other seeker. "and you change the channel until I say stop."
While he's stuck here with a bunch of morons for company, he might as well keep up to date with the Ark's favorite show – As the Kitchen Sinks. Only four episodes left of the current running season and he's not going to miss them.
Note: Updates will be unpredictable, but I am determined to finish this fic.