The Diego Diaries: Cat and Mouse (dd6 636)
=0=Jailhouse. Now.
Springer walked into the jail intake of the Courthouse with a case in his chassis that held Horst Mueller. Behind him with a grin and a satisfied expression, Drift followed. He was delighted that Mom had okayed Springer to duty. Working alone was his signature in the old orns but now? It felt like he left half his body at home without Springer with him.
They paused by the desk. "What's the story, boys?" Springer asked.
"Usual. We have a few real fights. Really hard on fights. The usual drunks, a mini-con invasion … apparently, someone had a good orn at work and his tribe celebrated. Magistrate Court in the morning is going to be amusing. The usual," Coney replied from his 'throne' behind the desk. As the senior desk sargent in the system, all of it, he was 'lord of his realm' and jokingly made sure everyone knew it. "Do you wish to make a deposit?"
Everyone including two drunks in a cage nearby laughed loudly.
Springer pulled his containment box out and held it up. "Sure. I give you … Colin Anderson."
Everyone there leaned in slightly to stare at Colin Anderson who for his part leaned away from all of them. Horst Mueller soon joined the inspection. "What's the names, etc. You know the drill," Coney asked as he geared up a screen.
Springer snickered. "Are you insinuating that I have a checkered past?"
"Yes," Drift said. He grinned at Springer. "We aren't going to be talking about mine. Just so you know."
They all laughed uproariously.
"This is Colin Anderson, N.E.S.T. wannabe and never was," Springer said. They were talking in English for the comfort of their 'guests'. "He's to be held on a Primal hold and no one is to speak to him but Jazz without Prime's permission. Same with Horst Mueller, here."
Coney input the data, then nodded. "You're in."
"Thanks, Coney," Springer said as he walked to the wall where the jail slots were for prisoners. He slid the box in, heard it click, then grinned. "Go inside, slagger. Behave or we'll have to get Dad and right now I think he's more pissed at you than Lennox."
They stepped from their boxes into the holding cells and the doors behind them slid shut. Turning to watch the two bots, both sides of a great and unknowable divide stared at each other a moment.
Then Springer leaned in slightly. "Say what you will about us, slaggers … try and get your Buick to do what I just did."
Drift snorted, then put his containment back into his chassis. Springer did as well, then both nodded to Coney. They walked out to take the underground to the Stables and get the horses for the first shift since getting on his peds. Both of them were ridiculously happy to do so.
Coney stared at the humans, then walked around his desk to stop before them. He stared a moment, then laid down the smack. "I'm Coney and you're my prisoners. You are 100% on the radar of everyone. You do anything stupid and you'll be yanked out of there. Do your time here and be entertained. Do stupid and be smacked. Any questions?"
The two humans stared at him without comment so he walked back to his desk. It would be a busy night for everyone as the parade of half assed half-assery came through in a nearly continuous stream. Long gone were the orns of a few wild afts and bad attitudes. The news mentioned earlier that the colony passed 60,000,000 individuals.
The jail would be expanded into a separate building across the driveway to accommodate this new milestone on their journey back to themselves.
Such as it was.
=0=Prime
He sat at the command table in Ops Center fuming for a moment before he came back to his usual balanced self. Having humans in the jail wasn't his first choice but for these two he could make an exception. The situation was in hand. Then Jazz walked to him to sit.
"We have a message, Optimus. The control in Switzerland is asking for the check in. I gave it," Jazz said, "and sent it the usual manner."
"Keep on it, Jazz. That is your entire focus now," Prime said.
Jazz nodded, then sat back himself. "I'm tuned into their frequency and have the messaging routed to me directly. I'm going to squeeze more information from Mueller and Anderson about how they do this so we can match them. What do you want to do if their cell asks for information?"
"Send him some that makes no sense. I would like you to have Breezy compose it using his own language. No one, not even Shockwave could translate its meanings. Put some interesting pictures with it, nonsensical diagrams and send it. If that keeps them busy trying to figure it out then we are just that much ahead of them," Prime said.
Jazz nodded, then grinned. "I would love to see them try."
A faint ghost of a grin shadowed Prime's handsome face. "You and me both."
Jazz rose, then walked toward the corridor that led to his office.
Prime watched him go, then glanced at Prowl who was studying a data pad nearby.
He glanced at Prime, then walked over to sit. "You still look angry."
"I am. What if they, being as clever as they are, manage to make some of the things they received? I fear for humanity if they do," Prime said.
"They have to get off the planet and that leaves trails. We will find them and take them out," Prowl said coldly. "Don't put too much worry in it, Optimus. We will defeat them again."
=0=In the Swiss Alps
They rode the elevator downward into the cold earth to a spot that had been discovered in the 1800's but had been abandoned and left as a curiosity and a 'dead end' to the focus of those miners in that time. Now, a group was working the hole. It held the same strange mineral, something the earlier miners had never seen before and thus, didn't see as having any value. Now new miners were here and they were digging on a huge vein of it round the clock.
No one knew what it was before the Autobots came. Now they did. It was a naturally occurring deep deposit of raw Class C energon.
=0=Cybertron
He walked down the road that divided both sides of the huge camp to visit a number of elders of his acquaintance back in the orn. Some of them were Immortals and others their family. Hard Drive liked to make hands on inspections and along the way his core group of friends and co-workers was slowly reassembling itself. As he ambled, groups would see him and come to visit, checking out this and that thing with him and he gave them his full attention.
Praxus was getting on its feet. There were entire districts now that were filled with towers and businesses, amenities and public buildings. The big library was rebuilt and heavily used by the locals. The parks were easily and swiftly rebuilt and many was the child playing and the picnic had in their familiar and much loved confines. There were things to do, shopping to be had and the hurley-burley of working went on everywhere. It was exciting and delightful to see.
When the last brick was laid and the last cap stone placed, he would be among the happiest mechs that ever lived. He walked with purpose trailing his entourage. It was amusing to him on the odd occasion that he remembered that Cargo and Keystock were not found in the van.
=0=With Granny
He lay on the floor on his belly on a soft blanket that he napped upon when he was tired of 'flying'. Possibility of Mars, son of Prowl and Prime was visiting with Amma at the Trigger. Miler was doing some calculations to lay in routes for ships and others to take that would be stored and run up like a GPS system so that he wouldn't always have to be there to make it all work.
The sound of footsteps behind him caught his optics so he glanced up from his computer in the office that was his on Trigger 1 to see Venture walk in with food and drink. Smiling, he paused his programming and rose to help him set things up at the table and chairs in the corner.
Venture picked up Possibility, then walked back to sit with the baby on his arm. "I see that you're hard at it. How is our little baby?"
"He's perfect," Miler said as he opened a silver jar with a baby's smiling face etched into the side. It said in glyphs etched under it, Possibility of Mars. A silver spoon with his name on it as well would ladle baby food into his little mouth shortly after Amma stirred it enough. "He's such a good baby. They all are. Are you going to get Prima when school is out? I'm going down a list of general locations and flight paths to pre-program so this might take a bit longer than I planned."
"I will," Venture said. "Are we still on for the opera?"
Miler nodded. "We are. I can't wait. This is my favorite one. Trooper and Scout want us to have a late supper with them. I think that will be wonderful. I'm so glad that Kes and Tagg will be taking the babies in hand."
"I am, too. Did you know that Tagg wants to go camping soon? He told me that he has a better hand on barbecuing and wants to do it again," Venture said with a chuckle. "I told him we would be delighted."
"When is this?" Miler asked with a grin.
"Next weekend. Perhaps Prowl and Optimus will have time and we can make a family event of it. I don't know what Ratchet and Ironhide's family has on the burners but I'm rather itching to use my little barbecue device again," Venture said as they dined together. It would be a very happy interlude with the baby.
=0=Conference Call
"That's about all I can say," Prowl said as he concluded a short briefing with Owen Harris and the council group from Earth2. "None of them are getting out until we finalize the investigation and that is due shortly. There's someone killing your mercenaries and we have to make sure it doesn't happen again."
Owen nodded. "This is problematic but I take your reasoning, Prowl. Thank you for all you do. If you could let us know as soon as you can then it will help all of us here."
Prowl nodded. "I will. Good afternoon," he said, then signed off.
Walking to the table nearby, Prowl picked up his data pad, some messages, then headed for the Flight Center nearby and a chat with the officer of the orn about intel regarding the local system from the regularly flown patrols. As he did, he walked out the door passing a gaggle of news reporters from the permanently stationed pool of journalists from Earth. They were from all over the world and represented four different countries each, supplying information and stories as well as working on those requested of them. They were responsible for reporting to more than their main employer, becoming in essences news stringers for the MCA.
They stepped forward as one called up to him. :Commander:
Prowl paused, then looked down at the fifteen reporters that had taken to hanging out here when something was going on, hoping to catch a word about whatever breaking news was on the tube. "Yes?" Prowl asked.
:Commander, what can you tell us about the two murders? Is there anything new?: someone from Reuters asked.
Prowl considered that. "Nothing more than that a full report is due to Prime in a couple of days."
:Commander: another asked. :Is it going to be possible to interview you for a feature story in my publication, Time Magazine? I would like to write about you, your life, career and family. I was hoping that you would let me do that so that people on Earth who want to know more about you, can:
Prowl considered that. "I will bring it up with Prime." He nodded, then walked away, an elegant, dauntingly private enigma.
All of the reporters were deeply smitten. The reporter from Time Magazine had been thrown a gauntlet by the tall winger disappearing into the Flight Center nearby, almost a challenge to climb the wall Prowl always had around him when he was with the humans. He was going to find out on his own if Prowl was going to be forthcoming or not.
With a jaunt in his step, Max Butler walked to a segway and hopped on. He drove off to begin his newest project, "Prowl of Praxus, Enigma", a cover story for his magazine that his publisher was nagging him to do. He disappeared himself into the whirl of the colony and beyond.
=0=TBC 4-12-19 edited 4-15-19
ESL:
Someone with a 'checkered past' has either something to hide or a prison record. Its an expression.
The van: an old expression for the supply train or group that followed an army.
stringers in news biz: usually freelance reporters who do stories and give them to consortium outfits like the UPI (United Press International-defunct now), Reuters and the AP or Associated Press.