As always, anything that you recognize, I do not own.
Just wanted to get that bit out of the way. ;) A million, billion thanks to all of my dear readers, reviewers, and particularly to Bee, my dear beta. It's my birthday today, I share my digital b-day cake with all of you :), but now for what you're actually here for:
Chapter 166 – Information Streams
(LPOV)
Lena refused to open her eyes, refused to give any indicator that she was, in fact, conscious.
"Why the fuck isn't she awake yet!?" the first man's voice fairly shrieked. "How hard did you hit her you moron!?" the sound of a hand meeting flesh.
"I didn't hit her that hard!" the third man's voice immediately protested. "I've hit Donegal over here harder than I hit her!"
One of the men's name was Donegal. She'd use that, remember that.
"Well now what do we do, Mr. Abel?" the second man's voice asked curiously.
"We get her inside," the first man's voice snapped, the sense of movement ceased beneath her, throwing her forward somewhat. Her head banged against a hard, vertical surface again.
The least they could have done was tie her in properly!
Lena could feel her plan to remain 'unconscious' begin to melt away, that last hit had left her head spinning, stars were winking behind her eyes. She was going to throw up, soon. Resignedly, Lena kept her breathing slow, quiet, her face composed.
Actually...
Her stomach was revolting, screaming at her, definitely concussion. She opened her eyes, blearily of course, and looked around herself as though in a daze, memorizing the faces around her.
"She's awake!" man three shouted exultantly, leaning in close to her. Lena relaxed her grip on her stomach and threw up. Right in his face.
Stomach appeased, she rolled her eyes well up to her forehead and closed them again. A couple of nice, dramatic little twitches and she fell still. 'Unconscious' again.
All four men were shouting, man three in disgust, 'Mr. Abel' 'Donegal' and the fourth man were shouting in anger. Her face stayed in sleeping repose, but the soldier in her smirked. Divide and conquer. Hands were on her the next moment, throwing her over a shoulder and beginning to walk. Light shone through her closed eye-lids, obviously a well-concealed area if they were carrying her like this in broad daylight.
It was strange though, she could feel the warmth of the sunlight caressing her skin.
But she was beginning to feel really cold...
The sound of doors opening somewhere near her feet and the bouncing movement continued, but now, now there was no sunshine.
Lena focused on her senses, breathing a mental sigh of relief for her training.
Sound.
Footsteps, no, echoing footsteps. Dripping water, the heavy breathing of the men. A good indication. They hadn't been walking far, but they were already breathing heavily.
Touch.
The man carrying her felt rather soft: the evidence of more flesh than muscle or bone. Cool, damp air touched her face. Damp smells, wet stone, wet dirt, not necessarily dirt.
It was all Lena could do to not wrinkle her nose.
She hated mould.
The man set her down, none too gently on what felt to be a heavy pad. It smelled of mildew.
Gross.
Footsteps. Silence. Dripping water.
Lena cracked an eye open and groaned. She couldn't help it. A face was watching her, had spotted her.
And it wasn't human.
"The ffeemme is ffaaking her sslumber."
(OPOV)
::. =Why the scrap didn't anyone rouse me sooner!?=.:: Bumblebee shouted on the primary. Optimus watched in shock as his scout's form animated at high speed, the bot in question glaring around himself.
"Why didn't you rouse me sooner!?" Bumblebee shouted at him. Optimus blinked. Bumblebee glared at him for a second then seemed to realize he was staring at his Prime. Not Jolt. "Sir."
"My apologies, Bumblebee, I was under the impression that you would be unable to save your place," Optimus rumbled quietly. Bee waved his servo for a second, waving the comment away.
"Where's Jolt? In the med-bay," Bee reeled off at high-speed, turning and running from communications the next second. Optimus cycled his optics again and turned back to the communications network, following the hidden trails left by the computers that had discovered their names.
At times, the methods that sentient beings used to hide their signatures and trails through the ether amused him. Less so this time. This time, the generally innocent information: their names had caused a deep strife.
But he was patient, sifting through the logs, the data streams, the body of the humans' somewhat primitive internet.
Not that he minded, really, the simplicity of it's construction made it rather easy to traverse. Deep in it's histories, the imprints left in servers the memory of the virus implanted by the cons, it had Frenzy's signature.
Not of any real importance, Jolt had gleefully chased and de-activated that virus barely an orn after his arrival. Further through the ether, he doubled back and observed the NSA's network once more.
Then, he noted something.
Another method of hiding, Cybertronian signatures masquerading as humans. An intelligent move. He idly decoded the signature and began snarling.
Shockwave.
Automatically, he followed that trail to the sick mech's port of entry, it bounced back and forth across the world, as the humans tended to do when they wished to hide their location.
Then, a gleeful snarl tore from his vocal processors, Shockwave was still connected, seventh processor, it was entirely possible that he had forgotten to terminate the connection.
It required no excess processing, Optimus had been reserving this particular virus for several vorns, modifying it ever so slightly after having bonded his Kae. She had invoked a subtlety he had lacked.
Shockwave would never notice it, not until he turned full spark-focus onto the seventh processor, then, every process he turned to afterward would appear precisely the same as the seventh process.
It wouldn't cause any... serious harm.
However, Optimus did not envy the processor ache Shockwave would be subjected to until the virus was removed.
"The hell is that smirk about?" Will called out to him.
"Nothing of remarkable importance," Optimus rumbled, turning his attention to the next trail to follow.
~Jolt, Bumblebee, Soundwave and I are going to follow the spark thread~ his Kae's spark whispered.
~Be safe, my mate~ he replied, touching her presence with his own, re-affirming their mutual love before his attention returned once more to the trails.
(BPOV)
Bee was pissed. Not just pissed. Really pissed.
Jolt and Lena's spark-thread was still fragile! You don't slag around with a fragile spark-thread! Already he could see the ripples of the delicate guardian's bond being stretched.
Not that he really had a hope in Pit to explain these things.
Jolt was leaning against Kae, Soundwave was standing as impassively at Kae's shoulder as he'd seen the mech do at Megatron's shoulder.
Less thought, more move.
"Let's go," Bee commanded briskly, glaring at the thread extending from Jolt's spark-chamber. By all appearances, Lena was northwest of their position.
Scrap.
The humans built their roads true to the directions, it meant they'd be doing some zig-zagging. And zig-zagging ate up time.
Precious time.
Bee caught hold of Jolt's servo and fairly dragged him to the entrance bay, glared at the direction of the spark thread again and transformed, burning rubber with his sister, the technician and the ex-con hot on his bumper. Bee thanked his lucky star that transforming didn't change the thread, taking the main road north.
Traffic. Scrapping, slagging pit-useless traffic!
Then, Soundwave surprised him, in the midst of the snarl-up, the ex-con transformed and jumped into the air, delicately hovering fifty units above them.
::. Inquiry: Bee-bot assuming northwest route.::
::. Correct.:: Bee snapped back, there was no time for dilly-dallying!
::. Suggestion: next western exit. Reason: no traffic.::
Soundwave was being an air-scout. It was perfect.
::. Action: switching primary vocal pattern to Scout.:: Soundwave reported the next second. ::. Reason: enable visual enmesh for Bee-bot.::
Soundwave knew scout!? How the scrap did that mech know about the scout's visual en-mesh!?
Questions later, Bumblebee immediately sent the mesh protocols, and crowed in victory as the thread between Jolt and Lena appeared in Soundwave's visuals.
It was hazy, but now? Now Soundwave could give them a better direction along that thread.
(MnPOV)
Megatron sat, glaring at Shockwave.
The scientist was detailing his plans for Soundwave, how he was going to slag him, the duration of the slagging, the reason for the duration. The codes he was going to implant in Soundwave's processors, the reason and function of those codes.
Megatron wasn't entirely certain why Shockwave was going into such detail. Certainly past experience should have reminded the scientist that frankly, Megatron did not care. It was obvious the scientist was running his spark-focus over a multitude of processes, then finally, he shut up.
"Now then Shockwave," Megatron growled softly. "We must devise the plan to retrieve Soundwave."
He used the condescending, slow manner of speaking that he often adopted with Shockwave, the tone that implied that the mech Scientist in all of his brilliance, still didn't measure up to his master.
One needed to keep his minions in their place, of course.
Shockwave didn't respond, for once, an intelligent move.
"Now then, without doubt, Soundwave has pledged his allegiance to the High Protectorate, he will not leave her side now." Megatron began in a musing tone. "And the femme will no doubt keep a tight leash on him. Such a valuable asset is not to be allowed out of one's visuals, Shockwave."
Shockwave stayed silent. Wise.
"So we must lure him out, have you yet compiled Soundwave's personal files?"
Shockwave stayed silent. Not wise.
"Shockwave!" Megatron snarled.
The mech did not so much as flinch. Megatron hefted himself to his pedes and brought his face directly into the cycloptic scientist's view. The Scientist was obviously processing.
Megatron nodded to himself somewhat, he would have to remind Shockwave to have the 'courtesy' to state that he was working on said tasks, rather than growing silent.
With his fists. He'd enjoy that.
Megatron reached out and punched Shockwave, hard.
The mech fell over, and didn't move.
No cringing, no cowering. Just down and staying still. There was no sport in beating a mech not cringing. Megatron afforded a kick to Shockwave's still form and stomped away, collecting a handful of energon rich metals and watching his cyber-hound hatchlings fight over the scraps he tossed to them.
Very well, he would simply have to come up with the plan himself.
(SePOV)
Sentinel rose from his place in the lecture hall, nodding to the humans waving and bidding him good evening as they trouped out of the central. Ratchet stood impatiently beside him, waiting for the humans to leave.
"So eager to return to your femme, medic?" Sentinel rumbled to the mech.
"Arcee is worried," Ratchet replied shortly, fairly bouncing on his pedes
"About?"
"Lena, she senses the little femme's potential to change soon," Ratchet replied shortly. "Which means I need to get to work on her body, now."
There it was again, the reference to the sense that defied calibration. Ratchet glanced at him and snorted.
"The humans have come close to calibrating it, if it makes you feel any better," the medic informed him.
They had what!?
"They've done some rather extensive studies on what they term instincts, or a 'gut feeling'. Talk to Kae about it, when we have the time Sentinel, it was that same feeling coursing through her spark that allowed her to recognize your defection."
Fascinating.
Sentinel closed up his lecture hall and locked it securely, turning and following the medic as he transformed and rolled for the auto-bot headquarters. They both transformed again amidst a hive of activity.
"Good call Sentinel!" one of the humans... Jacobs, called up to him.
Sentinel cycled his optics, he couldn't help it. One of the human soldiers had... complimented him on rousing this hive of activity?
"The fasta' the realization that someone's bin taken, the betta' the chance a gettin' them back." Jazz murmured, striding past.
A great number of the bots had taken residence in the entrance bay, awaiting the potential orders to roll out. Should Lena turn out to have been taken by the cons, the Auto-bots were ready. Ready and waiting to retrieve the intended of their technician.
It did a spark proud to know that his young friend had drawn such honourable bots to surround him.
A grunt of impatience caught his auditory receptors and he turned to see front-line predator Sunstreaker standing with crossed servos. No doubt eagerly awaiting the chance to take on more cons.
Even if it was in the defence of a squishy.
"I'm surprised you're not just lettin' ;em have her," Ironhide rumbled with a snort.
"Banshee don't count, she's got a spark-hum." Sunstreaker grunted, beginning to pace as Sideswipe surveyed his twin with pride in his optics.
That was a surprise, since when would the least tolerant of bots get close enough to the femme to hear her spark? Sentinel had heard it, but she had been within his alt-mode.
"Since when did you let one of us close enough to hear that?" Jacobs called out in amusement. Sunstreaker glanced down at him with what could only be called his own amusement. Jacobs didn't count as a squishy, apparently, the only human that ever rode with Sunstreaker.
"Since I pulled her off of Bonecrusher's shoulder when she was tearing his energon lines out with those pretty little daggers of hers."
"Oh riiight!" Sideswipe chuckled. "You had her on your shoulder for a little while during that, didn't you. Admit it, you want her to become a bot so you can teach her how to use her swords, we all know she's gonna have swords." Sideswipe grinned at his twin.
"That too, she's gotta be alive to do it though," Sunstreaker growled.
A large number of the humans were on standby as well, fully prepared to roll out with the bots.
Well, while they were waiting...
Sentinel onlined his holoform beside Jacobs.
"I have been informed that humans have made a study of... gut feelings?" he rumbled calmly.
"Yeah, instincts," Jacobs nodded with a grunt. "Best I figure? It's the sub-conscious mind bringing up the data stored in our version of a secondary processor. We can't really access that processor consciously, but the knowledge is there. When you follow your instincts, you're right too many times to discount it."
"And what do your instincts say?" Sentinel rumbled curiously.
"It ain't cons," Jacobs growled softly, his eyes narrowed. "Don't feel right. Either the cons'd just blow that lecture hall of yours up, or they'd be calling in their demands already."
"Who would it be then?" Sentinel rumbled intently. Grim as the reason was: this was an excellent manner of testing these 'instincts'.
"One of the human groups, MECH maybe, or the Brotherhood of Man, whoever they are? They may even be convinced that they're saving Lena from your lot."
Fascinating.