The Diego Diaries: The Museum Store (dd8 376)

=0=In an elegant business on Main

They wandered around the building, a space that occupied about a fourth of a city block just down from Metroplex himself. A lot of businesses started here, then moved to other locations due to the expansion of their companies. A redesign had put three or four of them together to form this, the princess queen of the Art Guild. In its expanses were the wonders of the culture of The People, replications that were so perfect in some cases that it would take an expert optic to tell them from the real thing.

Given that gems and gold were lying on the ground ready to pick up, it was easy to make them as rich and vividly beautiful as the originals. It would be instructive to walk through the different areas that showcased their culture from the simplest beginnings to the almost rococo extravagance of the run up to The Fall when the more wealth something had hanging from it the better it was considered to be.

Ratchet paused before one of the oldest replications in the building, a simple stone with carvings on it, some that represented some of the earliest attempts to write by their people. It was a message stone, one that the burgeoning underground used. They carved meanings, left them around and the resistance knew what was going on. It was a hard stone, unpolished and imperfect but the carvings were the part that was emotional for Ratchet. They were as simple as could be but they carried the siren call of freedom to an enslaved and humbled people.

He reached out to stroke it, the rough finish seemingly fitting. They started rough as a people, too, military and industrial hardware. They were the slaves of a tyrannical overseer and they never recovered from it no matter how many giants emerged to help them or how many times they fought. It was always the same ending until now. He felt rather than heard Prowl behind him.

"I gave one of those to Optimus for Christmas Surprise. It sits on his desk at the office in The Fortress. I think its one of the most poignant and beautiful things in this building or the museums," he said quietly.

Ratchet nodded. "I wonder who made this one? I wonder who carved it and where they put it? Maybe even Delphi can tell, or Hercy."

Prowl nodded. "I'm ordering one for the house, for the fireplace, and I'm considering a few images. You don't mind if we spend time here do you?"

"No." Ratchet glanced at him. "I love this place. I take the kids here to tell them things and I know the Elders do as well."

"That's nice," Prowl said. "Sunstreaker brings the kids here a lot to tell them about their history as well as discuss art with them. They're really taking off that way."

Ratchet grinned. "Sunstreaker meets and exceeds expectations every orn."

Prowl grinned, then walked back to a number of ancient icons of the Pantheon. They would replace some that were in the living room of The Residence.

Ratchet watched him go, then moved onward. He would order a message stone sent to the house as well. In the meantime, there was that spot that could use an image of Guardian Prime.

=0=Out there at a fort inside Prime's sphere of influence

News came to them on a very low band, one the senders were sure that the Autobots were monitoring. His own had received it almost by accident while re-calibrating sensors on a big dish. It was a message from a large group of Seekers making a break across open space to head for a new hiding spot closer to Prime and the Elder. They were hopscotching their way forward, hiding, then moving onward as the Decepticons began to increase operations in their area. It was unknown how many were in the flight but they were a very large group long in hiding and ready to alight somewhere.

Ominous considered that, discussing it with his leadership team, then decided to block any messages that might reach Prime. More Seekers weren't a good strategic move for their still tenuous position. The way things were going in the area the Seekers were fleeing, the 'Cons would eventually catch them. That the Seekers had families and elders with them was their problem, not his.

Ominous glanced toward Pleon. "Have you figured out how to do this?"

His science officer, closest friend and advisor grinned. "We're going to deflect those messages. I won't bore you with the details. Just know that the messages heading this way will be going that way shortly. You'd have to be passing by that exact spot or close to it to find them."

"Do it," Ominous said.

Pleon did.

=0=On an ancient trading pathway far off from Sol

They picked up messages that were in a language they'd never seen before. It was an encrypted mathematical algorithm that posed an interesting problem to the elder who was commanding the group. They were from a big civilization that hadn't come across the 'mechanical menace' that so many had told about on their many journeys. They were living in their part of the galaxy which was peaceful, highly advanced and united, though many different species embodied the place. They had long been friends and had made a life that benefited all of them together.

"What do you suppose that is?" his son asked the big elder as he sat down on the command chair next to his father.

The elder considered the question. It was the way of their people. When someone asked a question you thought it over, considered all its points, considered the possible numerous answers, then spoke the one that made the best response. "I'm not sure. I must deconstruct it. It's frequent enough to be rather like an emergency signal. What if someone is in distress and we don't do our part?"

His son nodded. "Quite right." He stood up to walk to the view port nearby to watch the stars outside. He was seven feet tall, very muscular, commanding and covered to his waist in a mass of silken hair that was black as coal. The rest of him was powerful in construction, smooth skinned and dressed in a tunic like kilt that was fastened with a gold colored belt. He wore sandals on his feet.

His reflection showed a figure that was beautiful and deceptively ferocious. He looked like a Maine Coon cat, one with large close set ears with fine hairs tufting at the end. His face was noble with fine cheeks set in a muzzle that was strong and clean. His gaze was calm, deceptive in its mystery and direct. His eyes were large and blue but the pupil wasn't cat-like but human. It was an adaption to the light in his solar system.

A mane of hair that was lighter came down from his cheeks and formed a silken beard under his chin reaching to his chest. A blaze of white marked his chest which was broad and powerful while short silken hair covered his arms, shoulders, back and hands. He bore no claws on his human-like fingers but nails as any human might have.

In short, he was beautiful.

He glanced at the reflection of his father. He was a magnificent looking figure as well with white silken hair on his body and deeply blue eyes. His father would figure it out and they would help someone if they could. Time would tell he thought as their ship and fleet continued onward through space toward home.

=0=On the road again

They walked out of the Museum Store to head for lunch. The city was buzzing as they went down a Metro to go to Bern for '*STEAK, BABY! STEAK!*' Or so Ratchet said in the middle of the street before an elbow took care of that. They disappeared down the Metro into the mid day rush.

=0=Diego Garcia, Earth

They sat on a console consoling each other given that the weekend was upon them with *SIX! COUNT 'EM, SIX GAMES!*

And they were stuck here on duty.

Frag.

Smokey was sulking because his skip semester from University was coming to an end Monday and the games were going and he saw Hot Rod on the screen at the one with Vos and Polyhex and *FRAG*!

"Pull strings."

Smokey gave Jolt an angst-filled look. "You don't really get me do you."

"You're a shirker if you don't work the system," Jolt said just to be ornery. He was going off duty in a joor.

"What system? I have to go back to college MONDAY!" Smokey said with a magnificent burst of his true teenaged age.

Like that.

"Maybe not."

Everyone glanced at Spear, a Home Guardsman getting real work experience at Communications at Diego.

"What?" -everyone

"I'm picking up an alien signal riding the Omega Beam," Spear said. "Do I call Mars?"

Smokescreen who was playing cards and enjoying Smokey's oblivious or maybe not commentary at the command table glanced at Spear. "Send me the signal, infant."

Speak did.

Smokescreen read it. "I'll call them myself."

He would.

=0=At Playland in Iacon

They lounged on chairs eating snacks and drinking soft drinks as the kids played at miniature golf nearby. Ironhide and most of his elders along with Prime and most of his were relaxing, encouraging the kids and watching the hilarious golf game that Rambler was trying to keep organized.

Prime paused a moment from his conversation to take a call. He glanced at the others. "Someone sent a message to us that came from the Lyra Constellation area. We have not scanned or explored that space yet but it would appear someone is trying to get in contact with us by sending a message down the Omega Beam."

"What do you want to do?" Hard Drive asked.

"If you and the others will watch the children, Ironhide and I will check this out," he said as he arose. The two of them were gone in seconds.

"APPA!"

Everyone in the group, appa or not glanced at the game.

Orion was standing in the middle of a tiny green with a tiny bent golf club. "Appa, I not do dis." He then began to shake his helm emphatically in the negative direction.

Rambler who was standing behind him grinned. "He did."

"No." Orion glanced up at Rambler, then the group. "I not do dis. She-" he glanced around to find 'she' then pointed at a comical mushroom on the fairway, one designed to make things a bit harder. "SHE did it."

He would be half right. He broke it on the mushroom.

=0=The Fortress

They walked in, then down to go to Diego. It took seconds and when they walked into Ops Center the room reflexively stood at his presence. Nearly everyone there was a Home Guardsman. Those who still sat weren't.

"What is the situation, Smokescreen?" Optimus asked.

Smokescreen rose, then activated a screen. "Apparently a group of alien traders have received a message that appears to be a distress call on a low band, like Seekers use or defecting 'Cons when they leave the empire. They can't translate it but took a chance that we're not bad aliens to forward it to us. The coordinates they were able to figure out. Apparently, this message is being rebounded away from us toward deep space. Someone doesn't want us to know."

Prime considered that, fuming slightly as he did. "Do we know who did this then?"

"No to both. We don't know who's batting it nor who sent it. They're in the Lyran Constellation and could come from anyone of a lot of pretty good set ups out there," Smokescreen said.

It was silent a moment, then Prime turned toward the screen. "Someone is fragging with us and I do not like it at all."

=0=TBC 2-26-2022

rococo: (roh-coh-coh) extravagant, asymmetrical, plush as my folks would call it.

If you've never seen a Maine Coon cat, I suggest the Felis Gallery on you tube channel where a couple showcase their over fifteen cats including the incomparable Mr. Vivo. These cats can be nearly five feet long from stem to stern and have enormously long tails. They are the sweetest honey pots of a cat you can find. His cats are breathtaking.

For any of you living in the path of storms or war, any trouble whatsoever, I hug you tightly. I wish more than anything that we could stop doing this to each other. I wish you could have the life you deserve just because you live. I hope you are okay out there. The world is big and there are many things going on. Just know that an old granny lady in Alaska loves you so much. X0, Nana