Knock Out called Gyre back into the room to assist in the coding modification. The procedure required a basic processor scan to locate where the specific program was integrated into Mirage's operating system then a painless but vaguely itchy 'switch' activation. The noble lay down for a short reset, which was the most stressful part. He returned to himself a breem or so later ostensibly with all his parts still attached.
Tempest, carefully tucked in an empty drawer for the reset, bit Knock Out. There was some swearing and then the sparkling was returned to Mirage to test the feeding line. Lively from his previous bottle, the seekerling wasn't particularly interested in more but his presence triggered the code. A subsidiary line under the front wing of his hood detached from its connector. It didn't hurt though it did feel odd.
"It's hot." Mirage informed the medics.
"The inner belting is thinning. The 'weave' is opening to allow for more flexibility." Gyre explained while Knock Out wrote up his notes and didn't look.
"Are you functional?" The noble inquired formally in the acceptably neutral Cybertronian version of 'how do you do'. That query had not been much used by the local humans near the Ark but another of their nations had utilised the phrase in an analogous way to the general query. It was a caste marker there too, apparently.
"I'm shiny." Knock Out struck a pose and pretended he wasn't uncomfortable. Mirage didn't push, although he logged the behaviour.
"Is everything working?" He asked, was scanned, and received an affirmative. The red medic swanned out of the room stating he had things to do. Rumble slipped inside in his wake smirking.
"Thought so." The cassette remarked with a glance at Tempest playing with the feed line.
"Thought what?" Mirage wasn't usually so overtly inquisitive. There was something going on however right out in the open. If Rumble had seen it then he should have noticed or at least had a clue. Did Knock Out simply not like sparklings? He'd seemed fine with Tempest and the idea of feeding. Was the act sufficiently unerotic as to put off the medic? If so, Mirage was going to whip out a line whenever in the racer's company.
"Not saying." The small mech grinned smugly.
"That's not helpful." The spy chided. He had no authority but seeming too affable would be suspicious. They weren't friends. They weren't allies. A little snark now might encourage repartee. Rumble and Frenzy ran their vocalisers too often for their espionage function.
"I'm not made to be helpful." The grin widened to show sharpened denta. "I don't gotta do slag. I'm a civilian mech. A consultant. The boss got us all off the roster fast as he could. So I'm not gonna say nuthin' 'bout KO's thing."
"Very well." Mirage accepted and silently began a timer.
"'Cause it's weird." Rumble burst out after the 'Bot just went back to feeding the bitlet like he was sure the intel was worthless. "For a mech who's changed his frame being all hinky about some systems."
The noble made an affirmative 'listening' noise and wiped down Tempest, who was not entirely sure he liked the process and tried to grab the cloth. He got one of his claws stuck in the weave, which required careful extraction, which he thought was a very amusing game. The cloth suffered somewhat.
"He's the same about wings. He'll fix them and mod them but he doesn't ogle the Seekers like almost every other bot made." The derisive noise he underlined his statement with made Tempest glare at him as though the sparkling understood the sleight against his frame-type. "Watcha lookin' at, bit?"
To the surprise of no one, Tempest hissed. Rumble replied with a playback of the hiss mixed with fast percussion from an instrument Mirage thought likely human. Organic, at the least. The seekerling chirruped curiously. The cassette wasn't as much of a threat as the looming giants that filled the world. Another more experimental hiss that warbled at the finish.
Rumble played some improvised noise he doubtless considered music. Mirage decreased the sensitivity of his audials though he did not complain. Tempest's interest in the world needed to be encouraged. His development had lagged, which made outside stimuli that didn't provoke an aggressive response essential. The sparkling swayed along to the rhythm of the cassette's clamour.
To the Towerling's surprise, Rumble's patience for entertaining Tempest lasted longer than the bitlet's energy. Mirage tucked his fosterling into the sling for a nap when his little optics dimmed. The wait dragged on, seguing a quiet debate on who would go for snacks that expanded into descriptions of the various fuels of Earth ranked by taste and ease of theft.
Soundwave walked in without fanfare as Rumble was contrasting hydro-thermal versus petrochemical sources. Gyre straightened enough to acknowledge rank without making a point of it. Rumble kept talking even as he transformed and returned to his Host's chest, settling the matter in favour of hydro-thermal because of the aftertaste. He finished with the click of the dock.
"Thundercracker relocated to private accommodation." The 3IC informed Mirage, who sat up to await further terse communications. Blaster had likened talking to Soundwave to being given condolences by telegraph or being dumped by text. The message got through but you might as well have sent it wrapped in a brick through a window.
"Are Tempest and I to be accommodated with him?" He inquired when only silence followed. Was Soundwave expecting objections? Demands for information? A fit of pique? Mirage had not often interacted personally with the comms mech other than interrogations but he hoped he wasn't assumed to be such a prima donna. Or had he missed a Decepticon social cue?
"Affirmative." There was no tonal variation to interpret though the crispness of Soundwave's rotation towards the door suggested he was giving a hint. Mirage rose and headed out into the hallway, the Host following at his elbow.
He wasn't quite herded out of the clinic. There was a strong connotation of 'march' towards a transport parked discreetly at the rear of the building. The spy kept his arms wrapped protectively around Tempest just in case this departure was more evasion than relocation. At least he wasn't in stasis cuffs.
The transport was a non-sentient ground vehicle, heavily armoured by the feel of it. A converted minesweeper, Mirage guessed, though someone had thankfully swapped plank benches for upholstered seats with safety restraints. He picked the one nearest the door on the passenger side, the one with the fastest exit if something took out the driver. Traditionally, the mech in his spot would've had a heavy weapon ready to fire out the door as they strafed past a target but those days were hopefully forever gone.
Soundwave did not talk nor did the driver, who Mirage couldn't see behind the reinforced partition. The shuttle pilot had been anonymous too. He doubted it was stigma and the Decepticons absolutely would not have been employing Neutrals they didn't want to see. Security, perhaps? The spy distracted himself contemplating the motives for the continued precautions.
Had there been recent sabotage by the Autobot guerillas on-planet? There had been nothing on the Hub but news would be sanitised and all posts were monitored. How would continued resistance affect the armistice? Were there unfettered communication links between Earth and Cybertron? Neutrals could move freely between the two planets, he presumed. Would they bother? In two vorn the humans would've forgotten them.
The drive wasn't long enough for him to come to any conclusions. He was left, as usual, with many questions. Mirage felt he had been asking questions since the fall of the Towers. 'Why' was eternal. He wished he were a scientist. At least then he could reach a waypoint in his research. He could prove something. So much of his war work had been probables. How could Prowl stand compiling endless maybes?
They stopped in a bomb shelter. No effort had been made to fake it into a parking garage or bougie underground living. Evacuation posters etched in tarnished metal and chipped paint marking bays were the only decoration. Soundwave flanked him to the single reinforced door while the minesweeper did a methodical three point turn and left.
The door opened after a security sweep that would've passed Red Alert's acceptable standard. They crossed a barrier with the characteristic stickiness of a sanitation screen, which removed the dust at least. Mirage could have done without the sensation of a nanometer of his plating being scoured off. That wasn't how the field worked, Perceptor had explained at length, but it was how everyone perceived it. No Tower had used such a utilitarian device. They had staff for that.
