"How certain can you be?" Mirage had asked himself the same question over and over. Deliberately, he moved from the door to the padded chair and tried to relax as much as he could in the circumstances. This wasn't an interrogation. Tempest stirred as he leaned back. The chair really was comfortable; supportive in the right places. He had a mental image of Soundwave testing furniture. Perhaps Thundercracker had expressed a preference. The seat was similar to the one in his spare room. Did Decepticons loot homewares? The noble couldn't imagine them shopping.
"Are you asking as a fellow returnee? Or as Spec Ops?" Rewind asked rhetorically. The answer would be 'both' for a good long while. "Fairly, if I had to put shanix on it. From a historian's perspective, it doesn't matter. Whatever happens, happens. I'm here because I want to document. For as long as no one is shooting at me, I'm happy to stay."
"I am conjunxed to Thundercracker until Tempest undergoes his final upgrade. Traditional terms." There were ways around anything but until the sparkling was considerably older and more stable, Mirage was safe. Unless the 'Cons found a spare they liked better. Swapping him out would affect Thundercracker. He had the same caste coding. "I need to know who I can trust, or at least work with. I want to stay on Cybertron. We're finally home."
"Well, as the spouse of an officer, you're in a good position." Rewind reassured. Mirage was not and made no effort to look it. "You might consider removing your badges. I did." He straightened to display a bare chest-plate. "Soundwave didn't ask me to. I thought it would make me look impartial, and help avoid being singled out as a target."
"Did it work?" Thundercracker, and Hoist, had mentioned the Welfare Office. But that was public and official. Mirage didn't want his personal difficulties accessible to the inquisitive or those who might use the data against him. Once there were more sparklings, Tempest's survival would become less of an interest to Decepticon High Command.
"Tangentially." He paused to curate the narrative. "I was doing a crowd survey, just some background polling for demographics, when my questions irritated a tetrad of unaffiliated mecha." The neutral reportage was blatantly scrupulous. "They became physical. A lone passing Decepticon intervened on the premise that Soundwave would find out, and there would be more than enough reprisal to go around if the NAILS didn't, I quote, back the frag off right the frag now."
"How big was the 'Con?" The intimidation factor of their (former) enemies varied. The average Decepticon was much larger, and meaner/angrier/punchier, than the average Cybertronian. Few of those who had fled their planet in the early days of the civil war had bothered to upgrade their frames for combat.
"Scout-class grounder with a Caldoonian alt. Not much bigger than you." Certainly not of a size to see anything off by threat alone. "So it was four disgruntled new returnees with megavorn of angst versus a cassette and an all-terrain vehicle. They muttered some truly foul allegations about what 'Cons did off-shift then stomped away. I was told not to wander off without my Host then we went for energon."
"You had drinks with a random Decepticon?" Mirage tried not to sound pained. Cassettes were intensely, some would say fatally, curious. Blaster had likened keeping his symbionts safe to herding cats.
"Her name is Jazerant, she spent most of the war assigned to the Fourth Fleet or deployed to hunt smugglers, and she witnessed the destruction of Admiral Goldline's flagship." Rewind relayed cheerfully, unabashed at chatting up strangers.
"Every second mech says they know what happened to Goldline." The disappearance of the Excelsior, with its entire clew compliment and a detachment of scientists, was one of the great mysteries of the war. Theories or outright conspiracies abounded.
"Yes, but Jazerant gave me her ship's designation and the approximate log date. I can request an extract. She said she remembered specifically because it had been a very dull patrol along a neutral front when a blue giant unexpectedly went nova. Her vessel had been shadowing the Excelsior and saw the flagship vaporised. Their ion engines were knocked offline by the cosmic rays so they had to sub-light back to the nearest safe port, which took several vorn. By the time they lodged a formal report, the Excelsior had been listed missing and the rumours had started." The cassette barely stopped to vent.
"She just told you this? Over a cube, after a gallant if expletive-laden rescue?" Mirage tried to convey by glyph and field how incredulous he was without actually calling Rewind glitchy. He did not want to get into the habit of casual profanity regardless of the temptation.
"Two cubes and some rust sticks, in fact." He smiled. "We have a no expectations meet-up for light refreshments at Glisten's Gelled Energon stand in the market." With unexpected shrewdness, the historian met the spy's optics. "I reported her to Soundwave before the first cube. He cleared her or otherwise there would be no date."
"A no expectations meet-up." Mirage correctly blandly, wishing Thundercracker was awake so he could inquire about chaperones.
"You married a Seeker to get out of prison." Rewind countered then spoke over the Towerling's objections. "I know that was neither your motivation nor the precise circumstances but that is the condensed version. Therefore, I would appreciate less judgement, thank you. I am a fully-upgraded independent citizen. I am not a mechling sneaking off to get overcharged in an alley."
"I think it fair I am concerned." He defended himself, which a noble never should. You stated your opinion and you were heeded. Or you knew your place and kept your silence. "You are putting a great deal of trust in the protection afforded you by hiding behind a Decepticon."
"So are you." The glyphs were unadorned, the tone was kind; a simple observation. "We have to stop fighting sometime." Rewind said gently. "This armistice might blow up. Other truces have. But this one looks solid. Our planet is alive again. You wouldn't be hear if you didn't believe a little."
"I am aware." Mirage wanted to say more but he didn't trust himself. He didn't, and it mortified him to admit it for a spy shouldn't lie to themselves, he didn't trust Rewind either. Not enough to open himself.
After the quiet settled, the noble was relieved to find a diversion in Tempest waking up. The sparkling was hungry and feeding lines were just personal enough that he had an excuse to request privacy. Rewind left with a tolerant smile. The seekerling fed with a good appetite, a sign of recovery Thundercracker would welcome.
"I think both of us could do with a wash." Mirage observed as he patted for bubbles. Tempest was a tidy fueller and being in/out of hospital he had been sanitised regularly but it would be unfortunate if he associated cleanliness with stressful medical wipe-downs. The noble had standards. As foster-carrier, he would feel judged for the state of his fosterling. Seekers would notice.
Once he was confident the sparkling would be presentable in company, Mirage went to Soundwave. He did not have to go in search of him as the Host would sense his intention and show up or not. Someone, probably Rewind, had mentioned that ambushing 'Bots in hallways would not convey affable hospitality. The Decepticon allowed himself to be found in the front room shelving hardcopy media.
"Greetings." Mirage began with courtesy. He received a confirmatory nod acknowledging his arrival. "Am I interrupting a priority task?" He knew he wasn't however he was a guest and there were social conventions.
"Negative." One should always give an audible response when negating to avoid perception of dismissal of a peer. Gestural or field responses might be construed as insulting or implying authority over the interlocutor.
"I would like to use the wash-racks for myself and Tempest." We are all being so polite, aren't we? Mirage didn't catch the thought before it sneaked out. Soundwave's expression didn't change, but then it wouldn't. Another nod and the 3IC showed him down the hallway, past the guest rooms to the end. A open area the mirror of the front room though furnished with individual squashy chairs and noise reduction screens. One of which concealed an elevator.
"What if the bunker loses power?" The spy asked as they stepped in. He had scaled lift shafts before. Who hadn't, in their occupation? Soundwave opened a panel next to the door to show emergency comms, manual control, and a series of connectors for battery or mech augmentation. One could power the elevator oneself. That made Mirage feel marginally better. He could escape, if he had to.
