"Departure to market immediate." Soundwave informed him.
"Now?" Mirage was taken aback. They'd just got there. The Decepticon looked pointedly to Tempest, cross and fangy in his fabric detention.
"Now." It was an order.
The parolee obeyed. Mirage stood and made an appropriate, polite farewell to Express and Farlift, who looked very uncomfortable. He modified his tone to something gentler to say bye-bye to Torsion and Springload. The sparklings echoed his phrasing with a wave and a goodbye to Tempest, who hissed. Soundwave returned the ball.
He wasn't quite marched to the road but it felt like it. Mirage made an effort to keep his field smooth, regulating his processor to feel, he hoped, like steady compliance. Not toadying just respectful obedience. He badly wanted to know what Soundwave was thinking. Was he angry about Tempest's tantrum? Was he angry with Mirage because Tempest had been made upset by the Neutrals? Why had they stopped for such a short visit?
Speculations jumbled through his helm. His tactical unit spun contingencies in tandem despite his attempt to seem calm. His emotional core had been off-kilter since his return to Cybertron. Mirage couldn't tell whether the disarray was long, long delayed reaction to the war or fear or loneliness or some ombré of relief to disappointment.
Whatever he was, he wasn't faking serenity well.
The black racer was gone. Mirage didn't see him on the way but when they got to the market and he was waiting in line near a booth for textile goods he thought he caught sight of shiny dark plating. Soundwave was flanking him so he couldn't look too overtly. The noble tried to ignore his own interest even as the anomaly itched at him. He needed more intel.
By the time he had bought some mats and sundries, Tempest had calmed down. Mirage unwrapped him once he found a bench and let the sparkling chitter grumpily at the world. He was being ignored at. That was fine. When he offered the stuffed plane, the seekerling snatched it and threw it away. Soundwave got up from the bench, walked staidly to retrieve the discarded toy then handed it back.
Tempest studied him calculatingly for a moment before throwing the plane again. Soundwave turned and picked it up again. They played fetch until the sparkling beeped with amusement and cuddled the plushy. He looked at Mirage, finally, and hugged the plane tighter. It was His toy.
"Message received and logged." The noble chuckled, petting Tempest's helm even as the seekerling huffed at him. He wasn't forgiven but the bitlet seemed to be in a better mood. "You are going to be an armada of trouble on your own once you can fly."
"Speech next stage of development." Soundwave remarked.
"I have been complained at by leagues of mecha. I can manage one disgruntled sparkling." Mirage was confident a bitlet could not whinge as much as Gears. "The difficulty will be socialisation. He needs playmates. Gyre said much the same." Throwing the Rotor into the mix should bolster his case. "Are there any aerial class sparklings on-planet?"
"Negative." The Host paused solidly before continuing, giving the impression he had changed his mind about sharing further information. "One trine sparked, Several others trying. War damage systemic."
"Thundercracker said he sparked quickly. He was the first serving Decepticon to do so?" The spy asked and received a terse affirmative. "Tempest's health complications have everyone worried." Another affirmative. Talking to Soundwave was like extracting shrapnel. "I wish Blaster was here. The two of you actually conversed."
That earned him a distinctly acid look. There had also been a lot of shooting.
"I want to help." Mirage asserted. "I'm being selfish and conniving and I am sure no one trusts me but I want the war to be over. You know that's true."
"Affirmative." Soundwave confirmed/admitted/conceded. He didn't like Mirage. Mirage knew he didn't like him because of his caste, the circumstances of his pre-war life, the choices he'd had that he hadn't made. Throw in opposing factions and a long war, and dislike seemed the epitome of self-restraint. It was easy to hate.
"Jazz didn't send me here. I surrendered because I thought it was time. That it was the right time. To stop. To go home." The former Autobot said earnestly. He was surprised (and alarmed) when Soundwave laughed abruptly; bitter as the Rust Sea.
"All Honeypot Ops tasked to Jazz." The glyphs were personal. Personal signifiers specifically, and personal direct experience confirmation of statement. It was personal.
"Did you know him before the war?" Mirage asked before he could shut down that thought stream. He wasn't aware of any 'individual' Operations involving Soundwave. He had been targeted often, of course, but as the 3IC or the 'Con Spymaster or the competent one in High Command. Other Decepticons had been the focus of 'constructed intimacy'. It worked albeit with a lot of blowback. More than enough to leave a grudge.
He might have got an answer but Tempest had grown bored with the plush plane and threw it again. The toy hit a passerby, almost certainly accidentally as the mech would've been a colourful blur to the sparkling. The Neutral was affronted for half a klik, snatching up the soft projectile and turning to berate those responsible. However unlike Express and Farlift, he recognised Soundwave. The plane was returned without complaint before a hasty departure.
"Continue shopping." The Decepticon ordered.
Mirage did what he was told. He had a timer on his HUD so he could keep his promise to Thundercracker. The noble did a quicker circuit than he would have liked but he didn't have a long list. He was sure he saw the racer loitering by the energon stand the Stunticons had crashed into. Sure enough that he had to decide whether or not to ask.
Philosophically, Mirage mused, did he ask the question to a telepath regardless of whether he asked the question? What was the essence of asking? Where was the point of exchange between them if the intention was to not ask the question that was de facto asked because the interlocutor formed a question within the space of all questions?
Mirage asked Thundercracker instead.
"Black plating with finials? Cybertronian high speed alt?" The Seeker confirmed the description absently as he inspected Tempest. The sparkling lay on his front on one of his new playmats investigating the nebula pattern. He shuffled around on his cockpit, rocking with his knees and elbows leaning how his limbs functioned now he had the energy to test them out. Kipping up from prone was a big milestone he hadn't reached quite yet but he was sliding about well.
"Definitely a racer. I didn't see any terrain mods a courier would have. Had the 'chase me' attitude." Mirage unpacked his purchases, spreading them over the bed so his conjunx could see where his shanix went. The noble felt he needed Thundercracker's ongoing consent not his approval. He wasn't being audited and wouldn't stand for being micromanaged.
"Could be Deadlock. He had a reformat. Part of the debrief after so long undercover." The jet wasn't that interested in what a grounder did to himself but Starscream had ranted about it. Deadlock had stepped back into his full rank, with commendations, which had bent his trinemate's ailerons. His reasonable points about decompression and reintegration had been drowned in a reservoir of jealousy.
"Deadlock?" Mirage's recognition database blanked for a cycle. "Do you mean Drift?" Drift, Ratchet's Drift, the defector, Hot Rod's amica, the irritating Spectralist always trying to reconcile his implausible philosophy with the true faith of the Primacy. Drift. "White frame with swords? On the List?"
"Dead Ender syphonist, has a thing for medics?" Thundercracker shrugged. "Might not be him. A lot of the spies are being recalled. Scouts too, from all over. Could be someone else. Why didn't you ask Soundwave?"
"I had already annoyed him asking about Jazz." How many operatives did the Decepticons have scattered across the galaxy? Did the 'Cons even know themselves? With High Command out of contact for megavorn, had the agents just dug themselves in and lived normal lives? What would it feel like to come home now and have to become, to revert, to your old self? Could they do that? Could anyone do that? "He was a spy?"
"Don't know how much you know spying he did. Didn't know he wasn't a turncoat until he came back." The Seeker lifted Tempest and turned him around when he got to the edge of the mat. The sparkling continued to shuffle along making 'vroom' noises. Thundercracker recorded him because he was too cute not to. "'Course he could be a double double agent but that would take some bearings. The DJD linger when it comes to those."
"And he would be let to just drive around saucily asking for races?" Mirage didn't know what to think and that was intensely frustrating. He needed a plan. He needed intel. He needed to not need those and just get on with rebuilding his existence.
"Saucily asking?" That caught his attention. "Just how friendly was he trying to be?"
"I don't know." The noble confessed reluctantly. "I don't have good calibration when it comes to interacting with Decepticons on a social level. I offend Soundwave without trying, Hook definitely hates me, and Barricade smirked at me, and I thought I got along with Gyre but they haven't commed to confirm the introduction and why are you laughing?"
