She looked at him, full of love and distrust and dismay and dismal acceptance of reality. " I think I have to go back and try again," she replied.
Arkvander nodded before returning to work, now typing on his monitor with vigilance. His yellow visor saw nothing, said nothing, did nothing, and told her nothing. Why had he even spoken such words to her to begin with? Her memory files replayed the whole thing, the easy rapport, the hidden affection she thought one-sided, his startled confession, the abrupt dismissal as he told her that she was no longer welcome and had to leave...it was beyond melodramatic. Yet it infuriated her.
He did not look at her again. There was only the audible click and clack of typing. She gave him another moment to not disappoint her. He failed.
"Guess I'll go now. Have a nice existence."
Another click of another closed door.
Knock knock knock
knock-knock.
Silence.
Knock knock knock
knock-knock.
Still more silence.
Knock knock knock
knock-knock.
It came from behind and made her jump. "Why are you back here?"
Mercuria and the large wasp-bot stood, stacks of cubes in their arms and fresh carbon scarring on their bodies still vaporizing. Lyra attempted her best friendly smile. "Need help carrying that?"
"Sure." The wasp-bot dumped his entire load onto her without attempting a gentle transfer and stepped over the ones that had tumbled away. "Though dropping them's a bad idea."
"Thanks." At least she'd been given an opportunity. He opened the door and ushered them both in. "No distrust this time?"
"You can't shoot with your hands full," he replied. "That and we were out looking for you anyway."
"Oh?" Mercuria had not contributed to the conversation, so Lyra glanced at her, hoping for some kind of welcome sign.
"Don't bring me into this," she snarled. "He wanted to talk to you again, not me."
She'd been lead into a larger room with an eating area and meeting table on one side of half a wall cut away and a storage area for the energon cubes next to it. The wasp-bot beckoned. "Put those away and sit at the table."
Lyra carefully stacked the cubes and pulled out a chair. "NOT THAT ONE!" they bellowed in unison.
After calming down a bit, she tried another. Same response. They were messing with her. "Which one, then?"
Apparently none of them. She would ask which one, they would shrug and invite her to pick one, and bellow the same thing every time. Lyra gave up and sat on the wasp-bot's lap, which caused him delight but disgusted Mercuria, who stomped off to another room.
"Not 'rental equipment,' eh, honey?"
"You can call me Lyra." Or Oasis. But not Mishap. No, not Oasis, either. Lyra was fine.
"Fine. Lyra, sit on this chair. I'm Dauber."
"A vehicle painting 'bot. Nice." Oasis had been a car, Mishap had been a jet, Lyra was a carbuncle. They were getting along great already.
"Yes. So anyway…your request intrigued me. What makes you want to communicate with a deceased high-ranking Decepticon criminal?"
Honesty is the best policy. "He's hidden a lot of information that would get me back my position in the Autobot army. I need to know where it is. Only he can tell me."
Dauber shook his head. "You must have some powerful motivators to persuade him to do anything."
"No. But he owes me a favor or two."
Dauber sat back in his chair. "I can't see that working. How is this easier than raiding Autobot headquarters, or old Decepticon sites?"
"Those are locked up and secure under Red Alert. David Copperfield couldn't get in there."
This reference was lost on him, but Mercuria and her obvious lack of eavesdropping skills gave a good snort. "Why are you hiding in the doorway? Just sit at the table." Lyra waved an arm. "Dauber's lap is very comfortable."
*whoosh*
"She'll be back," Dauber noted, turning back to Lyra. "I don't like the idea of you owing me BIG time when this fails, so here's the deal: I know where he is and can talk to him. I haven't ever spoken to him, but the place he's hiding has some very vocal ghosts there, so I know they'll bring him out or bust. I guarantee nothing, but I do promise I'll do my best."
"That's not a lot."
"It's better than what you had earlier today, honey." Dauber looked up, in the doorway. His face shorted again. "Mercuria, just get in here already."
She sauntered into the storage area and grabbed a mug for energon. "I liked the ones on earth better," she commented, looking at Lyra wistfully.
'Doesn't miss Mirage my tailpipe,' Lyra thought.
"Are you done yet? 'Cause we have a list."
"A list..."
"We need three things from you and this séance is in the bag."
This was it: the road to real work, comfort, and security was laid out for her. All she had to do was help two thieves to get them to encourage a dead psychopath to reveal dangerous classified information for her to dig out of a maximum security bunker to present to a willing Prime who may or may not reward her.
Piece of beryllium bologna.
"Are we there yet? All the roads we've had to drive are winding, and all the lights that lead us here are blinding." Mirage had no equilibrium, thanks to that giant dent. At least his poetic sense hadn't left him. Oasis had to concede about the lighting, though: she had assumed that everything would be deep-space black but those crafty Decepticons wanted to make sure everyone saw the destruction they'd left in their wake, so portable lamps of a high wattage seared down upon them as they tentatively limped along the pathways where the rubble hadn't landed.
Rubble. That was all that was left.
No inhabitants, nothing to scavenge because they were too late and everything had already been picked clean. No shelter. The idea of going back to that Auto-graveyard made Oasis queasy as it was. The lights disoriented her, too.
"YOU! Stop right there!"
Three large jets, giant pyramids landing as gracefully as dust, transformed in front of them. "Identification!"
Mirage gaped at them. "We don't have that."
The purple one aimed his arm-cannons at them with alacrity. "Then you're Autobot spies."
Mirage wasn't having it. "Autobot spies WOULD have identification."
*pow*
She felt him fall on her, and screamed. His weight caused her to lose balance and as she struggled the three closed their circle.
"Next time, it won't be a concussion blast," he snarled. The yellow one stepped forward menacingly, pointing his cannon at Oasis.
"Who are you? Where are you from?"
She told him. They all looked at each other and shrugged. "Never heard of it."
"You're standing in it."
The shot seared through her, stinging her shoulder and paralyzing her entire upper body. "Next time it's your HEAD!"
Her optics were swimming. Light. Pain. A smirking purple collection of shapes adorned each one of them, like a badge or a gang symbol. She focused on that.
"What do you want from us?" Mirage demanded, quicker to regain his faculties.
The third one, a washed-out pink, finally spoke. "What do you have?"
"Nothing," Oasis finally managed to wheeze out. "We left with our lives and nothing else."
"You have just your lives? We could take that." She made it sound like she was compromising. All three closed in to start kicking them.
Screaming didn't help.