I love reviews! Also, there's some freaking heavy foreshadowing in this chapter...
Whippersnappers.
Clank polished off the last of a helping of Markazian takeout with Talwyn at the breakfast bar while Al, having already eaten on the shuttle over, laid out the remaining pieces of Ratchet on a tarp in the center of the room, cleaning and buffing the limbs and checking for needed repairs.
"When was your last oil change?" he asked to the air, knowing that either of the demolition duo would know the answer.
"Month ago, so about due," Ratchet replied. "Coolant, too."
"One of my reps logged some repairs on you this morning," Al replied, standing up and stretching out. " I was checking service records on the way over. They didn't refresh the tanks? Supposed to be providing that service free of charge."
"I was in kind of a rush. Clank needed food and medicine," Ratchet responded quickly, defending the attendant that had fixed his hand that morning. "They did offer, though."
Al nodded knowingly, scooping up a currently legless Ratchet. "Faster to bring you down there than bring the supplies up," he commented, before turning to Clank and Talwyn, "No breaking things while I'm gone," he added, jokingly. "I don't need another robot guy."
Talwyn groaned at the terrible joke, but Clank wiped the sauce from his fur and stood. "If it is not too strange…?"
Al grinned. "You want to help?"
"It is still quite odd watching my systems from outside."
"Let's see…" Al said mumbling to himself as he turned on the lights of the backroom in the shop below. "Clank, roll me that tank, please." He deposited Ratchet on a tool bench, flat on his back with the leg sockets still exposed, and ran a thin tube up one of the holes.
"I guess it's kinda like getting an IV?" Ratchet mused aloud. "Except I don't feel anything."
"You also use a funnel straight into the receptacle," Clank replied, watching in awe as the oil drained out of the tank at high speed.
"Well, I don't have 10 million bolt equipment for your maintenance," Ratchet retorted, as Al pulled out one tube and searched for another.
"Try not to think too hard; I'm going to replace your coolant and I don't need you overheating and blowing a gasket," Al warned.
"May I?" Clank asked.
"Sure," Al replied, handing Clank a narrow tube with a needle end, held on a long, thin pair of tweezers. "Keep a stiff grip on these, and thread it through the connection point," he instructed, shining a light up and into Ratchet's leg. "The end of the needle is magnetized, so just move it around slowly until it clicks into place. If you're being repelled, you're getting too close to the oil feed. Don't want to mix those up, or else you'd start leaking."
"Wait…" Ratchet said, as Clank did what Al told him to. "Oh. Well that explains the exhaust leaks."
"And that's why you don't use a funnel," Al chided, keeping an eye on Clank. "At the very least, magnetize the tips so you know which is which. Oil is north polarity, coolant is south. His tanks can eventually sort it out, but they'll leak out some of the excess." Al crossed his arms. "Or, you two idiots could come back here and get it done properly."
"Yeah, yeah," Ratchet grumbled, leaning his head forward to watch the bright blue liquid drained out of him, before Al unplugged the hose from one part of the machine and clicked it into the other, filling up the tank. A small amount of condensation pooled on Ratchet's square chest.
"You're cooling down too fast," Al noted. "Hey, does a set of all sets contain itself?"
"Well, yeah, because it… wait, no, ugh," Ratchet groaned. Al lightly grabbed Clank by the wrist and pressed his hand to Ratchet's chest. Clank smiled.
"You are heating up from trying to process a paradox," Clank chuckled out.
"Oh, well, ugh. I can't even blow a raspberry at you. No lips, no tongue. So pfffffbbbbt."
Al pressed a finger to Ratchet's chest and nodded in approval. "300 degrees Kelvin. Perfect." He carefully tweezed out the thin tube and sat down at the head of the bench. "Let's get your legs back on," he said.
"How were you able to discern it so accurately?" Clank asked, sitting down next to him and watching with interest as Al put his body back in place.
Al peeled back the fake skin, revealing a pressure sensor, before rolling it back over the metal alloy, and Clank nodded knowingly. "But honestly? You start just knowing ranges, hot and cold. There are more sensors in an organic hand then there are on most of you," he added, sweeping back to Ratchet. "The Blarg haven't made microbots like you in over ten years, now. And even after you get all this sorted out, since you've got a soul, I can't just pull out your sisterboards, temp-store your AI somewhere else, and give you a new shell. You've got this one for keeps. I could maybe do some minor sensory upgrades? What do you have right now? A HZ lift and carry?"
"And a Mark 7 spatial awareness drive."
"I can at least mod that with an old G-65… I don't think I have one here, but… oh! Those old VR sets should have one. Let me see if I have one here I can scrap for you. You should be able to sense temperature, and have a pressure sensor to match your spatial awareness. Gimmie five."
Talwyn slid into the cramped workroom to take Al's place as he left, pulling up a stool to join Ratchet and Clank.
"You'll be back where you should be soon," she said, crossing her arms on the table and looking at Ratchet.
"Man, just as we are stating to get used to this," Ratchet joked, sitting up and flexing his ankles and fingers.
Clank reached out. "This morning you were malfunctioning, but now you do not have propeller blades sticking out of you. May I?"
Ratchet stood up on the workbench. "Knock yourself out."
Clank carefully lifted up Ratchet by the 'armpit' cables, running his fingers over the metal, moving an eyelid, lifting his jaw, bending an arm at the elbow and examining his tiny metallic form with care. Ratchet loosened his control on the servos akin to going limp as best he could, letting Clank have a good look at his own form.
"I… am like a children's toy," he mused aloud, turning Ratchet over in his hands. "I forget how small I am." He bent a knee, listening to the faint hum of a servo. "I cannot believe this is… me. I'm lifting myself up and holding myself in your fingers." He took a moment to pause, and frowned. "Also, Ratchet, if you plan on hibernating like that, please enter sleep mode proper or do some mental calculations. You are getting too cold; that is bad for my sisterboards. I promise you, I am operable through 500 degrees Kelvin, so you will not overheat."
Ratchet squinted, trying to figure out how to go into sleep mode through his processes, realizing he hadn't actually slept in… well, since the day before they stormed Nefarious's hideout. And he wasn't even the slightest bit tired, before…
Talwyn reached over, planting a light kiss on Ratchet's forehead; Clank almost dropped in surprise as Ratchet began heating up quickly, embarrassed.
"Yuck, tastes like wax," Tal joked, wiping her mouth on the back of her sleeve.
"Wha… what did you do that for?" Ratchet stammered, as Clank gently set him back down on the table.
Talwyn smiled. "Well, when you're back to normal, you can kiss me back."
Al rounded back into the tiny room, and he hand Talwyn swapped places again; Talwyn and Clank both smirking heavily, Al oblivious to the pair. He reached to pick up Ratchet to begin the modifications before yelping and hissing, shaking out his organic hand.
"Ow. Owowowow. Son of a Qwark, do I need to replace your coolant already?"
Ratchet grabbed Clank's wrist in one hand and Talwyn's in another. "Yep. I can tell there's a difference," he said proudly. It wasn't like having his own hands, but it was definitely better than earlier that day. Ratchet looked down at his six blocky fingers, the visible circuit pattern of the gutted haptic feed system from the old game console crisscrossing along them and up the palms. He squeezed Talwyn's a bit tighter, feeling her pulse at the wrist and the warmth because of it. He didn't realize just how much he missed the feeling, or that he'd already accustomed so quickly to his new (temporary) lot in life.
"Think it's time to call it a night?" Al asked.
"Yeah," Talwyn replied. "I should get back to my ship."
"I have an extra futon if you want it," Al replied, shrugging, cleaning off his tools. "But, your call."
"No, staying here would be… nice. The station's been…"
Clank frowned. "We may still be able to find them," he said, squeezing Ratchet's other hand back before standing up and shuffling out of the workstation.
"Find what? Some debris?" Talwyn replied, raising her voice just a hair. Ratchet watched Clank's fur instinctually puff and his ears raise in surprise. "Sorry… sorry. I'm just…"
"But that is not what I meant. Prison ships are equipped with black boxes, and all of the robots, self included, regularly interfaced with the mainframe for backups. Their AI is still stored, and would be ad infinum. Ratchet and I have been sweeping the sector for months in between work."
"What?!" Talwyn stopped cold and pulled Clank into a death grip. "Why… why haven't you said anything? I could have sent out… paid for and sent out a massive search…"
Talwyn slumped on the floor; Al and Clank did their best to right her and walk her up the stairs while Ratchet simply patted her on the shin. He wanted to be the one comforting her… he knew she liked petting his fur and she was one of the few people he allowed to do so. Tal looked as though she wanted to touch, to hold tight, but couldn't figure out whom to latch on to.
Al helped her to the sofa, and Ratchet and Clank looked at each other knowingly, sitting on her sides as she grabbed both of them, holding tight.
"You know why we didn't say anything," Ratchet eventually whispered. "We didn't want to get your hopes up, and, as that ship was dealing with classified information… a civilian search would not have been possible."
"I… I know. That doesn't make it hurt less," she said, pulling them in tighter.
"We will find them, Talwyn," Clank replied sternly, before yipping slightly. "What was that?"
Talwyn grinned, poking Clank's shoulder again. "I see you haven't been stretching properly. Both of you. That is a knot, and a pretty bad one. Ratchet got some maintenance done, let's take care of you." She scooped Clank up in a fireman's carry, Al shaking his head and sighing as he raided his fridge for a drink, while Clank squirmed, thrashing his tail.
"I don't know, Ratchet. You'd better watch out. She's probably going to propose to both of you one of these days," he added, as he slammed the fridge shut.
"Speaking of, how are you and IRIS?" Ratchet asked, as he hovered over to his suitcase, fumbling around in it for his nail clippers and a small vial of liquid wax, glad he could tell the difference between his clothes and other items by touch again.
"Well, I was planning on asking her hand… er, metaphorically speaking of course, given her lack of, you know, hands, or arms for that matter, but you two looked like you could use some support. It's not like the mechanical keyboard I got as an engagement present is going to rot in the next few days."
"Awwww. She'll love it," Ratchet said, shutting the case and dragging it to a corner of the room so Al could set up the guest beds. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to help Talwyn assault myself," he added, holding out the clippers, clicking them open and shut. "Seriously. I needed those cut, like, last week."
Al rolled his one organic eye and cracked open the bottle of seltzer. "Just let me know if you need a charging dock. I'm going to set up the futons and crash."
"Thanks, Al," Ratchet replied, hovering to the bedroom.
He meant it.
Clank was shirtless, face down in the bed while Talwyn carefully dug a finger into a knot. Ratchet watched with interest as every so often, his tail would shoot to the sky in a knee-jerk response, and the purring was hilariously audible. In his distraction, Ratchet teased out his own claws from their sheaths and clipped, careful to avoid the quip, snipping rapidly. Thank goodness Ratchet was small, and the nail clippers were Cazar children's safety clips, easy enough for Ratchet to handle with his blocky hands.
"How you holding up, pal?" Ratchet asked, checking his fingertips before releasing Clank's hand. Clank purred louder.
"You said you looked like a children's toy. Heck, I look like a stuffed animal," Ratchet joked, hovering over the bed to the other side to clip his other five nails.
"Face it Ratchet, you're adorable," Talwyn replied, resuming, as Ratchet quickly cut the claws on his other hand.
"Now your feet…" Ratchet commented. "I need a rotary for that. I'll have to wait for another day. It's late, and using one is noisy and messy. Plus I really really don't want to screw that up and make you bleed. Figured out how to draw and sheathe my claws yet?"
"No," Clank grumbled into the pillow. "And with them clipped, there is little reason for me to use them as a weapon of last resort. So there is no need."
"Point," Ratchet replied, hovering up to the bed, as Talwyn finished elbowing Clank's deltoid, getting one final mewl from him.
"You two are the cutest things ever," Talwyn commented, sitting on the floor, cracking her own knuckles.
"I'm not sure whether I should be insulted at a dig to my masculinity of happy a cute girl called me cute," Ratchet responded.
"Get some rest, you two. I'll see you in the morning. I can fly out to Fastoon and grab your supplies; you two need more training and the detour won't do you any favors."
"You want to make a sweep around the Zarkov Sector on the way, do you not?" Clank asked, sitting upright.
"Guilty," she replied.
"Just… do be careful?" Clank asked, ears perked. Ratchet watched his own body language more closely, seeing how much was simply what Clank likely observed from him.
Talwyn stood up and pulled Clank in close, digging her face into his fur. "I'm not letting us lose anyone else." She took a deep breath, let go, then scooped up Ratchet and gave him a tight squeeze.
"Night, idiots."
"Night, bigger idiot," Ratchet called back as she shut the door.
Clank sighed, and shimmied to get under the covers. "I suggest you turn off for the evening. Unlike last night, when you were keeping an eye on Aphelion, you have nothing to do tonight. Let your mind rest."
"Yeah."
Clank turned on his side and clicked the light off, closing his eyes, trying to get comfortable, shifting in bed repeatedly.
"Ratchet?"
"Yes?"
"I cannot seem to fall asleep."
"You crashed yesterday, I figured tonight might be a bit harder. Here," Ratchet hovered up to the bed, turning on the infrared sensor and sitting next to Clank, pulling out the wax vial.
"I have noticed a similar vial before. Do you take sleep aids?"
"I did, for a while, and slowly weaned myself off of them," Ratchet replied honestly. "Losing you after the clock… it wasn't easy. No, this is just scented wax." Ratchet flipped the bottle upside down on Clank's snout, running the sponge blotter just above his nose. "Okay. Lay on your back, not your side, and spread your legs out a bit and stretch." Clank did as he was told, straightening out his spine all the way down to his tail. "Close your eyes, and listen. I usually used the sound of your servos as a grounding point. Do you hear them?"
"Yes."
"Just listen to me tick, and breathe in deeply with your nose, count to five, and out though your mouth. Follow my timing."
"One, two…"
"No, pal, don't say it aloud. Just listen."
Clank settled his head on the pillow and let his ears relax, smelling the wax and following the sound of his own body's servos.
Breathe in…
One… Two… Three… Four… Five…
And out.
In…
One… Two… Three… Four… Five…
And out.
In…
One… Two… Three… Four… Five…
And…
Ratchet hopped off the bed as quietly as he could when he heard Clank begin to snore.
"Sweet dreams," Ratchet mumbled, as he slipped out the door.
There was a two-cubit HV in Al's rec room with a NeoGamer7 he wanted to go play.