Chapter 3.
Clicks passed. Shockwave was still working. He scavenged through a pile of re-usable spare parts that occupied third part of the tech bay and found nothing remotely resembling compatible optics. Several times someone peeked through the door, but Shockwave barked "Busy!" without even turning.
Must have been nothing serious because he was left alone. Alone. He looked at Soundwave's distorted face. If he doesn't find a replacement for her visual feed device, the next fight, even against a complete rookie, would inevitably scrap her. Then he would truly be alone. Shockwave suppressed an unpleasant shudder that ran through his circuits at the thought. It was only logical to dread a setback his mate's demise would bring him. Completely logical.
Not to mention the arena boss promised to scrap him if she wasn't in fighting condition in due time. No spare clicks to waste then. Shockwave shut down all his the external sensors, using the processing capacity to scan through his catalogue of possible blindness solutions. Being sparked a slave, he never had a chance to load a decent library into his databanks. But the boss was wise enough to show him the documentation on every arriving fighter. And he catalogued every detail. Of course, the technic needed that to perform the dirty work.
The catalogue scan was coming to an end, as a memory of Soundwave being brought in for stamping surfaced on its own accord. Illogical. But Shockwave had come to understand that logics of higher grade was often behind such irregular occurrences. So he indulged himself, submerging into earlier vorns for a few clicks.
A flyer. A lucky cycle for the pit. Shockwave studied the newcomer, noting details about his unusual design. Probably has speed and precision, he mused. The newb showed no signs of disobedience or fear when the escorting guard urged him onto the table. Rare fighters were perceptive enough to get scared before it was too late. This one surely wasn't.
The guard secured slave's hands into bracers and went to stand outside as was dictated by the protocol. Shockwave prepared his manipulators and the stamp, and turned to his patient, saying a well-rehearsed lie of "small necessary procedure to ensure your safety…"
He didn't finish as his voice trailed off. The mech on the table slid up his visor and opened his chest chamber plates, his… her spark pulsating, turning, changing and casting soft lilac reflexes on her ivory face and wide, bright optics of the same color. Shockwave had to reload his visual to truly be sure he was indeed seeing it.
The patterns within the rotating lilac flame were definitely feminine. He came up to the table, manipulator and the stamp in hand, their presence there forgotten.
What would a femme do at the arena?
Enthralled by the intricate light swirls Shockwave involuntarily leaned closer in. He'd never seen a femme spark before, but he recognized it instantly. This knowledge was hardwired into his system. Free from the confining chamber, her energy field engulfed him, bearing with it the most illogical mix of calm, acceptance, anxiety and on top of it pulsating fear.
Thin, but immensely strong fingers closed on his wrist. How did she free her hands? It took a considerable effort to shift his focus from her spark to her optics, and as he had managed that he had found himself equally captured by her intense stare.
"No one must know" – she said in half-whisper with strained urgency.
Shockwave put his cooling fans in overdrive, driving warmed air from his mainframe – he didn't even realize they had stopped until an overheat warning pinged him.
That simple distraction was welcome as it allowed him to regain himself.
"This is no place for you" – he said in a low tone, unsure if he should apply the stamp or call the guard. The grip on his wrist tightened, slender fingers denting the metal.
"Please. I need this chance for freedom"
Shockwave couldn't hold a bitter laughter. "Freedom? It's a myth. Single gladiators had managed that, and no one knows if they were even real."
"It's better than nothing. What's in it for you if you give me out?" – the violet flyer whispered.
Haggling. That was logical. "What's in it for me if I don't?" – he returned also in whisper.
Her hand released his and stretched forward. Her fingers traced his chest plates up to the spark chamber. A small jolt of electricity passed from her hand to his frame, invoking neurons' circuits that he was never aware of.
Slightly withdrawn, his conscious self watched his body lean into the touch, following imperative middleware protocols. Long dark fingers traced his chest covers, gently pushing them aside. He found himself opening up responding to this silent urge.
Uncovered, his spark reflected off her polished plates, it's blue-ish light mixing with her lilac one. Immediately her field grew stronger, palpable as their energetic signatures interlaced. Shockwave offlined his optics – they were distracting him from the sensations filling his neuron' net through this direct contact. Unconditional acceptance, cool calming welcome – everything he sensed before multiplied tenfold, interlaced with a subtle promise of belonging, which was illogically appealing at the moment.
Strong hand closed on the sharp edge of his opened chest plate and pulled him forward. Shockwave onlined the visual, alert. Wide lilacs optics were just inches away from his camera. His gaze shifted lower to see their sparks linked together, kept immobile by the contrast of magnetic attraction and repulsion, pulsating. His chassis was trembling with potential energy generated by halting spark's rotation and it felt like energon overheat except it was cool and it made him want to laugh and to fly and to do other as illogical things…
He regained clarity abruptly. A quick check proved him be intact, sitting on the floor. His gaze flicked to the femme. She was sitting on the table, one long arm still held captive, the other one braced upon a leg she pulled up. The visor was back on, the breast chambers closed.
"What's the commotion, tech?" – the guard said, looking into the room "Trouble?"
Shockwave shook his head and rose before he trusted himself to speak. "A short circuit. I will be done shortly"
The guard nodded grimly and closed the door.
The femme flyer watched him get up, head tilted slightly to the side.
"Well?" – she whispered, - "deal?"
Shockwave ran a quick test on his systems. He seemed ok.
"What makes you think you're good enough to fight your way up?" – he asked "perhaps turning you in is best for you"
A dry chuckle. "You want me offline you in a much less pleasant way? Appreciate the concern, though."
Shockwave thought it over, his hands carefully checking the stamp to ensure it wasn't broken by his landing on the floor.
"I have a counter-offer. You'll have your first fight soon. Custom says you have a right to challenge anyone in the pit. Choose me. If you can stand against me, I'll team up with you. If you lose, I'll pass your secret to the boss for your own safety."
The violet flyer lay back down onto the table and opened up her chest plates again. "Deal."
The technic powered up his manipulator and hovered over her, trying not to get distracted by the whirling beauty under his hands.
"Soundwave" – she suddenly said. "The name is"
"I have none" – he stated calmly knowing that it marks his origin more than the tickling death in his chest did. Technically, they were both nameless now. But lucky (or unlucky) mechs that had tasted freedom before falling to the lowest of the low, clung to the remnants of the life they had before, name being the last thing they would relinquish. "How did you know I was going to agree?" he said partly to fill the emptiness that settled after his admission.
"Eighth sense" He couldn't see her face but the smile was obvious.
Eighth sense… enlightened, he rummaged the scrap once again. There it was a transceiver he made from scrap and used to illegally listen to overhead and even communicate with the closest pit's tech. They've met on a Clarion cycle vorns ago, a single day in stellar cycle when different pits competed for a sound prize. Driven by subdued despair they quickly met an agreement to pass precious scrap around should the need occur. Such need occurred rarely but sometimes it was enough to know that there was somewhere out there. The friendly tech, whose name Shockwave carefully erased from his databanks had stopped responding several vorns before Soundwave rushed into his reality, so there wasn't much transmitting since then.
However Shockwave kept the device, sure that it would prove valuable during vorns to come. Now was the time to put it to good use.
Shockwave examined the cracked visor. That should most definitely do.