NOTE: I am using some older characters that might have ended up in prison but for being small fry and the evidence against them thin to prove. They are here. I am scouting back through the story to make sure they are out and not in prison. If they are, I will change the two that make me worry to someone else. :D:D:D
-0-LET'S GO!
The Diego Diaries: Moving On 2
-0-Elsewhere at the same time
They gathered at a cabin in the mountains of Lake Tahoe, Nevada in the western United States. There were any number of individuals there, some wearing masks to hide their identity. They had gathered through painstaking networking to discuss what they could do with their combined resources and influence.
The two guests of honor sat on a couch near the big window that looked out to the land below. Somewhere in that distance was Lake Tahoe. Somewhere was a casino with their name on it. But for now, they were here to tell all that they knew of the big mechanisms that had short circuited their careers and made them a national name.
James "Big Jim' Johnson sat with his beer, his eyes roaming over the strange mix of people that had come. Some of them were zillionaires he knew. One of them was taking care of them here as they hid out from the authorities who wanted to prosecute them for breaking their confidentiality agreements signed as a condition to work in special operations.
Some of them were fellow revolutionaries who were worried about the pollution of the aliens into their familiar and mostly comfortable world view. There were soldiers among them, all of them wearing masks to hide their identity. However, from their comments he was aware that some of them were special ops, probably active duty. Others were from sundry think tanks, a couple from media and some from business. There were over thirty individuals here and when the schmoozing ended all eyes turned to them.
Their host, a billionare named Larry Skinner stood and raised his glass. "I want to introduce you to Jim Johnson and Sam Hedges, formerly of Uncle Sam and now the leading edge of resistance to the alien incursion that is threatening us all."
There was clapping and nods of appreciation. The two men sat quietly nodding back, Johnson enjoying it immensely while Hedges was more reserved and introspective.
Skinner waited, then nodded. "We want you to tell us everything you can about the aliens. Anything you can tell us will be helpful in the war ahead. Gentlemen?"
Johnson glanced at Hedges, who looked at them a moment. "There is a lot we can tell you. We weren't there long but there is a lot we learned."
As he said that they saw a car drive up the driveway and a number of muscular military-looking men step out. They paused, then walked to the door together. After knocking, they were let in and greeted Johnson and Hedges like long lost brothers, which in some ways they were.
Jim Johnson turned and grinned. "I want you to meet some men that can help you as well to tell the tale of the aliens. This is Todd Baseman, Larry Winslow, Seth Thomas and Tim Bolton. These guys were actual mercs assigned from Intel-Martin to guard Jase Daniels during his stay at Diego Garcia."
The four new men were engulfed in welcome.
-0-Night on Mars
They walked together down the street after helping get the families back to town again. Dinner had been wonderful and the twins lightened up downing shots with the old folks who could pack them away like teenagers. Prowl deciding to loosen his corset a bit goaded Ratchet to join him for a ramble.
Given that Prowl only came to such things about once every seven hundred vorns or so, Ratchet joined him and they ambled along the sidewalk heading for Maccadam's Old Oil House bar in the business building nearby. Lights from the bar poured out of the long space it occupied that wound around a corner on the third floor, giving a reasonably lit oasis to the younglings courting below in the little pocket park that was added three decaorns before. It had become the gathering place of sub adult younglings who would beg any soft sparked adults walking by to buy them hooch.
The Night Watch watched it assiduously.
They made it through the night strollers and walked into the building taking the elevator to the third floor. Walking across the mostly shuttered space, all the businesses still observing the holiday but the bar, they reached its big open doors. Pausing to look inside, Prowl grinned. "Buy you a round."
"Your shannix is no good here," Ratchet said following the slightly tipsy winger. "Really, Prowl. It's no good."
Prowl chuckled and found a place at the bar tugging Ratchet to sit beside him. The place was full with mostly the younger crowd, some of whom weren't especially happy to see two of their most senior officers walk inside. The bartender however grinned and walked over. "Hi, Prowl, Ratchet. What can I get you?"
"The usual," Prowl said with a sappy grin.
Ratchet becoming more and more enchanted with every passing moment leaned toward Prowl. "We aren't on Cybertron, Prowler."
"Oh, right. I would like some of the old black label from Praxus." Prowl nodded and grinned.
The bartender, a really smart kid learning to be a doctor grinned at Ratchet. "Straight up or watered down?"
"I'm driving. Probably," Ratchet said with a grin. "Straight up, right Prowl?"
The winger nodded and grinned. "No rocks."
The bartender grinned and looked at Ratchet. "Two or do you have something else in mind?"
"Two and don't spare the rocks," Ratchet said snorting. "I collect rocks." He glanced at Prowl. "Did you know that?"
"Nope," Prowl said. "There's probably oceans and oceans of things I don't know about you."
"True, that," Ratchet said.
Behind them, a table of mini-cons were laughing and chattering, their own sheets flapping in the wind. These were civilians and therefore jail rather than brig bait if they reached the right intensity. For now, they were code yellow.
He brought back their drinks and walked down to wait on others. "This is so good," Prowl said sipping his drink. "I haven't had this brand since I was wasting my time with Sentinel."
Ratchet sensing embarrassing disclosures coming turned and spotted a table by the window. Taking Prowl's arm, he led the winger there and they both sat. If Prowl was going to tell tales, he didn't want anyone to hear them.
Except himself.
That was non negotiable.
"You were saying, Prowler?" Ratchet asked.
"I used to drink this at the bar on Cybertron. Whenever Sentinel needed to show his 'concern' for the masses we would go there and he would tie one on. I had to stay sober. We had security you know. He never went anywhere without security. Fat lot of good it did him."
Ratchet grinned and leaned closer. "You do know that slagger is in the prison, right?"
Prowl looked at him for a moment, then grinned. "That's right. Maybe we should take him a drink for old time sake."
Ratchet snorted and grinned. "Maybe we can. Later. You were telling me about slumming with Sentinel."
"Oh yeah," Prowl said taking a deep sip of his drink. He grinned. "We used to go and see how the other half lived. I didn't want to but he wanted me along. I was a cop, remember?"
"I can't forget," Ratchet said with a grin. He settled in to listen.
-0-In Lake Tahoe, Nevada, USA
"Well, we came with the first group of new candidates for striker teams that worked through special ops with the aliens. We had passed all the tests and arrived about the same time as Daniels," Johnson said to the group who sat listening to him closely. "They were around and you could see them but they didn't talk to you. At least, they talked to the ones they liked but not to us. Some of them used to come out of the Embassy and sun themselves in their car mode.
"It was sweet looking at the concept cars all over the place. Their paint jobs are beyond what anyone anywhere can manage. Someone told me that the Lamborghinis, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had over forty layers of deep pigmented color on their finish. That doesn't count multiple layers of primer, the gloss coats and the scratch layers. You have to see it to believe it.
"The cars would hang out in the sun when they weren't on duty and some would drive around or hang out at the beach. They would usually walk around in what was called robot or root mode. It was the mode they usually moved around in when they weren't driving and it was said to be their most natural state.
"They are armed all the time. There isn't a time they aren't armed and they carry it in some sort of voodoo space that surrounds them called subspace."
A covered mech nodded. "That is physics. Subspace is part of physics. I'll explain it later," he said. "Continue."
Johnson looked at him and nodded. "Whatever. I just saw them pull out guns from subspace like conjuring magic. It was awesome to see. They all have incredible weapons. Some of them are plasma types and others shoot energon bullets. The winger, Bluestreak is the best marksman I ever saw. He shoots so fast and accurately I can hardly follow."
Hedges nodded. The mercs did too. "Fucker is a crack shot and I wouldn't want to trade any with him," Tim Bolton said.
"Fuck that guy," Laurence Winslow said. "That guy is a piece of crap. He's fucking the Lamborghinis, both of them."
The room was silent a moment, then Johnson continued. "They are in relationships which is fucking weird. The three … the Lambos and Bluestreak are in a trine. Ratchet and Ironhide are a couple and so are Prime and that calculator he lives with. There are others," he said thinking a moment. "That guy with the flashing lights ..."
"Wheeljack," Hedges said quietly.
"He and that red robot … Perceptor … I think they are too," Johnson said. "There are others. But safe to say, they are in relationships and have kids some of them."
It was silent a moment, then a big man with a mask nodded. "Tell us about Prime," he said.
Johnson did.
-0-Maccadam's Old Oil House, Mars
"That Sentinel," Prowl said darkly. "He's a slagger. He isn't one half the mech that Otimus was. Is."
Ratchet caught the slip and grinned. "Optimus?"
Prowl nodded. "Otimus."
"Well, I won't argue with you about that. Our Messiah has all it takes to make crooked things straight as they say," Ratchet said sipping his drink.
"He does," Prowl said. Then he snorted and chuckled. "Crooked things straight. I like that."
"Holy Bible or so I think. It's yours," Ratchet said with a chuckle of his own. "Keep going, Prowler. Unburdening yourself is good for the spark."
"The spark wants what the spark wants, Ratchet. I wanted Otimus about seven million years."
"I think its closer to nine but who's counting?" Ratchet asked staring at two Prowls with a grin.
"I did," Prowl said suddenly mauldling. "I missed every orn with him."
"You were with him mostly every day, Prowler," Ratchet said handing his drink to the waiter and taking another one.
Prowl watched as he put another one down for him, then walked off. "He has a nice aft."
"I agree," Ratchet said with a smirk. "Tell me again, you missed every orn even though you were with him mostly every orn."
Prowl fixed his gaze on all three Ratchets and shrugged. "I wasn't in his berth, Ratchet. He was always just so close. I never wanted to get fragged so much in my life. I think my spark plugs melted once from longing."
"Good thing your Ada isn't here. He might wash your mouth out with Air Kroil," Ratchet replied with a grin.
"He might. I don't care. I wanted to frag him in the worst way and for a long time I thought that was all I could manage. Never worked out with Sentinel. He was into conquest and victory and I was part of the path to glory or something. I never did listen to him very hard."
"Sounds like a parade," Ratchet said.
"I don't know. I just never felt it," Prowl said fixing his gaze on Ratchet. "I just never FELT it. Not like with Otimus. He's just so-" Prowl paused a moment considering his words. "He's just so … so ..."
"So you're saying he's so-so?" Ratchet asked with a smirk.
Prowl looked at all four Ratchets and frowned slightly marring his perfect white forehelm. "I wouldn't say that. Try fragging a mech 30 feet tall and tell me that. One with broad shoulders and a great aft."
"He's thirty feet tall?" Ratchet asked with a slight frown of his own.
"Maybe forty," Prowl replied as he struggled to remember. "I don't care. He's got it all."
"He does. If I lose my memory, let me take him for a spin. I always wondered what he would be like in the berth."
"Oh, he's wonerful," Prowl slurred with a sappy grin. "Jus' so wonerful." He sat back and looked out the window, at the clear shot of the air field and the prison beyond. "I wanna tell ol' Sentinel jus' how much."
Ratchet looked at him a moment lost in his own fog and blinked. "Tell who what?"
"I wanna tell ol' Sentinel what a better frag Otimus is."
"You know, Prowler," Ratchet said with a slight surge of emotion. "I love ya. Yer my best friend. Let's go tell that slagger just what he's missing. Let's go tell him that in the frag department he can't hold a candle to Otimus."
Prowl looked at him feeling the love too. "I think tha' a good idea. You know, Ratchet," he said leaning slightly forward. "I never tole anyone what I tole you. You're my friend," he said reaching out to squeeze Ratchet's arm. "You're like the brother I never had," he said with misty optics.
"You too," Ratchet replied equally misty. "I want you to know that I love ya, Prowler. Let's go slag Sentinel to the Pit."
"I think so," Prowl said. It took a moment to stand up and go in the right direction but soon they were on the street heading for the general vicinity of the prison.
Again.
=0=TBC
2013 (1) Obviously, someone can't hold their booze. :D :D :D