Dart Origins part 2
May. 27th, 2008 03:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
measured_wordsI told you I was working on other stuff! I'm not quite throgh with the Wheeljack PoV, but this part seemed to form a natural arc, with the next bit being somewhat different in tenor, so I figured I'd cut it off here - it's already 150% the length of the first bit!
Part one is here.
--------------
This part of Dart's story comes from Wheeljack!
Iacon City, Cybertron
“You’re building a what?” I ask. Phreak’s a neat lady, but I never had her figured for an engineer.
“Not sure what I’m calling it yet. Some kind of…. Deployable automated reconnaissance transmitter.” She dumps her armload of spare parts unceremoniously on the worktable. I lent her space in the temp lab to work. Temp lab, yeah right. It’s been ages since the Deceptidicks swiped most of Cybertron. Ratchet and Hoist like to say I call it temporary because it blows up so often, but hey, what’s science without a few explosions?
“A D.A.R.T., huh? Sort of like Roller?”
“I guess so.” She started sorting the pieces she’d collected without looking up. “Not tapped in to me the same way. More independent.”
“But not autonomous.” Yeah, she’s a bit of an odd one. Lonewolf type. Doesn’t need no one, or so she likes to think.
She pauses but shakes her head. “No.”
“Transforming?”
“Maybe.”
I can’t help but chuckle. This is starting to sound like one of my ideas. “You’re just making this up as you go along, aren’t you?”
“…Maybe.” She grins, but it’s strained. Ratchet told me about how her last mission went south. I think everyone heard the rag-out she got from Prowl, whether we wanted to or not. No wonder she wants to build herself a buddy. “I’ve never done this before, but I’m sure I can figure it out.”
“I bet you can!” She’s a sharp one, that’s for sure, if a bit standoffish. Still, it looks like a fun project. “Let me know if you want a hand.”
“Err… I’ll do that.”
“Sure.” Yeah right she will. Come on, my designs aren’t that volatile! At least when they do work, they work great. “I need to roll – patrol duty.” Oh, I should probably warn her about the box of electrognats. And that half finished aural compression bomb. And… Well, slag! “Just, ah… Don’t touch anything, okay?”
. . . . . . . . . .
The ‘cons are quiet tonight, which probably just means they’re up to no good in another sector. Still, its kinda boring, even if we were able to scam some power cells. Boring’s one thing, but I could do with better company. Sunstreaker’s really getting on my nerves.
“These patrols are such a joke! Even if it weren’t *dead* out here, what’s the point? Exchange a few potshots with some random goons until they call their buddies for back up and chase us back home? Nothing in this war ever changes.”
“That cache of cells might give us a chance to change that.”
“Yeah, I’ve herd that before.”
I let them bicker – Sideswipe has a better chance of getting his bro to shut up than I do, and I can tell he’s just as sick of hearing it. I just wish I didn’t halfway agree – few sticks of energon ain’t gonna mean much. We need serious power if we’re gonna make a comeback here.
“Let’s head back,” I interject. “And deliver the goods. Maybe Prime’ll give us something better to do with the rest of the time.”
“Yeah,” Sideswipe agrees, “Too bad it won’t be ‘something better’ like a night off and a few extra credits to spend at that new energon bar down in zeta!”
Sunstreaker grunts. “Anything‘ll be better than this.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“Actually,” Prime start by getting my hopes up right off the bat. “There is something I was going to ask you to look in to, Wheeljack, but it is out of this sector.”
“Well, what is it? I could do with a little traveling.”
“Perceptor just finished going through all the data Phreak managed to download from the Insecticons. He found a reference to some kind of black market operating off the Gantrus moon in the Talos sector. I want you to check it out. If the Decepticons have some access to extra power or weapons, we need to know about it – and stop them.”
“You got it, Prime. We’ll find out if those slippery bolt buckets are up to something.”
“Good. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe will go with you.” Behind me I hear the clang of a high five between the bros. Should be fun times ahead!
. . . . . . . . . .
The Talos sector is a long haul, if you’ve got a sane pilot. I let the twins have at while I tinker with some things I picked up from the lab, and we’re there in no time. I got the latest wave from Perceptor, so we know as much as we’re gonna. At least *I* do.
“Guy’s name is Tangent. Some kinda local alien antiques dealer.”
“Antiques? What, Megs is looking to do some redecorating?”
“Weapons, Sideswipe – he’s selling weapons.”
“Old weapons can’t be much of a threat.”
“Sure they can!” Sideswipe shoots Sunstreaker a disdainful look. Bot knows his weapons, at least. “There’s all kinds of old conventions and treaties and whatever regulating weapons made today, but there’s all kinds of crazy stuff people have tried in the past.”
“Exactly. And if the ‘Cons think it is worth checking out, it probably ain’t something we want them to have.”
“Fine then.” He crosses his arms huffily. “Either of you two know-it-alls have a plan?”
I look over at sideswipe. He shrugs.
“Nah. Figure we can play it by ear.”
. . . . . . . . . .
Gantrus Moon, Talos Sector
The market here is pretty big, and there’s all sorts in attendance. Lots of stuff to look at too – too bad Prime didn’t give us much of a budget. Freedom fighting doesn’t come with the best salary or benefits plan.
“What’s this guy look like again?” Sideswipe is paying some kind of attention, at least.
“He’s Gantrian. That’s all we know.”
“That’s a big help.” Despite the mosaic of aliens from twenty different sectors vending here, the majority are still locals.
“Yeah, well – why don’t you ask Phreak to steal the annotated secret Decepticon messages next time?”
“If she gets a next time. I heard Prowl giving her what for when she got back from Jin-Ahnir 9.”
“Who cares about that – look at this!”
Sunstreaker’d migrated over to a small stall where a shifty looking alien had set up a demo of his product – LumoPhlare. A holoframe showing a slick-looking bot surrounded by a flock of admirers sat behind stack of product tubes and a sheet of laquered titanium that radiated a soft light.
“That’s hot stuff – I gotta get me some.”
“Sure, Sunstreaker. ‘Cause being bright yellow doesn’t make you enough of a target in the dark.
He shoves his twin aside in his eagerness to fork over his credits, grabbing up a tube as the vendor bares his teeth in a lean and hungry smile.
“I’m only a target if they can hit me. Live a little – this stuff’s bound to make me a hit back at base.”
“You know,” I speak up, but not before he’s popped the top off the tube. “Far be it for *me* to be the voice of reason here…” I could stop him faster, but I can’t help feeling he’s about to get what he deserves. “…but you might wanna try a spot test before you slather it all over your forearm like that. Don’t know how it’ll react to your paint.”
“Eh…? Ahhh!” There’s a chemical smell, and a horrified yelp as a hand-shaped patch of Sunstreaker’s yellow plating dulls to a dull golden brown – a slightly luminescent brown handprint. Sideswipe snorts, shaking his head. “Wheeljack! Make it stop!”
“Does it hurt?”
“What!? Does it matter?”
“Only his pride!”
“You’ll be fine.” I pick up the box, confining myself to a smirk. “It’ll wear off if, oh, 70 cycles or so, and you can get a paint touch up then.”
“Can’t you get it off sooner?” Angry and desperate – typical. This isn’t *his* fault, of course.
“Well, I don’t know what’s in it. If you want I can try to see if I can neutralize the chemicals.” I suggest this brightly, half hoping he is that desperate. He seems to consider it briefly, but Sideswipe, still grinning, claps a hand on his shoulder and leads him away from the booth before he redirects his indignation. I pick up the discarded tube – you never know.
“Nah, bro – you’re gonna need that arm for fighting Decepticons later. We can fix it before we get back to Cybertron though. And then you’ll just have to be real nice to me and Wheeljack, and hope we’ll keep out mouths shut.”
We’ve wandered deeper in to the market now. It’s quite a mix of vendors, and though I see quite a lot of stuff I’d like to get my hands on, I don’t see anything that looks like antique or illegal weapons. At least, nothing the ‘cons can’t make better for themselves.
“You’re Cybertronian?” A gravelly voice at my side asks. I look over, then down. Thin, elbow height, whispy white hair and a hell of a lot if cyberwear: definitely Gantrian. I’d swear by Primus that they set up this market just to get better access to sophisticated tech they can mold into new implants. This guy’s even had an eye replaced with some kind of retractable lens. Organics.
I elbow the twins, who stop their bickering to look down.
“That’s us…”
He considers, then scans the crowd, his monocle flickering bright green as it extends, then back to us. He’s not the type to smile much, I can tell. “You’re not my usual contacts.”
Sideswipe steps up. “Tangent, right? The other guys got themselves fragged. They’re spending some time in the CR chamber, and we’re here instead.”
“I see.” I don’t think he buys it, but maybe he doesn’t care. “You do have credits, though?”
“Of course we do!” Sunstreaker sounds appropriately indignant. I notice he’s keeping his arm behind his back.
Our seller thins his lips in what is probably supposed to be a smile. “Then let us retire to my place of business, gentlebots.”
He leads us on a winding romp to a pavilion on the far side of the market. I try a surreptitious scan, and pick up some off the chart weird energy signature. If that’s weaponry, it’s nothing we want the ‘Cons getting their mitts on. Everything inside is locked away in metal cases. I was hoping for a better look.
“Whaddya got for us then – more of the same?” I’ll let Sideswipe do the talking for now, so I can see what else I can find out.
“Yes, yes…. As you like.” Tangent scowls sourly and unlocks the top one of a stack of similar cases with a key that extends from an implant in his forearm. Knowing the Gantrians, its probably genetically and electronically encoded. Tough to crack, but doable in time. You’d have to take the whole case and hope there weren’t more boobytraps. I’d bet on gravity magnifiers at the least. This may just be a big tent, but the supplies in here are pretty secure.
Sideswipe ogles their contents, and asks the dealer to ‘remind the newbie’ just what the stats on the loot is. He sighs, and starts rattling off the info. I’m only half paying attention – those guns, whatever they are, aren’t what I was picking up before. It’s close, gotta be in one of these other boxes. I push towards the back of the stack.
“…*As you know*, of course, the standard price, one hundred thousand per crate, will apply. I of course, care not a whit for what you do with the goods once you have paid for them. Pray, friend, what are you looking for?”
So much for keeping him distracted. Still, he’s here to sell. As long as he thinks we’re here to buy, maybe he’ll cooperate.
“Just wondering what’s n this?” I jerk my thumb towards the crate. The Gantrian’s monocle extends and flashes again, and a leer spreads slowly across his weathered looking face.
“In that? Nothing to interest you, I assure you. No, not in that.” He strides past me, lifting the crate I fingered with surprising ease for someone so generally fleshy – he’s either got some sort of skeletal reinforcing, or these crates really are gravity-modulated. Maybe both. It’s a neat trick, anyway. He caresses the top of the smaller crate beneath, and the first flicker of excitement I’ve seen registers on his face as he delicate clicks open the lock. “This, however… certainly carries a higher price tag than you’ll be ready to shell out today.”
Nestled into some kind of polymer cushioning is a dimly glowing green crystal rod, a little bigger than my hand. It’s definitely the source of the energy I was sensing earlier, which is both weirder and stronger than before. There are striations inside the crystal itself, gold in colour. They could be some kind of metallic impurity, but they look too regular.
“What is it? Some kind of new energon”
“It’s not new at all – it’s very *very* old. Nor is it energon. It’s the only active powercell we’ve found only twelve of the Ancient’s dead colony worlds so far. It’s older even than *your* race, Cybertronian, if you can fathom such a thing. And it *works*.” He breathes the last word almost reverently, running his hand over it possessively. It’s kind of creepy, truth be told – the rod is about the only thing providing any light back here, other than me and Tangent’s eyepiece. It shimmers.
“Uhhh, sure, but what’s it *do*?”
The sly smile is back again. “Oh, what can’t it do? But don’t concern yourself. I already have a buyer, whom your petty little factions could neither afford to outbid, nor wrest it away.”
“Speaking of factions…”
“Incoming!”
Having given their heads-up, the twins crouch on either side of the pavilion’s entrance, weapons drawn. I turn, prepping my shoulder missile.
“Hey!” An all too familiar voice calls out, “he’s dealing with Autobots!” Three of us, three of them: Thundercracker, Skywarp, and Rumble.
I push Tangent out of harm’s way just as he is slamming the rod’s case shut. A blast of laser fire flashes over our heads from Thundercracker’s blasts, bouncing harmlessly off the cases of whatever other alien tech the Gantrian is hawking. The twins lay down cover fire, keeping the seekers back. I shoot through their lines, blowing a big hole in front of where Skywarp was just standing. Ahh, teamwork.
“Stop!” Tangent pulls himself to his feet, holding up his hands placatingly. “Surely this can be resolved more civilly…”
I can’t believe he’d seriously think those slag-dispensers out there would listen to reason, but then I see what’s really on his mind. He never quite got that case closed, and his priceless alien crystal is lying in the dirt by my feet.
But no one else is listening, anyway.
“Civil? This is a shake down, you double-dealing dirtbag!” I brace myself as the ground starts to quake and crack as Rumble sets his pile drivers to work. There’s not much here to grab on to that’s solid though, and the pile of crates I grab for comes toppling down, knocking me to the ground. With the grav-modulators, these things are heavier then they look. I’m not hurt much, but I’m stuck with only one hand free. The tent cloth, riddled with laser fire, floats down to cover the scene. I don’t see what happens to Tangent, but there’s a wet crunching off to the right that tells me not to keep up any hopes I might have had.
I’m trying to defect further debris away from my face when I hear a mad yell. The shaking stops moments later. From this vantage point, I can’t see much beyond a yellow blur streaking out of the ruins of the pavilion, but Rumble’s begging for mercy completes the picture. The shooting resumes – and me out of the action! I try and find my blaster, but no luck. I do find something else though, and in good time. Skywarp, never above hitting someone while he’s down, looms over me, blaster in hand and a sneer on his face.
“What’s this? Help, you’ve fallen, and you can’t get up?”
I pop the top of the LumoPhlare and squirt as much of the tube as I can into his face. “Just biding my time, bright eyes!”
He screams, dropping his blaster to bury his head in his hands. “MY OPTICS!” Stumbling backwards, he leaps into the air, switching into his alt mode and rocketing off through the sky.
The others aren’t far behind, and soon the brother-bots are shifting crates to get me unburied as they banter typical post-battle one-upmanship. We’re all a little banged up, but nothing that needs immediate attention.
“What should we do with the guns they were after?” Sideswipe asks, rummaging through the spilled contents of the crate. “Most of this stuff looks non-functioning slag anyway.”
“Let’s not take any chances. Grab a sample, and we’ll blow up the rest.”
“What about this thing?” Sunstreaker picks up the rod from where it had rolled over towards Tangent’s body. Thoughts briefly flash through my head about the buyer he had lined up, but hey. We need any advantage we can get.
“Bring it, and let’s get outta this pit.”
Part one is here.
--------------
This part of Dart's story comes from Wheeljack!
Iacon City, Cybertron
“You’re building a what?” I ask. Phreak’s a neat lady, but I never had her figured for an engineer.
“Not sure what I’m calling it yet. Some kind of…. Deployable automated reconnaissance transmitter.” She dumps her armload of spare parts unceremoniously on the worktable. I lent her space in the temp lab to work. Temp lab, yeah right. It’s been ages since the Deceptidicks swiped most of Cybertron. Ratchet and Hoist like to say I call it temporary because it blows up so often, but hey, what’s science without a few explosions?
“A D.A.R.T., huh? Sort of like Roller?”
“I guess so.” She started sorting the pieces she’d collected without looking up. “Not tapped in to me the same way. More independent.”
“But not autonomous.” Yeah, she’s a bit of an odd one. Lonewolf type. Doesn’t need no one, or so she likes to think.
She pauses but shakes her head. “No.”
“Transforming?”
“Maybe.”
I can’t help but chuckle. This is starting to sound like one of my ideas. “You’re just making this up as you go along, aren’t you?”
“…Maybe.” She grins, but it’s strained. Ratchet told me about how her last mission went south. I think everyone heard the rag-out she got from Prowl, whether we wanted to or not. No wonder she wants to build herself a buddy. “I’ve never done this before, but I’m sure I can figure it out.”
“I bet you can!” She’s a sharp one, that’s for sure, if a bit standoffish. Still, it looks like a fun project. “Let me know if you want a hand.”
“Err… I’ll do that.”
“Sure.” Yeah right she will. Come on, my designs aren’t that volatile! At least when they do work, they work great. “I need to roll – patrol duty.” Oh, I should probably warn her about the box of electrognats. And that half finished aural compression bomb. And… Well, slag! “Just, ah… Don’t touch anything, okay?”
. . . . . . . . . .
The ‘cons are quiet tonight, which probably just means they’re up to no good in another sector. Still, its kinda boring, even if we were able to scam some power cells. Boring’s one thing, but I could do with better company. Sunstreaker’s really getting on my nerves.
“These patrols are such a joke! Even if it weren’t *dead* out here, what’s the point? Exchange a few potshots with some random goons until they call their buddies for back up and chase us back home? Nothing in this war ever changes.”
“That cache of cells might give us a chance to change that.”
“Yeah, I’ve herd that before.”
I let them bicker – Sideswipe has a better chance of getting his bro to shut up than I do, and I can tell he’s just as sick of hearing it. I just wish I didn’t halfway agree – few sticks of energon ain’t gonna mean much. We need serious power if we’re gonna make a comeback here.
“Let’s head back,” I interject. “And deliver the goods. Maybe Prime’ll give us something better to do with the rest of the time.”
“Yeah,” Sideswipe agrees, “Too bad it won’t be ‘something better’ like a night off and a few extra credits to spend at that new energon bar down in zeta!”
Sunstreaker grunts. “Anything‘ll be better than this.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“Actually,” Prime start by getting my hopes up right off the bat. “There is something I was going to ask you to look in to, Wheeljack, but it is out of this sector.”
“Well, what is it? I could do with a little traveling.”
“Perceptor just finished going through all the data Phreak managed to download from the Insecticons. He found a reference to some kind of black market operating off the Gantrus moon in the Talos sector. I want you to check it out. If the Decepticons have some access to extra power or weapons, we need to know about it – and stop them.”
“You got it, Prime. We’ll find out if those slippery bolt buckets are up to something.”
“Good. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe will go with you.” Behind me I hear the clang of a high five between the bros. Should be fun times ahead!
. . . . . . . . . .
The Talos sector is a long haul, if you’ve got a sane pilot. I let the twins have at while I tinker with some things I picked up from the lab, and we’re there in no time. I got the latest wave from Perceptor, so we know as much as we’re gonna. At least *I* do.
“Guy’s name is Tangent. Some kinda local alien antiques dealer.”
“Antiques? What, Megs is looking to do some redecorating?”
“Weapons, Sideswipe – he’s selling weapons.”
“Old weapons can’t be much of a threat.”
“Sure they can!” Sideswipe shoots Sunstreaker a disdainful look. Bot knows his weapons, at least. “There’s all kinds of old conventions and treaties and whatever regulating weapons made today, but there’s all kinds of crazy stuff people have tried in the past.”
“Exactly. And if the ‘Cons think it is worth checking out, it probably ain’t something we want them to have.”
“Fine then.” He crosses his arms huffily. “Either of you two know-it-alls have a plan?”
I look over at sideswipe. He shrugs.
“Nah. Figure we can play it by ear.”
. . . . . . . . . .
Gantrus Moon, Talos Sector
The market here is pretty big, and there’s all sorts in attendance. Lots of stuff to look at too – too bad Prime didn’t give us much of a budget. Freedom fighting doesn’t come with the best salary or benefits plan.
“What’s this guy look like again?” Sideswipe is paying some kind of attention, at least.
“He’s Gantrian. That’s all we know.”
“That’s a big help.” Despite the mosaic of aliens from twenty different sectors vending here, the majority are still locals.
“Yeah, well – why don’t you ask Phreak to steal the annotated secret Decepticon messages next time?”
“If she gets a next time. I heard Prowl giving her what for when she got back from Jin-Ahnir 9.”
“Who cares about that – look at this!”
Sunstreaker’d migrated over to a small stall where a shifty looking alien had set up a demo of his product – LumoPhlare. A holoframe showing a slick-looking bot surrounded by a flock of admirers sat behind stack of product tubes and a sheet of laquered titanium that radiated a soft light.
“That’s hot stuff – I gotta get me some.”
“Sure, Sunstreaker. ‘Cause being bright yellow doesn’t make you enough of a target in the dark.
He shoves his twin aside in his eagerness to fork over his credits, grabbing up a tube as the vendor bares his teeth in a lean and hungry smile.
“I’m only a target if they can hit me. Live a little – this stuff’s bound to make me a hit back at base.”
“You know,” I speak up, but not before he’s popped the top off the tube. “Far be it for *me* to be the voice of reason here…” I could stop him faster, but I can’t help feeling he’s about to get what he deserves. “…but you might wanna try a spot test before you slather it all over your forearm like that. Don’t know how it’ll react to your paint.”
“Eh…? Ahhh!” There’s a chemical smell, and a horrified yelp as a hand-shaped patch of Sunstreaker’s yellow plating dulls to a dull golden brown – a slightly luminescent brown handprint. Sideswipe snorts, shaking his head. “Wheeljack! Make it stop!”
“Does it hurt?”
“What!? Does it matter?”
“Only his pride!”
“You’ll be fine.” I pick up the box, confining myself to a smirk. “It’ll wear off if, oh, 70 cycles or so, and you can get a paint touch up then.”
“Can’t you get it off sooner?” Angry and desperate – typical. This isn’t *his* fault, of course.
“Well, I don’t know what’s in it. If you want I can try to see if I can neutralize the chemicals.” I suggest this brightly, half hoping he is that desperate. He seems to consider it briefly, but Sideswipe, still grinning, claps a hand on his shoulder and leads him away from the booth before he redirects his indignation. I pick up the discarded tube – you never know.
“Nah, bro – you’re gonna need that arm for fighting Decepticons later. We can fix it before we get back to Cybertron though. And then you’ll just have to be real nice to me and Wheeljack, and hope we’ll keep out mouths shut.”
We’ve wandered deeper in to the market now. It’s quite a mix of vendors, and though I see quite a lot of stuff I’d like to get my hands on, I don’t see anything that looks like antique or illegal weapons. At least, nothing the ‘cons can’t make better for themselves.
“You’re Cybertronian?” A gravelly voice at my side asks. I look over, then down. Thin, elbow height, whispy white hair and a hell of a lot if cyberwear: definitely Gantrian. I’d swear by Primus that they set up this market just to get better access to sophisticated tech they can mold into new implants. This guy’s even had an eye replaced with some kind of retractable lens. Organics.
I elbow the twins, who stop their bickering to look down.
“That’s us…”
He considers, then scans the crowd, his monocle flickering bright green as it extends, then back to us. He’s not the type to smile much, I can tell. “You’re not my usual contacts.”
Sideswipe steps up. “Tangent, right? The other guys got themselves fragged. They’re spending some time in the CR chamber, and we’re here instead.”
“I see.” I don’t think he buys it, but maybe he doesn’t care. “You do have credits, though?”
“Of course we do!” Sunstreaker sounds appropriately indignant. I notice he’s keeping his arm behind his back.
Our seller thins his lips in what is probably supposed to be a smile. “Then let us retire to my place of business, gentlebots.”
He leads us on a winding romp to a pavilion on the far side of the market. I try a surreptitious scan, and pick up some off the chart weird energy signature. If that’s weaponry, it’s nothing we want the ‘Cons getting their mitts on. Everything inside is locked away in metal cases. I was hoping for a better look.
“Whaddya got for us then – more of the same?” I’ll let Sideswipe do the talking for now, so I can see what else I can find out.
“Yes, yes…. As you like.” Tangent scowls sourly and unlocks the top one of a stack of similar cases with a key that extends from an implant in his forearm. Knowing the Gantrians, its probably genetically and electronically encoded. Tough to crack, but doable in time. You’d have to take the whole case and hope there weren’t more boobytraps. I’d bet on gravity magnifiers at the least. This may just be a big tent, but the supplies in here are pretty secure.
Sideswipe ogles their contents, and asks the dealer to ‘remind the newbie’ just what the stats on the loot is. He sighs, and starts rattling off the info. I’m only half paying attention – those guns, whatever they are, aren’t what I was picking up before. It’s close, gotta be in one of these other boxes. I push towards the back of the stack.
“…*As you know*, of course, the standard price, one hundred thousand per crate, will apply. I of course, care not a whit for what you do with the goods once you have paid for them. Pray, friend, what are you looking for?”
So much for keeping him distracted. Still, he’s here to sell. As long as he thinks we’re here to buy, maybe he’ll cooperate.
“Just wondering what’s n this?” I jerk my thumb towards the crate. The Gantrian’s monocle extends and flashes again, and a leer spreads slowly across his weathered looking face.
“In that? Nothing to interest you, I assure you. No, not in that.” He strides past me, lifting the crate I fingered with surprising ease for someone so generally fleshy – he’s either got some sort of skeletal reinforcing, or these crates really are gravity-modulated. Maybe both. It’s a neat trick, anyway. He caresses the top of the smaller crate beneath, and the first flicker of excitement I’ve seen registers on his face as he delicate clicks open the lock. “This, however… certainly carries a higher price tag than you’ll be ready to shell out today.”
Nestled into some kind of polymer cushioning is a dimly glowing green crystal rod, a little bigger than my hand. It’s definitely the source of the energy I was sensing earlier, which is both weirder and stronger than before. There are striations inside the crystal itself, gold in colour. They could be some kind of metallic impurity, but they look too regular.
“What is it? Some kind of new energon”
“It’s not new at all – it’s very *very* old. Nor is it energon. It’s the only active powercell we’ve found only twelve of the Ancient’s dead colony worlds so far. It’s older even than *your* race, Cybertronian, if you can fathom such a thing. And it *works*.” He breathes the last word almost reverently, running his hand over it possessively. It’s kind of creepy, truth be told – the rod is about the only thing providing any light back here, other than me and Tangent’s eyepiece. It shimmers.
“Uhhh, sure, but what’s it *do*?”
The sly smile is back again. “Oh, what can’t it do? But don’t concern yourself. I already have a buyer, whom your petty little factions could neither afford to outbid, nor wrest it away.”
“Speaking of factions…”
“Incoming!”
Having given their heads-up, the twins crouch on either side of the pavilion’s entrance, weapons drawn. I turn, prepping my shoulder missile.
“Hey!” An all too familiar voice calls out, “he’s dealing with Autobots!” Three of us, three of them: Thundercracker, Skywarp, and Rumble.
I push Tangent out of harm’s way just as he is slamming the rod’s case shut. A blast of laser fire flashes over our heads from Thundercracker’s blasts, bouncing harmlessly off the cases of whatever other alien tech the Gantrian is hawking. The twins lay down cover fire, keeping the seekers back. I shoot through their lines, blowing a big hole in front of where Skywarp was just standing. Ahh, teamwork.
“Stop!” Tangent pulls himself to his feet, holding up his hands placatingly. “Surely this can be resolved more civilly…”
I can’t believe he’d seriously think those slag-dispensers out there would listen to reason, but then I see what’s really on his mind. He never quite got that case closed, and his priceless alien crystal is lying in the dirt by my feet.
But no one else is listening, anyway.
“Civil? This is a shake down, you double-dealing dirtbag!” I brace myself as the ground starts to quake and crack as Rumble sets his pile drivers to work. There’s not much here to grab on to that’s solid though, and the pile of crates I grab for comes toppling down, knocking me to the ground. With the grav-modulators, these things are heavier then they look. I’m not hurt much, but I’m stuck with only one hand free. The tent cloth, riddled with laser fire, floats down to cover the scene. I don’t see what happens to Tangent, but there’s a wet crunching off to the right that tells me not to keep up any hopes I might have had.
I’m trying to defect further debris away from my face when I hear a mad yell. The shaking stops moments later. From this vantage point, I can’t see much beyond a yellow blur streaking out of the ruins of the pavilion, but Rumble’s begging for mercy completes the picture. The shooting resumes – and me out of the action! I try and find my blaster, but no luck. I do find something else though, and in good time. Skywarp, never above hitting someone while he’s down, looms over me, blaster in hand and a sneer on his face.
“What’s this? Help, you’ve fallen, and you can’t get up?”
I pop the top of the LumoPhlare and squirt as much of the tube as I can into his face. “Just biding my time, bright eyes!”
He screams, dropping his blaster to bury his head in his hands. “MY OPTICS!” Stumbling backwards, he leaps into the air, switching into his alt mode and rocketing off through the sky.
The others aren’t far behind, and soon the brother-bots are shifting crates to get me unburied as they banter typical post-battle one-upmanship. We’re all a little banged up, but nothing that needs immediate attention.
“What should we do with the guns they were after?” Sideswipe asks, rummaging through the spilled contents of the crate. “Most of this stuff looks non-functioning slag anyway.”
“Let’s not take any chances. Grab a sample, and we’ll blow up the rest.”
“What about this thing?” Sunstreaker picks up the rod from where it had rolled over towards Tangent’s body. Thoughts briefly flash through my head about the buyer he had lined up, but hey. We need any advantage we can get.
“Bring it, and let’s get outta this pit.”
