A New Direction: Part 2
A brand mission, a brand new world where many things are not as they same and thier true objective is not even known to them.
PART TWO
[The Citadel]
It has been said that Transformers don’t grow old like other species; don’t grow forgetful, or lose their figure. Don’t get arthritis for replaceable joints, myopic for the adjustable optic sensor, or senile in a way recognizable to most organics. But they do age. Time passes, parts need to be replaced…sparks weaken and eventually die. And the eyes. If nothing else, you can see it in their eyes.
Tachyous Prime sat alone in the darkened room, bright yellow optics the only indication that he was there at all. He had been silent ever since night fell across the Citadel, hardly moving, lost in the mire of his own thoughts. Primus knew there was plenty of thought to wade through. There always was. The Maximal High Elder was a troubled person of late. Light. Dark. It made little difference where he was. He could not hide from the skeletons of his past in any illumination, even if he did manage to keep it from everyone else. So he had let the light timers lapse.
Blackmail
He could remember his first meeting with Cicadon as though it were yesterday. The shifty Predacon had approached him with an offer he thought that he couldn’t refuse. In retrospect, he should have just turned and walked away. The High Elder let an inaudible sigh escape his lips. He had been so young and so cocky then. Cocky enough to believe he could deal with such a person and not get burned. A metallic fist tightened silently. He had been dead wrong about that, and the intervening years had done nothing but demonstrate the immensity of his error. Slowly the fist uncurled. It would help him no more than the light.
Tachyous shook his head in the gloom. How naïve he had been to even think that it would end with Cicadon. The other two knew his secret just as well. With the situation they made for themselves, how could they afford to let him go? Everything that he had, and everything that he was, he owed to the Tripredacus Council. They could take it all back just as easily.
Not for the first time he let the idea of abdication cross his mind. If he shed the position, he thought, he would be free. The Predacon Council would have nothing to hold him by. ‘Tachyous’ after all was worthless to them. It was the ‘Prime’ that they needed to stay afloat. Ramhorn and Seaclamp could raise one of the others in his place. He would be forgotten in the rush… Tachyous stopped with a mental grimace. No, abdication was not an option, no matter how appealing it might seem. To quit his post would be to admit the most grievous failure. Such an admission would hurt him just as much in the long run. He was theirs, whether he liked it or not. Nothing could change that. Nothing at all.
Besides, they’d probably kill him anyway, just to tie up loose ends. Nobody liked a loose end. Especially one that knew too much. They’d made that clear with their newest (he remembered Cicadon’s words) “small and inconsequential bit of assistance”. Hell, they’d kill him out of spite if nothing else.
“Side bar,” he said at last in a deep slurred speech. A panel on the far wall slid upward slid upward at his command, revealing a small wet bar stocked with Transformer alcohol. A fluorescent light snapped on above it, bathing the room, and Tachyous as well, in a harsh white light. The High Elder stood slowly and crossed over to the bar, features sharpening into something decidedly less than regal. He grabbed the first bottle he could reach and removed the crystal stopper.
The brightness in his eyes had fled, along with a large measure of his brash self-confidence. Here, away from prying eyes, away from his stolen office, he seemed almost haggard. Even in the unflattering light of the sidebar, the change since Endport was apparent. His new masters held a tighter leash than Cicadon ever had.
Prime turned out the light as he turned away, inadvertently crushing the crystal stopper with one heavy drunken stride.
‘To the Pit with them all,’ he though, feeling the way back toward his seat. Some things a ‘bot could help, and others he couldn’t. It was that way for everyone, large or small. He would just have to pick his battles wisely, ones he knew he could win in advance. That way he could do something about his ‘situation’. It would be a slow process. That much was certain. But it would be something.
Garrak for example. He could do something about him. A few nights ago Ramhorn had contacted him over one of his specially scrambled lines telling him to organize a sub group of the Maximal military for a search and destroy mission. The make up of the team was placed at his discretion. Somewhere out on the Rim floated two loose stings in need of cutting - runaway Generals left over from the Endport fiasco. Like him, they knew or suspected far too much for their own good. When the transmission cut out, he decided to make use of Garrak's pet Resistance Members from the trial two years back. The choice was practical one. Who better than former enemies to hunt the two Predacons down? Motivated troops were always the best, in any sort of mission. And if he as High Elder garnered some small pleasure from Councilman Garrak’s ensuing anger, well, so much the better.
Slumping back into his chair, Tachyous Prime upended the bottle of alcohol, draining it to the half way mark. He closed his eyes, trying in vain to shut out his many difficulties. The drink barely helped, but that was nothing new. His muscle cables relaxed and the High Elder drifted to sleep. The bottle dropped from his hand, staining the thick Terran carpet at his feet. It was irreparable damage, to an irreplaceable item (Earth had been closed to Transformers for hundreds of years). But Tachyous couldn’t have cared any less. Some things a ‘bot could help. The others would just have to deal with their stains.
Gaul had reported 30 minutes ahead of the rest of the group except for one Jungle. Jungle and Gaul sat in two hand crafted chairs that fast each other. One table and two chairs were also in the room. The table only occupied by a holostation and a computer terminal. Being soilders they knew when not to touch. They two sat in silence for nearly 15 cycles simply starring through each other unto the silence was shattered by the opening of a door. Gaul and Jungle instantly stood facing the two members that entered through the giant citidel doors. Elder Garrak motioned for them to sit along with his Military Aid Sunburn. "We have little time before the rest of the team gets here so i will be brief." Garrak said eyeing the two momentarily before continuing. "You two have been selected to lead a group of Maximals to the an Outer Rim Planet and take out these two." Garrak slid a two sets of two folders to both soilders. Jungle and Gaul looked them over carefully before giving a nod. "Gaul will be in command and Jungle will be you second in command. The rest of the team is yours to manipulate." Gaul grabbed two large folders and handed one to each of them. Detailed notes and documents on the resistance were inside.
"Perhaps you have heard of them, they were known as the Endport Resistance and managed to free a small world from a Predacon dictatorship. Also there are several others that will be coming along for there specialties in thier fields." Garrak slid more folders across the table and then motioned to his Aid.
"We believe the targerts, Former Predacon Generals Grapple and Croak, are located somewhere in the ever growing Jonas Movement in the outer Rimworlds. Your mission is simply to eliminate them and anyone that stands in your way. This is a Black Operation in the fact that if somthing goes wrong the Maximal goverment will deny any knowledge of your actions. Any questions?"
Gaul nodded and spoke in a deep strong voice. "Why such a large team, it seems me and my companion could handle this task?"
"You are being given this team because they know the Generals battle strategy and other tactics and also becuase we don't know what kind of Support they have on hte Rim world but its need to be expected as a lot." Gaul nodded and continued to look over the folder containing the resistance members.
"Gentelmen this is a misson that will not fail." The aid said which seemed more of a threat then anything. Jungle and Gaul seemed to resent it instantly. A buzzer was heard from the holostation and then a soft voice of a secretary.
"The team members have begun to arrive." She said softly and then the line was disconnected.
"Time to meet your team." Garrak said standing.
-------------------------------------------
Solarflare entered the Citidel with relative ease. All he did was show the letter he recieved and guards pointed him to where he needed to go. Once arrived at a secretary's desk she instructed him to wait. Buxkshot, Mimi, Wraith and Rhapsody were already there. "Whats this all about?" he said looking at the other four. They all just seemed to shrug, not knowing anymore then him. No more then twenty minutes later all had arrived. Lots of new faces but yet still the same old showed up, this confused Solarflare even more then before.
Once they had all gathered they were escorted into a large room with exactly 30 chiars. 26 of the 27 members that had been called today and 3 for Garrak and two aids. Jungle and Gaul were already sitting but the remaing 25 were asked to stand until there named had been called. Quickly one of the aids went through the list.
Tundra
Retro
Vinoc
Weede
Rubmur
Relic
Trance
Querion
Penji
Caska +1
Spacedust
Mimi
Buckshot
TImber
Rita
Burnout
Catfish
Phyphen
Cross
Rhapsody
Wraith
Yeager
Solarflare
"Switchblade.... Switchblade?" SOlarflare looked around for the absent femme and frowned along with Garrak.
"And who are you?" The aid said pointing at Filch.
"Me? Why i am a very good friend of this team and major supporter..."
"Save it," The military aid said, "Unless someone can bare witness for you, you will be removed." Rita reluctantly stood and raised a hand pushing Filch into a chair.
"Very well shall we begin..." Garrak went on for a long while about the mission details. The two new commanders and anything else that he could think of, even apoligizing for calling the resistance for such a mission like this. Garrak stopped at one point and introduced the two commanders fully. After nearly 20 minutes of him talking he finally finished and sat down in his chair. "Any questions?"
Phyphen reluctantly raised her hand.
"Can you repeat that please?" the fox 'bot smiled sheepishly.
Rita threw Phyphen a amused smirk and popped her own question before Garrak had time to answer.
“Yeah, two questions. One: Why is it assumed we’re going to agree to this? This meeting is seriously cutting into snuggle time and that doesn’t leave me very positively inclined towards it.” She stretched her neck, readjusted her legs on the table, “Two: What’s the pay like?”
"What have I agreed to here?" Filch asked, blinking at Rita. "You told me there would be plenty of things to sell."
Rita gave him an amused smile. She'd run into her old friend en route to the Citadel, and had had to take the time to keep him from being decapitated by a big angry Predacon for reasons Filch chose not to disclose. She guessed that the incensed Predacon femmebot holding the male's hand had something to do with it. There'd been much ceremony, talking, reminiscing, and the giraffe had gotten around to asking where she was headed, after unsuccessfully trying to sell her some rare dilithium crystal windchimes. And so...
"You haven't agreed to anything yet." Rita told him. "But you can help if you want to."
"Help with what?"
"Mmm...it'll be fun, let's leave it at that."
"Oh. Well. How can I argue with that cryptic and unsettling evaluation?" Filch said with a shrug. "In fact I- hmmmm."
"Hi Rita!!"
Catfish bounded into the seat next to Rita, sitting down with a flourish.
"And who is this lovely creature?" Filch said with a smile.
"Hi! I'm Catfish!" she said, waving.
"So I see. Bonjour, mademoiselle, ca va bien?" Filch asked, taking her hand and kissing it. "It appears Rita has even more good taste in the company she keeps than myself would already prove. Perhaps you would like to take a private tour of my ship...?"
Clearly, he hadn't actually talked to Fish yet.
Tundra turned to the new-comer, smiling and said "no offense, but that might not be the best idea." The new-comer simply looked at her, bemused, "Catfish is probably the most care-free bot I've ever met, but she also is the luckiest. She ends up bringing down the seventy ton block of duranium hanging over her. Then manages to avoid being crushed because of a weird combination of a sudden, insainly short monsoon, the gravity of the planet, the alignment of the stars and planets, the missile that was just shot by some random bot half a mile away, and just plain dumb luck."
Filch looked at her through all of this, then said "Would you like to buy a rare obalisian amulet?"
"Penji appraise!"
Filch looked down, and saw that a penguin was now examining the amulet.
"2 credits!" the penguin announced.
Filch gave the penguin a dirty look, then smiled again, "Nonsense, this amulet originates from-"
"Orbital Station 3! On sale!"
Filch was getting quite annoyed at Penji, but the penguin waddled past him, apparently losing interest all of the sudden.
"Crazy fish!"
"If you are all quit finished!" Garrak interupted, almost insulted by the groups lack of interest. "We assumed that getting to finally "Elimnate" the Predacon Generals that plegged you would be enough. Also you do not have to come and you will be debriefed and released. But we are prepared to offer compinsation." Garrak motioned to one of his aid who sat a briefcase on the main table and opened it displaying a draw dropping amount of credits.
"I'm in." Filch said staring in aww.
"If that is all you are dismissed and your commanders will take over. Your ship, the Penance will be leaving in exactly 4 megacycles with or wihtout you."
"Can we take our own ship?" Spacedust said speaking up.
"If you so choose but if you are not on the same transwarp time you will be left. The Penance is a fully equiped battle cruiser however, Other ships can fit inside its hull. A maximum of three." Garrak waited for questions but no more came. "You are dismissed. Your commanders can't answer anything further."
Wraith and Rhapsody left the room together, both of them more than a little peeved about the mission. They had no say in it whatsoever and they had just completed a hellish saga 2 years before. They weren't too eager to get back into another.
Wraith drove the songbird back to her apartment and told her he'd be back to pick her up again in 1.5 megacycles. He gave her a quick kiss and took off to his own apartment.
He packed the few things he knew he'd need. He would definately be prepared for this mission, unlike on Endport. He packed his holoprojector for training, his $5000 compact stereo system along with an impressive collection of cds, along with a couple other things he'd need.
The most important, he'd need to make a call for. He dialed up Elder Garrak and made the neccessary arrangements. He would definately need the Phantasm, his own one-bot fighter, for this mission. Since it would be in a carrier, it wouldn't be in any danger of being shot down right away. It was on it's way to the hangar now, so it should be there when he arrived.
It had been almost half a megacycle by now, so he decided to head back to Rhapsody's place and pick her up. They needed to be on that ship when it left. He grabbed his bag and mounted his hoverbike. He would definately take that too, no better method of land transportation around. With a small chuckle of some strange enthusiasm, he blasted off towards Rhapsody's apartment complex.
Rough night; simplistic way of describing the night just prior in the life of Jungle. What filled it? Fighting and drinking. The confrontation could have been avoided in retrospect, but – the dark warrior pushes those thoughts aside, having taken note of his eyes settled on Spacedust. He didn’t know how long she’d been in his direct field of vision, but that fact was of little consequence. Quickly his eyes shift to the door…
Three nights ago…
Jungle is seated at the base of a statue of the former Autobot leader, Rodimus Prime. In hand he holds a communication devise. The image of a female Maximal is on it and the words ‘encrypted carrier wave’. We hear her speaking. “… so all my leads turned up blank, big cat.” Jungle sighs. “Thanks Ice. I got a hot tip on my end, I’ll let you know how it plays out.” “Hopefully better then your last one.” “You heard?” “Yup. That croc cleaned your clock.” “That’s a bit of an exaggerate-” “Jungle. If you don’t let this insane quest of yours go, you’re going to end up off line. You do know that right!?” The panther almost had to wonder how long she’d been waiting to say that? “I don’t expect you to understand Ice Runner.” “Why!? Because I wasn’t breed to be MSP!?” Though bold, Ice Runner’s words were filled with obvious concern. Jungle was her best friend. “Yes.” Jungle’s stern/anger filled retort…
… he’s visibly taken back once he too realizes that. “I’m sorry, little cat.” A brief silence. “I know, me too.” Ice takes a moment more to fully collect herself. “So, I’ll um see you in a few days then?” She smirks. “I know for a fact Squirrely’s been looking forward to the reunion.” Ice Runner concludes the statement with a smile, which disappears after she notice’s Jungle’s jaw had dropped. “What?” “I won’t be there. Something else came up.” Ice lets out a frustrated sigh. “You’re quite the brooding loner these days.” He was going to tell her about the strange Citadel summons – that being the ‘something’ in Jungle’s statement; ‘something else came up’ – but before Jungle has a chance to respond, she ends the communication link.
End flashback.
Head still light from the amount of alcohol that recently entered his system, Jungle rubs his tired eyes. Though not fully alert, he was alert enough to know that something… just wasn’t right about this assignment. His direct superior was right; two dozen +, was an unusually large team number for this type of mission…
Moving on; Jungle’s men were basically all members from the ‘Resistance movement’ of a couple stellar cycles back. Jungle respected them, he had seen their trial. The explanation the elder gave was logical. After all, who better to be on the hunt, then hunters who know the prey? But then why select team leaders who aren’t as familiar with the Predacon targets? If the Resistance’s original commanders aren’t available, then why not just pull from the ranks? Surely one of them had to be qualified…
Course there always was the less cynical possibility that some elder or ranking figure felt Jungle, with his MSP record and military record was the over all prime candidate to receive the top billing of being the expeditionary force’s second in command. Jungle inwardly smirks; that theory just wasn’t constant with the way his life had been unfolding. Course no point in getting a circuit burn out over it; shortly enough, all would be unveiled.
Before rising, Jungle reflects on the team’s antics and the elder’s semi-harsh response. Jungle stilled found himself amused by it all. No real reason; such things just amused him… sure he could of backed the elder, but that just wasn’t the dark warrior’s style. Of note, J’s direct superior, Gaul hadn’t backed the elder either… interesting…
All and all, an interesting series of events – Jungle’s final thoughts as he makes his way toward the awaiting ship…
Cut to: Penance
After checking over his hand swords, they retract and the panther activates the lift he is on, taking him into the Penance… the sooner he got on board, the sooner the mission would start and the sooner it would be over, allowing him to return to 'other matters'.
[Elsewhere]
Garrak’s clenched fist slammed angrily into the elevator’s brushed metal paneling. When he pulled it back, a small dent remained. “Are the dampeners on?” he asked, voice filled with thinly veiled contempt.
“Yes, sir,” replied Sunburn, the junior aide, promptly. “Indicators are green for the suite’s sonic field, and our personal generators have been active since we left the Citadel,” He glanced momentarily at the lift’s third occupant, Verine, a more senior aide and one of the Elder’s chief confidants. The wolverine ‘bot nodded once and patted the dampening device attached to his waist. Sunburn returned the nod. “The more powerful privacy fields will kick in as soon as we enter your study, Elder,” he finished.
“Hmm..” Garrak almost snorted. “The things I must do to speak freely in my own residence!” The elevator pinged, doors sliding open smoothly with a hiss of compressed air. “Blind us then,” Garrak barked, not waiting for the gap to open completely before stepping out. “I’ve business to conduct yet, and It’ll be a cold day in Hell before I let that slimy two bit High Elder listen in,” He stormed off in the direction of his personal study, leaving the two aides behind. They followed at a safe distance.
Setting his data pads down on a hall table, the Senior Elder crossed over into his study. It was a well-appointed room by most standards, professional, yet comfortable as well. Polished wooden shelves bearing Cybertronian law texts lined the better part of both sidewalls, here and there punctuated by a tastefully maintained organic plant. The far wall, behind his heavy antique desk, was transperi-steel from floor to ceiling. At this height it offered a sweeping panorama of Cybertron’s major governmental district, Maximal Citadel looming in the background. Two high backed leather chairs had been positioned on the near side of the desk. One of them was occupied.
“I hope I have not kept you waiting too long,” Garrak said in a kindly voice, showing only a hint of his prior irritation. “Matters at the Citadel delayed me rather longer than I had expected. Do accept my most sincere apologies,”
The figure opposite him looked up as the Elder settled himself into his chair, frost blue optics taking in their first up close view of the prominent legislator. “I only arrived a few minutes ago,” said Switchblade in a very businesslike voice. “Your guards showed me in,”
“Ah yes, the Correctors,” Garrak replied. “A commendable group of young ‘bots, if a bit gruff to those unfamiliar to them. I trust you were treated well?”
The courier nodded. “Very,”
“Good, good,” Garrak said. “We may move, then, to the matter at hand. I understand that you took a part in the Endport liberation a few years ago, is that correct?”
“It is,” Switchblade returned. “A small part, though, to be honest. I only became involved by accident, and well after the movement had begun,”
“Would you venture to say that you developed a relationship, working or otherwise, with the Resistance? Would they recognize you by sight after all this time?” Garrak produced a mid sized data pad from a desk drawer, pulling up the badger ‘bot’s profile as he spoke.
“I think that they would recognize me, yes. I haven’t seen very much of them since…well, since before the trial, but I’ve we’ve ran into each other occasionally. I’ve run into Solarflare on a number of occasions. Twice that I can remember,”
“Commander Solarflare of the Crimson Flames?” The Elder punched a quick series of buttons, referencing Solarflare’s bio as well. He dimly remembered the TMII finch looking a bit odd when Switchblade’s name had been read on the team roster. Could it have been disappointment he’d seen on the other Transformer’s face?
“The same,” Switchblade replied simply.
“Has the Commander sent you any messages recently, concerning a new assignment he’s been given, or anything of that nature?”
The courier stiffened as a set of profession wide warning flags sprang into being. “I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to discuss any of the correspondence I receive, business or otherwise. The two sometimes overlap, you understand. It would violate my professional ethic…”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Garrak said, cutting her off with an emphatic hand gesture. “I know. It would violate your rules of conduct. Forgive me, but I had to test, just to be sure. Not that I thought you would fail to pass. It is only that what I am about to propose to you is a very delicate matter. One in which even a seemingly insignificant informational leak could be very dangerous. There are certain circles within the Maximal Council, including the High Elder, that I would like to keep in the dark about this,”
“You know that raises the price tag substantially,” Switchblade said, deadpan.
“I am aware, and you will be more than fairly compensated for your efforts, should you choose to take this on. However, I was hoping that you would accept my proposal on its personal aspects,” the Senior Elder flipped the data pad off, placing it squarely on the desk. “Your friends in the former Endport Resistance have rather abruptly been recalled to seek out and eliminate two former Predacon Generals with whom you’ve had personal experience, no doubt. Their names are Croak and Grapple,”
Switchblade’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of the deranged tortoise’s name. She fought to hold in her surprise. “I’ve fought them before, yes,” she admitted.
“In theory they have been chosen for that reason exactly - past experience. It seems logical enough. Yet one can’t help but be concerned about what doesn’t add up for this mission. Why, for example, after two years of marked disinterest, would the High Elder decide that these two were important enough to send an army unit after? Why such a large group, when one or two would be more effective, and keep our hands cleaner? Why bother with the Resistance when every special operations unit in our military has undergone training for exactly this type of mission? I have my own suspicions, but what I need most from you is a contact point. I need someone to serve as my connection to what will be happening to those ‘bots out on the Rim. I need to know why this has been so suddenly and so forcefully become a major issue in Council,”
“Eyes and ears?” the badger femme asked.
“Yes,” Garrak replied. “But more than that as well. I have historically taken a great interest in this small collection of fighters. In fact, I think that spiting this interest may be one of the reasons they were chosen for what may become a very dangerous task. I have always prided myself on being a fair and loyal friend to those who have earned my respect, miss Switchblade, and I do not intend to withdraw my support just because it would be easier for me politically. I will provide them what help I can, so long as I am kept aware of what is needed,” Garrak looked the younger ‘bot in the optics. “I am offering you a chance to help your friends in a capacity that may mean the difference between their lives or deaths. I will provide all your expenses above and beyond your payment, and any aid given your associates. Will you accept me as your employer?”
For several moments Switchblade sat silent, gazing intently at the Maximal Councilman. He seemed a trustworthy ‘bot, and honest. He had certainly put his neck on the line two years prior at the Endport trial. Perhaps…
But her mind was already made up, Garrak or no Garrak. She had friends. They needed her help.
It was as simple as that.
“Deal,” she said, extending her hand. The two shook.
“Forgive me if I do not express this to you in writing right now,” Garrak said. “A paper trail would not be advisable in this instance,” Switchblade merely shrugged. “Good. I doubt that you will be able to make their ship by the time it jumps, so we will just have to transport you to the Rim by a different means. I have your contact information, and will be in touch. Thank you for seeing me so soon,” The badger ‘bot nodded and stood. With a last glance at the cityscape beyond the glass, she turned and left.
After his guest had departed, Garrak allowed his anger to bubble once more to the surface. ‘Damn Tachyous Prime. Damn him to the Pit for this! Damn him for rubbing it in his face by making him dispatch the Resistance ‘bots himself. Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him!!’
“Verine,” the Elder called after a few minutes of silence. The large wolverine Transformer appeared in the doorway. “Come in her. Sit down, no, contact Councilman Nova fist. We’ve much to discuss,”
Tundra and Retro rushed to the Penance making it on-board comfortably early. Vinoc walked up behind them at a decidedly slower pace. "I told you we were early." said Vinoc with a smug look. "SHUT THE $%$# UP!!!!" Yell Tundra and Retro. "whad I say, whad I say?" says Vinoc
Rita paused to check with Burnout and nod at the immense amount of credits before turning back to watch her two old friends.
“Pretty!” Catfish exclaimed as the amulet popped up around her fingers, “It’s all pretty and shiny and green!” She turned to Rita, “Can I have it?”
“MAY you have it?”
“May can I have it?”
“Close enough.” Rita said, reclining so far her ponytail brushed the floor. “Ask Filch.”
“May can I have it?” Fish asked the giraffe hopefully.
“I am honored and delighted to do business with such an attractive young lady.” Filch said with a slight bow that made Catfish giggle, “And you will you be paying? Check? Credits?”
“Bottle caps!” Catfish exclaimed, dumping a pile of the aforesaid objects out of her pack and on to the table, “You can have five shiny ones and ten not-so-shiny ones, or twenty five not-so-shiny ones and a spoon. I’ll also throw in a broken pair of headphones because giraffes are funny.” Catfish offered generously.
After the briefing, Dusty waited for most of the others to leave first, leaning lazily back in her chair with one leg dangling over the armrest. Her face creased in a slight frown as she considered what they'd all just gotten into. There was no question about her going; even without the credits, she'd go along just for the heck of it. The creds were merely a nice added bonus.
The feeling of someone watching her made the copper and white femme glance up uneasily, black-opal optics scanning the room. She caught sight of the panther-bot gazing in her direction, then took a moment to remember who he'd been introduced as. Ah yes, Jungle, one of the commanders of this mix-and-matched team. Commanders... feh. She wondered what interest he'd have in her... apparently, not much, as she saw his gaze switch to the door.
By this time, pretty much everyone had left, so Dusty rose to her feet and sauntered out of the room.
Penanace: Hangar Bay
The Whiplash settled gently on the bay floor, the hum of its engines lowering in pitch as they shut down. The cockpit canopy opened with a slight hiss, and Dusty swung herself out with practiced ease. She perched on one wing and reached behind the seat for the small bag containing pretty much everything she needed, then casually dropped it to the floor. The bag ws soon followed by Dusty herself, albeit slightly more gracefully and a lot less noisily.
[One of these days you'll break whatever it is you've got in that bag.]
Dusty shrugged. "If it happens, it happens. Hasn't yet, so I ain't too worried 'bout it." She scooped up her bag from the floor and slung it on her shoulder, then gave the Whiplash a quick once-over to make sure everything was still in perfect condition. Only then did she bother actually looking around the hangar of the Penance, and spotting another single-bot fighter parked nearby, she decided to go have a look.
The hallway was silent, the overhead lamps casting shard shadows over the grey metal walls. There were no decorative pieces abound; this ship had not been built for the luxury of its passengers.
Querion had his back leant against a wall, trying his best to look as cool and unperturbed as possible. He smoothed his pale locks again, just to make sure, and twirled the small rose in his hand. It wasn't cheap; the wolf-bot had paid the giraffe, Filch, some hefty dough for it. He just hoped that it was worth its price.
"Stop thumping!" Querion barked. His spark still continued to throb with an increasing tempo. He wringed his hands slightly, and drew his breath. He had never done this before. He had never quite quarrelled so heatedly with Timber before.
"First time for everything," smiled Querion wryly. He clenched his fist, and tapped at the door.
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
Penji looked at the knickknacks, and then back at the amulet.
"Good price!"
====
Caska walked slowly but directly towards the Penance. It was much more clear now to her why she had been put on this mission. The Conformist Movement had been disrupting her employer's trading routes and supply centers for months, and it seemed finally a coherent response was finally being put together. The only thing that troubled her was how the Resistance was being told it was just going to kill a few old Preds. Political reasons, she supposed, but it was always a matter of what precisely those reasons were, who was being played a fool for whom.. Fortunately, though, she didn't care.
Life – the state between conception and death. Jungle had completed checking over the key sections of the ship. If trouble were to arise (which it most certainly would given the cat’s usual luck or lack there of) he wanted to have sufficient preparation.
The quarters were cramped, but he wasn’t expecting their state to be any other - this was a warship. He didn’t pick out any particular one to call his own. Partly because he didn’t feel like sleeping and partly because he had no way to ‘mark it’ – well there was one way, but that would forever imprint quite a stench in the chamber. But, getting back on track; you see he had few possessions on him… he always made due with what was at hand… and of those possessions, there was none he wished to part with; although the panther-bot was very sure that all his subordinates had the up most in character, thus would take what was not theirs…
Parts of his frame were sending messages to his brain, basically saying; ‘need more alcohol’. The dark warrior ignored such impulses… for the time. Instead, he upped to make use of the vessel’s physical training facility. Admittedly, calling it a ‘facility’ was an over statement considering its total contents were; a heavy bag, a chin up bar and a weight bench. Better then nothing right? Well, almost…
The room smelled stale. And the equipment could definitely use a good cleaning. Course as yee old saying goes; beggars mustn’t be choosers.
“Computer, set timer for 20 cycles (minutes). Initiate.”
And with that, Jungle beings (with grace and at a rapid pace) throwing various styles of punches at the bag. The ex-MSP agent or ex-slug if you’d prefer found it difficult to clear his mind… couldn’t reach that ‘zone’. His previously raised questions about this assignment re-flooded his mind. Also his role of ‘2nd in Command’ weighed heavily on him as well. He now had to be extra careful what he did for simply; ‘bots could die… then there was the striking female dingo, Spacedust. What was it about her that continued to draw the dark warrior’s attention?
A ‘beep’ signified the passing of each cycle. Jungle drifted from this thoughts enough to hear… most of them.
here was a pause from beyond the door and Querion was forced to wait for a seemingly agonizing series of seconds. Then the door opened.
Timber stood behind it, looking almost shy, half her body hidden behind the door. Her hair was artfully arrayed atop her head to appear both frazzled, as if she spent no time on it at all, and completely stunning at the same time.
“Querion…” She murmured, her eyes rising to meet his, then lowering again, demurely downcast. On her face the faintest hint of a wise smile, quickly concealed when she saw the rose in his hand. “Hullo Querion…”
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