A New Direction: Part 7
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 SEVEN
It was official, the ship was dirty. The trio of Vinoc, Rubmur, and Weede were finding this out first hand. They were currently in the main quarters corridor, where the ‘bots would go for their rest and relaxation. Vinoc was leading the Clean Brigade by mopping from side to side, showing an obvious contrast from the clean side to the dirty side. His movement and ability with the mop was derived entirely from his skill with a bo staff. Behind him walked Rubmur and Weede, Rubmur talking to Weede while Weede just walked holding a large pile of bedsheets and pillowcases in his arms.
Every now and then Rubmur would stop and use his new all access key to open up the next door. Inside there would be not much, but the main job of Weede and Rubmur was to put bedsheets and pillowcases on the beds. And so they would do this. At this moment they were in a particularly large room, though no one knew whose room it was.
“Weede?” Rubmur asked, busy amongst tucking in a bedsheet.
“Yeah man?” Came the reply.
“Could you toss me a second pillowcase please, it appears as if this bed has two pillows.” Rubmur said with an intrigue as to whose room it was. Was it one of the commander’s rooms? Who knew. To him it just had to be another room to due his janitorial duties on, just with another pillowcase to wrap over a second pillow. Maybe it was just Rubmur, but that was a hard task. You first had to tuck the pillow underneath your chin, then pick up the pillowcase and try to orchestrate it enough so that it’d fit and be fluffy.
“So all Autobots are ‘bots, but not all ‘bots are Autobots, right?” Weede asked, out of nowhere.
“I guess, but it’s weird that they have ‘bots in the last part of their name I guess. It’s not as if Decepticons are Rocons, well, some are, but saying more could get a tad racist.” Rubmur said, finishing the second pillowcase.
While Jungle’s statement was true in a certain sense of things, in another sense of things it was…untrue.
For Catfish playtime is never over. It just gets more interesting.
Jungle had left. Dusty had left with Jungle. Filch had gone back to the piles of stuff to try and work out how to move it back to his ship. Catfish had stayed behind to clean up the chalk marks because it was wrong to leave things a mess. Rules like this had a tendency to flicker in and out of Catfish’s head. Generally they appeared when convenient and graciously left when they stopped her from doing something interesting. She liked this setup, it left her free to do a lot of interesting things. She stood as she finished rubbing out the markings, smiled happily, and started for the Bridge.
There was a noise behind her. It was the kind of pathetic whine a lost puppy would make. Except the said puppy would have to be five feet tall with liberal amounts of fangs and claws to possibly produce such a quality of sound. Catfish turned around. One of the invisible purple aliens was sitting on the floor emitting a feeling of despondence. Catfish walked over and squatted in front of it.
“What’s wrong? Why didn’t you go back to Sock Drawer Land like all your friends?”
It squarked unhappily.
“Oooooh.” Catfish said frowning, “That IS icky. Very icky indeed.” She sat down in front of the invisible purple alien and lapsed into thought. It emitted the feeling of looking at her hopefully.
“Well. I’ve never seen a glass rose before, but I might soon. Would you like to come with me.”
The alien thought for a moment, then let off a sound that made fingernails on blackboards sound like Bach.
“Neato!” Catfish leapt up and clapped her hands together, “I have a pink matchbox from Trachon 5, you can live in there. Come on, Gaul wants us on the Bridge.”
Catfish skipped off. The alien skated after her.
Wraith and Rhapsody were interrupted by Gaul's announcement. "Ah nuts." The wolf grumbled.
"See? I told you I'd be busy." Rhapsody grinned at him and flicked his ear.
"You were busy...with me."
They both grinned at each other. Rhapsody grabbed his by the arm and dragged him out before he could start anything up again. "C'mon you. We're needed on the bridge."
Mephitis hummed and flapped his wings lethargically, at a rate calculated to be just enough to keep him aloft and moving foward. His head bobbed up, down and every which way as he took in all the fixtures, mouth hanging open slightly. "Dirty dirty dirty!" He shook his head sorrowfully. A big grin cracked his face, and he clasped his hands and began rubbing them together. "Mephitis gonna be busy busy busy, oh yeeeeess!"
He stopped and looked out a porthole. Or at least at a porthole, which was thick with grime. Mephitis sighed and rolled his eyes, producing a ragged piece of cloth, which he held up purposefully. He took a deep breath and held it until his cheeks stood out like balloons on the sides of his face. As he did so, his skin took on a cadaverous shade of green. He compressed his cheeks and spat into the rag, suddenly filling the hall with the powerful stench of ammonia.
*squinky squinky squinky squinky squinky*
Mephitis took a single step back to admire his handiwork. He smirked as he took in the seemingly endless row of portholes.
Come to me, Mephitis, beckoned the Master, her voice booming somewhere behind the fuzor's eyes until his whole head shook. She was transmitting on Bahalguun Priority Frequency, which, in addition to being decipherable only by Mephitis and other Smelterites, had the peculiar quality of sounding that much more authoritative. //Get to the bridge,// Caska said, in a much more normal voice.
//Yeah, yeah,// said Mephitis through his communicator, rubbing his ears even though the pain was elsewhere.
Now.
//Fine! I going, I going!// he protested. He switched off his comm, turned and flew down the hall. "Bitch," he mumbled.
"That's not a very nice thing to say," said Catfish reproachfully.
Mephitis whipped around to face her, so fast that his head was all the way around before the rest of him had a chance to keep up. "I not mean you- eep!"
"Eep?" Catfish cocked her head to one side.
"Yaagh!"
"Yaagh?" asked Catfish.
"Nyaah!"
"Nyaah!" repeated Catfish, getting into the spirit of things.
"You!"
"You!"
Mephitis shook his head in frustration. "No, is YOU!"
Catfish stopped, whiskers twitching. "Me?"
"No, is HIM!" He pointed.
"Who?" Catfish looked around. The invisible purple alien did too.
"YOU!" He pointed emphatically.
The alien made a quizzical noise and pointed at itself with a pseudopod. "Ngouhreeak?" it said.
"Yes! What is you doing here- ohhhhh. Nevermind. I thought you's were somebody I know from home." He composed himself with remarkable speed, and smiled broadly. "What's your name?
Upon hearing the comm message from Gaul, Dusty's back stiffened and sparks of red briefly flashed in her optics. If there was one thing guaranteed to get the dingo femme mad, it was people ordering her around. Especially people who were supposedly higher in rank. Not that she ever payed any attention to rank, which was probably part of the problem.
Dusty grabbed her bag from the floor where she'd dumped it earlier and stalked off after Jungle, inwardly fuming. I'll be -damned- if I let anyone boss me 'round like that...
Relic bites his lip looking at the pastries he had just started to put the icing on, the icing tube still dripping in his hand. They tasted so good when they where fresh… it would be a crime to let them go to waste.
***
A few minutes later Relic creeps onto the bridge, wearing his cloak again, a rather conspicuous lump sticking out of it’s side. He looks left and then right, and is pleased to find that the bridge is still largely devoid of resistance members. Moving quickly he puts the tray of delicate cream pastries on an unused console. He backs up a step, looks at them, and then nods contentedly. Satisfied Relic darts to a corner, and settles into an appropriately brooding lean, his arms crossed over his chest and his face frozen in his usual scowl.
“I’m Catfish!” Said Catfish, “Who are you?”
“Me is Mephitis.”
Catfish nodded approvingly, “That’s a good name. I’m looking for a glass rose, have you seen one?”
Mephitis thought for a moment then shook his head “No.”
“Oh that’s a pickle.” Catfish informed him in a way that made it clear she really meant it. There was an almost indiscernible gurgle of depression from behind her. Fortunately, it is rationally impossible for Catfish to stay depressed for any extended amount of time. Say, past eighteen seconds.
“What are you doing?” She asked brightly.
“Me is clean the holes in port.” Mephitis informed her with a certain amount of pride, “Go ‘squinky squinky’ and make them all shiny shiny.”
“Wow.” Catfish said in a tone of awe and wonderment mixed with very deep approval. Making things shiny is a very important thing to be doing in her book.
“Now me go to Bridge. Bi…Master says go.”
“Oh good! I’m going there too!” Said Catfish who, strictly speaking, had been headed to the engine room to see what happened if you combined things like cotton candy and lead pipes with delicate machinery, but this sounded interesting too. “Let’s go!”
aska soon arrived on the bridge, and, almost without thinking grabbed a pastry. It was very good. intriguing. She surveyed the room for anyone else, before finally finding Relic's optics.
"You make these?"
A nod.
"They're good, but you're plainly in denial."
...
"Maybe."
*scowlscowlscowlscowl*
"Redemption through pastry, eh?" replied Caska, "It'd be funny, if it weren't so pathetic. What happened? Somebody get you thinking that killing is wrong? That there's something more to life? You're chasing mirages, friend."
Relic scowled some more.
Caska smirked. "Fine. Sit there. Brood and cook. But don't think you're getting out of this mission without killing again."
Looking up as she hears the message ring over the intercomm, she starts to pad softly down the hall - towards the bridge... or at least where she thought the bridge was.
Wandering around, she finally manages to stumble back into the bridge room. Looking around, she notices that everyone was almost there. Flicking her copper-coloured tail in mild irritation, she dropped her ears and decided to stay in beast mode.
Seeing the black panther leaning against the wall, talking to another 'bot, she padded silently over. Hopping effortlessly up on the chair nearby, she looked over at him. Giving him a foxish smile, she nodded in remembrance - noting the last time they spoke... over two years ago. Making a mental note to ask him about his past years, she refocused her attention on the crowd.
“This…” Relic gestured a clawed hand towards the tray, the razor edge of his digits glinting in the light. “Is an attempt to keep my occupied during an unpleasant experience. As for killing…” Relic leaned back a bit his eyes somewhat distant and his other hand resting comfortably on the hilt of his sword. “As long as I carry this,” Relic shifted his hand slightly making the blade clink in it’s sheath. “Your right, I don’t think I’ll be able to avoid killing. Conflict is inevitable, and sometimes one has to fight.” The cloaked bot turned his eyes to look directly at the mercenary. “The difference, is that I’m done dancing to someone else’s tune.”
Relic looked away from the winged bot, but her image still danced in his mind. She didn’t look like an assassin, but looks could be deceiving, especially for someone guild trained. She could be a bounty hunter, which was also the Assassin’s guild domain, the lack of any markings connecting her to any of the other usual hunter groups made it just as likely as unlikely.
Relic’s eyes flicked to Caska again. Why someone like her would be on a mission like this was as much a mystery as why Relic was, could she be from the guild? Rat was a cunning bastard, and if his final mocking words, “We’ll be watching” had been an attempt to make Relic paranoid; they had worked.
Solarflare arrived at the bridge a tad late. Behind him followed Radua, Buckshot, and Mimi. Solarflare walked up and snatched a pastery and ate it quickly and nodded. "Good." He said walking away but maintain near the front of his squad. Once rhapsody entered she did the same.
As others filtered in, Caska leaned against the wall near Relic, arms crossed, looking sideways at him.
"Gone independent, eh? That's just more denial. You haven't cut your strings to the guild or mafia, or whatever. You've just given them to new masters. I don't suppose you actually believe this all has anything to do with Endport?"
There was a soft SPLAK sound as a well-aimed cream pastry collided with Caska’s right cheek.
“Hello! Are you the bi-master?” Catfish asked cheerfully as she followed the attention getting projectile across the room. “Mephitis is looking for you. I’m looking for a glass rose. Do you have a glass rose?”
Caska looked down at her, “No.”
“Oh well. Hi Relic!” Catfish waved cheerfully at the panther, brandishing a few more pastries. “These are yummy.”
“Primus above, she’s eating sugar.” Rita said with a groan as she entered the bridge. Then shrugged hopelessly and slumping down in a nearby chair.
"Why? Is that bad?" Filch asked, walking in behind her. He looked slightly tired from the strain of lugging all that merchandise back to his ship, but on the upside, he'd managed to get Rubmur to buy the Femmedian pleasure stick.
"Er...Catfish and sugar don't mix." Rita told her friend.
He blinked.
"Allergies?" he asked.
"No."
"Weak stomach?"
"Uh-uh."
"Cataclysmic rampages of hyperactive destruction?"
"Bingo."
"...You certainly pick interesting new friends."
------------
Weede and Rubmur danced around en route to the bridge, waxing portholes and sweeping floors as they did.
"Here are we now, en-ter-tain us!" Rubmur sang, banging his head.
"Something something, snooch naga nootch noonch!" Weede sang as well, clearly unfamiliar with the lyrics.
-------------
Buckshot yawned and cracked his knuckles.
"Cripes this is boring." he said to Mimi out of the side of his mouth.
"Why, got an alternative?" she asked, glancing at him.
"Sure. We get you, me, that cute chick talking to Relic over there, a bottle of motor oil, and see what happens from there, eh?"
"If you're going to peg me with pastries," Caska said, wiping the confection off and disposing it into her mouth, "You could at least give me a name."
"Jim," said Catfish, "Jim is a nice name. Or Bliegelswoop."
"I meant your name."
"Oh, mine's Catfish!"
"Ah.. I might have guessed. So, you wouldn't have happened to convince Relic here to listen to his conscience lately, would you?"
"Hmm.. Nope! Not lately."
"I see."
Trance was walking down a brigthly lit coridoor as the message from command was anounced. He cursed silently to himself and gave up his security check, heading for the bridge. A few cycles later, he arrived at the bridge and found that the others were mostly there, conversing together, or brooding. Whatever tickled their fancy Trance thought to himself. He sat down in a chair off to the side and waited, brooding in a mercenary type of way.
[The Bridge]
Gaul made a quick count of the assembled crew. Casca, Relic, Catfish, Rita, Filch, Burnout, Trance, Buckshot, Mimi, Solarflare, Phypehen, Rubmur, Weede, Rudau, Memphitis, Spacedust, Jungle, Wraith, Rhapsody, Retro, Tundra, Vinoc, Querion, Timber, Yeager, Cross, and Penji. They had all arrived. Good, the modeless ‘bot thought to himself. We can begin then.
Clasping his arms behind his back, Gaul took up a position directly beneath the bridge’s main view screen. The flooring was slightly higher there. It would make him easier to see. “If I could have everyone’s attention, please,” he began in what he judged a firm but gentle voice. Heads turned away from individual conversations. The background chatter subsided.
“Thank you,” Gaul said after the noise had died completely. “Welcome to your pre-mission briefing. I would ask that you pay close attention to what I have to say in the next few minutes, as it directly concerns your safety during this operation. Please save all of your questions until I have finished,” He looked around the room again, making sure the focus was on him. It was. He motioned to Retro, who punched a set of keys on his newly installed “pirate” setup. The ship’s location became visible on the main screen.
“Right now we are approximately forty cycles from our destination,” Gaul began. “That destination, as you can see, is the Batarsis Sector of the Galactic Rim. As the Rim goes, Batarsis has more than its fair share of inhabited planets. Most of them are small scale colony worlds, but a few do support larger more cosmopolitan populations. Of these, the most important by far is Andronicus, the sector capital. It is mid sized, rich in energon, and very much like Earth in character. Three large seas serve to divide its six major land masses,” Retro pushed another button, bringing up a rough image of the planet from the computer’s memory banks. It revolved for a few moments before framing the planet’s second largest land mass.
“About a hundred years ago Andronicus was the major staging point for Maximal interstellar research. Though the venue for that operation has now shifted to Quedar on the other side of the rim, the massive amount of credit funneled in during the program’s stay have remained. Andronicus used much of the money to construct their cities and develop their extractive technology. Since the pull-out they have supported themselves through the sale of their abundant natural resources. Their economy adjusted very quickly, allowing them to retain many of the ‘bots who moved there in connection with ISR project,”
Retro punched a series of keys, bringing a number of large red dots onto the screen. “Though much of the planet is inhabited, all of the major cities are located on the second continent. These cities, house a majority of the planet’s population and serve as bases of operation for much of its resource gathering. In the center of them all, lies the planetary capital, appropriately named Titus. Titus is the former seat of Maximal ISR, and the most densely populated area on Andronicus. That,” Gaul said, indicating the largest of the red dots, about two hundred miles from the Southern Sea, “Is where our targets lie. Eventually, it is where we must be as well,” He motioned to Retro again. The screen blinked once and shut off. “However, if our mission is to be successful, we cannot simply waltz into Titus and start shooting. Our two Ex-Generals have done something that makes our job much much harder,”
Gaul reached over to a nearby computer consol, grabbing hold of a manila folder. “I want all of you to look at these pictures before you leave. I know they’re not much to go on, but you need to recognize these names and faces for later,” He handed the folder to Querion, who flipped it open and began to sift through the contents. “The ‘bots you’re seeing here are the major players in an ultra-liberal Titan fringe movement calling themselves the ‘Conformist’s’. It is the belief of the Conformist movement, that many if not all TF problems spring from sharply drawn lines concerning ones faction. They advocate a dramatic reformatting program that would eliminate all factional differences, and in the process create a ‘superior race’ of Transformers, theoretically above such petty squabbling. Just what this ‘reformatting’ is, has never been elaborated on. As yet they have failed to produce an example of this purer form of Transformer,”
“It is believed that our targets, Croak and Grapple, have both come to rest somewhere within this movement. Croak apparently came of his own accord, looking for a place to hide after going AWOL from the Predacon military. Given his background, Intelligence believes he may have joined one of the movement’s two subgroups. In this case the so called “Established Military” element, a band of ex-soldiers that for one reason or another aren’t through with fighting. They’re led by a formerly high ranking former Predacon commander named Plutocron. Avoid this one if you can. He’s smarter than you might think. If we suddenly show up asking for the whereabouts of one of his men, he’s going to try and find out why.”
“Grapple,” he continued, “Came by a slightly different route. After your last confrontation on Cybertron, he too went missing. Intel believes that he hooked up with a thuggish group of Pred loyalists known as the Lightning Corps. Shortly thereafter, the Corps, along with their leader, Rhommer, shipped themselves off to Andronicus. We think a member of the Conformist camp made contact with them and convinced Rhommer to move his large operation out to the Rim. Grapple came with. The Lightning Corps is the majority subgroup in the movement now, providing security and a strong arm wherever they’re needed. It should be noted that the two groups hate each other. We may need to play off of that as time goes by, so keep a lookout for ways we might be able to exploit the rift,”
“Photographs of Croak, Grapple, Plutocron, and Rhommer are all in the folder. However, there is one more very important person of whom we have no picture. His name is Jonas, and he’s the leader of the entire outfit. Purportedly he is an exceptionally charismatic speaker, and motivates his followers in person at mass Conformist rallies. He claims to be the first in this new wave of Transformers. It may be true. Sketchy reports on the movement have clamed that he appeared to be a combination of all four TF factions. However, this is still in doubt, since he has failed to reproduce the process that reformatted him,”
“This is what we’re going to do. When we break Transwarp, the Penance will be about half the sector away from Andronicus. The moment radio and signal wave comes back online we’re going to be putting out a universal S.O.S. For this operation we’ll be assuming the role of mutineers who’ve decided to go AWOL, and are now seeking refuge anywhere in the Rim. I’m hoping that our crew size helps to perpetuate this story. Since the Conformist Movement accepts refugees fairly often, this shouldn’t be a problem. Suffice to say that our former Captain was named Egellion. We’re a new crew that met dirtside, where we planned this mess. Captain and additional crew were jettisoned shortly after we lifted from the colony world of Atellis. Has everyone got that? When you leave this room it had better be cannon,”
The ‘bots nodded their heads.
“Good,” Gaul said. “What we’re casting about for is the Conformist Movement. Since we don’t want to look like we’re searching them out, we’ll just keep on broadcasting until somebody picks us up. Worst case scenario, we use the remaining life pods to land on Andronicus, letting the ship fly into interstellar space. To the Movement, it will appear as though we decided to take our chances on Andronicus. Either way we get ourselves inside the organization and start looking for our targets. I will command one team, assigned to Grapple and the Lightning Corps. Commander Jungle will take the other team and seek out Croak with the Established Military. If and when you locate your target, do not engage right away. Just keep a tab on him and report back. If possible, I want to take them both out at once and then make our escape. I leave the situation in your hands if Croak or Grapple recognize you first. Teams are the same as before, unless you have a reason you need to change. Notify either me or Jungle if you do,”
Again the heads nodded.
“Lastly,” Gaul said in a deadly serious tone, “I would like to address the chain of command for this operation,” He could almost hear the mental groaning from certain members of the crew. “For this mission, I have decided to loosen my command structure. After observing you, I have decided that we will function better under conditions you are familiar with. I am the functioning head of the outfit. Jungle is second in command. If anything should happen to me, or if I’m not around, his word is law. However, just because I have decided to go easy on you with my command style, I expect you all to conduct yourselves like professionals. If I give you an order you do it, or give me a damn good reason to reverse my decision. You don’t have to like me, but you will follow my orders. Anyone I see as endangering this mission will be dealt with severely. That’s just the way it is, so deal with it. Do your job and we won’t have any trouble. Do I make myself clear?”
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