Ghosts of Battles Past: Part 3
Previous villans sneak up on the now worn out maximals, attempting to strike an ultimate revenge.
PART THREE
[Outside]
This was their barracks?
Switchblade looked up in surprise at the large gray building. The place was huge. She wondered silently how they had managed to swing it. Somebody with connections perhaps? It was unlikely, but still possible. Dimly lit figures moved about inside. The badger ‘bot watched through a window. “Well,” she muttered grimly, “At least somebody’s home,”
The courier detached herself from the shadow of a nearby building and crossed the street toward the barracks. Her strides were cool and graceful, but inside, something felt wrong. Switchblade scanned the area with her peripheral vision. Nobody was following her – not that she could tell – so what was it? Nervousness, she decided, tagging the emotion tentatively. There wasn’t any danger. She wasn’t walking into a trap. She was just nervous, and after so long, unused to the feeling of butterflies in her stomach.
Primus, she had dreaded this. She’d dreaded it as much as she had looked forward to it for the last two Stellar Cycles. Seeing Timber again, and Querion too if gossip spoke true. Relic, Wraith, Catfish, and Rita the latter’s fretting guardian mink. Burnout, Retro, Phyphen. Mimi, Buckshot, and Rhapsody. That penguin, what’s his name, Weede…
And of course, Solarflare.
She could still see it in her head, the very moment, back on the Xavior, when the finch ‘bot had let it all slip. She remembered how she had frozen in shock and outright fear. “Him?” she remembered thinking. “Love?…Her?…” The femme’s understanding of the courier game was sharp and Switchblade knew she could read a fight like nobody’s business. But love? No, that had slipped completely beneath her radar. It scared her and she ran from it - fast. That was it, plain and simple. Two years had passed, and much of her fear with it. But even so, was she ready to confront it head on? The badger ‘femme didn’t know, but she was about to find out.
She slowed to a stop just outside the door and absently ran a mental check of all her gear. It was a useless gesture, but one that served to calm her down. Her gear check was a familiar thing, she reminded herself, and so was the crowd inside. Switchblade raised her hand without thinking and knocked. A moment ago she might still have bolted, but now she was committed. She forced a deep slow breath and affected a calm self-assured posture. She could only wish it were more than a front.
Calmly, patiently, Switchblade waited for the inevitable.
“Jungle doesn’t look like a jungle.”
Gaul and Jungle looked down.
“It’s a concern.” Catfish explained. “Anyway, if you want loyalty you need to get to know everyone! Neither of you was on Endport and you don't have and friends at all! Cept maybe Dusty. Right now you’re both just icky-poo new commanders, icky-poo commanders who were assigned to command by the maximal military, and four out of five people here think the maximal military is very much not neato.” She thought for a moment. “We can have a slumber party after the mission and play monopoly and eat ice cream. Ice cream can fix anything. Oh, and I have an idea for the other problem too.”
“What other problem?” Gaul asked, it was hard to tell whether he was bemused or irritated. Catfish was busy digging around in her packs. She produced a bunch of paper cutouts in various shapes. There were trees and parrots and monkeys and snakes and flowers and all manner of things you’d expect to find in a rainforest colored in with a crayon. Then she produced a stick of glue, some tape, and a stapler.
“Hold still.” She instructed Jungle.
Penance, patting the hull as he boarded it. The halls were well-lit and there seemed to be no sign of any disturbance. He walked through the halls until he came to the bay of the ship. A smile came across his face as he saw the Nuclos again. He missed it, even though he had only been away for a few days, but now was not the time for feelings. He quickly boarded his ship and made his way onto the bridge. He sat down in the captain's chair and punched in some codes on the arm keypad. Soon afterwards, a screen came to life as well as the ship. He picked up a headset and looked at the screen.
"Computer, set up defensive network. Connect with the systems of the Penance and activate all measures of defense. Entry access through password verification."
The system of the Nuclos began to whir as Trance exited the ship. He made his way to the bridge of the Penance, a portable system link in hand.
Solarflare sat for a few minutes and then got up as the others began to move around and get going on their different tasks. He stood up after Trance left and decided to head down and get supplies for moving Rhapsody if she wasn't out of CR by then. He walked past the barraks which were now dimly lit with a single lamp. He then saw all his gear thrown across the floor from earlier. He walked in and began to pick up his things. placing them back in his duffel and throwing them on to his bunk. A knock came tot eh door at the far end and his attention was perked. THe finch grabbed his MK-5 and headed the door. He popped it open slightly sticking his rifle out first. "What?" He said not even looking out to see who was there.
Out of the the responces she expected, "What?" Was not one of them. "Solarflare?" She asked at the angry voice.
The finch froze in fear and would have booted himself square in the skid if possible. His gun flopped to his side as he opened the door all the way. His eyes decieved him, he must be dreaming, or perhaps he had been smelling weede for too long. The commander just stood and stared for an akward second until his mouth moved. "Switchblade?" He took a step backwards as if scared. "Switchblade." He said again but more as a statement this time. The badger looked at anythign but him for a moment and gave a sligth wave.. A wave! Who waves, how the hell could she wave at a time like this!! These were just some random thoughts and akwardness set in.
"Come in?" Was all that Solarflare could muster, sitting down on a bunk exasperated.
Growling, Jungle walks off, brushing past Garrak – not out of rudeness however. Friends, puh – he wasn’t here to make friends. Slag, if the panther had it his way, he wouldn’t be here at all. The dark warrior had this own affairs to attend to, that were put on hold cause of Garrak’s summons. Catfish was right on one point though, in JJ humble opinion; the Maximal Military was very much not neato – that’s why he had said the hell with it a long time ago.
“I’ll do my part, don’t worry.” J snarls back to his commander. An observer might find Jungle's behavior odd seeing as how just prior he was almost reaching out to the fuzor... that's just Jungle for ya...
"Casket?" Filch repeated in confusion, looking at Caska.
"Cask-A." she repeated.
"Ah. I'm Filch. This is- er- did Rita ever give you a name?" Filch asked the hoverboard.
It shook itself.
"Okay...um...this is Board." Filch said with a shrug.
--------------
As Sea Clamp continued to watch the door his niece had left from, Ramhorn made a single discreet cough. Sea Clamp turned to face him.
"Barring any unfortunate distractions, it seems Calamari will have Nova taken care of," Ramhorn said, putting down his bottle, "But that still leaves the rebels, if they can still be called that."
"As I recall, we agreed that 'divide and conquer' really is the best strategy." Sea Clamp replied calmly.
"We've spent far too long fooling around with those idiot mercenaries, as if they were ever of any use. Psychotics and fools, the lot of them. I am almost jealous sometimes, at how the Maximal Elders have a wealth of competent, well-trained operatives under them, and we get stuck with Grapple and his ilk. No, the best and most covert route...is the one taken from within."
Ramhorn headed to the desk nearby the drink bar and rummaged through the drawers, searching for something, as Sea Clamp regarded him serenely.
"And you believe they are not so tightly-knit that we can't convince one of them to rebel against his comrades?" Sea Clamp asked.
"Some of them do seem that way, don't they? But it's all a facade. With the right amount of leverage...," he retrieved a dossier from the desk, "You can force anyone to do anything."
He walked towards Sea Clamp, handing him the dossier.
"As you know, most of the existing files on the rebels were destroyed in the Gaiana bombardment, and they've kept a low profile since then. But I managed to salvage one file dating to a short time before the bombardment, on one of them."
Sea Clamp opened the dossier, and looked at the photographs inside. A muscular, angry-looking Maximal rottweiler in two photos, both black and white, one with him facing forward, the other with him facing to the right. Under it was paperwork detailing conviction on charges of treason and harboring nuclear weapons, a file detailing his arraignment at a lunar correctional facility, a bounty sheet covering his subsequent escape, and various statistical records. Sea Clamp looked up.
"Buckshot?" he asked.
"What remaining Gaiana operatives I've contacted recall him as the temperamental, foul-mouthed one. Not too close with most of the others."
"And what is the leverage here? Threatening a return to jail?"
"I doubt that would faze him- otherwise, he'd have bowed out of the resistance before he could gain any more notoriety from it. Rather, look at the information on living relatives."
Sea Clamp's optics scanned the sheet.
"...Calico, female, Maximal, relation: mother?" he asked.
"That's her. The prison's psychological reports indicate a deep level of commitment to her. Probably the only thing that keeps him from going completely rogue. And a monitoring of unencoded civilian transmissions from Andronicus to Cybertron show several from him to her place of residence. I can obtain transcripts, if you'd like."
"No, this will suffice. We shall have to...obtain Miss Calico. And then, have a talk with her son. And see whether he'll save the woman who gave him existence...or his so-called friends. Let's make it happen."
“He’s an even sillier goomba than Relic was!” Catfish exclaimed, watching Jungle’s retreat. “And that takes some doing. Anyway, you can have these.” She handed the paper cutouts to Gaul. “I’ve gotta go make sure Burnout’s okie-doky.”
Caska regarded the board, giving it a slight nod. "You going to try and sell that to me?" she asked Filch, "If so, forget it, I've already got these." She waved one of her wings.
Since the briefing seemed to be over, Dusty wandered silently out of the med room, then spotted Jungle striding down the corridor. She lengthened her stride somewhat and soon caught up with the panther, who gave her a slight nod of acknowledgement and kept going.
"This mission's been pretty well screwed over since the start, hasn't it?" Dusty commented casually as she kept pace, watching Jungle out of the corner of her multicoloured optics.
"Sell it?" Filch repeated. "Are you insane? Board is far too valuable for mere credits! A miracle in modern technology, proven sentience in supposedly inanimate objects, it would be priceless were I not such a generous salesman!"
The old life had entered his optics, before he calmed down, extinguished it, and looked sadly at her.
"Besides...Board used to belong to Rita. And she wanted me to have it. And it's one thing I'll never sell. NEVER."
I [i]would[/i] have to lose internet at the most crucial part of the mission!!!
Ok......what's going on now and where's Wraith?)
"How touching," said Caska, "A salesman with a spark. Now just what are you doing on this mission again?"
Seeing the state of Rhapsody, Cross had decided to stay behind to watch on Rhapsody's condition. Though he wasn't the greatest doctor, he knew what to do if an emergency occured. He watched as many of the bots took their leave. Solorflare also made his way out, maybe for supplies? Cross didn't know, but the flich didn't seem to notice that Cross was in the room when he left.
Hopefully the finch would be back soon. They needed to move Rhapsody when she got herself out. If he wasn't back until then, Cross could probably run a few scans and test on Rhapsody to see if she was 100%.
<b>With a panther and a dingo…</b>
Jungle gives a slight smirk in reply to Dusty’s comments, turning his head only enough to get a clear visual of her and only briefly. On pure reflex, the lass catches a bottle the dark warrior tossed her way – unopened, full. Making use of his arm sword – again not an approved use of a combat weapon, but whatever - J slices the top off his, before taking a chug. Man oh man, did he ever need a drink.
[Cybertron]
It was midnight on Cybertron. Garrak finished his drink slowly and set the glass near the edge of his desk. He blinked twice and tried to focus files spread across his desk, only to find that he no longer could manage it. It was late. He was tired. And in his old age, there was most certainly a limit on late night endurance. The Senior Elder sighed wearily and closed his folders. Time to call it a night.
Garrak looked up at the office’s only other occupant, the Junior Elder Nova. Unlike the older ‘bot, he never seemed to tire in their search. His strength never seemed to flag. If Nova was tired at all, he was hiding it well. The handsome young Maximal turned a last page and then closed the file to which it belonged. Setting it on the desk corner opposite Garrak’s glass, he reached for another before realizing that he was being watched. Nova shifted his gaze over toward Garrak and managed a weak smile.
“Is it that time already?” he asked, setting the folder back down. Garrak nodded. “Hmmm…” Nova intoned. “I didn’t realize that it was this late already,” Garrak smiled back and rose from his heavy leather chair.
“Yes,” the silver ‘bot said. “I have a number of early meetings today, and an old rust heap needs his rest. I’m sorry to disturb your reading so early tonight. You looked very intent. On to something perhaps?”
Nova shook his head no. “I don’t know. I’m not sure. We go through so many documents every evening…” He gestured toward the heaps of folders and data pads on Garrak’s desk. “It’s hard to know what’s important and what isn’t,”
“I understand completely,” Garrak replied sympathetically. It is a tedious, time-consuming task, especially when the best that we can hope for is to find that there is nothing wrong with the Counsel, and that our efforts in vain. A burden to be sure, this. But one that we, as Elders, are sworn to take upon ourselves,”
The Junior Elder looked troubled. “True,” he answered, “And I wouldn’t have it any other way to be honest with you. At least when I’m the one sifting through all this…junk…I know that it’s getting done, and getting done right,” Nova moved to the sideboard and poured himself a small non-alcoholic drink. For a moment he looked as though he were about to speak. But he hesitated, and downed the drink first. “What do you think of Prime?” he asked Garrak, who was slightly surprised by the bluntness of the question. “All suspicions of guilt and wrong doing aside,” he continued, “What kind of a person is he? I never followed politics much before his ascension. Even after I’d made it my life’s work, all I saw was the Roddimus Prime-like image he seems to cultivate so actively. You’ve seen his entire career unfold form your seat on the council. Would he really be capable of…”
Garrak cut him off with a wave of his hand. “You know, I have never tried to hide my dislike of Prime for you, from the Council, from Tachyous, or anyone else for that matter. I argued against his rise to Elder status, and I fought his ascension to High Elder too,” Garrak smiled. “Given all that, I think my opinion has been stated quite clearly. What do you think. That may be the more important question to ask,”
Nova considered the question for a moment. “I think that he is a bully,” the emerald ‘bot answered at last. “A very powerful bully, but a bully none the less. I watch him in Counsel - the yelling, the petty snubbing…raising his voice to drown out the opposition, or flatly refusing to admit the existence of any opinion but his own – and I wonder: Is this really our Prime? Optimus, Roddimus, Cercius, Glavius…Tachyous does not even approach these. Yet, he is our leader. He’s the High Elder, damnit, and that means he’s beyond reproach,”
“No one is beyond reproach,” Garrak replied. “Prime’s have made that honorific what it is. The suffix does not make the ‘bot. You would do better to look on Tachyous Prime more as a political figurehead than a semi-mythic creature of reason and benevolence. Our illustrious leader is none of those things. Terrans have a saying that sums it up nicely, I think. ‘In the end, we are only human’. Even the greatest of us was a child once. The same mech-fluid that courses through my veins, and yours, and Primes, courses through those of the poorest and most downtrodden soul on Cybertron. We are all fallible. The rich and the powerful as much, if not more than the rest of society. It is my firm belief that Tachyous Prime is unfit to be High Elder, yet, for all of our sakes, I pray that I am wrong. Does that answer your question?”
There was silence for a moment.
“Nova,” Garrak asked.
The Junior Elder looked his older counterpart in the optics. A tiredness years ahead of his age seemed to have settled in the young ‘bots own glowing yellow pools. “A little over two years ago, a large Maximal war vessel carrying the High Elder made a publicly scheduled trip out to the Junk sector and a few of its more important outlying systems. Reports show that the MSS Cadence entered Junkion space, but that the High Elder never set foot on-planet. The excuse given was that the High Elder had contracted some strange sickness and would not, for medical reasons continue with his visit. The Cadence refueled, restocked, and returned home, where Prime was attended to by his personal physicians for an unusually long time. All of this was in the news. Prime recovered, and life returned to normal. The only problem was the date his ship arrived outside Junk. They were more than two weeks late. I checked some of Counsel Security’s records – they watch Prime like a hawk those people – and found something that none of the other more official records contained. A set of coordinates – course changes for the Cadence. The information was shunted there by an automated system, so may have just been overlooked, but…the coordinates marked a position not three days from the planet Guianna,”
“And Endport,” Garrak finished. He frowned as he began switching off lights. Not a good sign, if I may say so. It will bear looking into, but not tonight. Tomorrow will come all too soon, and we have more regular duties to attend,”
Nova nodded and stood. He started toward the door, but stopped half way. “Garrak,” he said.
“Yes,” the other replied.
“One last thing. If the Counsel is as corrupted as this evidence suggests, why trust me? I could be a part of it as easily as anyone else?”
Garrak turned to face the green Transformer and smiled a warm knowing smile. “I watched,” he said. “I listened. And in the end I took a chance on trust and a growing friendship. Trust is an important thing to hold on to, my young friend. It is so easy to lose in this job. An Elder who can not trust is an Elder who can not function for the doubts running amok in his head. I trust, Nova,” he concluded, “But I have learned to trust wisely," Garrak came out from behind the desk. "Now go, get some rest yourself. We will continue this...no, not tomorrow night, the day after. Tomorrow is Prime's infernal bi-factional ball. A night of torture to be sure," The smile widened.
"Good night, Nova,” he finished.
The Junior Elder nodded and left.
“Why bother.” Burnout mumbled into the bottle of whiskey before taking a long swig. The bottle thumped back down on the table in his quarters. “What’s the point anymore.”
The fuzor picked up a silver antique revolver off the table and admired it. He thought carefully, as carefully as the high amounts of alcohol in his body would allow anyway. Nervously, he looked it over. Into the barrel, checked the energon bullets inside. After a few tormenting seconds, he carefully placed it back onto the table and took another drink.
The year he’d spent with Rita was the most happy one of his life. Burnout didn’t think he’d ever need anything more than money, he was wrong. It was only when he realized how much she truly meant to him, did the unthinkable happen. He didn’t blame anyone though. Not Flitch for accidentally killing her, nor the preds for starting the battle. He couldn’t even blame himself. Only one thing was becoming clear. He couldn’t live without her another moment.
An odd calm came over him, his purpose now clear. A couple more drinks finished off his liquor. Gently setting the bottle on the table, seeming to position it carefully, then he picked up the revolver again. He turned it backwards in his hand and pointed it at his chest.
*Click* The cat/bird pulled the hammer back into position as a single tear came to his eye.
He whispered. “Here I come Rits….”
*Click*
Burnout waited a moment, frowned, and pulled the trigger again.
*Click*
*Click*
*Click* *Click* *Click* *Click*
“I don’t think Rita would appreciate being commemorated in quite this way.” Catfish said quietly.
“What?” Burnout asked, a completely justified if not particularly specific inquiry. He looked down at the gun.
Catfish opened her hand over the table and six bullets plunked to the wood. Then looked up and regarded him for a moment through deep violet eyes as he regarded the gun with a rather muzzy expression.
“Oh dear. Alcohol. Alcohol doesn’t solve problems, it just makes them kind of fuzzy for a while, then makes you feel not nice. Here.”
She handed him a small vial of brown liquid. Burnout took it, not putting down the gun, and examined it unsteadily. “What is this?”
“Stuff that’ll make you not drunk.” Catfish leapt up on a stool beside Burnout to get on level with him. “It’s kind of icky, sorry. I think we should talk about stuff.”
Dusty raised a browridge as she watched the dark warrior chug what looked like half his bottle in one go. "Don't choke on that now," she commented dryly, then twisted the top of her own bottle and sipped warily at its contents. "Hmm, not bad..."
The two walked on in silence for a short time, Dusty continuing to sip slowly from her bottle while Jungle finished his and opened a second in the same somewhat unconventional way. But hey, whatever works, aye?
Finally, Dusty broke the silence. "Okay, so things are completely fubar. What exactly, as a group then, is our next move?" She regarded the bottle with a quirked browridge and grinned. "Apart from drink heaps, much as most of us would like to."
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