[ti]Ep 2[/ti]Between the Lines [Sparkplug]

[Soundwave]

Episode 2 | Week 4 | Day 1



The Truce.

It was current law for their people. Rules brought down into place by two faction leaders, to meet a newfound enemy together as one. It appeared flawed upon surface levels, it appeared foolish or unneeded. The native risk was oh so very small, and while they were clever and not to be reduced to a non threat, they had yet to pose a great enough issue to kindle such a response. It would take a bit more than a few lost Vehicons and comrades, and a few new scars upon body and psyche, to bring the Decepticons to their knees that far. If such insolent little wounds could cripple them, than they would have lost the war countless years previously or before the rebellion even got off its feet.

Never look just upon the surface.

Soundwave carried this phrase as law, looking beyond what was currently in play, in order to see a greater picture and try to find truth, or see what options could yield more favorable results in this long war. Cutting down on redundancies, clipping out the unneeded facts... or just looking for loopholes that would favor them far greater than morally following an average path like blind fools. The concepts that the Truce had framed out was just that, only a frame, and when the writer of the Truce forgets to mention glass that was otherwise assumed?... well... you can simply reach through to get what you truly want.

Soundwave was no stranger to picking apart contracts, just as Orion was no stranger to conducting them. Careful phrases, cutting and to the point, trying to nix and clip at any loopholes imaginable in order to make it water tight... but no contract is truly perfect, as every new thread added, creates a knot or snag elsewhere to be exploited. It is with this ammunition in hand, that the navy mech was pushed into motion, and why he found himself in the seldom visited corridors of the Science Wing.

The Science Wing was a place that Soundwave simply had no need to go very often. Any surveillance that was to occur here could be done through the hidden camera systems that peppered along the halls in regular intervals. With this, it was easy to monitor deliveries, keep track of an individual's location, and look out for intruders or anything else that may be out of line. There were blind spots of course, Shockwave's laboratory a large dark patch, but he made unannounced appearances there occasionally to make sure the Scientist abides by the path set out for him by their leader.

This day was different however; this day Soundwave did not roam the halls to stride into Shockwave's lair. Instead, he was here to visit another in the ship, his slow footfalls landing him in front of the battered door that had seen far better days.

Sparkplug's laboratory was going to be an interesting test to challenge the newcomer and keep her occupied. Its sorry state was borderline unacceptable, to a point the doors themselves seemed reluctant to open up fully as a final insult to its new inhabitant. This thought, caused the dark visor to crook up slightly, peering along the upper edges of the closed frame to look for signs of repair, or work that may have been done to amend the issue. It was a small glance though, helm lowering down again to stare ahead.

A single ping would be sent, requesting entry.

[Sparkplug]

Sparkplug was singing again.

Patchy pools of light shone down from the surviving overhead fluorescents, leaving the lengthy chamber a patchwork of spotlights and deeper darkness. Sprays of sparks flew, adding orange highlights to the shadows, as her angle grinder bit into the stubby remains of a shelf support, gnawing through the jutting spar and cutting the heavily rusted bolts flush with the deckplates. The freshly severed metal gleamed cleanly in the dim light from overhead.

Gripping with her right hand, Sparkplug lifted the remains of the shelf section and carried it down to the far end of the space to toss it onto an existing pile of rusty detritus, the grinder taking the place of her left hand spooling down from an audial-piercing howl to sudden quiet. In the abrupt hush, her words carried clearly. "...don't you give up on me, as I dive into the dark, slip into the endless sea," she sang, then paused to pull a face, and added to herself, "Actually no, let's not go into the sea, thank you."

She'd made significant progress. The storage room had once been a thicket of shelves and unused spare parts, coated in water and rusted into unidentifiable lumps of rust and corrosion that filled the space end to end with tottering, towering walls of filth and metal decay. It was now largely cleared out, with just the stubs of shelf legs and a few miscellaneous bits and pieces still to pry free of the deck before the space was entirely emptied out and ready to be redesigned. The pile of rusted bits and pieces in the corner was growing to the point she'd have to make another couple of trips down to the recycling furnaces, but she wanted to finish smoothing the floor first. Then she could really get down to putting together her new lab.

A blinking light beside the door - more or less the only functioning readout in the hollow space - caught her attention.

Huh. Maybe it was Starscream again? Or Flatline? Did Knock Out make house calls? ...no, not Knock Out. Not before she'd finished cleaning the place of all the filth and corrosion, and let him know that it was nice and neat.

Oh, well. Speculation could only take you so far. Shrugging, she strolled over to the door and palmed the control.

Outside, while the door had yet to be cleaned and buffed, there were telltale signs that some mecha had been at work on it. The edges, where it nestled against the runners of the frame, glistened with fresh lubricating oil, and when Sparkplug triggered the opening sequence, the door slid aside with a smoothness it probably hadn't exhibited for deca-cycles. Inside, the panel over the mechanisms had been removed and was lying on the floor, baring aged gears coated in fresh oil, with a couple of glistening new gears presumably taking the place of those that had been too damaged to reuse.

Sparkplug looked up into the blank faceplate of Soundwave, framed by its dim magenta glow, and her bright optics flickered in a blink of surprise. "Soundwave, sir! I wasn't expecting you to come by." She still wasn't sure what rank to address him by - commander was probably good enough, but it was a guess all the same, and she didn't want to get it wrong. Sir was probably the simplest way until she remembered to ask someone the proper form of address.

All the same, despite a lingering air of spookiness from the reputedly near-omniscient mech, she - as mistakenly as it might be - had found him quite courteous and helpful in their first meeting. Or at least, the first meeting she'd known about. Thus the smile which broke out across her faceplate as she stepped backwards into the room, making room for him to enter.

"Come in, sir! It's still a bit of a mess in here, haven't got all the odds and ends trimmed off at deck level, but you know, I think I'm almost there. Just a bit more work, and it'll be cleared out and ready for the new stuff to come in." Glancing down to the far end, she pulled a face as one of the dimmer lights flickered out for good, and added, "Can't be soon enough, too. I'll be using my own headlights before long, the way this is going. So! Is this an inspection, or can I do something for you?" She cocked her head, radiating alert helpfulness.

She really wasn't your typical Decepticon.

[Soundwave]

The work that Sparkplug had accomplished did not seem to display very well on the exterior of the door where Soundwave stood. There were the small glints of oil that shone in the dim light, but other than that there was not much more. It wasn't until the doors slid cleanly aside that the true extent of her labors became visible.

Due to the fact Soundwave was so much taller than Sparkplug he could immediately see beyond her frame and look into the room as the door was slid aside. He did not look down at her; he didn't seem to acknowledge her readily. Instead, he observed the condition of the space and compared it to his recollection of the seldom visited area. It was only after her greeting was completed, and she stepped aside, that he moved forward.

Smooth steps, a hollow clunk of each footfall... Soundwave nearly ghosted past Sparkplug into the room, the dampeners that were installed within his joints and the platform beneath his peds serving their purpose well. There was no impact of metal, no sharper click as weight was redistributed. The only sound that was made was a sort of unnatural plastic noise that was signature to his stride, standing out from the average individual that roamed the halls. These footfalls would continue just enough to pass the femme a short distance, before stopping, allowing Soundwave an unobstructed view of the entirety of the room.

Once he stopped, his frame did not twist or move to better orient himself, instead, there was only a faint turn of his helm alone. The inky black visor tilted subtly to the left, before following in a linear path across to the right, a few small sounds emitting while small graphs and pieces of data started to fill the visor's shape. They were flickering images, too fast to really be processed or observed by an outside force unless someone happened to be recording, but small notes were being made and logged at high speed.

This room was an atrocity.

There were bound to be forgotten stations in the ship. Soundwave could name a couple others that were likely in a similar state of disrepair, but it didn’t mean it was any more acceptable. Vehicons should have been appointed to this lab many years before Sparkplug's arrival to at least take it up marginally from its current state.

Just because a room is not needed due to their lower population, does not mean it should be cast aside so far.

Then again, it probably looked worse than it had before her arrival simply because all the shelving and other components were being stripped away to further expose and reveal new damages that were covered in rust. It was this rust that was particularly off putting though, the caked on flakes jostled free likely when the shelves were being sawed into more manageable portions. It left a thin layer of orange powder in some places, while others had twisted bolts and coated brackets, leading over to the large pile of destruction that looked like an infection waiting to happen. It left an unpleasant bitterness in the air that clashed violently with the chemically cleaned remainder of the ship. Add in the patchy unreliable lighting... and well, it was not a enjoyable room.

But effort was being made.

Soundwave could see beyond the surface value, to recognize the work that was already accomplished. If she could clear out so much in such a short amount of time? Than things were painted in her favor. The big question was however, if such ambition was simply a momentary high from getting a lab and later on her drive will waver once complacency kicked it, or if it would flow from one application to the next with similar zeal.

The femmes' question seemed to drop down into the gap that separated her from Soundwave, the mech not acknowledging it, or responding in any way. He simply stood here as the silence of the Nemesis surrounded them, peering at the progress and the flickering lights as further notes blipped across the screen.

[Sparkplug]

Soundwave was quiet. It was more than just the soft, dead sound his peds made on the floor. He seemed to have the uncanny ability to just stay dead still until he decided to do something, without any of the small, instinctive movements that most mecha made even when they were stationary. You could almost forget he was standing there, even when he was staring right at you.

As, in fact, he was doing right that moment.

The moment stretched. Sparkplug began to grin awkwardly, uncertain of exactly what he wanted, and not sure how to ask. It certainly didn't help her focus that she deeply wanted to poke at his legs and find out how the dampening systems worked; even for someone who often found her enthusiasm overcoming her grasp of propriety, she didn't think that request would go down well at all. As it was, a quick glance and a flicker of curiosity in her field betrayed a hint of her interest.

So... Soundwave. She'd welcomed him in, she'd made room for him, she'd asked if he was inspecting the room or if he had something he wanted her to do, and in response he'd... displayed a lot of flickering images on his visor, and then just stood there. She couldn't possibly have been expected to take them in, not when they went by that quickly.

Could she?

No, surely not. That was... that was his equivalent of thinking aloud. Something like that. But that still hadn't answered the question of what she was meant to do, and what he expected of her. Normally, she'd be running through all of those thoughts aloud, examining and discarding options with giddy abandon, but something about his poised silence was contagious, leaving her fidgeting back and forth under his faceless gaze.

Did he need more time to take in what she was doing? No; there simply weren't that many topological features left in the room to linger over, and it wasn't like he could be trying to decode the development work in progress, because there wasn't any yet. Could he have missed what she'd said? No. This mech, above all others, could be relied upon to hear everything said in his presence, and a good deal that wasn't, too. Could this be some kind of test? He turned up, he stared at her, didn't reply, and waited to see what she'd do.

So - what should she do?

Her options, as far as she could see, smelted down to three. She could try to get some kind of reaction from him by pushing the one-sided interaction further. She could just stand there, like a turbofox in headlights, waiting for him to do something. Or, and this one appealed to her the most, she could get on with her work.

In fact, yes. That was it exactly.

She nodded to herself, then addressed his motionless chassis again. "Well, sir, if you want my attention, you'll have it and all of it any time you like. Meanwhile, I'll let you be, and carry on with my assigned tasks. Pretty keen on getting all this mess cleared away; all the rust makes my plating itch."

Good enough. She walked over to the next bracket stub sticking out of the deck plates, positioning herself to one side of it so he had an unobstructed view of her working - if that was what he was there to collect - and spun up her angle grinder again. Angling the tool to direct the spray of sparks in the opposite direction from the motionless mech, she began cutting through the bracket, the rotten metal parting easily under the spinning grinder. She was still rather in awe of Soundwave, even if that was tempered a bit by the way he'd taken time to help her find the treaty text. Nonetheless, a little spark of indignation glowed somewhere under her plating, where she could keep it to herself. If this was a test, it was a pretty rude way of testing her.

[Soundwave]

When Sparkplug looked down at his legs to try to figure out details on the dampeners, there would not be too much that could be gleamed, though part of the mechanisms where visible to a keen eye. The knee itself was primarily an exposed hinge, a black wheel of metal that held a small inset looped around it in magenta that glowed ever so slightly. There were divisions along the joint, small points where the pivots occurred, likely hiding an internal channel line for Energon and electrical conduits, but nestled on the underside of the cylinder, was a black matte cap that the hinge seemed to nestle down within. The full shape of the dulled material was not visible, framed and obscured by the navy plating of the rest of his body, but it could be derived that that portion must play some role.

Soundwave meanwhile had his attention locked on the room, though it seemed he had lulled in the moment perhaps a bit too long, or the femme simply held a very short amount of patience.

Soundwave moved at a unique pace compared to the world around him, living within the void between fast and leisurely that was a bit disjointed and awkward. He could tear and rip through data with a cutting edge, and process immense amounts of information in a blink, and yet, when he moved around the warship he did so with no real zeal or passion to get anywhere fast. He simply chose course, and walked while taking note of the world around him as he went. It was this sort of situation that seemed to come into play then, his mind processing through ample amounts of data, taking note of the room's status he had yet to see in a good while, only to stall out and simply coast through the moment a bit.

Then again, it was a very good test on its own, even if not directly intentional.

Many panic under such scrutiny, and seeing how they handle themselves under his watchful 'eye', was something to be noted. Some powered through the silence and kept at attention, waiting for directives, while others, like Starscream, spoke to fill the void and try to coast through it all or misdirect. Keeping the silver mech talking was always beneficial, even if it was annoying... However Sparkplug had done neither, and simply went back to work, which would be ok if he had been here simply to observe.

/̷/͢Come/̕/͝

A lower voice, commanding with a hollow edge. The single word did not really give much data to a listener on exactly who had spoke it, but one did not need a sentence or an eloquently crafted speech to likely recognize the voice of their Warlord. It had a haunting edge to it, a calmness that was difficult to describe. It was not unlike a sheet of ice above dangerous rapids, daring the listener to speak in opposition and fall to what lay below.

With this single recording, the spymaster's faceplate lit up, bouncing lines, a jittered wavelength, this visual was then paired easily with a raised forearm, casually pointing to some extra tools that lay in the open space. While Soundwave knew Sparkplug had many objects inbuilt within her arm, he did not know the full extent to them just yet. It is because of this, he had made the silent 'suggestion' to pack up what she may need, his frame turning some to imply a retreat from the room.

Instead of simply abandoning her behind him however, he waited.

Watching.

If she were to pack up readily to follow, he would start out the door.

[Sparkplug]

Sparkplug crouched over one of the remaining shelf brackets, cut off half-way up its height where she'd removed the shelves above, her audials turned up as she waited for Soundwave to say something.

It had to be a test, really. What could he be there to examine? Her progress so far? The way she reacted when put into a situation she didn't understand? Was this some kind of lesson about talking too much? It wouldn't be the first time some mecha had suggested she talked a little more than she needed to.

Was he there to critique her metalworking?

She shook her helm slightly as the angle grinder bit deeper into the stubby pillar in front of her, throwing out a spray of orange sparks that were all the brighter for the comparative dimness of the room. The whole ship was too dim for her liking, really, but the inhabitants seemed to be used to it. Even Flatline had used a single spotlight in an otherwise darker room, more like a stage than an operating theatre. Well, once she was finished clearing out the junk, the first thing she was going to do was fix -

/̷/͢Come/̕/͝

Megatron?!

Sparkplug's angle grinder skidded as her whole body jerked in shock, the circular cutter slipping out of its groove and nearly catching her across the thigh before she wrestled it up and out of the way while it spun down. Jerking her forearm to retract the saw and snap her hand back into place, she scrambled awkwardly to her peds, nearly overbalancing and toppling over in her frantic haste.

"Sir! My Lord! Sorry, I was - didn't realise you were here, I - just cutting the -" she stammered as her helm jerked this way and that, trying to figure out where the warlord's voice had come from. Nothing. All she could see was Soundwave, who was just standing there with an arm outstretched-

And a waveform projected on his faceplate.

A sound wave, in fact.

Sparkplug drooped, her arms lowering, then placed a hand over her chest plate, feeling the subliminal whine of her fuel pump operating at over-speed thrumming through her plating. "Aw, sir, that was downright mean. Springing the Warlord's voice on an innocent, unsuspecting femme?"

Taking in the direction of his pointing hand, she saw he was indicating the handful of tools she'd managed to beg, borrow or scavenge. Right. Tools. She could do without most of them with her own internal toolset, but it never hurt to have spares, especially working on grubby, rusty old hulks that she didn't particularly want to touch with her own integrated tools. Shoving a few errant tools back into place in the long fabric strap they were lying on, she rolled them up into a tight bundle and picked them up.

That seemed to be the right action; Soundwave turned and headed for the door. Apparently, he needed her somewhere, probably to fix something. Shaking her helm slightly as she replayed her moment of panic with a wince of embarrassment, she followed.

[Soundwave]

A surge of energy.

Bouncing electrical relays.

The boost of momentary 'alert' borderline 'panic' that short through Sparkplug would be palpable to even those that were not highly tuned to the feedbacks that looped within each individual. It screamed openly into the room in action alone, from the way she lurched upright, to the way she nearly let the tool she had been using bite into her own leg. When she did stand upright, she had done so with an overabundance of zeal, almost crooking her balance the opposite direction, though it had been thankfully caught before the situation degraded any further.

Soundwave perhaps was a bit sadistic in his choice in audio recordings. He probably had over a dozen available clips all using that particular word he could have pulled from... from a calm statement, to a joyful request for someone to follow as if excited to show something, to a snarled demand that would pull any abiding Decepticon to heel, and everything in-between. Yet he chose the one of their Warlord that would hold a far more cutting edge to it simply by who it was.

Perhaps it was for a twisted sort of amusement, or perhaps it simply was the best commanding voice that would enact a quick response out of the newcomer... Soundwave wasn't telling, and his actions did not betray much. There was only a subtle crook of the helm, a rise as if accompanied by a nonexistent noise of some kind, or perhaps an observing motion to watch and see if she caught onto his silent request that she should bring some of her supplies with her.

Reading Soundwave accurately was a chore and a half, many needing ample time around him to pull details with any level of accuracy. Each turn of a helm, each light angle of a frame, it could tell many things, a secondary language in a way. It was too vague for the moment to get a true bead on it however, whether he found amusement in her plight, or was judging her actions. Whatever the case, they had started to move, and Soundwave would maneuver out into the hallway to start down a corridor.

̢//̢I have need of your expertise-̡/͠/̡/̡/-on a task that should not require much effort-͟//͘

Two separate recordings obviously pulled not only from two different individuals, but from different situations and conversations. The first words were a familiar droll, a rolling purr of the air commander that seemed oh-so confident regarding whatever situation the words had originally been clipped from. What Starscream had been asking for however, was cut off before it could be concluded, a new recording and a second wavelength appearing on the navy mech's visor when the second words started up.

The following statement was far more clinical, and droll. It hummed out in an even monotone that was borderline robotic. Limited inflection, to none, a hollow approach that could make even the most bland individual sound expressive. There was specific intent behind the statement though, focused, angled, zeroing in on the original target more so as a command than a request. Depending on Sparkplug's exposure, the voice of Shockwave may be able to be picked out.

Despite the fact Soundwave's visor lit up with the recordings, flickering bouncing lines that arched and bobbed with each word, he did not angle his helm down at her while it did so. She needn't see the illustration, and as such he simply stared down the hallway as they went, focused upon a distant goal.

[Sparkplug]

Not for nothing was Soundwave known as being opaque.

Sparkplug trailed a step behind him, staring at the back of his helm, trying to figure out if the sharp-edged, faceless mech was silently amused at her reaction - had sprung the Warlord's voice on her on purpose, in fact, for that exact reason - or had just chosen the voice out of convenience. She simply couldn't imagine how to tell the difference.

Maybe he needed to add another little bio-light in the corner of his faceplate that flashed when he found something humorous, surrounded by the words 'I am laughing at you'.

It'd certainly make things clearer.

Of course, then there was the more unsettling possibility that he'd used the Warlord's voice because that was exactly who was actually summoning her... she hadn't been in his personal presence yet, or ever, and she wasn't in any particular hurry to make his acquaintance.

̢//̢I have need of your expertise-̡/͠/̡/̡/-on a task that should not require much effort-͟//͘

Now that was interesting. Commander Starscream's voice was very recognisable, despite being fairly new to her. The flat, empty monotone that finished the sentence could have belonged to Soundwave himself, but something about it nagged at her. She was sure she'd heard that voice somewhere before, in a recording perhaps; void of warmth, conveying nothing but an eternal trace of impatience.

It clicked. "Ohh. Shockwave's voice," she murmured to herself. So this was how Soundwave communicated; with pictograms where appropriate, and where they wouldn't suffice to convey his point, recordings, stitched together. She wondered for an instant if her own voice would end up as one of his captured, repurposed clips, but almost immediately shook her helm. There was no way her own bouncy, cheerfully chirpy tones would ever echo forth from under that disconcerting mask; it'd just be too weird.

He really was a curiously structured mech, in pretty much every capacity.

Still, enough of the medium of the message; she should be focusing on the content. Which, now she thought about it, was actually pretty flattering.

"Oh? There's something you need doing that you reckon I'm suited for, sir? Well, thanks for the vote of confidence," she replied cheerily. "I don't mind doing all the clearing out I'm working on - clearing the deck is the first stage of any build, even if it isn't usually so literal - but I sure wouldn't mind a change of pace from sawing and buffing. Now, it could be an analysis task, but for that, you probably wouldn't have asked me to bring all these tools along. So it's more likely to be fixing something, or assembling something."

She paused, then added thoughtfully, "Pretty darn good at that. I was fixing a couple of things for Blackframe, just before the first time we met, actually. There's a lot of damaged old weapons and equipment in some of those lockers. Some of it's nothing but smelt-fodder, but I reckon we could reclaim a decent amount of it, if we run short on weapons. Not that that's likely on this gorgeous gargantuan death machine."

She gestured around herself at the walls and bulkheads of the warship, then nodded at the roll of tools in her hand. "Reclaimed these from around the place. Don't really need them; I've got an internal toolkit that'll strip a mecha back to the frame, reassemble them, and give them a nice paint and polish if I need to. But it never hurts to have spares, especially when you're doing a mucky job and don't want to get loose rust flakes in your nice shiny on-board tools. Either way, I'm sure I can tackle whatever it is you're after, sir."

Sparkplug smiled, her field bright with sunny confidence. She had no idea where she was going or what Soundwave wanted her for, but she was guilelessly looking forward to finding out.

[Soundwave]

Sparkplug most definitely was a type that let their thoughts project outwardly. Every trail of thought, every thread of consideration, it seemed to launch out as quickly as it was constructed. She held a buzzing processor that was constantly given voice, almost appearing to bypass any level of filter or consideration over the actual merit of the words being spoken. He wondered... if she ever asked herself what the actual worth of her words were?

Quality over quantity.

Care and consideration.

But the main query remained-

'Does it add Value?'

Soundwave lived with a minimalist path to his communication that was framed around this simple question, a question that ruled over him with an iron fist. Relying upon the unsaid, action being the main words, while recordings or glyphs were added on to supplement any additional articulation that may be required to fill the void. That said, he could always go simpler than he does, but there was value in taking the time to formulate a proper sentence out of other's words, when he did not have to.

He could have just said 'You Work' or 'Job' while pointing at her, but that would come off as more childish and bludgeoning, as if he did not hold the intelligence he had. No... There was reason for everything he did, reason for why he used longer statements at times, and why he didn't always respond in others. This showed once again, when he did not turn to address her, nor respond to anything she had spoken about.

But just because he appeared to 'snub' her, didn’t mean he truly was.

Sparkplug was ambitious, energetic. While her view to life and her general nature clashed against his own like water against oil, he could appreciate her gung-ho attitude and chipped approach. She sought out her own supplies; she hunted out jobs even if she only had one assigned task at the moment to fix her lab. She could have gone hyper focused like Flatline had, and became dead to the world the moment a job was set in motion. The black and red mech was difficult to deviate at times driven to a singular goal, yet Sparkplug dropped things readily to bounce between projects. This would earn her more leeway, even if she was not privy to this fact.

After a short moment, they came across one of the elevator shafts.

Soundwave did not press anything upon the controls; he did not reach a slender hand forward as would typically be required to hit the call button. Instead, the doors to the lift simply opened, as if awaiting their arrival at that exact moment in time. The inside of the double doored lift was empty, the reinforced outer wall housing a few slim inbuilt lights along the ridges, and a control panel that held the different levels that the construct could go to. Quietly, the navy mech stepped within; turning around to face his back to the opposite door that remained closed.

His helm would turn down to watch Sparkplug, her own reflection reflected across the slick glass surface.

If she were to enter, the lift would close and start to move up automatically with a low hum, his helm rising to look straight ahead at the doorway he faced.

[Sparkplug]

Sparkplug walked briskly after Soundwave, her shorter legs flicking back and forth to keep up with his longer, slower stride, her helm cocked as she waited to see if he'd make any further comment on what he had in mind for her. Now that she'd gotten the thought in her processor, it was looping round and round in branching speculations, trying to anticipate what it could be that Soundwave was going to put in front of her.

Something menial? Probably not, he was too important to bother with such things, and there had to be a staff on the Nemesis for the basic repairs that every large, complicated mechanism inevitably required. Unless he was testing her, evaluating her fitness for more important tasks. He'd said it probably wouldn't take too long. No, not too much effort, which might not be the same thing.

He strode onwards, his pace as steady and unvarying as a metronome.

Seemed like that was all the information she was going to receive for a while, then.

The way the lift arrived perfectly on time for him was interesting, though. Following him in, she remarked aloud, "So you signalled ahead? I suppose if you know your own walking speed, and the reaction time of the system, you could judge the lift that finely. Wireless data transfer? I figured there must be some kind of wireless command grid in this thing, even if it's restricted in use."

She paused, then glanced up at his blank visor. The slight curve of it caught her reflection and threw it back to her, green, inquisitive eyes mirrored in the black glass. He probably wasn't going to answer that one, either. Very taciturn mech. No wonder he had the reputation he did for being a bottomless well of secrets. He'd never asked her a question; just given her a few very sparse instructions, and a little information. Heck, finding something he'd be interested enough in to ask for further information would be a triumph in itself.

Hm. He probably knew her background, what with his general air of omniscience. Or, no, more accurately, he could find out her background if he was interested enough to put in the effort, but finding those records might actually be difficult, and she probably hadn't been worth it. A long, long war had taken its toll, databases were usually very incomplete, and the interstellar comms net was a pretty fractured thing.

That was a place to start, then.

After a few silent moments, filled with the soft hum of the lift's movement, she offered, "Before I hitched my way here, I was at the weapons development crèche at Antilla. Pretty well known world, though not for any positive reasons; ringed planet, very red and orange now. It almost looks like a tiny gas giant from a distance. There was an Autobot colony there, a long time ago now. Collapsed without any interference from us, from the rust plague. Our kind tend to avoid it, for good reason. That makes it secure."

Gesturing in the air in a vaguely circular gesture, as if to draw an orbit, she went on, "The development base is on Antilla 4, one of the shepherd moons keeping the rings together. Very small rock, not even big enough to go spherical from its own gravity. I was there when the base was set up, helped get the structure together and vacuum tight. The whole moon settled and deformed when we switched on the gravity generators. Anyway, after that, we built prototypes, then mounted them on drones and dropped them into the atmosphere. Made for a good testing ground; lots of structures, lots of varied terrain. Self-destruct charges took care of anything that survived testing, then the rust took the remains. Probably the most secure testing facility I've ever been to."

There were even odds as to whether Soundwave knew of that facility or not; he was said to know almost everything, but there were a lot of isolated labs scattered around the place. It was a big galaxy, after all. And it filled the lift ride.

[Soundwave]

And this was another reason why staying silent held its boons.

As often recognized by the navy mech, many, not all, liked to fill the quiet that settled in the air. They talked to fill the void, to try to make it seem more normal and less cold. It was a habitual thing for many, and while it didn't always show up in front of one of his rank, when it did it often supplemented information and filled in gaps and voids that were scattered around an otherwise clean timeline. It could also frame out what an individual was like, and it overall helped a good amount with many things. While sometimes it could be bothersome or annoying, the spew of information always proved valuable.

And value could be found in Sparkplug's jabbering.

Soundwave was a very smart mech, that wasn't really anything up to question. He took meticulous records, and he hoarded databases with an insistent need, even if the information was considered obsolete or no longer relevant in current days. Even before the war, even before the gladiatorial pits, even before he shifted from job to job... he always kept data secure, as if scared it would simply vanish and be no more. His own personal drives were abysmally loaded with so many records from days long gone, and books that were transcribed to memory, that he could essentially be a living record of their species.

Shift records, old laws and codes of conduct, books on society and fictional stories, weaponry and scientific records, all the way to personal tales of an individuals life made before they died...

And that only pertained to before the war...

His wartime records took on an even more honed edge, a dangerous obsession to acquire and hoard, made even more meticulous and precise given experience and time. He could track the path of many soldiers from site to site, from station to station... He could transcribe the life of so many mechs and femms when prompted and given time to mill, yet some held gaps and voids where bits were missing. Sparkplug was one of those.

While he had not had her information on hand the day he first saw her, given time during her implementation into the current ranks allowed him to sift through the sea of data to pull what he did know about her to the forefront of the data banks.

Lower caste worker, one that had applied and succeeded not only into a job transfer to be an assistant to a higher ranked individual, but she had surpassed into a new level that earned her a full alt exemption. This alone was a notable feat, for only so many of those had been gifted upon a lucky few that showed considerable skill. It was only ironic such a thing, was merely proving the caste system was flawed... but that was a discussion for another time.

Writings, notes, studies and numerous papers... her works were logged within a sea of medical discourse, an ocean of conflicting information where multiple leaders in their fields tried to prove and disprove theories and dilemmas. Soundwave did not actively read such things, but he had them, an ever present part of the intangible collection. It was only sad she had chosen the other side of the metaphorical coin to support initially... though that had been altered.

From there, things grew more jumbled. Assignment here, or there... leading to the station she had spoken of, before things grew gray and many individual's storylines seemed to fade away. Soundwave knew of the station, he knew of some of their work and their accomplishments. He had reports that made it through the tangled web of space back to him as he stood by Megatron's side, but he never knew its ultimate end, and what happened to those that were stationed there. He had assumed their own weapons had turned against them with an accident, residues of the plagues that surrounded them eating them apart.... but her survival and presence here showed otherwise, at least partly.

Soundwave did nothing in response to her story, simply staring ahead as the lift moved seamlessly up to a higher level. He was counting on a lack of reply, to spur her into continuing her tale, as the lift slowed down only a few levels higher, before opening back up with a hiss. Gradually, he started down the new hallway towards the outer perimeter of the ship.

The hallways they now strode appeared smaller than the previous ones. It was a more enclosed space, though was still roomy enough for a large Cybertronian to make their way through it without concern for their helm on the ceiling above. The lighting that traditionally framed in etched marks between the primary hallway's channels, were now more industrial and simplistic, the ribs more modest due to the lesser span needed to support. The ground was pitted and worn, and while clean, it was not maintained as well as other areas, having seen ample amount of traction and individuals in its long time in service.

[Sparkplug]

The lift came to a stop with a whir-clunk, making the mechanism mildly more talkative than Soundwave.

She was high in the ship now, higher than she'd been before. The corridors were narrower, presumably intended for less traffic. Maybe older? The lights were of a different design here, and that could mean the main hallways had been refitted while lesser areas like this hadn't been touched. If it was more isolated and smaller, she'd have expected it to see less traffic, but the deck plates looked pretty worn. That fit.

And that was pretty much all the entertainment she could wring out of the corridor. Where was this walking slab of silence leading her? It wasn't that he was being deliberately rude - or, at least, it probably wasn't. It felt more like he simply wasn't interested in any communication which wasn't absolutely essential to achieving his aims.

Oh, well. He was pretty easy to talk to, if you could overcome the feeling that every word you uttered was dropping into a deep, unlit lift shaft, never to be seen again.

"It's pretty quiet out there, now," she offered after a moment. "When we drilled the facility into the rock, we built fairly big. Dorms for thirty six. Private rooms for another twelve, of varying fanciness. Four workshop levels, two maintenance-generator-storage levels, and a testing bunker. The bunker was its own separate thing, drilled in a couple of klicks away, with a connecting tunnel joining it to level three and a surface entrance. You know, so if something went boom bigger than you expected, or was more virulent than you expected, you could seal it off without losing the rest of the facility. Basic precautions, really."

She vented a sigh, nodding to herself. "Back then, the whole place was crowded, the whole time. Never quiet. Always something going on. Facility was being run by Membrain, and he was important enough to get whatever he wanted. Lots of manufacturing facilities, lots of chrome and glass. Pretty strict, mind you. A few times, when some mech really made a mess of things through not following proper lab protocol, they got pinned to the wall in the testing chamber and had a limb blown off. After they'd hung there for a while, really letting the dread build up."

It was hard to tell whether she approved of the practice or not, speaking in an absent, thoughtful tone. "He said that precise, accurate mutilation was an entirely acceptable price to keep everyone following proper lab procedure. It worked, too. Wouldn't find a single mech willing to take risky shortcuts after that, and some of the stuff being worked on could have gone really bad if it'd gone off prematurely. Besides, he let the medical staff build replacements for them. Eventually. Once they'd learned their lesson. So that was the early days. Didn't last, though."

With a one-shouldered shrug, she tilted her head at Soundwave. "Nothing does, not forever. Membrain went off to another lab eventually. Without him, we were too isolated to attract a lot of new researchers. Still got some, but more left than came, and long-term, that's a trend that only goes one way. I think it's because of the Rust, myself. Even though we were a clean facility, never had a problem with it, there's that little nervous itch at the back of the helm that makes mecha think twice before shipping merrily off to Antilla. Place got a little grubbier as we lost service staff. The big bunk rooms got partitioned off, made into little private rooms as the numbers dropped."

A fond smile touched Sparkplug's flexible lips, her bright green optics only half-seeing where she was going. "Those were some of the best vorns there, odd to say. We settled down to a smaller crew, the troublesome ones that were more ambitious than clever had all run off to other places, we'd found ways of working around the little weirdnesses of each other. We had the room, we had the time. Came up with some good work, some good work. Seemed like we'd been half-forgotten about, honestly. Shipments still came in, we broadcast our findings to the research grid and pulled down work from other labs, but we never heard from central command anymore. Now and then, after a good piece of work went out, one of us would get an invitation to take up a post at another lab that was too good to turn down, and they'd head out with the next supply ship. Shut down a couple of levels eventually; didn't seem like much point in maintaining that much space. All of us had offices by then, so we closed down the dorm, too.

"Then, eventually, there was just four of us. Turbine, Geometrix, Neurite, and me. Geo was occupying the old director's office, but wasn't much in the way of rank anymore. It was a real wrench to go, I thought I'd end up being the last out in the end. Still, useful place to know about. Built up a decent energon store over the years, and the manufacturing gear is top notch, even if it is a bit worn."

[Soundwave]

No response.

The comparison to the conversation being nothing more than words thrown down an unlit shaft were not far from the truth. Only difference here however was the fact that the darkness that typically would just absorb the words into an abyss was actually listening and keeping track of everything that was being said. But such things were not displayed openly, Soundwave focusing ahead of them as the curve to the path stopped, and they started to near the 'end of the road' so to speak.

Before them was a heavier door that deviated from the others around it.

Many of the side doors through the Nemesis were aperture like systems. They spiral out of the way abruptly, and had a few layers to them so they could be pressurized and properly sealed. They could stand up to blaster fire and physical blows, and they would severely slow down even the most determined of Autobot that was trying to break in somewhere... That said, this one doorway seemed a bit above the curve. Its spiral was interlocked with additional clasps that latched over its shape, creating a physical barrier that would remain in place even if power supply was denied from it and an attempt was made to manually pull it aside.

A snarled growl sounded as they approached this fortified passage, locks disengaging, and systems pulling apart automatically to let them go through. The beams of metal slid back into the walls on either side, before the more traditional aperture pulled away to reveal what lay beyond. Or... more accurately, what wasn't there.

Wind howled, cold air blasted past, the temperature shift was abrupt, sucking out any maintained warmth from the passageway like a vacuum. Just beyond the doorway, was a small tunnel, leading to another airlock that was already pulled aside, its panels barely visible along the outer edges before the ship simply... stopped...

Soundwave continued to walk towards this opening despite the sudden noise and pressure change in their environment. He did not seem startled at all, nor really... fazed in any way, but a lot of that had to do with the fact that he knew where they were going, and he was already prepared for what was to come. He had not offered the femme the same level of insight, instead, just approaching where the ship seemed to end, his footfalls slowing to halt so near its edge that the small points touched where the path vanished.

It was then, Soundwave turned his helm, looking back at Sparkplug, expecting her to follow...

If the Femme were to approach the deadly drop, she would not be able to see much. White clouds billowed and rolled beneath them, the soft shapes bowing out of the way from wind currents made from the ship's mass. On rare occasion a small glimmer could be seen through the shrouding mass, but it revealed so very little, only the vague colors of green and brown that confirmed they were not currently over an ocean. The ship itself hooked up above them a fair distance, upper platforms and ridges of its architecture looming overhead like a canopy, while below was an inset ladder that would lead down to a narrow pathway with no rails on its outer edge, only a point for clips should one have brought such things.

[Sparkplug]

Sparkplug was beginning to reassess her strategy. She'd thought she could bait some kind of response out of him, but it really didn't seem to be working. It wasn't like she minded reminiscing about the lab, but it'd be so much easier if he'd just glance at her, or nod, or make some kind of encouraging sign that she wasn't talking to a blank wall.

He could at least play some kind of hold music.

The armoured door, though, distracted her quite successfully. "Ooof," she murmured to herself, assessing the clamps and locks that gripped the central door systems securely. "That's some serious hardware. Definitely says 'access denied' in big glyphs. No one's going through there uninvited."

The uninvited obviously didn't include Soundwave, or her for that matter, since the whole heavy-duty mechanism began unclamping and withdrawing as they drew close. Bars and final interlocks withdrew, and she felt a delightful little frisson of curious excitement as she anticipated what might lie beyond. What kind of challenge did he have for her?

Nothing, in fact.

The challenge was nothing.

Tens of thousands of meters of nothing, or as near to nothing as made no practical difference, directly below.

"What." She took an instinctive step backwards, then, as her curiosity overruled her very genuine nervousness, she took a few steps forwards again. Tiptoeing through the massive airlock - the design made sense now, it had to be fit to stand up to a determined external attacker - she approached the very edge, peering past Soundwave's angular frame.

Clouds, and blueness, the air thick with the haze of extreme distance, with just enough teasing hints to let her know that yes, they were over earth and rock. Not that it made much difference at this height; impacting water at terminal velocity would smash her into a million tiny pieces just as efficiently as stone or concrete.

Terminal velocity. Now there was a term with a nasty ring to it.

Above, the ship swelled outwards - they weren't quite as high up the superstructure as she'd guessed - and below, it curved inwards under their feet, baring the titanic drop. Oh, and a small ladder, and a narrow little gantry that didn't even have the decency to have a railing.

She looked up beseechingly at the side of his blank, faceless helm. "Sir. I mean, come on, now. I'm not a flier. If I put a ped out there, there's an even chance I'll get swept right off and have a long but not long enough time to regret my choices on the way down to certain smash. I don't even have a safety line! ...which obviously you'd have warned me to bring, if you wanted me to have one. So you don't. Haven't brought me up here just to scare the spark out of me with the view, either."

Her shutters closed over her optics for a moment, and she murmured, "Primus's sake, if I was built for this nonsense, I'd have been a helicopter. Fine. Fine. I'm doing it." She shuddered as she put her back to the drop, her wheels twitching nervously in their housings, and slid her ped over the edge of the airlock frame, groping for the ladder. She took a couple of incredibly cautious steps downwards, easing her frame out into the clear air that swept along the flank of the warship, then paused. Gripping the ladder tightly with one hand, she pointed accusingly up at him.

"You do have a sick sense of humour! If I fall off here, you'd better turn your radio receptors off, sir, because I will be cursing you all the way down in terms that'd make a squad of Constructicons say 'hey now, that's going a bit far'."

Her mobile faceplate screwed up in the expression of someone that really does not want to be doing what they're doing, and she took another few steps down the ladder. Her ped touched the walkway, and she stepped down onto it, still hanging onto the ladder's rungs with a deathgrip of very sincere terror. "Are you going to tell me what I'm doing out here, sir? This seems like a good time!"

[Soundwave]

While Soundwave did not find the need to respond to her information dump, he did somehow find it ironic enough to actually react to some of her 'unease' commentary.

/͞/Many Regrets?/̷/͟

An inquisitive tone in response to her not having enough time during the rather substantial fall to properly mull over and process her poor decisions in life. The voice itself was that of a femme, slightly pitched up from the normal range of individuals, only to be pitched a fraction more as if amused during the question. The recording had been heavily modulated though, a bit of static flecking between it that showed that it was perhaps an old clip from eons ago.

Continuing to stand right at the edge of the drop below, Soundwave watched as Sparkplug warily turned her back to the opening in the ship, and started to ease down, pairing it with some insults along the way that were toeing a dangerous edge but avoiding the line with a certain level of care.

Humor can bring a lot to the table. If someone says something crass and abrasive, it can cause backlash and uproar. In contrast, if a different individual effectively said the same thing, but covered it in a blanket of amusement and humor, it could be stomached and taken with far more grace depending on the individual. Right now, this seemed to be one of those situations, for Soundwave did not openly react, nor get hostile in any way when a subordinate effectively threatened with chewing him out should things not go according to plan. Whatever the case, as Sparkplug mustered up the courage to step down and move to the lower platform, Soundwave himself moved forward.

Despite there not being a platform to step upon.

A sharp transformation, a quick change, the moment Soundwave was clear from the Nemesis; he took on his alternative form. This was not done out of any need or want to be flashy despite the fact that he could have used it to show off and boast about flight capabilities. Unlike something Starscream may do, he did not soar off into the distance and rocket into the sky to exhibit a level of finesse and rub a grounder's metaphorical nose in it. Instead, there was an almost utilitarian approach to the entire thing, broad paneled wings locking into shape, just long enough to grab the air with a pulse of an engine for a bit of flinging boost, pairing with a tilt of the wing flaps to sling his trajectory back towards the ship.

Bypassing Sparkplug's Position, Soundwave transformed out from the alternative state, just as fast as he had taken it on, allowing barely even a flicker of a breath where the alt-mode was even functional. This meant that when the nosecone split apart again to form peds, that they were already aimed down, allowing him to land with a thud along the narrow platform about forty meters ahead of where the femme clutched onto the ladder. The impact was a bit rough, it not a flawless execution, but it served what it needed to, Soundwave's arms fanning out on either side to absorb what remained from the momentum he acquired in such a brief moment.

Straightening up, the navy mech looked back to make sure Sparkplug was still with him, and hadn't slipped off and careened down into the abyss of clouds.

As much as he seemed to be throwing her to the wolves here, Soundwave had no intention of letting the engineer fall down to her death. He was keeping a close watch on her, and making sure that she seemed stable. She may not have a tangible cable to connect her to the walk, but Soundwave was acting as one, fully planning to reel out the data lines if needed to grab her should she stumble. Because of this he showed no wariness about the possible danger, especially since he knew where they were heading next.

The platform that Sparkplug was upon was definitely a maintenance platform for workers to tinker on external functions of the ship. It ran along a good distance, acting almost as an architectural design feature, as well as holding some functional use as well. Along the side of the ship directly next to the platform, there would be a myriad of panels and plates that seemed easily replaceable to act as armor, while also appearing like they could be opened. Some of the plates were old, holding some wayward blaster fire that was laughable to even attempt to throw at a ship so large, while others were new and flawless, replacing otherwise inoperable shields.