[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]Salida

[Deleted]

(Week 2, Day 1)

It was late afternoon in Oregon. The sun had moved from it’s position directly overhead and was starting it’s slide towards the west. It was warm, but not unusually so. A breeze rippled in the air, making the sagebrush and low lying Juniper shift and sway slightly, cooling the area down.

Nothing moved in the wilderness, at least not at first. A coyote, sitting near a large boulder perched atop a small rise lazily studied the area before her, a recently caught rabbit digesting nicely in her stomach. She would be returning to her den shortly.

Below her, in a bowl-shaped depression naturally carved out eons ago, the air seemed to ripple, as if a sudden source of heat had sprung up. A second later, there was a flash of green blue light, flaring outward and washing out over the area.

Strange scents inundated the area; the coyote stood up, hackles rising slightly as her nose moved, tasting the air currents. It was a scent she had caught before, and one she didn’t like. It smelled faintly of hot metal; something she had encountered once long ago when she had wandered far. She entered a human area where their broken machines were stored. Nosing around for food, she had been shot at. The bullet had missed her, but the memory of the loud retort and smell of metal had always stayed with her.

This scent was similar, and yet not. Scents she had never encountered before assaulted her nostrils; acrid and sharp and unpleasant.

Turning, the coyote trotted quickly back towards her den. She wanted nothing to do with this.

From the strange blue green light stepped a tall humanoid. Had a human been there, the first thing they would have noticed was that the figure appeared to be female, or at least had a feminine shape. Seemingly all black at first, the eye would have noticed a myriad of darkened colors in no discernible pattern; midnight blue, black, charcoal.

As the light seemed to vanish behind the figure, it seemed to crouch slightly, and went immobile.

Finale cast out her scanner, searching for any recognizable signals. Her first steps upon an unknown planet, she cast a wide net, searching for any Cybertronian signals nearby. Searching more for anything that would hint at Autobot first. The last thing she wanted was to appear near the enemy in unfamiliar territory.

Sensing nothing, she relaxed somewhat. Either they weren’t there, or they were well hidden.

The neutral she had bribed to send her here had told her this area had seen the last Decepticon signals recently. So it was unlikely any Autobots were dug in.

Slowly, Finale stood, moving upright to her full height. Dark purple optics looked around at her closer surroundings.

“Pitiful.” Her voice was low and mellow, cultured, with a hint of a faint accent.

An organic planet. Finale had little love for organics. They were messy, oozing and leaking everywhere. You shot one and they practically exploded their fluids all over the place. The majority of them couldn’t take any sort of atmospheric pressure. And the planets were all dusty.

She scowled.

Turning in a slow circle, Finale continued looking at her surroundings. Everything here was so flat. There was nothing to hide behind, nothing to blend in with.

A small copse of Juniper stood a short distance away. Having no other option, Finale strode off in that direction, intending on sitting as near them as possible, to try and break up her outline against the flat ground as much as possible. Once she was sure she was in Decepticon-held territory, she would relax. Until then, vigilance and blending in was her best option.

Lord Megatron must have his reasons for choosing this planet to come to. One I would not understand.

It was inconceiveable to her that the leader of the Decepticons could make an error.

Approaching the scrub of Juniper, Finale sat in the shadows, attempting to blend in as much as possible before opening her com.

::This is Decepticon Finale seeking the Decepticon forces upon Planet Earth. I am in unfamiliar territory and require assistance.::

Now, she would wait.

[Sparkplug]

The road was deserted. Thick brown dust lay heavily along the verges, patiently creeping inwards under the urging of the faint breeze towards the faded white lines painted down the centre of the asphalt. Low rocks, rounded by exposure to wind and time, cast slowly lengthening shadows across the dun-coloured landscape.

The whispering of moving sand was drowned out by the burbling roar of an engine, fast approaching. A flash of white and green snapped past, whipping the dust into momentary vortices, which slowly collapsed in its wake.

Sparkplug was out on the road. The winding ribbons of the native's transport ways were all that kept the landscape from being utterly desolate, but it did have one incomparable advantage over the clean, precisely machined corridors of Pyrotech's personal fortress: it wasn't packed to the bulkheads with displaced, irritable Decepticons, and with that virtue in mind, she could forgive it anything else. Like many of the new arrivals, she was taking patrol duty whenever she could, getting some air in her vents and some space to stretch her axles without planting a tyre in someone's faceplate. As it was, she vented her moderate frustrations through racing along the dusty roads, letting her engine reach its peak performance band and really getting her energon flowing.

The odds of encountering any significant enemy activity were low, and even if she did stumble across an Autobot, the truce remained in effect. In fact, the odds of being called upon to do anything were-

::This is Decepticon Finale seeking the Decepticon forces upon Planet Earth. I am in unfamiliar territory and require assistance.::

-about 1 in 1, actually. Huh.

Her radio aerial twitched, her mirrors angling towards the right-hand side of the road. Her secondary, offset aerials didn't have much difference in signal time to work with, but as near as she could triangulate, the call had come from somewhere not too far from her patrol route. Wasn't that interesting. She gunned her engine, accelerating smoothly towards the origin point, and a brief, non-verbal acknowledgement pulse pinged out from her own broadcast systems towards both the base and the mysterious signal.

Best the other femme know someone was on the way, so she didn't move, and whoever was on duty knew that she was handling it. She could have been more verbose, of course, but... the plain fact was that someone had attacked the Nemesis, a massive warship full of the greatest troops in the Deception armada, and successfully sunk it.

That sort of thing prompted some well-justified caution, truce or not.

Peeling off the road, she ploughed into the scrubby, rocky terrain, her six-wheeled chassis handling the transition with smoothly oiled ease. She didn't enjoy getting her radiator all full of dust and flung-up dirt, but her alt-mode was built for landscapes like this, and right then, she was pretty grateful for it. A rooster-tail of dust fountained up behind her as her deeply treaded tyres clawed at the rough ground, barely running any slower than she had along the tarmac.

For a few moments, she rumbled through the rough terrain, picking her way around the worst of the low rocks and avoiding the occasional groves of scrubby trees, before her navigation systems pinged warningly. She was approaching the region of the signal. Slowing to a crawl, she let the transient cloud of dust at her heels drift away and disperse, and as she approached the apparent origin point - a grove of junipers - the flat panels at the rear of her chassis folded back, a turret rising into view. If this was someone's cute idea of a big surprise, she'd surprise them right back.

As the shadows of the trees struck her white paintwork and slid across it, she transmitted her own ident code in a brief, short-range burst, and added aloud, "Finale? I'm Sparkplug. Research officer. Ident code, please, and let's see you."

[Deleted]

Finale shifted, awareness moving from one subject to another.

After she had sent out her message, she had remained still, listening to the area around her. As before, she found organic planets unpleasant. But things could always be learned. Information gleaned from every second. This planet and Finale were new to each other. She would do well to learn every sound, every squeak and blip that was normal for this location.

So she had basically become inert, only her senses remaining active. It was something Finale did quite easily, practically shutting down her frame’s motion so that she seemed a statue, only her mind active. In this manner she had listened.

To her annoyance, all she had really discovered was that this planet was, so far, disgustingly quiet. No seismic activity to be aware of, practically no organic lifeforms save for a few small flying creatures that moved among the trees once she had gone immobile and silent. She wasn’t aware if this was a normal thing for this planet, or her presence had still managed to frighten away the local lifeforms.

Certainly, she hadn’t encountered anything of a higher sentience than the small flying things. Which, all things considered, was probably a blessing. With no contact with the Decepticons in this area, she didn’t know what the standing orders for contact with the higher life forms were.

Finale had remained still and silent until she had heard an approaching engine. She focused her entire attention on it, observing as it seemed to approach. It certainly sounded like a Cybertronian being, but she had no Earth engines to compare it to.

Still remaining perfectly still, Finale did not move, until an identity code pinged to her, giving information regarding who was nearby. A very faint sense of relief moved through Finale. Not that she was safe now, or that she would be looked after….but that she had found someone - or rather, someone had found her - who could answer her questions.

Before starting to move, Finale sent her own ident code out towards the other Decepticon. Once that was done, she slowly began to move. Gracefully, she unfolded herself, bringing legs in beneath her, rising up to her full stance, the sun gleaming off the glossy dark color of the femme. Dark purple optics moved over Sparkplug’s altmode for a brief second.

Raising a servo, Finale made a slender fist, and brought it to the area over her spark. A graceful dip of her helm, eyes closing for a second.

“Research Officer Sparkplug. I am pleased to be found by a fellow Decepticon on this alien planet, and so swiftly as well. Well met.”

Lowering her arm, opening her eyes, she raised her helm, casting a brief look over her shoulder, “How far are we from the base? I was told it was near, but I see nothing resembling our faction’s handiwork nearby? Was I given false information?”

[Sparkplug]

Catching the ident code, Sparkplug's internal systems automatically compared it to a hashed database, and presented to her conscious mind an instant conclusion: valid. As the dark, slender figure of the femme emerged from the shadows, Sparkplug relaxed, her turret descending into her bodywork and sealing over.

In a blur of transformation, her upper body rotating one hundred and eighty degrees around her waist, Sparkplug rose to her peds, and -rather impressed by the new arrival - mimicked her gesture of a fist to the spark chamber. For the first time since she'd arrived on Earth, she found herself optic-to-optic with another mecha; the similar placement of the wheels and the slimness of their frames made the white and green femme seem like a photo negative of the shadowy black and blue other, if it weren't for the strangeness of her elongated arm.

Vibrant emerald optics bright in her pale gray faceplate, Sparkplug smiled. "Well met to you, too. You've actually come in pretty darn near, so that's impressive. When I touched down, I was - best I understand it - about ten thousand klicks off-course, and on the wrong continent. There is a lot I'd better tell you, though, before you go anywhere you might be seen. Let's step back into what shade there is, out here."

The odds of a human satellite happening to be taking images of the random bit of scrubland they were standing in at that exact moment were not high, but it didn't hurt to put a little cover overhead. Resting her back against a slender tree, Sparkplug thought for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. As condensed as I can manage, here it is: the planet is occupied by an organic species, biped, relatively standard anatomy. About eight billion of 'em. Got access to nuclear weapons and planetary orbit, but not much further than that. Called 'humans'. No single governing body, lots of little geographical groupings. Population as a whole isn't aware we're here. Protocol is to avoid drawing attention unless you need to, so you'll want to pick up an alt-mode based on one of their vehicles if you haven't been sent here with one.

"As far as Cybertronians go, there's a decent Decepticon contingent. The Autobots are here, too, with you-know-who leading them." She grimaced. "Expect you won't like this much, but here it is: the Warlord agreed a truce with him. No fighting, and sharing of limited intel. Reason is, there's a faction of these humans that's very aware of us, and equipped well enough to make a threat of it. Group called MECH. A small number of us have vanished, and I think one of them was one the Warlord knew well. He actually called the truce his own self, so we could focus on crushing these pests before they get any more big ideas, then get on with the war. But right now, as terms of the treaty go, no violence with the enemy, no killing humans unless they're provably members of MECH, no development of new weapons. Let me tell you, as a weapons designer, I am not a big fan of that provision. Best you read up on a full copy of the treaty once you get back to base. Speaking of which."

Sparkplug paused. Breaking the news of the treaty was one thing, but this... well, there was nothing for it. "Up until about fifteen planetary cycles ago, we were based on a warship. The Nemesis. Big, gorgeous chunk of flying death. Something attacked it. Don't know what, or how. First I knew was when it plunged out of the sky and crashed upside down in a salt-ocean. Not sure how badly it's messed up, or whether it's salvageable. We can't assume it was, y'know, them, so the truce is still in effect. Right now, the whole lot of us that got clear in the sinking are based at a fall-back base nearby that's hidden under a mountain. Doing all we can to keep our location discreet, but there's a lot of us, and it wasn't built for our numbers, so it's pretty cramped right now. And... well."

Her slim fingers drummed on the tree bark, in a subtle display of agitation. "The Warlord hasn't been in touch since the sinking. No one seems to be sure if he was on-board at the time, or not, or where he's gone. I mean, the crash wasn't that bad, I got out fine, and anything I can survive, he wouldn't even notice. But he's not around right now. Commander Starscream is in charge in his absence." The way she spoke Starscream's name denoted respect for the rank, without any of the sneering some other mecha might have shown for his leadership qualities, not having yet been exposed to his less charming personality traits.

Venting a little air from her systems, Sparkplug paused to think. "Think that's the major points laid out. Any questions? Else we can either try finding you an alt, or I can trouble Ravage for a spacebridge and get you back inside as you are."

[Deleted]

Finale watched as Sparkplug transformed, and stepped forward. She hid a faint smile as her salute and bow was returned.

She was pleased she had been brought close to the base - at least those that brought her here hadn’t outright lied to her.

Moving back into the shadow of the copse of trees, she copied Sparkplug’s stance, leaning back against a tall, sturdy tree.

But then Sparkplug kept talking, and Finale found herself attempting to keep up.

Sparkplug was clearly not hesitant when it came to talking. For Finale, that was the opposite. She spoke when necessary, and not much more. Silence was important for her skills, and even when not on a contract, she generally preferred to observe and learn rather than talk.

But the sheer amount of information the other femme was throwing at her was almost staggering. Finale found herself going back and forth over the news, trying to catalogue it properly and store it where she could look it over later. Only there was no later. It needed to be addressed now.

The thought of eight billion of the little squishy bags of fluid running around on the planet made her feel ill. How did such fragile things survive long enough to get anything done? She wasn’t surprised they hadn’t moved past the nuclear technology - they probably continually sprang leaks and died.

Avoid drawing attention. Well….that was one of Finale’s skills, after all.

She wasn’t pleased she had to get a new alt-mode, however. She was rather fond of her own, but if it was Megatron’s decree, she would acquiesce.

Then, she stopped.

“A truce?”

Her voice was clipped, as if she wasn’t sure if this was a trick or not. A truce? With the Autobots?

The news continued, and was worse.

Upon hearing Megatron was, in fact, missing, she felt a strange sense of unease in her spark. How could you possibly lose the Warlord?! Someone as large, powerful and willful as the leader of the Decepticons did not simply go missing?!

Outwardly, Finale remained calm.

More information.

Commander Starscream was in control.

Finale remembered seeing the silver mech once, long ago. She had been lucky enough to have been present when Megatron and his officers had visited an area she was working in. From the back of the large room, Finale had managed to see both the silver mech and the navy one that were seldomly away from the Warlord’s side. Too far away to even hear anything that had been said, she nonetheless had studied all three of them intently, as if trying to memorize their features, the way they stood or moved.

She obviously did not know the Commander. She was far too beneath the officers to be noticed, but rumors of him abounded. He was crafty and sly. A genius, but too arrogant. And more than one thought he coveted the Warlord’s position.

Still. Megatron never rid himself of the Commander, so either those rumors were false, or else Megatron did not truly consider Starscream a threat.

None of which was really any of Finale’s concern.

“So. We have a truce with the Autobots because of a group of rampaging natives who have the ability to harm or kill us. Our leader, Megatron, has gone missing after his warship fell from the sky for unknown reasons, and now Commander Starscream is leading in his absence.”

Finale took a deep invent, then let it out.

“I regret having to take a new alt-mode. It can take so long to truly adjust, at times. However, I do not see how we would be able to acquire one here in this area. Therefore, I suggest our best course of action would be to make our way to the base. Perhaps there I would have an easier time finding a suitable earth alt mode.”

[Sparkplug]

Sparkplug was learning a few things about the brand-new arrival to the Decepticon Earth forces. The first was that she was a little taciturn, though compared to Soundwave, every other mecha was a portrait of expressiveness. The second, rather more expected fact was that she wasn't at all happy about what she was hearing. The curl of her lip when Sparkplug mentioned the sheer number of local sentients spoke volumes, and she definitely didn't care for the news of the truce.

Nor had Sparkplug, for that matter.

Oh, and Finale was pretty good at summing up, too. "Yeah, that's pretty much how it is," Sparkplug agreed. "We could have walked to a road and taken a look at what rolls past, but you'd end up with something that didn't suit you, or your frame size. Best to get someplace you can do some proper research. Hold on a nano-klik- gonna send a message to Ravage, and see if he can whip us up a spacebridge if I ask nicely."

Extending her radio antenna a little higher, she switched into broadcast mode.

::Research Officer Sparkplug calling Commander Ravage. Requesting spacebridge from attached coordinates to current base facilities, sir. I have a new arrival to get out of sight.::

Ravage was nothing if not efficient. Only a moment later, a swirling, green-white explosion of energy ripped open just beyond the trees, tiny flecks of energy spiralling out of the vortex like fading sparks. Nodding towards the horizontal tornado of dimensional energy, Sparkplug added, "Got to appreciate the service," and set off briskly into it.

As ever, Sparkplug was fascinated by the vortex, but not quite foolish enough to actually reach out and touch it. Keeping her hands carefully to herself, she jogged briskly through the veil of energy, only slowing as her peds struck smoothed-out stone on the far side. Venting a small sigh of relief to be back in familiar surroundings, she turned slowly, taking in the rough, unpolished rock walls.

They'd emerged at the mouth of a freshly hewn passageway, the corridor stretching off before them with rough doorways chiselled into the stone every few meters, fresh scars bearing witness to how recent the construction was. Lamps were suspended from the ceiling, held up by pitons driven into the rock and fed by a long, snaking power cable. From all about came the sounds of movement, amplified by the unyielding surfaces and distinct lack of doors.

"Well, this is home for a while, I guess," Sparkplug remarked to the dark femme, gesturing loosely with one hand. "If you've got any experience with mass-produced troopers, the Vehicons, there's a continent of them down here, bunking together. The rest of us have had individual rooms chiselled out, though they're darn small and you will not find much in the way of amenities down here."

Strolling down the passageway, past a few openings, she paused outside what was obviously a crude door, roughly welded together from several smaller pieces of metal. Pushing it open, blunt pins grinding in sockets drilled into the floor and ceiling, she shrugged her narrow shoulders. "This here's me. Second attempt at a door; first one got pinched. It's cruder than a tin bridge over a smelting pit, but it's something. Until you can get a berth chiselled out, you can either stop along here on the floor, or take your chances with the Vehicons."

Pulling the rough door mostly closed again, she gestured back down the corridor. "Control rooms'n all are that way. We can take a saunter, let you see what's what. Get you a copy of the treaty text, too. So what brings a sleek piece of work like you out here? General meeting up with the Warlord's personal forces, or some specific thing you've got going on?" As always, her field broadcast her genial amiability, and unlike some Decepticons, who'd be asking to see what leverage they could wrangle out of it, she simply seemed genuinely interested.

[Deleted]

Finale walked behind Sparkplug as they entered the bridge, approving the quickness of the reply. It was good to get back into the presence of her faction’s forces. The Decepticons were always trim and ran smoothly, as they should. She was tired of the haphazard and downright lazy attitudes of the people she had been forced to survive with until a short time ago.

She hid a bemused smile at Sparkplug’s attitude. It was rare in the Decepticon ranks to find someone so….chipper. If the other femme was acting to make a good impression on Finale, she was a very accomplished actor. Besides, why would a Research Officer have any reason to try and put on a good face for a newcomer who had no rank? No…Finale felt this was just Sparkplug’s way.

It would take getting used to, but wasn’t entirely….unpleasant.

When they moved through the bridge and Finale felt her feet touch a new surface, she suddenly froze.

She was surrounded by stone.

Casting out her senses, still listening to Sparkplug, her processor was able to certify what the other femme was saying. There were others in the area - she could just make out the faint chatter of common soldiers going through their routines.

Reaching out a hand, she lightly touched the wall - the stone had been hewn - it wasn’t a natural creation, as Sparkplug said.

Forcing her peds to move, to keep behind Sparkplug, she listened as the femme chatted on, trying to listen and take it all in. But there was a part of her processor that was stating a single fact over and over and over.

They were underground.

They were in a small, enclosed area.

SHE was in a small, enclosed area.

Forcing her field back, strangling it down, trying not to openly flinch when Sparkplug spoke of the tiny quarters, Finale managed to speak, her voice strained, optics wide.

“I…I seek out…Megatron to serve him. I hope to bring my skills to his command, as needed. I’ve been seeking him a long time…are we….how far underground are we?”

[Sparkplug]

If Sparkplug had flaw - and she had several - it was her tendency to get swept up in whatever she was doing. Focused on the question of where Finale could stay, she very nearly answered with flippant truth, 'Oh, right the way under a mountain' when low-level socialisation subroutines urgently interrupted the words half-way to her vocoder and flagged the sudden hesitancy in Finale's speech that didn't match her previously calm, measured demeanour.

Sparkplug turned, and barely contained a visible wince. Something was very wrong with the other femme, and it didn't take a genius to work out what it was. Her field was compressed back to the point it was indiscernible even a few steps away, the look on her faceplate carried a barely controlled panic, and her words betrayed the exact source of her sudden distress.

"Uh. Not that far at all, actually!" Sparkplug replied brightly, nodding as if that would help cement her somewhat unconvincing response. "You know what? I think we should head over to the main chamber. More room for us to talk."

Stepping past Finale, trying not to crowd her as she did so, Sparkplug set off at a brisk pace towards the centre of the base. As they passed into the more established corridors, tiny lights embedded in the rock took over the burden of illumination, and the walls and floor grew smoother. Purposeful angles to the walls exposed banding in the stone, giving variation to the solid surface. A low, mechanical hum thrummed though the rock somewhere below their feet.

As they walked, Sparkplug kept talking, hoping to keep Finale's mind off the megatonnes of rock over their heads. "Been seeking the Warlord for a while, I bet, he's pretty elusive. Not that surprising, he's got a lot to do. I haven't met him yet myself, I was only on the warship for some ten planetary rotations before it hit the water. You'll probably run into him before I do. Not that I mind that; he's pretty intimidating and all. Most intimidating mech there is, and he's up against some pretty serious competition with Shockwave about."

Thankfully, it was only a few moments before the walls pulled back on either side as they emerged into a larger space; the ceiling was more than tall enough for the largest amongst the Decepticon contingent, and a breath of fresher air kept the cavern cool. Monitors were set up here and there, some on established frameworks properly mounted to the walls, some on temporary stands. Vehicons moved here and there, carrying out their own arcane business, though at least some of them were certainly monitoring the environment outside the base.

Unobtrusively positioning herself where Finale could definitely see the monitor carrying live feeds of the wide plains and hillsides outside, Sparkplug gestured to a narrower corridor and said in her best casual tone, "The exit's out that way. Not all that far, really, we're as near to the outside here as anywhere in the whole place."

Stepping over to an adjacent screen, she addressed the vehicon standing there with a polite, "'scuse me. Would you mind if I used this machine for a couple nano-kliks?" The near-faceless mech gave her a look that somehow still translated to blank bewilderment at her tone, but nonetheless stepped aside wordlessly. Stepping up to the control board and nodding, she added mildly, "Thanks."

Her fingers rattled across the keys, calling up a local copy of the treaty text, then she stepped back and gestured towards Finale. "There. That's the truce agreement. Probably best to take a look, or download a copy for going over later." The list of clauses and sub-paragraphs were as good as a sedative to most mecha; it was certainly worth a try on the anxious femme.

[Deleted]

Finale felt as if her entire body had been doused in icy water. Even her interior circuits and mesh felt cold. It seemed so dark in the tunnels, and even though Finale normally enjoyed the darkness and did her best work there, the walls of the tunnel seemed to be closing in, almost pulsing as they moved in on her.

The femme grabbed onto the words of the other in the tunnel with her, like a drowning human would grab an offered rope. Sparkplug was telling her they weren’t all that far underground, and suggested they move to the main chamber.

Yes. Moving was good.

As her peds quietly clicked on the stone floor as she followed Sparkplug, Finale quickly noticed it was getting lighter there, the stone walls moving outwards, away from her, to broaden the area they were in. The ceiling seemed to flow upwards, higher above. Even with more people now in the immediate area, there seemed like there was more room to actually move about. No one seemed to be bumping into anyone else, so there was obviously ample room to move.

A faint breeze drifted across her faceplate, and although Finale didn’t need to breath like the organic creatures on this planet, the sheer fact there was enough room for airflow lessened Finale’s sense of impending doom, halted the feeling the ceiling was about to come crashing down atop her and pin her in place, unable to move, to shift. If there was a breeze…there was an opening. A way out. An escape, should she need one.

The tight fist on her main pump lessened it’s clench.

Her attention focused on Sparkplug, she listened as the other femme spoke the same things that moved through her processor, giving her that much more reason to relax a little.

“Yes,” she agreed, her voice almost normal again, “The Warlord is a force to be reckoned with. Only a fool would consider opposing him. It’s not surprising at all he has drawn such individuals to his cause.”

She paused.

“I am pleased Shockwave is here as well. Although I am in no way equal to any of them in status, I have followed his work as much as possible. He has done great things for the cause.”

Finale watched, bemused, as Sparkplug asked the Vehicon if she could borrow the monitor, and the equally confused Vehicon. It seemed the femme saw the foot soldiers as deserving an equal status.

Finale herself had rarely worked with or around the lowest ranking Decepticons, but she had no real feelings either way. She saw no need to go out of her way to treat them as an equal, but she saw no reason to go out of her way to belittle them either. She would see how they behaved towards her. Loyalty and intelligence should be rewarded with courtesy and consideration. If they showed themselves to be above the basic forms of life, she would treat them as such.

Once Sparkplug brought up the treaty on the screen, Finale stepped forward, her optics moving over the text swiftly.

There was far too much to read now, but she gleaned the basic parts right away. It had, in fact, been instigated by Megatron himself, and it was quite clear what would befall any Decepticon who broke the treaty without an extremely powerful justification.

Finale nodded, stepping back slightly, folding her arms behind her back, “Thank you. I will study it in more detail at a later date, if I am allowed to have a copy on my datapad?”

She tilted her head slightly, “You spoke of the flagship. The Nemesis, crashing? You have no leads as to the cause? It is odd for a fully functioning ship to just fall in that manner. Were any Decepticons lost in the crash? Are we at full strength here, with the exception of the Warlord?”

[Sparkplug]

Little by little, Sparkplug registered Finale relaxing, the stiff, brittle rigidity leaking out of her frame. Thank Primus's fat-fingered thumbs for that. While she had no idea what lay behind the dark, sleek femme's terror of being entombed, it was probably the result of something nasty happening during the war. Most Decepticons - most fighters - had picked up their own, uh, quirks during the endless war. The question was how they'd work around it.

Obviously Finale couldn't be stationed in the narrow stone cells deeper in, but there wasn't really anywhere in the base that Sparkplug knew of that'd be much better. Maybe keeping her busy in the main chambers, then sending her out on patrol each day and letting her nap on her wheels somewhere? It wasn't very secure, but given the alternative... well, anyway. As much as Sparkplug wanted to help, no doubt Finale herself knew her condition well, and would find ways to minimise it. All she, Sparkplug, could do was help back her up wherever she could without mentioning why.

Then Finale asked about exactly why the Nemesis had crashed, and Sparkplug's own frame stiffened, the wheels recessed into her back twitching slightly.

"Ah - sure, step right up. Console open for business. Stick in the pad and pull a copy, definitely. It's important to the bosses that we all know what the deal is, here." It was a delaying tactic, and a fairly obvious one, but she answered the femme's other question first, stepping back slightly.

The thing was, some of the things the vehicons were saying were impossible. Because the mech that they were accusing... well, it just couldn't be. He'd helped her out. He'd shown her the treaty, just as she was showing Finale now, and they'd gone out to repair the barrage cannon together, and... and it just couldn't be.

On the other hand, Finale had asked, and she was going to hear it from the Vehicons soon enough, so...

With fairly obvious reluctance, Sparkplug said slowly, "There's a lot of rumours flying around. About why the Nemesis crashed, I mean. I was holed up in my lab, working on getting the last of the equipment installed - the timing sucked on that, by the way - but they've talked about there being loads of contradictory orders, and calls for reinforcements, coming over the speakers right before we went down. No one knew which way to go."

Stalling, stalling... "Some of them are saying it was a mechanical failure. Which doesn't seem right. A mechanical failure that crashes the ship, right in the middle of that? Doesn't add up. Some of them are saying some kind of invisible Autobot must have done it, because no matter where they ran around, they didn't see any actual enemies. But... some of them..."

Her voice trailed off again, and her bright green optics flicked around, checking for the presence of any of the higher-ranked Decepticons. Awkwardly, each word fighting its way out of her vocoder and through her lips, she went on, "They're saying some of the mechs onboard... started malfunctioning." Went crazy. "And... they say that... it was Soundwave. Soundwave glitched, and turned on the ship, and crashed it on purpose."

She immediately held up both hands palm outwards, distancing herself from the words. "I think that's nonsense. I mean, he'd never. I think it's just because there's some sort of... quarantine, set up in the neutral base - there's a DMZ, it's referenced in the treaty - and he's been over there for a while." Discomfort with the topic radiated from her in waves.

[Deleted]

With each moment that passed, Finale felt better. Clearer. More able to concentrate.

While she understood her limitations, she also understood her lapse in control came from the fact she hadn’t been expecting to suddenly be underground. Had she seen the entrance, had she been able to ready herself, the black femme would have been ok with it, been able to keep down the sense of doom.

She was, however, annoyed with herself that she had been caught unawares. Weakness, softness...such things were not allowed within the Decepticon ranks, and were certainly not allowed within her. Once Finale was given or had found some quiet, out of the way place to settle in, she would undertake her rigorous training, to punish her momentary lapse in control. Finale gave no quarter to herself when it came to loss of control or weakness.

But it still irked that the other femme had picked up on it.

As Sparkplug spoke, however, Finale noticed that the question she asked the other femme brought her discomfort. It was interesting, and curious. Why would Sparkplug show unease when she asked about the crashing of the Nemesis?

Studying her motions, her actions, the words she chose and how she chose to speak them, Finale rounded it down to either a) Sparkplug was extremely loyal to Soundwave, or b) she was somehow involved in the crash.

The second made no sense. Perhaps it was the former?

Finale stepped forward to the monitor, and with a nod of thanks, removed a datapad from a shoulder space, and pulling out a thin wire, plugged it into a space beneath the monitor. A download bar appeared on the bottom portion of the screen.

Oddly for Finale, she felt that she somehow owed Sparkplug something. The other femme had obviously noticed her moment of weakness and instead of chastising her for it, attempted to put her at ease. Such a thing was rare in the ranks. Now that Sparkplug was showing a sense of unease of her own, Finale felt it was only fair to be honest.
Waiting for it to download, Finale spoke, keeping her eyes on the screen.

“I have heard of the Spymaster. His loyalty to the cause and to Megatron in particular is beyond question. If he were, as you say, ill or malfunctioning, and caused the crash, he is not at fault in any manner. If he brought down the Nemesis intentionally, I am sure he has a reason. One that we lower ranking soldiers could not understand at the time, nor are we deserving an answer or explanation just yet. I am certain all will be explained in due time.”

The treaty downloaded, Finale tucked away the datapad to be read later. She turned again, looking back to Sparkplug.

“I appreciate you taking the time to show me about the base, and answering my questions. Please, let’s continue.”

[Sparkplug]

That... made perfect sense. Finale's logic was inescapable; given the postulate that Soundwave was unshakeably loyal to Megatron, which no mech would argue against - regardless of what had happened - it wasn't a betrayal. Couldn't be. Either he'd malfunctioned, in which case he would be repaired, or there was some deep, secretive reason that the ship had to be plunged into the sea. Maybe there was some kind of corrosive agent that had to be flushed off the hull, or scraplets, or... well, something.

The notion that perhaps he couldn't be fixed didn't occur to her at all.

"...you're right. I'm sure it'll be alright," she concluded, nodding firmly. She wasn't blind to the fact that the dark femme was reassuring her, indirectly, and Sparkplug's answering smile lit up her faceplate. "Tell you what, let's go and get you some energon. Goodness knows it's been a long cycle for you, what with turning up on a whole new planetary body and all."

Brushing a little grit out of the tread of one of her tyres where it pierced her thigh, she beckoned Finale and strolled off towards a secondary cave, separated from the main operations space by a short tunnel with a distinct right angle in it. As she walked, she remarked conversationally, "We did lose some of the vehicons when the ship went down. Helped one of them get out after he got his foot squashed. There's still a few down in the ship, as far as I know, and escape pods flew all over the place, so it's been hard to get an accurate head count. Some of the more senior mecha-" the ones with custom body frames, in other words, "-haven't been seen since the downing, but that doesn't necessarily prove anything. Probably won't know for sure until we salvage the Nemesis, and start clearing up the damage."

Emerging from the access corridor, she stepped into the open, pausing to glance around. There were a few tables within the half-finished space, bolted directly to the rocky floor, heavily populated by vehicons. All the same, after exchanging a few glances, the mass-produced troopers at one table got up quickly and moved away, leaving it vacant for the two more important femmes. Seeming not to notice, Sparkplug ambled over to a hastily installed dispenser and drew a couple of rations of Energon, handing one to Finale as she sat down.

"Here, have some of that. We will salvage the ship," Sparkplug went on. "Just plain too much technology, too much resources and weaponry to give up that easily, and neither side builds them like that anymore. What I reckon we need to do is this; build a few seriously powerful air compressors - ship's still got plenty of power in the systems, going unused - bridge them onboard, run some wide-gauge air hoses to the surface and start pumping. Force all the sea water out by air pressure. It'll be super obvious where the leaks are since that's where the air'll be bubbling out, so we can seal the hull breeches as we go til the ship's dry enough. After that, first thing is to guarantee reactor integrity, then reboot the emergency flight controls and get the antigravity nodes back online. Don't need anything else to work; if we can float that giant tin son of a glitch out of the sea, even upside down, we can settle it on land, start clearing the main engine nozzles-"

She broke off, grinning wryly. "Yeah, okay. I get kind of excited when I have a problem this big to solve. What I mean is: pleasure to meet you. Where'd you come from, before you rocked up here?"

[Deleted]

Finale followed Sparkplug as she moved into a larger area. It seemed to resemble a sort of general gathering area, with tables and chairs, and an energon dispenser. Listening to Sparkplug speak as they moved, Finale began to realize just how much the Decepticons had lost with the downing of their ship.

It had been their primary base – these planet based ones were secondary. That meant, as she said, the majority of their technology, resources, and maybe even weapons, were at the bottom of whatever body of water it had fallen into.

Finale took the offered ration of energon with a nod of thanks, and seated herself opposite the gregarious femme, taking a drink. She chose to sit with her back as close to a wall as possible, so the majority of the room was before her. Finale let the energon slide down into her tank. While it hadn’t been all that long ago she had fuelled, it felt good to feel herself top up.

Wrapping slender fingers around the container of energon, Finale continued to listen as Sparkplug outlined her ideas for refloating the Nemesis. Occasionally her purple optics would move about the room, taking in what was going on – particularly when someone new entered – but for the most part she gave her full attention to Sparkplug.
After a few moments, when the other femme had ceased speaking, Finale spoke.

“I have little knowledge of such things – it is good we have mecha with strong minds such as yours, to tackle these situations. However, I am not sure if such an undertaking will be easy. Not for the reasons you spoke of, but for the fact we are, I believe, supposed to keep our existence a secret from the top species of this planet. Attempting to raise such a large vessel without causing notice will be extremely difficult, I believe. Great secrecy will have to be ensured.”

Another drink, then she spoke again, a faint smile touching her features, “There is no need to apologise for eagerness to solve a problem.

As for myself....I was previously on a mechanized planet called Darka 12. You may have heard of it – as far as technology is concerned, they are not far behind Cybertron. Or at least pre-War Cybertron. As a species they prefer to remain neutral, although their leader is easily swayed by flattery and bribes. As a result, they are willing to overlook our people’s factions. I personally earned my keep there for a while by bringing some...specialized skills...to the leading party’s table. I remained there while I searched for any signs of where Megatron had ended up in the hopes of joining him and offering those same skills.”

Another drink. Finale studied the container, slowly turning it around as she spoke.

“I enjoyed working for any Decepticon commander I was assigned to, but over time I have felt....well...as if I weren’t doing enough. Merely bouncing from target to target, with no real results being earned. It was a short few days ago I finally heard, through some Decepticon briefing, that Megatron had, in fact, ended up here, and so I purchased travel here.”

She looked up at Sparkplug again, “I have to admit, for such a backwards, unpleasant little planet, I am pleased to see how well equipped we are..or at least seemed to be before the sinking. I have a good feeling about this.”

Another sip.

“And you, Sparkplug? What brought you to Earth, if I may ask?”

[Sparkplug]

Sparkplug relaxed into her chair, cradling her half-drank container of energon in her left hand and periodically taking small sips of it as the other femme talked. The initial impression of Finale as somewhat taciturn was dispelling, the crisp lack of conversational niceties seemly an operational approach rather than flowing from her personality. Her brow ridges rose as Finale described the planet she'd been on, evident fascination flowing into her field and reflected on her mobile, expressive faceplate.

Raising an index finger, she agreed, "Good point about the salvaging. Still, it's not like we need to breathe. Reckon we could make a wooden frame that'd look close enough to one of the native boats from satellites - you'd need a floating platform to keep the mouths of the air hoses out of the sea anyway, so shaping it right wouldn't be too much work on top. Almost all the work would be under the sea, right up until you get the thing re-orientated and floated it out of the sea, and by then there's no hiding it anyway. I've been putting together some plans for the salvaging; might take them to Commander Starscream tomorrow, if they're done. Or - well, Lord Starscream, now."

Dismissing the subject of the salvage with a flip of her fingers, she went on excitedly, "Anyway, you've got to tell me more about Darka 12! I've never even heard of the place! A whole other mechanoid species with technology on a par with ours? I mean, that's wonderful! I'd love to have a poke around their technology and see what quirks they've developed; even if the tech is comparable, there'll be places where they've found different solutions to problems. Not that I blame them for wanting to steer clear of the war. Just as well for us that their boss is a scumbag."

Taking another gulp of energon, resting the lower of her double elbows on the table, she went on, "What's their morphology like? Bipeds, quads, other? Racially homogenous, or specialised, like us? I mean, anyone trying to describe Cybertronian anatomy is going to get lost pretty quick in all the variants." She looked thoughtful for a moment, then added as an aside, "Used to build chassis, actually. Long time back, that was. I build weapons now. That was where I was before I rocked up on Earth."

Grinning at Finale, Sparkplug went on, "I'll get back to that. I can rattle on chatting about myself and my work for the whole planetary cycle, as I'm pretty sure you'd believe. But first - so you were doing single-target work?" Her bright green gaze traced Finale's frame, not without a certain appreciation for her sleek lines. "From the look of you, the dark paint is functional. Agility based, on your build and armour class. Single-target usually means sniper or assassin, but snipers don't usually need that kind of camo. They're more about finding eyries, and blending into the ground - that'd be more broken up shades of grey, charcoal and the like. You look like a close-up design, to me. Short-range blaster?" Eyeing Finale's arms with a professional optic, she added dubiously, "Could be, but I'm guessing melee-range. Real silent stuff. ECM jammer under the hood there? Am I close?"

She leaned forward as she spoke, smiling, her field coloured by playfulness. Plainly she considered the deduction of Finale's parameters a kind of game, and hadn't ever asked herself whether it might actually offend the other.

[Deleted]

Finale’s optics continued to scan the area, although Sparkplug would likely have noticed by now it wasn’t the act of someone wanting to speak to someone else, but rather just something she did. A quick scan, drink, talk, and another scan. She seemed intent on making sure she was aware of who and what was entering her area at all times.

Discovering nothing was new, she settled back for a short while, taking another sip, and speaking again.

“There are actually several races of mechanized species as we are. Some aren’t that far from Cybertron itself, while others are extremely distant. I suppose when you consider the vast number of species that occupy the universe, it shouldn’t be surprising that some would take on the superior form of metals over soft, weak flesh.

Mmmn. The inhabitants of Darka 12. How would I describe them? Very similar to us in form, meaning bipedal, and having a wide range of sizes as well, from quite large to extremely small. Their energy is gained through a sort of soil that they incorportate into their diets, as well as gaining energy from the light from their three suns. The arrangement of the suns around their planet - one gas giant and two blue dwarves - make a fascinating mixture of light that they have evolved to be able to use as a fuel source. The main problem with this, of course, is that they need all three of their suns to create the fuel needed, so the entire species is generally stuck on their home world unless they can find another planet with the exact same solar arrangement.

As far as I know, they have only found one other.”

She took a sip.

“Seeing their fuel comes from their suns and isn’t a more sturdy and powerful source such as we use, they aren’t a highly mobile, strong species. I can’t even imagine what a war among their kind would look like. Their society is almost entirely political - your entire value and worth depends on where you stand in the political standing. I can’t begin to tell you how boring it can be, having to listen in on one of their 27 hour council forums. Their higher ranking classes can debate the virtues of one color over another for days.”

Finale shifted slightly, switching her glass from one hand to another, taking another drink.

“Generally, because of this, they tend to hire others to do their more strenuous work, such as anything that really requires movement. And, because of the way their social systems are arranged according to politics, the only way to rise above your class is to…remove obstacles.”

Finale lifted a single shoulder in a half shrug, “Not all that different from our own ways, I suppose. It’s just that your worth, therefore, depends on how good your personal…eraser…is.”

She leaned back, swirling the energon a little, watching as the liquid spun and sloshed faintly in the container. She chose her words carefully. She had learned over time bluntly stating she was, herself, an assassin, tended to make some people apprehensive about speaking with her. It was the knowledge that she could be sent after one of their own that unnerved them. Assassins were generally sent after the broader enemy, but…not always. Sometimes an overeager officer would send an assassin after a superior in the hopes of climbing the ladder. Likewise, the knowledge that her compatriots were sometimes hired just to off someone that had pissed off someone else put the damper on things. In many cases, assassins were simply accepted as part of the Decepticon war machine, but they didn’t like it.

“Some of my work is melee range, yes. Some is more ranged, although I do prefer closer combat. My main weapons are swords. I’m not overly fond of guns…there isn’t a lot of …. grace or style involved with them. Any fool can point and pull a trigger.

Don’t misunderstand me. We have some amazing skills among our ranks, mecha who can shoot the badge off an Autobot from a distance. But in general, I feel there isn’t enough emphasis on truly mastering your weapon when it comes to projectile weapons.

My fighting style is self-taught. I was trained by a skilled warrior, and over time I have learned new skills, taught myself new tricks.

But my best work comes when my target is unaware I am there. And when I do my best work, they never know, until it is far too late.”