Ep. 1 - A Rook and a Hard Place - Closed

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Rook put in a call to master Big John, putting in just enough of a vexed note to his tone when he got someone terribly bored-looking picking up on the other end and keeping it up until the voice on the other side began to sound just as mildly irritated; he wanted them to hurry, but he didn't want them so harassed that they'd start looking around and asking questions. The Aero may now be in the complex's records, but if these guys were sticker-based he'd only squeeze by their notice if they already knew their 'victim' and were focused on stopping the guy harassing them over the phone.

He was glad to give the poor beleaguered mech something to be thrilled about, even though he suspected things may get hairy at any point between the tow and the 'bridge; as the humans said, no battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy. He expected there would be a third tail, somewhere. He also suspected the Land Rover would call for extra backup if the cops gave them half a chance.

"Just remember, if they're behind you, that's fine. Unless they move, we don't move until we get to the yard. If they're not behind you... we get to the yard anyways and take off from there. I'll find the camera, you crack a door open on the opposite side, and have your "owner" drive you off. We're not after denial, just doubt."

Just enough doubt, and that was provided they didn't have to get into a fight.

If the truck was coming to the complex from the yard, the drive would average ten minutes, give or take. At the six-minute mark, Rook put in a call to the local police service; there were many things he wasn't good at, but 'being' someone else, particularly just as a voice on a comm. line, he could do, and there were a hundred local cellphone signals he could pretend to be. He didn't need to do panicked - he was just a nice, average guy, trying to pretend he was only slightly nervous about the going-ons with that Land Rover, while in reality he was pretty damn nervous about them. Police folk are usually keyed to pick up on that kind of cue, and the dispatcher he got was no exception.

It was just the icing on the cake that such kind of high-risk call usually required the good officers to show up with a backup cruiser. Rook could only count on so much good luck as three police cars to block the back lot entirely, possibly pinning anyone back there that might be unhealthy to their privacy, not just the Land Rover. Inwardly he was glad this was a daylight operation - any kind of peace officer tended to get nervy with darkness.

Here goes nothing, he thought to himself...

[Deleted]

It didn't take long for the next stage of Rook's plan to get underway.

The tow truck arrived not long after his call to the police. It could be heard long before it drove down the ramp and into the garage - its diesel engine rumbled noisily, its winch and chains clanged. It was a beat-up looking green and white Ford F350, with a heavy-duty winch seated in its modified rear body.

"Oh my," said the Civic faintly as the tow truck deftly manoeuvred through the garage and backed up in front of it. "That, my friend, is your basic Vulcan 810 Intruder, the hydraulic winch designed to fill the needs of both private impounders and professional repossessors everywhere. I suspect it's about to live up to the name 'Intruder' in about two minutes."

Sure enough, the truck's doors opened a moment later. Two men in dirty blue uniforms got out and wandered back to inspect the Civic.

"Yeah, this is it," said the driver. "The plate matches."

"Look, I'm still gonna say Kirstie Alley, okay," said the other man as he reached back into the cab through the open window. The hydraulic winch fired into life with a whine. "I don't care what she's doing now. She was funnier, she was a stronger lead across from Danson. She put an entire lit cigarette in her mouth."

"Are you mad? Shelly Long not only held her own as a strong supporting actress, but also paved the way for the introduction of Kelsey Grammer's character. She was irreplaceable."

There was a yelp over the comm line as the tow boom was locked into place behind the Civic's tires and the chains securely fastened to its undercarriage.

"Yep!" it said in a pained voice. "Saw that one coming. Ow! Boy, they don't warm up those chains first before they slap them on you, do they."

Meanwhile, the two men were already climbing back into the truck.

"Look, we're obviously gonna have to agree to disagree about this," said the driver as he put the truck into gear. "Let's drop this car back off at the yard and continue this discussion over lunch. What do you think, Mexican?"

"Thai?"

"Too spicy. Pizza?"

"Thick or thin?"

"Chicago."

The tow truck pulled forward slowly, hauling the Civic with it. "Oh, this is so weird," chuckled the Civic as it was towed past Rook and up the ramp.

Outside, the parking lot was dazzlingly bright after the gloom of the underground garage. The tow truck carefully circled around the police cruiser that was pulling into the lot. The tow driver waved to the officers inside it and turned his vehicle onto the street, where another police cruiser was already lying in wait.

"Adios, amigos," said the Civic as the tow truck began to accelerate away. It flashed its brake lights jeeringly at the driver of the Land Rover, a woman in dark sunglasses who was trying to hide her look of fury as a police officer rapped on her window. "Good luck with your legal troubles. Suckers. Hey, Rook, are you still back there...?"

[Deleted]

Not surprisingly, as soon as things started happening 'Lancer' seemed to find a need to chatter on. Rook had no idea why the quality and kind of the towing equipment would matter to the mech, but he listened nonetheless; you never knew when such idle information would come in handy.

The men gave no sign of wanting to push the issue. They wanted to do their job with a minimum of effort, more focused on lunch and what sounded like an argument grounded on long-time friendship, and the Aero was quite alright with that. He felt a pang for the Civic's discomfort, but in all honesty he'd expected worse, and felt a wash of well-hidden internal relief at how smoothly things had gone with the first part of the plan. "Pretty sure they don't have comfort in mind when they do their job, unfortunately."

The truck rumbled out of the parking lot. Catty-corner, Rook caught the flicker of 'Lancer"s lights, and felt a flash of amusement. For his part, he nosed up the ramp, but not quite so far that he'd be seen by the humans out there; he didn't need to see them, he only needed to see their vehicles - or rather, the police cruiser doing its temporary job as a blockade.

"Hey, Rook, are you still back there...?"

"Not quite." Though he couldn't tell, Rook's voice had gone slightly cooler; as his focus narrowed, eschewing the one lost tail in order to locate and deal with any others, he was falling out of his 'friendly' facade into his more business-like one. He wasn't looking to x-out anyone; the Prime had been more than abundantly clear that the natives were precious cargo. But he was looking to get 'Lancer' home, at any cost. "Got to make sure there's room between you and me for your other tails, Red. Relax, try and get some rest. If and when something does go down, you'll be the second to know anyways."

The Aero waited for just a couple of seconds, switching his music to something Finnish and heavy on percussion, then hastily dropping the volume as he drove out of the parking lot and "saw" the police officers; the tow truck was at the entrance to the complex proper. He drove on, the very model of proper and respectful driving, the cops the perfect excuse to check his speed and let a physical gap build between him and his 'package' without letting him out of sight.

And because he knew there was every chance that a certain senior officer would start demanding a report any moment now, he re-opened his line to the base. "Ratchet, sir. Found 'Lancer'. Human hostiles on site. We're inching out of the town limits, will update you as soon as it's safe." He didn't want to add the next few words, but most officers get slightly less shout-y if you give them a heads-up. "Might get hairy, trying to move things around so collateral is minimum." With that, he went silent again.

The MECHs had found 'Lancer' somehow. He wouldn't put it past them to be eavesdropping in some fashion.

[Deleted]

Sure enough, his call back to base received an immediate response.

"Check remarks," said Ratchet tersely. "We've got you here. Ground bridge is on stand-by, awaiting your signal. You're in charge now. Just let us know what you want us to do. Good job, and good luck."

Ahead of him, the tow truck rumbled down the street. It drove at a content pace, unhurried and unaware of the situation unfolding behind it. The man in the passenger seat had his window down and his arm on the sill. He surfed his hand in the warm breeze.

The Civic bumped along behind it. Lancer had given no response to Rook's last communication aside from an acknowledging click of his transmission switch. Evidently he too understood the need for discretion when speaking over the radio now that they were out of the garage. Or else he had taken the Aero's advice to heart, and was taking advantage of his time on the winch to catch a little rest.

Down they drove through the neighbourhood. It was a sunny place, full of pleasant houses and trees and neatly tended rock gardens. Sprinklers swished over green lawns. Mowers droned. Wet cars stood in driveways, dripping soap as their owners took advantage of the hot day to wash off the desert dust. It was a perfect scene of ordinary Boulder city life.

But a glimpse in Rook's rear view mirror would reveal the black sedan trailing him at a distance. And every time the tow truck stopped at an intersection, were he to look left and right, he might spot two more vehicles driving parallel to it, one street over to either side.

Sure enough, the tow truck was caught in the middle of a floating box.

Oblivious to the danger, the driver made a casual turn back into the busy downtown area. There, the truck began to accelerate down the street, following it northwest towards the outside city limits. In roughly ten minutes it would arrive at the tow yard.

The black sedan kept pace behind Rook. Nothing could be seen through its tinted windows.

[Deleted]

What Rook wanted was to call in two or three 'Bots and have this business dealt with head-first. With a brother's life on the line the humans had, begging the Prime's pardon, no leg to stand on to ask for the courtesy of not being shot. They'd become enemies, pure and simple. He would have liked to treat them as such.

The sensible part of him understood that, barring the troublemakers on the three cars, most humans around (and there were so many of them) didn't have anything to do with the Bots or the war, no matter what front of it you chose to look at. In a way getting out of suburbia was a relief; it once again removed a large number of innocent bystanders from the direct line of fire. As he turned with the truck, Rook was trying to decide which would do them all better: deal with the tail within the city, or out on the yard.

He didn't know enough about these MECHs, and that was the problem. He didn't know how quickly they could call in replacements, even if he did take all three of them out of the running. They had to know, or at least suspect, about him. They would have no problem finding the tow yard. They certainly wanted 'Lancer' badly enough to dedicate generous resources to his containment and likely capture.

If he'd had unlimited resources? He would have put backups on the backups, and set up a welcoming committee as soon as he knew where the tow truck was headed. And in the end, if there were more enemies waiting for them at the yard he'd rather deal with them, alone. Not with them and their buddies keeping pace with Mister Thai and Mister Pizza.

The Aero swerved out from behind the tow truck, taking a sedate left and driving past the side tail. He had to go on the belief that they knew who, or what he was - but he also had to go on the belief that they would focus on their quarry. Chase two petrorabbits and you'll lose them both. What he needed was to stop them without actually make it seem like there was much urgency to calling in backup...

Of course, if they had eyes in the sky, the point was moot, but beyond his passive scans he really didn't dare do much. He'd find out soon enough.

He went a block further and turned right, accelerating sharply to catch up to the left-most tail and then speeding past it, although one street down from it. The Aero paused at the next intersection, watching not for the MECH tail, but for the car in front of it. The MECHs were ace drivers, so 'Lancer' had said. But there's no amount of clever driving that can save you when the guy in front of you is the one making mistakes. He also had to make sure there was contact, or the MECHs might simply wriggle onto another lane and catch up - which meant he might get a little scraped up, but that couldn't be helped.

He saw the black vehicle coming up behind a red-and-black car that looked like it had a scowl on its front - a Charger, engine purring quietly to itself. Expensive. Made for speed. Good. Behind the MECH was a silver four-door of some sort, but Rook knew to expect to fully sandwich the enemy was a bit too much to ask of his luck.

The Charger rumbled forward like an eager runner, its driver wanting something out of the engine at his fingertips; Rook waited until its driver was fully committed and lunged ahead, veering just slightly to one side and bracing himself in case he had to drive past a love-tap, tires leaving noisy black welts on the road. He listened for the screech of brakes and the possible sound of a fender-bender, because if things didn't work as he needed them to, he was going to have to find a much more direct way to deal with the enemy he'd just stirred up. He didn't slow down, though; he sped up instead, meaning to catch up to his 'package' before something unappealing happened to poor 'Lancer'.

Besides, if things did go as he needed them to, he had another tail to dispose of, and exceedingly limited time to do so.

[Deleted]

Things got noisy.

Tires screeched behind him. A moment later there came the telltale squeal and crunch of metal hitting metal, and then the long, plaintive wail of a car horn. The Charger, startled by his sudden manoeuvre, had slammed to a halt before it could strike him - and not even a flash of its brake lights had stopped the black tail car from ramming squarely into its bumper.

Jack-knifed together, both cars skidded gently through the intersection before swerving to a halt. The other vehicles waiting on the street quickly veered around the accident, or pulled over onto the curve. The pavement was littered in broken glass.

Were Rook to look in his rear view mirror, he would see the driver of the Charger kick out of his car and storm back to the black tail. He banged on the side window, and an argument broke out as both drivers began to scream in each other's faces, while pedestrians on the sidewalk helpfully whipped out their cell phones and snapped pictures of the chaos. Somewhere in the distance a police siren was already wailing.

Over Rook's comm line, Lancer was laughing.

"Did you do something just now?" he said. "Because I heard one hell of a bang back there. And a cop car just went screaming past. The tail behind me has backed off by maybe two hundred feet - whatever you did made him nervous. I'm on the Main Street now, about half a mile back from the city limits. Estimating the tow yard in eight minutes."

[Deleted]

No love-tap from the Charger, for starters. Then the sounds of a thankfully minor crash and, as Rook accelerated away, the sight of the Charger's driver uninjured enough to go pick a fight with the tail. They would not be going anywhere, and he wouldn't have to put up with too long of a lecture about endangering the local wildlife. There was going to be a lecture, he knew; the only factor he could control about it was the length.

He allowed himself a brief chuckle over comm at Lancer's mirth. The guy was entitled to a little payback on the MECHs, if only by proxy. "Trade secret." Rook swerved into a right turn and surged forward, once again trying to put a couple of blocks of distance between him and the last position he knew for the right-hand tail.

Lancer's direct tail falling back was an unexpected boon; it gave him a few extra moments to deal with it. It was too much to hope that if he dealt with the flankers the center would decide to give up the job. He was hoping the other side tail wasn't quite so quick to fall back, though - he needed them in place.

The cops were not a surprise, though it would complicate things if they didn't detour towards the fender-bender. Rook had come at a point, however, where he could abandon finesse; he didn't have to take the second flank down directly - he just had to make sure they couldn't go anywhere for a little while.

To that purpose he turned again, this time to the right, and idled at the crossing, waiting for his black nondescript target to be past the point of no return. He didn't need them close this time, just within the same block and past the easy escape of the last cross-junction. Middle of the block would have been perfect, as would have been a heavy vehicle on a good position.

He didn't get the heavy, though there was a garbage truck coming up on the secondary lane that would have done the job beautifully... but they were a little too close to the MECHs' position, and that might give them a chance to slip by. Instead he had to settle for a large, dusty pickup loaded up with two-by-fours much too long for its bed, and a white van proudly belonging to something called Rakeman Plumbing. Rook needed something unwieldy, and while the garbage truck would have been terribly apropos, it didn't get more unwieldy than those two-by-fours.

This time, when Rook surged forward in front of the pickup and van, traffic was already moving. There would have been no room to slide the leaf of a tree between him and the car in front of the truck, a little four-door number in a dark green. He didn't cross the street, either; he turned into traffic instead and accelerated forward for the next cross-junction.

His hope was to make the pickup swerve sideways as sharply as possible to miss the sudden gray menace coming at it from the side. Sideways meant into the van. Sideways meant the possibility of those two-by-fours going all over the road. Sideways on two fairly solid vehicles also meant no one was going to be hurt. Hopefully. Well, except for him if either of the heavies tagged him, but that'd be just a bump-and-dent. Hopefully.

Sideways meant both lanes would be blocked well ahead of the MECHs, and traffic flow would bottleneck them from behind neatly. Sideways and if everything went according to plan also meant another fender bender, and likely that he shouldn't be showing his hi-profile aft in Boulder City for a good long while. Not to mention his lecture had probably just doubled in size. In any case, should things not go as planned, which was still half the odds, he had to be ahead to try and come up with something else.

[Deleted]

The driver of the pickup truck was apparently enjoying the pleasant day a little too much - with his arm out the window and his radio blaring, he did not see the bumper of the grey car bearing down upon him until the last minute.

Shocked, he grabbed the wheel. Brakes squealed as he tried to swerve and screech to a halt at the same time. The truck rocked hard on its wheels as it swayed, its tires searing black trails onto the asphalt behind it. Back in its dusty bed the stack of two-by-fours skidded with the inertia and strained against their bungee cords, which held for an instant before one of them snapped.

Things got messy.

The two-by-fours spilt out of the truck bed and onto the road, bouncing and clattering. They struck the white van, which immediately veered out of the way and into the curb. There was a loud crunch as the red Corolla behind it braked straight into its rear bumper. Two-by-fours tumbled across the road, forcing the rest of the traffic to go zooming in all directions in a desperate attempt to avoid them.

Caught by surprise, the black tail car could do nothing more than skid to a halt. Smoke and dust whirled over the scene as it sat there idling. Through the tinted windows the two men in the car could be barely be seen, until the driver rolled down his window and leaned out it. He shouted his frustration at the driver of the pickup truck, who had just staggered from his vehicle and was staring at the sight of his cargo scattered across two lanes of honking traffic in awe.

It was plain to see that no one would be getting through that blockade for a while.

Over the radio, Lancer was nearly beside himself with glee.

"I'm monitoring my police scanner now!" he said. "Another call just went out to the local police! It would seem there's a rather messy accident near Hargrove and Augustus. Eyewitnesses are reporting some kind of lumber spilt all over the road. Traffic is snarled up for two blocks. That wouldn't happen to be your handiwork again, would it?"

He cackled. "Even better, it's definitely got the attention of my tail. He's sliding back further now. These MECH guys must be talking between cars. Be careful with this last guy. If the other two tails have figured out a common thread between their accidents and have reported your description to him, then he'll be looking for you. I'll keep an eye on him for you. If he does anything suspicious, like double-back, I'll let you know. We're exiting the city now. Nothing but open road and desert ahead."

[Deleted]

These MECH guys must be talking between cars. Be careful with this last guy. If the other two tails have figured out a common thread between their accidents and have reported your description to him, then he'll be looking for you. I'll keep an eye on him for you. If he does anything suspicious, like double-back, I'll let you know. We're exiting the city now. Nothing but open road and desert ahead."

Rook had, in fact, hoped the MECHs were talking to each other. He had hoped they would be suspicious, but uncertain. Not knowing one's enemy, not knowing the threat, or where it's coming from, or anything about it other than its striking, could be a very powerful weapon all on its own.

Lancer's confirmation was all the signal Rook needed. Then I think we're done with the soft touch, and ready for the fist...

He would prefer, infinitely, to have Lancer arrive alone at the yard. That would mean he would only have to deal with whatever reinforcements were there, because he would not allow himself to think they could possibly be so lucky as to find the place empty.

But one never knew.

He accelerated away from the city, making a note to, ah... not show his fenders there for a (long) while unless absolutely necessary, and roared down towards Lancer's position. Keep listening; it'd be just that kind of lousy luck if a speedtrap got involved now we're on the final run.

The space between Lancer and his tail meant he had a certain degree of freedom: they couldn't readily hold the Autobot or the tow-truck hostage without him reacting to block them.

Rook didn't want them to suspect anymore; he wanted them to know; he wanted them to understand that they had bit off way more than they could handle; he wanted them to understand that so far everyone was unscathed because that's how he'd wanted it. He roared up behind the last MECH car and rushed upwards until his bumper was less than a breath from their rear fender. He fell back again and rushed up again, without ever touching them. It would not matter to him if tloud and hey sped up or slowed down; he would rinse, and repeat, no matter what their speed. He was making his message, this time, as loud and clear as he could.

I am here. And there's nothing you can do against me. Back off, or pay the price. Your move.

[Deleted]

The final tail car was big, a V8 Crown Victoria with a reinforced grille and raised suspension. It hummed down the asphalt, its tinted windows inscrutable.

But when Rook surged up behind its bumper it swerved, the driver caught off-guard. While MECH may have known that Rook was in pursuit, they had evidently not expected him to confront them so boldly.

The Crown Vic recovered, then slowed. The tow truck was nearly a mile ahead, its occupants unaware of the silent drama unfolding behind them. As the Vic continued to slow back down to the speed limit the tow truck pulled away, widening the gap between the three vehicles. Soon it was little more than a line of dust on the highway ahead.

Another car swept past in the opposite lane. Once it had passed the desert was empty again, save for a handful of distant mesas and some scattered brush. A highway sign appeared, offering directions to a gas station and the tow yard. A few clouds scudded across the wide blue sky, casting shadows over the hot, dry earth.

The Crown Victoria made its move.

The passenger side window rolled down. A man in sunglasses and a red polo shirt leaned out of it, his hair and clothing whipping about him. He casually drew a pistol and took steady aim at Rook's front right tire. The crack of the gun firing was lost in the sound of the wind.

[Deleted]

Every breath of distance that came between Lancer and his tail was a bit of room Rook tallied on his pro list. Room to maneuver, and room he could cover in the flicker of a spark if need be.

To be honest he had expected an attack, any attack, as long as it was clever. Humans were nothing if not creative, all the more so when it came to violence. He'd expected perhaps something to come from the undercarriage: oil, caltrops, mag-mines. Something sneaky and underhanded.

For all their obvious dedication, the MECHS were being straightforward. How... prosaic, was Rook's first thought as the window rolled down and the gun made its appearance. On the heels of that came a second, more qualified and more defining idea: How Decepticon.

To label the humans, particularly these humans, on such a base enemy level meant that in Rook's mind they did not have the protection the locals were otherwise awarded, whole-cloth. Oh, he could tell himself otherwise, excuse it to himself, run through his processor the explanations he'd surely have to give his higher-ups, but in the end they were human, organics, locals and not related to the War, unless they chose to join in.

The Crown Vic had just made that choice as clear as sunlight. And as far as Rook was concerned, it meant he no longer owed explanations at any level of command.

"Well, alright then", the Aero spoke softly to himself. The low carriage of his alt-mode gave him a fair degree of protection, and he swerved on the road to add to it, keeping as closely behind the MECH vehicle as he could. Molten bits of asphalt peeled off and spattered his front fender from the gunfire. Fragments from the bullets tore off like shrapnel and battered into and partially through the armor over the tire wells. At the moment, mid-combat, Rook didn't even feel the sting of it; later he'd probably not be so lucky. "My turn."

Rook was going on an assumption, and what a dangerous thing that could be. But he was assuming against his own odds, trusting that if he could think of an attack point on the Crown Vic, it would be heavily reinforced: the engine casing would be encased in something sturdy, he'd bet on that; the body would be armored; the tires were probably pop-proof, the windows shatter-proof and the axles bomb-proof. But one thing no moving vehicle could really reinforce was the "moving" bit.

If you can't shake them, and they prove outright hostile, you have permission to engage them - without transforming, please.

"Sorry, doc." Rook knew his window of opportunity was slimmer than he'd have liked. The road could cease being empty any second without warning. The MECHS might decide to advertise the transforming capabilities of their quarry to the world. The Crown Vic might have 360 cameras poised just for that possibility. But his mission was to get Lancer home safe.

Besides, most Crown Vics had rear-wheel-drive; even if the MECH car had improved upon that, primary target was still as close as his hand, if he would just reach out and touch it.

Rook flew through a transformation; the faster he was, the less momentum and time he'd lose. He'd had to use what he had handy, and none of it could look like a weapon, or be Autobot-tech. What he did have was a heavy length of tow chain, a cross wrench, and jump-starting cables. He would have loved to include a sticky bomb, a mag-mine or two, but explosions usually came with a lot of paperwork.

What he did was fling a very primitive equivalent of chain shot directly under the Crown Vic, hoping to hit the whirling dervish responsible for the motion of the rear tires; as soon as the thing disappeared from his grip and his sight he transformed back into his vehicle mode, swerving to put at least some dodging distance between himself and the MECHs.

[Deleted]

Things got a little strange.

The instant Rook surged through his transformation, the Crown Vic went still. It rumbled down the highway, its engine barely ticking over, while behind it the spectacle of whirring metal reared gleaming beneath the desert sun.

Only when the chain shot lashed out did it react. Unlike the other tail cars in the city, which had been unable to properly evade Rook's traps thanks to the flow of traffic around them, the Crown Vic had no such restrictions hampering it. The highway was empty, for now. Without hesitation it veered smartly into the other lane, allowing the cross wrench to smash into the asphalt behind it. Debris erupted into the air and flew backwards at Rook as the wrench tore a furrow though the blacktop.

The man in the red polo shirt remained in the open window. For a moment he watched Rook impassively, his gaze hidden behind his sunglasses. Then he glanced back to the Crown Vic's unseen driver, flashed a sign with his hand, and slid back into the car.

The Crown Vic roared.

Dust flew as it abruptly swerved off the road. It hit the shoulder of the highway and spun, kicking up a roostertail of flying dirt in its wake. Without pause it gunned straight for the desert, flying over the rough floor with ease. In less than a minute it was little more than a cloud of dust, shrinking rapidly.

Behind Rook, a car horn yelped as a startled driver discovered the mess on the blacktop.

[Deleted]

Rook had known his luck was growing way too slim; he was not surprised that the MECH vehicle avoided the trap with swift neatness. Bits of asphalt as the crude thing smashed into it pelted into his fender and hood.

What he didn't expect was for the Crown Vic to break off pursuit. Oh, some part of him wanted to believe that's how it was going to go down; message sent, message received, message understood.

"No way it's going to be this easy," he murmured to himself as he cocked his mirrors to keep track of that disappearing cloud of dust, even as his own engine picked up further steam and raced along the road to try and catch up to Lancer's position, not giving the road behind a thought beyond noticing it had been seen; it was enough for him to know that it had been found and likely reported.

His front fender, the 'nose' of his alt and the armor over his rear well were all beginning to sting, the kind of low-level sting that eventually builds up to some fairly high-level irritation. He was going to have to dig those out eventually, and as Rook bolted down towards the yard he had nothing physical to distract him from them. His mind, however, was running faster than his tires.

He didn't like it. Not one bit. It could be that the attack on Lancer had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, and that Rook's presence had made the operation just too costly to be bothered with, but if there were one thing in the world the infiltrator liked to bank on was that things were never easy. Ever.

It worried him enough to break radio silence once again. Base, come in. Pursuit's been temporarily disuaded. Package's being carried to the outskirts by a... secondary courier. Have my doubts about situation being over, though - I'd really appreciate eyes on the sky.

If not by land, as the saying went. Not that Rook expected them to have Seekers lined up and ready to go, but some kind of flying attempt would have been the next line item if this had been one of the smash-and-grabs he was used to. And that was if they didn't have someone waiting on the spot to begin with.

Lancer, still awake? Need a favor if you're still attached to your charming escort and you're past the gate to the yard but not put to bed yet. Cant your rear wheels, make them think your rear axle snapped, give them some grief towing you. I want them close enough to leave you and walk for something that can pick you up in full, not so far that they'll get nervous leaving you behind. We may need to make this a reeeeal quick extraction. And keep your optics open - nothing says our friends don't have company on-site.

[Deleted]

Ratchet's gruff reply came moment later.

"This is base - copy that," he said. "Air Raid is eight miles out from your position and moving to intercept. He'll keep you covered. Call in any further developments if able."

The line clicked off. Almost immediately it clicked back into life.

"Roger that," said Lancer. "We're just pulling up to the yard now. I think I can work something out for you. Stand-by, I'll let you know how it goes.

The line went silent.

Time passed. The line remained quiet as Rook cruised down the highway, the open desert flashing past him in blurry speed lines. The road curved ahead of him and signs of civilization appeared: a dusty gas station with red and white pumps, a small diner with a line of cars and trucks parked out front, Christmas lights still twinkling from the edge of its roof. An outlet store with faded adverts in the windows and racks of used clothing inside. And a big sign: Big John's Towing, Est. 1987. The yard itself sat at the end of a winding side road, gravel and rutted.

It was little more than big, hard-packed space crowded with rows of rusted wrecks - cars, boats, and school buses. A patchy chain-link fence wandered around the perimeter, shored up with sheets of corrugated metal to prevent outsiders from peering inside. A flimsy metal gate stood at the entrance, something that could be pulled back and forth by hand if needed.

It was here that Rook had a little luck on his side.

The gate was open. The tow truck was visible inside it, parked in font of a row of shabby lean-to sheds and a small white office. Lancer was parked nearby, his rear wheels twisted awkwardly. Judging by the tire tracks in the dirt the tow truck had dropped him there once the driver had realised that something was wrong. A cloud of dust still hung in the air.

"All right, they've unhooked me and left me about fifty feet from the gate," said Lancer. "The two men are still outside, maybe one hundred feet west of my position, over by the sheds. They're talking about getting a tractor. Kind of hoping they don't try to drag me around with one of those."

[Deleted]

Just the thought that there was an air presence on his side reassured Rook. He didn't much mind whether it was just radar snooping or an actual gun, just the knowing, the fact he'd have advance warning, did wonders for his peace of mind.

He had to admit that the fact an actual gun was up there was even better.

Rook had raced past the last bits of human occupation, had been forced to bleed speed on the gravel of the lousy access road. The isolation of the yard was a Primus-send, as was the maze of derelicts in their yard, for all that some minor part of him got the creeps at something that looked remarkably like a rusted-out scrapyard.

He now had to balance speed with silence, circling the rickety fence and its very occasional bouts of privacy, trying to get a glimpse of what he had to work with.

One hundred feet. He needed five, maybe ten seconds, tops. For all intents and purposes he only needed the men to look away for two, long enough to think that a driver might have snuck behind Lancer's wheel. Long enough to doubt their eyes. Long enough to have to answer 'I don't know' if someone in charge somewhere someday wanted to know if their catch had indeed had a broken axle or not, if it had indeed been driven away, or driven itself. He had not been long planetside, but Rook already knew the average human, when faced with 'I don't know' and the unlikely, liked 'I don't know' and denial a lot. A whole lot.

He prowled to the side opposite the sheds and office. He needed noise. He need a somewhat continuing disaster. He also needed to make sure he was not caught on camera, though security at Master John's seemed to be limited to the fence and panels, and the fact no one with sense should have wanted to come prowling this far from civilization.

Eventually he transformed, keeping to an absurdly low crouch behind the fence. Stretching to his utmost he caaaarefuly worked to peel a section of the chain link fencing off the poles and flattened it to the ground. Before him was someone's dream boat from who knows how long ago, the hull streaked with abandonment. Next to it was a hulk barely identifiable as a car anymore. On the other side of it was a tiny, powder blue thing with most of its front folded into itself. Different wounds, same result.

All but lying down on the hard, hot dirt, Rook wriggled forward. The bullet fragments and asphalt shards embedded in his hide acknowledged this with immediate, low-key protests that made him hiss briefly until he had his full concentration on the task at hand. Lancer. I'm about to make a lot of noise. It's meant to take all eyes off you. Soon as that happens, you get yourself "stolen", head right out their door, down the road and take a turn away from town. First decent-sized boulder you see, duck behind it. On a gentler tone, for the first time aware that he was giving the other mech the cool, detached tone he usually never had to inflict on anyone, Rook added, I swear it's almost over. We just need to be out of sight long enough to call for a groundbridge, and Master John's pretty much done that for us. Moment you're out the gate and on the road I'll be right behind you. Moment we're out of sight, we're ghosts. Though I wouldn't suggest coming back by the town any time soon. Hope that doesn't muck up your night-life.

Rook inched closer, closer, until he was close enough to reach a hand to the powder-blue corpse, peering at the trailer the boat was resting on; the tires of it were long gone and it had been propped up on an oddbit selection of leftovers that had lifted it far higher than it had to be; the lightweight metal of it had not dealt well with oblivion, either, and there were sections a sneeze might prompt to go to dust. It was part of the reason Rook had picked it.

"Here goes nothing." Rook merely braced himself and kicked the car's already crumpled section as hard as he could into the ragtag supports for the boat's trailer. He wanted it to collapse, crush something and make a mess as noisily as possible. He wanted everyone to hear the collapse, and to come check it out. But he was not going to wait and see if the boat took anything else down on its way; almost as soon as he saw the makeshift support go flying in several directions he was already transforming back and backing away.