Ep 0.5 - Stray Cat Strut - Closed

[Deleted]

It wasn't, technically speaking, as though anyone had told him he couldn't.

Technically speaking - and Steeljaw was very particular about the exact technicalities, as outlined in the records regarding the precise duties and actions expected of him - his off duty hours were his own, to do as he pleased. There was no specific prohibition about leaving the base - theoretically, if he had wanted to, he could have strolled out the front entrance. Or hitched a ride in Bulkhead's back seat with his head hanging out the window and making nutritional commentary over Miko's choice of drive-through snacks. Technically speaking, he could do anything so long as it wasn't a security risk, didn't compromise others or himself or the base, and wasn't a drain on resources.

It was neither of the first two and the resource drain had been nicely managed by the engineering team, which left... no reason at all that he couldn't just saunter up, log his mark in the books, and do exactly as he pleased just like everyone else did. Nothing except the crawling sensation of every optic and camera on him, even though he knew very well they weren't.

It WAS, he told himself again, when he found his path crossing - but not entering - the control room once more, entirely within his rights. It was in everyone's rights, and he was part of that 'everyone'.

[They're not going to lock the door after you just because you went and TALKED,] Uplink whispered, but for once it wasn't the comfort his former host's echo normally was. It was TRUE. It was perfectly, logically, absolutely true... but it did nothing to quiet the itching phantom that had somehow taken root in his processor, that his state of compliance within the Prime's good graces lasted only so long as he kept pedes within the base.

Ridiculous.

It took another two passes across the doorway and some stern talking to himself, but in the end Steeljaw walked - not slinked, not snuck, but walked, head up - into the control room, across the wall, and entered his glyphs firmly into the log with nothing more than an acknowledging wave from Rhinox who was sitting the monitors. From there it was an easy leap to the bridge controls, less than a minute to enter in coordinates that were becoming very well used, and then another leap to the floor as the land bridge energies stabilized. He cycled a deep ventilation, ignoring what felt like the accusing stare of the cameras, and strolled through, head up, tail swaying, on all four feet at a sedate pace that told the world and the non-existant watchers that it was precisely what he meant to do in the first place.

The feeling of ROCK under his pedes on the other end, instead of the smooth and utterly useful magnetic surface of metal, was an unwelcome shock. Steeljaw's claws extended, scraping, and he forced himself to retract them and shook each pede out with a flick as he stepped forward. Rock. Organic rock. It wasn't high on his list of comfortable or useful surfacing material.

Former Decepticon energon mine, he reminded himself with a shake. On an organic world. Of course it was rock. It was nothing BUT rock, hollowed out through the interior of a slagging big mound of it. He could, with some clever application of claws, probably make his way up the wall. Walking on it with the ease of magnaclamps on metal sheeting, however... Lovely.

He twitched all of his plates down, twisted to polish one shoulder briefly in a way he always found soothing, then huffed an exvent and ventured away from the entrance the groundbridge had deposited him on. "Hello?" Not a spark in sight. ::Neutral Steeljaw, requesting entrance. Anyone about?::

[Deleted]

::Door's open - come on in, Steeljaw. Be right with you.::

The medic had been midway through a chemical clean when the ping had come through, decontaminating every surface in the newly finished medbay. It was the base clean that meant she could operate in her now without it feeling like gross negligence. Spooling away the cleansing hose, Cleaver surveyed the expansive (and gleaming as much as a dug-out mountain cave could) room with a pleased ex-vent. Finally she turned-pede and made her way through the central atrium to the entrance.

The small quadraped had taken her invitation to come through the doorway, and was waiting with tail swishing just inside.

"Hi, I'm Cleaver, thoughif you had the groundbridge coordinates, I figure you already know that," Cleaver greeted, motioning with one blade towards the sturdy wall rack and counter on the right and just inside of the front entrance. Weapon lockers - if it wasn't integrated, it came out and into storage until the mecha left. Integrated weaponry, and Cleaver had a digital safety lock that would serve as an extra deterent.

"I'm guessing that as a Neutral you're not packing any serious weaponry." She left the end open, because 'guessing' and 'assuming' were on two different sides of the fence. The side of assumptions was where Stupid happened.

[Deleted]

Steeljaw tipped his head back in reply, throat plates flicking open to reveal the short tendrils of his tools. "Repair micro welders only, and I've been assured that calling them 'weapons' is as good as calling myself 'dead'," he replied dryly. "Lockable, if you like, along with the pede claws," he added, pinging her with an open reception channel if she wanted to take it, because it never hurt to be polite and an actual DMZ took extra care.

Standing back up, Steeljaw started to take a step towards the wall and then stopped himself - no clamping, no climbing, and he was stuck at knee level to the large femme which was disconcerting after having become used to placing himself on the wall at whatever constituted optic level for whoever he was talking to. He turned the aborted motion into an easy loop of steps, coming to rest closer to the medic. "I've heard about you," he told her, audios pricked upwards, and sat back on his aft to make the staring upwards easier. Primus, he'd forgotten the aggravation of being small, and Cleaver was not a short statured femme.

"I've been with the Autobots," he clarified. "Made scrap out of myself when I landed here, they were the closest aid. I've been paying it back in contract ever since, working securities for them." He let his field smile for him, though many medics at least understood some of the non-standard quadrupede expressions. "Never imagined there'd be an actual DMZ here, though. When I came down I thought I was the only Neutral on this rock and thought I had Primus' own worst luck to land smack in the middle of the Factions."

[Deleted]

Cleaver didn't touch the open channel, that she did flicker gratitude at the easy invitation. But then, fellow Neutrals were always going to be the easiest to convince to give up their weapons before entering the DMZ. She waved a blade in easy dismissal, smiling. "Don't worry - looks like I'm packing worse than you in basic tools, and I know pede claws are a glitch to lose when it comes to traction."

That Steeljaw was having to crane his neck to look her in the optic had not escaped her attention, but she was perfectly aware of how easily offended some small mecha were about being offered an arm or a shoulder to equalise heights. Some didn't mind at all, and were so bold as to invite themselves onto a raised arm, whilst others either waited for an invitation or were staunchly opposed to the idea entirely. Cleaver had no idea which camp Steeljaw fell into, and making an incorrection assumption over such a basic thing was a pit of a first impression.

Settling to dodge the issue entirely, Cleaver motioned back into the atrium. The general seating area was tucked in one corner, and had both arm and backrests for the quadraped to sprawl over if he wanted the extra height when she'd sat. "Honestly hadn't planned on staying around here for long, let alone forming a base." A wry, warm smile. "But, you put down roots without meaning to sometimes, and now I'm here for the long haul. Got sofas out here in the back if you wanna sit and regale me with stories of Bot duties. How're you doing for fuel?"

[Deleted]

The offer of fuel was reassuring - any Neutral would offer, if they had any at all to spare, but the ease with which Cleaver said it settled in Steeljaw's audials as a good indication of the state of the newly established base. Of course, he berated himself, being situated in a mostly but not entirely tapped out Energon mine might have something to do with that. "I'm good, thank you," he told her, following alongside as she lead the way to a niche of standard mech sizes seating. That was a relief - he jumped up to one, waited for her to take a seat, then picked an armrest as the easiest height equalizer, their optics nearly on level provided he sat up.

"Room and board is included in contract with the Autobots." He grinned, drop jawed, tail flicking in time with the pulse of amusement in his field. "I work a regular duty shift along with the rest of them, but as I'm useless outside of the base they have me on monitors most of the time. They all seem to dislike that shift, for some reason. I don't know why. Personally, I hardly feel like I'm earning my keep spending my days watching television and coding iPhone apps with all the copious amounts of spare processor I have left over."

He cocked his head at the femme, considering her and the rough hewn walls of the base around them. "I... wanted to see what you were creating, here," he admitted. "It's been a long time since I've seen a DMZ." One audio twitched, his plates flicking slightly as he smoothed them. "The Prime assures me that I am under no obligation to remain with the Autobots. An open door is only useful if there is something other than Yet Another Faction outside of it, however."

[Deleted]

Cleaver made a low, quiet sound of agreement that fell thick with understanding. "They're a decent bunch, but I know what you mean. Goes without saying that there's an open door here for anyone, but I'm not going out and rounding mecha up. Still plenty of Neutrals who'd rather go it alone, and many more who don't want anything to do with a planet on the front line of the war."

[Deleted]

Steeljaw's field flickered wry humor, both audials twitching back, then forward again. "As to the planet I'm afraid the ship I arrived here in didn't give me much choice. I've been assured I'm maintaining an apparently grand Autobot tradition of giving new meaning to the human adage of 'any landing you can walk away from'... they all seem to crash spectacularly."

He vented a snort, shaking his head. "Actually, calling it a 'ship' is being generous - it was an escape pod, and I used up the last dregs of fuel in the engines doing controlled burns to get past the asteroid belt. I suppose I should be grateful I made landfall at all, but crashlanding in the middle of the Amazon rainforest and becoming infested with organic insects didn't really lend itself to much appreciation."

Steeljaw tilted his head, curiosity flickering. "What of yourself? You're right, there are plenty who would rather go it alone, or as far from the frontline as possible. It takes a rare spark to go through the trouble of putting together a DMZ." Humor curled his tail tip and arched his audials, optics bright. "Or should I take it as self evident? Congratulations are in order, I believe."

[Deleted]

Cleaver's mouth pulled a little at that, pede shifting closer to the base of the sofa as her field warmed and contracted equally. Never was good with praise - few medics were. There was a good job and a bad job, and with a good job the patient lived/regained mobility/had a good quality of life, thus she had done her job. Job done, it was time to move on to the next. Granted setting up and running a frontline Neutral base was something else entirely, but her processor was comfortable still running the parrallels.

"Ah, landed her intentionally forty solar cycles ago. The front line was here, thus here were parts and energon. Didn't intend on sticking around for long, but I met some folk..." Ironhide, specifically, and she had to assume that Steeljaw knew about that. Hopefully not too much, but enough that he could make the conclusion that she was (rather ridiculously) staying for one mech, not many.

She cleared her processor, optics meeting Steeljaw's cool gaze once again. "When more Neutrals started making landfall in pretty sorry states, and my ship was getting pretty full, figured it was worth trying to set up somewhere more permanent."

Medical optics tracked over the quadraped's frame, nothing more than a glance but long enough to get the awful visual of organics getting in between all those delicate microplates. "Beats Cybertronians trying to get by in habitats woefully unsuitable for them. Which, frankly, doesn't bear thinking about. Have to get every speck of organic matter out of undermesh to feel clean again. Don't want to imagine the state you were in."

[Deleted]

"Let's just say," Steeljaw replied dryly, "that I never, never, want to see another ant ever again for the rest of my functioning. I will dip myself in etching acid before I go through that again. I believe Ratchet is still holding me up as the new height of an example of what NOT to come dragging into his medbay with." He twisted slightly, displaying the still visible ridge of welding scars across his back plates. "Half broke my hip relay in the crash, then broke it entirely along with my backstruts when I - and I'm quite serious - fell out of a tree. Believe me, I've heard every joke possible about this by now. I have been assured by the humans that I looked like nothing any self respecting cat would bother dragging home."

He arched his audials, amused. "So yes, I quite understand the 'sorry state' some people land in. It's good to have options of where to go." He cocked his head slightly. She hadn't reacted to his earlier bit of jibing, which either meant that she didn't want to discuss it and no one in their right minds should tease a medic, or possibly just that she hadn't taken his words in the full manner he'd meant. Taking a chance on the second, he kept the amusement damped down and pulsed a beat of multi-layered congratulations/happiness/hopefullness to her instead. "And good to stay for more than just practicalities and survival."

Steeljaw had, when he had been much younger himself, worked a contract with Uplink for a Tower mech. He had seen sparklings and younglings before, both in development and online date stamp terms, and, far more rarely, an occasional manufactured sparkling within the confines of the Towers elite. That one contract, though, had been for a cohort with a carrier, and the carrier had been in-process of sparkling manufacturing. He and Uplink, he recalled, had both been more than a little fascinated - perfectly professional, in and out and job done, but fascinated all the same.

[Reminded me of splitting you off, Jaws,] Uplink whispered in the background of his thoughts. [You were such a little thing to start with...]

He could, with the flicker of an optic, track the heightened levels of manufacturing heat in the large femme's chassis. Dipping his head, he pulled out old rhythms, letting the vibrations and tonalities of the Towers overlay his vocalizer briefly, the professional 'voice' that he and Uplink had both cultivated for higher case clients. "Congratulations to you and your cohort, carrier."

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"Been a long while since I heard those harmonics," Cleaver replied softly after a pause, touched and humbled by the conscious inflection. It pulled at her spark to hear the Tower 'accent' spoken so fluently, not aped or exaggerated in mocking and spite. Two lifetimes ago to her, now.

It was in her file that she'd violated both the med-centre's code and the law in general, but moving down into Kaon, no one had ever really looked, just been glad of her skills and experience. Attending triage officer at the site of a massive disaster involving a malfunctioning shuttleformer and a high rise accomodation tower, she'd been first on the scene and the one to prioritise the injured and dying whilst medics fought to gain access to the wounded. Determined who would live or die. Easy decisions when the fires were still burning, processor running fast and clear to save as many as possible. An obvious choice, even though she'd known it was wrong, to take the parts of one mech already in the Well whilst they were still warm to save a femme who'd only live for having them.

It was only in the post-crash investigation that it had come to light what she'd done. 'Harvesting', they'd called it. 'Willfully neglecting to address the rights and spiritual concerns of the deceased.' 'Failing to determine the wishes of the deceased through their cohort or records.' 'Gross misconduct.' She'd been lucky not to have her parts stripped along with her position. It was only her exemplary record and that the crime had been committed purely as an act of compassione that had protected her license to practice, though she was banned from the Tower medbays.

Cleaver had moved into the sublevels, and been baffled by the differences in the castes' views on life. Here, lives were dangerous, hard and short, and anything that could extend them and was affordable was seized upon with both servos. The ruling mecha restricted medical intervention so that the offlined could be scrapped and recycled to build the new workers. Frames were parts only. Cog sparks were lesser.

It was one of the reasons Cleaver had alligned herself so closely to Megatronus. She wanted to see that changed.

The quiet purr of Steeljaw's systems drew her from her reverie, and she smiled a little at him by way of apology. She realised her intakes were rattling, and tightened the parts in her blades to settle the tremble.

"Thank you." A ventilation cycle, and she pulsed apologies/memories/stuck at her patiently waiting guest. Sitting back in the chair, the medic shook her head fractionally. "Sparkling on the front line... Certainly keep things interesting."

[Deleted]

"We - my host and I - worked for several clients in the towers," Steeljaw admitted. "Back before the war. I've had the privilege to see a carrier before." He ducked his head slightly, audials twitching a silent laugh. "Uplink said sparklings always reminded him of making me."

He grinned. "A sparkling on the front line certainly will make things interesting. It's already made our-"

Oh. Frag. Steeljaw nearly bit through his glossa trying to cut the word off, but the majority of it escaped anyways. Venting, he grimaced and tried, lamely, to cover the slip of his speech. "...made the Autobot base rather interesting. Your cohort is... fairly enthusiastic."

Which was an understatement if half of what he had heard from Miko was true. It didn't really regain his humor, however, and Steeljaw huffed slowly, turning his head away to look around the base. Organic rock walls. Large open spaces build for regular sized mecha. It felt... alien.

"I'm sorry," he said at length, turning back to Cleaver. "I was hoping... I've been on ship most of my function, at this point. This place feels strange to me."

[Deleted]

Cleaver didn't miss the gear-crunching stumble, nor the hot flash in the Neutral's field. Straight away he was throwing the phrase 'your cohort' into her audios, which made her plates twitch, before finally the little mech simply trailed off with no small amount of awkwardness.

She frowned, shifting aside her multifaceted response to having a near-stranger speak of her having an actual cohort to process later. "It's alright. Were you hoping for a tour, or is there something I can do for you?"

[Deleted]

Steeljaw took his time finding the words, each of them grating like rust in his vocalizer as he slowly uttered them, optics not quite meeting the medic's. "I think... I was hoping to find an alternative. Living with the Autobots - there's days when it's fine, and other days when it makes my entire neural net twitch until I just want to shred things. Half the time they don't make sense and even when they DO make sense it's like talking through layers of organic mud." He vented tiredly. "Hearing about this place was... hopeful."

He lifted his chin, meeting Cleaver's stare firmly. "It's... very large," he admitted. "And organic. No offense," he added hastily, "I'm sure it's perfectly to spec and it looks quite comfortable for most mechs. I just... I've lived in cramped quarters on ships for vorns." He tilted his head further up, looking at the high vault of the stone ceiling, the stone walls, the stone floor, all sized for mechs many times larger.

"I do security," he said quietly. "Also technical repairs, computer systems, patching and repairs in small places that are hard to get to, anything like that. I was hoping we could arrange some sort of trade, labor for living space, after I've repaid my debt to the 'Bots. At least, that was my thought when I came here." He chuffed a short, dry laugh. "Except apparently I've developed some sort of agoraphobic glitch, or a fear of organic materials, or something, because I'm not sure I could be any more comfortable here than I am with a base full of Autobots glaring at me." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to waste your time."

[Deleted]

It was queerly comfortable to be talking to an uncomfortable Neutral – standard operating procedure most of the time. More often than not a negotiation of needs turned shaky whilst still in the overture, but worked itself out to something beneficial with a little perseverance. It wasn’t perfect, but it was more familiar and comfortable than dealing with Autobots who were just happy to give without payment.

Ironhide didn’t count.

Cleaver twitched her helm in the negative, large engine humming a corresponding note. “Not wasting my time, Steeljaw, and I like the sound of what you have to offer. Primus knows I need help on the technical side. I had a mini’ for a long time taking care of the small-scale stuff for me, and the security as well. Now he’s gone for minerals richer, I’m coming up short in a place that direly needs a technical overhaul.”

She sat forward a little in the chair, easing off of aching parts and relaxing stretched lines. The femme was an old frame, and doing far too much manual labour for her date stamp in the new Base. She’d take all the willing help she could get, and tipped a blade to Steeljaw demonstrably. “Is there anything I can do for you that isn’t putting you up, in exchange for, say, doing all the wiring for this place? Medbay and control room, foremost, but if I can negotiate some work on personal quarters and the general living spaces, I’d be grateful.”

[Deleted]

Steeljaw sat up a little straighter, audials perking. He hadn't really thought of the DMZ as needing security, though it made a certain amount of sense, and as to wiring... He took another look around, considering, and listened to Uplink's thoughtful hum in the back of his processor. "I'll assume there's nothing behind the rock walls except more rock," he said. "So the wiring will need to be run external... I'll need some help for bracket installation, or better still, to carve channels, but I can certainly design you a system." He considered again, then dropped his gaze downward, huffing softly in amusement. "Actually, a recessed channel at a lower height than most mechs are looking for it at would probably be even better for you. I wouldn't need much help, just someone to assist in carrying supplies."

Something, a little like hope, was tickling at his sensors. He damped it down, but it would solve so many things - he liked Ratchet, truly, but every favor asked of the medic was one more favor owed to the Autobots and their open ended poorly defined contract. Cleaver, however, was also a medic. Was, if the base gossip was to be believed, one of Ratchet's teachers.

Drawing in a deep ventilation, Steeljaw faced the medic squarely. "You mentioned a mini' - do you have much in the way of small parts on hand?" He shrugged with one shoulder. "The Autobots don't - I have the feeling it's been some time since Prime had anyone smaller than a mid-size scout frame on his team. I've been hesitant to ask them because the parts would probably have to be custom fabricated and, well..." he let a ripple of his discomfort at the Autobot way of negotiating contracts roll through his field. "It's a larger favor than I really want to owe when I'm not sure what's on the table," he added.

"Framework," he clarified before Cleaver could ask. "I'm still - technically, disregarding all of the repair work - in my base frame. My carrier and I, we didn't have the time before the War to do all of my planned upgrades. I can do perfectly fine without a mobility alt, but..." He raised one forepede, stretching the mobile pads of his tread as far as possible. It formed a small, flexible cup of jointed treads, but in no way was it suitable for holding, grasping, or any sort of manual tool use. "I would dearly love to upgrade to polydactylism." He grinned, in field and, as much as he could, in expression. "As much as the human internet assures me that I should count myself lucky to be a Feline Overlord, the lack of being able to pick things up with opposable thumbs is sometimes more trouble than it's worth."