Making Maps
Vector had changed since Oceanglide had seen it last. Time and opportunity will do that.
He didn’t think he’d changed as much. Maybe he was wrong.
It took one amiably loudmouthed comms officer to take his search to the better end of Landfall Complex, still the headquarters of the planet, if not quite so Decepticon any more. (Most of the staff were drawn from both sides of the forces who’d fought and occupied here for long vorns before the truce. Oceanglide heard they had ‘an understanding’.) The very fact that there was a better end now said something about how the place had blossomed and spilled outwards. It was a genuine city now, the eldest of an ever-growing clan of settlements on the planet.
Fortunately for him, the better end was the part he still knew his way around. The original base had been sited where it was for maximum defensibility, and the leaders on this planet knew better than to trade that for luxury.
Though the central complex did look much shinier than when he’d lived here, he noticed.
He found his way to a small bar slotted in between two warehouses and left Stormcloud to skulk by the door while heheaded down the narrow path between the stools and the tables jammed up against the other wall. The bar wasn’t big enough to mask the empty space that often formed around a Minicon, but the heavy-built red and grey one in the corner didn’t seem to mind in the least.
He was reading through a datapad, optics narrowed in hard calculation, but he didn’t miss Oceanglide’s approach. He put down the pad and gave his visitor a hard look as the sea-bot jumped up onto the low table.
“What in the Inferno are you doing here?” he barked, and Oceanglide could tell he was taken aback.
“Good afternoon, Gunbarrel,” he said mildly, buoyed by amusement at the other’s startlement. “As you can see, I’m catching up on some old haunts - and old acquaintances. I hear you’ve been here for some time.”
Gunbarrel grunted and picked up a cube from the stack at his left elbow. “Yeah, for almost half a stellar cycle. Talking to the bigshots up here about signing us on, and cleaning up a few smugglers and criminals while we wait. Pay’s decent, place ain’t bad and I don’t want my team getting rusty. Got to keep them working and keep them sharp.” He took a long drink without offering any, then gave Oceanglide a slanted look over the cube. “I’m guessing that’s what you’re here for too, am I right?”
“I’m certainly looking into it,” Oceanglide said gravely. “Though as yet I’m merely scouting my options.”
Another grunt. “Might be onto a good thing here. This planet’s half water, and we stick to the air. Security here could use a marine team. And rumour says you already know the waters, eh?” He gave a wink.
Oceanglide felt vaguely flattered and determined not to show it. “If they’ve changed as much as this base, I fear otherwise.”
“I wouldn’t mind having a team surface-side that knew their job.” Gunbarrel shrugged. “If you still do.”
“You take the high road and we take the low road?” Oceanglide mused. “Well, we shall see.”
“Holy slag,” reached their audios from the entrance, announcing that Terradive had arrived and spotted Stormcloud.
Gunbarrel condescended to wave a barbot over and let Oceanglide order himself a drink. “How many of your mates did you bring in here?”
“Just one.” He might be lying. Gunbarrel didn’t need to know that Waterlog was covering for them on Cybertron.
“What the slag are you really doing here? Last I heard you were on Cybertron, and the shuttles ain’t that fast.”
“No,” he said smoothly, “but I do not care for my team’s movements to be easily monitored. Checking in with Autobots simply doesn’t sit well with me. Call it habit.”
Gunbarrel guffawed. “I’ve got better words than that, you old dredger.”
Oceanglide chuckled and indicated the hovering bar-bot. “What’ll it be?” he asked. He had information to wheedle out of the other mech, and gossip might be free but sooner or later Gunbarrel would catch on and start screwing with him. Buying him a few drinks would help get them off on the right foot.
The other Minicon’s optic ridges lifted. “Ah. Going to be that kinda talk, is it? Fine then, make the first one a…”
The bar-bot suddenly looked very cheerful.
-
“Did he talk?” Stormcloud asked later, following him down the street.
“Endlessly.” Oceanglide reviewed some of what he’d learned. “Gunbarrel is always careful to keep informed, and this planet is a prime information hub. Did you have fun with Terradive?”
“Dunno.” Stormcloud had never needed to grin. Not with that voice. “Did you hear the squawking?”
“Some of it, certainly.”
“Then it must have been fun. And I stripped the public terminals of data, the way you wanted.”
“Excellent.”
They found a quiet alley where they wouldn’t be observed. Oceanglide paused to stretch his servos. This was the third stop on their little tour, after the… detour… to Iacon. They still had half a dozen to visit. More, if the rest of their friends weren’t as informative as Tidal Wave, Blackout and Gunbarrel. But the maps were coming along very nicely indeed.
“How long have we been here?” he asked Stormcloud.
“Megacycle and a half.”
“Mmm. Very well. You know the drill. Set the temporal co-ordinates back and let us away to pay our respects to…ah. Inferno.”
He didn’t think he’d changed as much. Maybe he was wrong.
It took one amiably loudmouthed comms officer to take his search to the better end of Landfall Complex, still the headquarters of the planet, if not quite so Decepticon any more. (Most of the staff were drawn from both sides of the forces who’d fought and occupied here for long vorns before the truce. Oceanglide heard they had ‘an understanding’.) The very fact that there was a better end now said something about how the place had blossomed and spilled outwards. It was a genuine city now, the eldest of an ever-growing clan of settlements on the planet.
Fortunately for him, the better end was the part he still knew his way around. The original base had been sited where it was for maximum defensibility, and the leaders on this planet knew better than to trade that for luxury.
Though the central complex did look much shinier than when he’d lived here, he noticed.
He found his way to a small bar slotted in between two warehouses and left Stormcloud to skulk by the door while heheaded down the narrow path between the stools and the tables jammed up against the other wall. The bar wasn’t big enough to mask the empty space that often formed around a Minicon, but the heavy-built red and grey one in the corner didn’t seem to mind in the least.
He was reading through a datapad, optics narrowed in hard calculation, but he didn’t miss Oceanglide’s approach. He put down the pad and gave his visitor a hard look as the sea-bot jumped up onto the low table.
“What in the Inferno are you doing here?” he barked, and Oceanglide could tell he was taken aback.
“Good afternoon, Gunbarrel,” he said mildly, buoyed by amusement at the other’s startlement. “As you can see, I’m catching up on some old haunts - and old acquaintances. I hear you’ve been here for some time.”
Gunbarrel grunted and picked up a cube from the stack at his left elbow. “Yeah, for almost half a stellar cycle. Talking to the bigshots up here about signing us on, and cleaning up a few smugglers and criminals while we wait. Pay’s decent, place ain’t bad and I don’t want my team getting rusty. Got to keep them working and keep them sharp.” He took a long drink without offering any, then gave Oceanglide a slanted look over the cube. “I’m guessing that’s what you’re here for too, am I right?”
“I’m certainly looking into it,” Oceanglide said gravely. “Though as yet I’m merely scouting my options.”
Another grunt. “Might be onto a good thing here. This planet’s half water, and we stick to the air. Security here could use a marine team. And rumour says you already know the waters, eh?” He gave a wink.
Oceanglide felt vaguely flattered and determined not to show it. “If they’ve changed as much as this base, I fear otherwise.”
“I wouldn’t mind having a team surface-side that knew their job.” Gunbarrel shrugged. “If you still do.”
“You take the high road and we take the low road?” Oceanglide mused. “Well, we shall see.”
“Holy slag,” reached their audios from the entrance, announcing that Terradive had arrived and spotted Stormcloud.
Gunbarrel condescended to wave a barbot over and let Oceanglide order himself a drink. “How many of your mates did you bring in here?”
“Just one.” He might be lying. Gunbarrel didn’t need to know that Waterlog was covering for them on Cybertron.
“What the slag are you really doing here? Last I heard you were on Cybertron, and the shuttles ain’t that fast.”
“No,” he said smoothly, “but I do not care for my team’s movements to be easily monitored. Checking in with Autobots simply doesn’t sit well with me. Call it habit.”
Gunbarrel guffawed. “I’ve got better words than that, you old dredger.”
Oceanglide chuckled and indicated the hovering bar-bot. “What’ll it be?” he asked. He had information to wheedle out of the other mech, and gossip might be free but sooner or later Gunbarrel would catch on and start screwing with him. Buying him a few drinks would help get them off on the right foot.
The other Minicon’s optic ridges lifted. “Ah. Going to be that kinda talk, is it? Fine then, make the first one a…”
The bar-bot suddenly looked very cheerful.
-
“Did he talk?” Stormcloud asked later, following him down the street.
“Endlessly.” Oceanglide reviewed some of what he’d learned. “Gunbarrel is always careful to keep informed, and this planet is a prime information hub. Did you have fun with Terradive?”
“Dunno.” Stormcloud had never needed to grin. Not with that voice. “Did you hear the squawking?”
“Some of it, certainly.”
“Then it must have been fun. And I stripped the public terminals of data, the way you wanted.”
“Excellent.”
They found a quiet alley where they wouldn’t be observed. Oceanglide paused to stretch his servos. This was the third stop on their little tour, after the… detour… to Iacon. They still had half a dozen to visit. More, if the rest of their friends weren’t as informative as Tidal Wave, Blackout and Gunbarrel. But the maps were coming along very nicely indeed.
“How long have we been here?” he asked Stormcloud.
“Megacycle and a half.”
“Mmm. Very well. You know the drill. Set the temporal co-ordinates back and let us away to pay our respects to…ah. Inferno.”