[Fic] Echoes (The scientist, 2)
The scientist, chapter 2
Whitestar stretched languidly, listening to the silence of the apartment for a moment before hauling himself up with a sigh. There was too much to do to be lazing around right now.
Their diversion into lovemaking had made Skyfire late for an appointment with the fitter for his new thruster engines. They had elected not to use a shuttle for their explorations: they were both space-travel capable and a nonsentient shuttle would need maintenance and security and fuel, and it all seemed like unnecessary work. So they were both having some structural adjustments made to their propulsion and fuel efficiency systems, and they would both be fitted with the highest quality energy-collecting panels so that they would not need to carry large quantities of energon.
Optics landing on the datapad Skyfire had presented earlier, Whitestar frowned. He knew in his spark that it had to be a scam, there had to be a catch, but what could it be? Adding an extra processor would mean quicker handling of complex calculations, less reliance on external computers. It was exactly what they needed for their trip.
"And that's another reason to be suspicious." he growled at himself, snatching it up and putting it in the recycling box near the door to be disposed of later.
Everyone knew of their plans, it was no secret. It had even been announced on the interplanetary newslink. The fact that this mech, whoever he was, knew they would be interested in such a development meant nothing: it just made them a good target.
"Put the slagging thing in place then wave goodbye and let us find out it doesn't work properly when we're out of reach of help." he predicted.
The problem was, he could see no valid reason why it should not work. And that irritated him.
Everyone knew that once a new-spark had assimilated to a chamber, it could never be removed from that chamber without dying. Similarly, once the spark and chamber were linked to a core processor, they could not be de-coupled without serious consequences: usually death, but occasionally just mindless insanity.
Changes could be made to a frame only within the bounds of the initial programming; thus a truck could be converted to a different type of ground-bound vehicle without trouble, but could not become a jet and expect to fly. Additional memory storage space could be added, though that often had strange and as yet still unpredictable side effects. But the processor itself remained inviolate.
That was why the very large mechs tended to be stupid. A new spark could only cope with so much data during assimilation. It was best to aim for as powerful a processor as possible and for a very simple frame with no transformation ability and minimal mobility. Once the connection was solidified, adjustments could be gradually made as required, and generally the youngling would take on his final adult frame after about a century.
Where a very large mech was intended, such as for a Guardian, the baseline programming had to be kept very simple to allow most of the processing power to go towards control of the giant frame. There was little point in going too small either, because then the processor itself had to be miniturised and usually resulted in the need to reduce capability to make it fit. Which was why there was an accepted standard size which allowed for an optimal balance. Moving away from that standard range was a complete waste, in Whitestar's view. Some of those sparks trapped in oversized bodies could have been great scientists or artists or explorers.
His gaze flicked back to the box. A breakthrough such as Asher was claiming might allow such injustices to be righted. More processing capacity would take pressure off the core processor. It would be the biggest scientific achievement since Alpha Trion had discovered how to turn off the autodeactivation sequence that had restricted their race's maximum lifespan to 800 vorns. If he could be part of that discovery...
"No." he told himself, stamping one pede in emphasis. "No. It's a stupid idea. It's not even possible, this is just a scam and I'm not falling for it."
Skyfire slipped into their apartment feeling guilty for the second orn in a row. He hoped that Whitestar might be out as his schedule had dictated but the lights were blazing and his mate was pacing anxiously.
"Are you alright? You should've called me! I've been worried sick."
"I'm fine." he protested, hobbling over to the nearest chair and collapsing into it gratefully.
Whitestar glared down at him, wings flared, hands on hips.
"That's it. From now on you don't go out alone."
"Star, look..."
"No. These slagging protesters making all this fuss are causing more trouble than the military ever did. The Enforcers should lock them all up, or exile them. Slagging well execute them if need be. Half their protests turn into riots, they won't listen to reason..."
Skyfire slumped back in the chair, listening to Whitestar rant away his anxiety, just pleased to be home.
Politics. He had never taken any interest in the past, but recently it had been impossible to ignore.
The problems had started when the High Council had unilaterally decreed that there would be a limit placed on the number of military models activated each year. The decision was a coldly logical one: there was simply not enough work to occupy all those soldiers. It was also because of the growing energon shortages, and rumours had started up that the next step would be reducing rations to the military as their models required more fuel by mass than any other group.
While most of the military's senior staff blustered unconvincingly that none of this was true, a lower ranked soldier had made a stand and started gathering support. From what Skyfire had heard, this Megatron spoke a lot of sense and he seemed to be trying to avoid the inevitable civil disruption that was coming.
For his part Whitestar had been dismissive of the move, scathing of any soldier who would break rank and disobey orders.
"Sure, he makes sense now," he had growled when they had first heard of it, "but if he's broken the rules once, he'll do it again. This won't end well, and anyone smart'd stay right out of it."
That had been six vorns ago, and while it had not yet come to a conclusion it had certainly caused trouble. In cities with large military populations there was often violence as supporters of Megatron, calling themselves Decepticons, clashed with those loyal to the old hierarchy. All too often, civilians were caught between the two groups. In some civilian cities, too, there had been demonstrations and rallies promoting Megatron's cause as freedom from oppression, and these too could turn violent.
Most recently a new faction had entered the fray. They had no name yet, or none that Skyfire had heard, but they distributed what they called 'evidence' of Megatron's true intentions: complete domination and destruction of the status quo, enslavement of most civilians and murder of the rest. They claimed Megatron's followers were causing the energon shortages deliberately, that they were sabotaging the production factories and stirring up factionalism.
Much of what they said sounded like surreal nonsense, but it did draw attention.
Today he had been running late on his way to his appointment, so instead of using the secure transit shuttle to get to his destination and be late he had elected to fly there himself. That was not the problem. The problem was that the workshop of this particular artisan was not accessible from above so he had had to walk down several levels of ramps and along the dark underground streets to get there.
Had he been on the transit shuttle he could have had an Enforcer escort from the station to his destination. Instead he was alone as he rounded the corner and was set upon by a hyped-up crowd who thought him a Decepticon just because of his wings.
Idiots. It was obvious he was civilian from his frame design. But a frenzied mob could not be reasoned with. He fled as fast as he could, but not before taking blows to his helm, legs and wings.
"...could get my hands on them, that's for sure." Whitestar continued to fume, his contrastingly gentle touch now exploring the new repairs along the edge of one wing.
"I'm okay, Star. I got away."
"This time." Whitestar muttered darkly, then straightened and folded his arms. "You're not going outside the Academy without me anymore. Not to anywhere. Promise me."
"Star..."
"Promise me!"
"What would you have done if you'd been there? You're half my size!"
"Promise!"
"Okay." Skyfire relented. "If it'll make you happy, okay."
Whitestar shook his head, mollified but still upset.
"What'll make me happy is being away from all this where you're safe."
"How did you know, anyway?" Skyfire asked curiously. "I'm actually back early, and you were supposed to be going out."
"Coldcast called after you left to say things were getting unpleasant and he was worried because you hadn't turned up. I knew why you were late, but I hoped you have the sense to stay clear. Then I realised of course you wouldn't have."
"There was no sign that anything was wrong."
Whitestar shook his head in obvious dismay.
"There are always signs, Sky. You just aren't ever looking."