Fic: Co-Dependence 7/?
TITLE: Co-Dependence, part 7
SERIES: Imperfection Deviation
AUTHOR: Macx
RATING: R for violence
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me, sadly. They are owned by people with a lot more money :)
FEEDBACK: Loved
GRAMMAR BETA: okami_myrrhibis
PLOT BETA: Sapphire, who suffered through random bouts of my madness
Six weeks.
Six long weeks.
It wasn’t over, but after those six weeks the worst lay behind them.
Sam gazed at the impossibly blue sky above him, feeling more relaxed than he had for some weeks. He had his hands folded on his stomach, feet crossed at his ankles, and the warmth from Bumblebee’s hood and windshield were reassuring at his back. His partner’s mind was a passive, gentle presence in his own mind and it was like a healing bath, taken by a technopath who had been pushed to and even past his limits.
Barricade’s training had helped him immensely. The situation hadn’t called for attack-defense, but the rigorous sessions with the former Decepticon had prepared Sam for the intensity of each mind contact. He had sometimes just sat and watched as Ratchet worked, mind open, looking for even the slightest twitch out of the ordinary. That had been draining. Even more draining had been the glitching and stuttering spark from Long Haul and later Mixmaster. But he had gone through hours of passive control to moments of sudden activity, and he had come out with less of a migraine than expected.
Six weeks and they finally had the Constructicons where Ratchet felt that there wouldn’t be set-backs. All five were still locked in their protoforms, unable to trans-scan since Ratchet had forcefully deactivated that ability until they were strong enough to spare that amount of energy.
It had been touch and go for a while. Especially for Long Haul. Ratchet had spent a whole night trying to save the core unit from a fatal crash. Sam had held the wavering spark while energy had slipped through his grasp. He had been desperate in the end. Long Haul had nearly perished and what he had been able to hold onto wasn’t what the mech had once been.
Scrapper had still thanked him. Long Haul was still Long Haul in the Constructicon leader’s optics. Sam had blamed himself for the recurring memory lapses, but it was slowly getting better.
::The difference between what could have been and what is, Sam, is life:: Bumblebee murmured.
::Yeah, I know. They survived::
::Not just that. They can live now. Really live::
Mixmaster had been another severe case. His spark had been so scarred and erratic, Ratchet had taken two weeks to more or less rebuild the basic containment structure to support the traumatized core. He hadn’t tried to slip into oblivion like Long Haul, but when Sam had touched the other mind, he had felt so much shame and guilt and lingering insanity, it had taken his breath away. In the end they had needed Scrapper’s strength to pull Mixmaster from the edge.
The Constructicon leader had been the last to undergo repairs and Ratchet had felt it to be safe enough to forego a complete deactivation of Scrapper for that task.
He had been wrong.
Terribly, terribly wrong.
Sam sat in his usual spot, technopathic senses on Scrapper, who was in a milder form of stasis. He was still aware to some degree, not disconnected from his body. He had been the best-maintained, the leader, the one needed to function throughout the time the five individuals had hidden themselves. With the knowledge Ratchet had gained from the other four he had set out on his task to remove the Modulator’s traces, separate the connections to the combiner’s mind, and restore what could be restored.
Sam was scanning, careful not to interfere with the resting mind too much. He had gotten to know them all to some degree, felt comfortable and secure in his work, and so did Ratchet.
The first tremor was barely registering. Sam didn’t even react until the third one came in, stronger and more pronounced, but nothing to worry about. He reached out and calmed Scrapper gently.
Ratchet was just about to start the program that would purge as much of the Modulator’s influence as was possible in a mind as scarred as the Constructicon’s.
The next tremor was more like a little quake. It left eddies of unease, drifting around, lapping at the borders of Sam’s mind.
The technopath sat up.
He caught an image of a mech he had never met but had gotten to know throughout the weeks working here.
Shockwave.
The image wavered, blurred, like static was racing across a screen.
Shockwave. The Modulator. The machine that had just cost another Constructicon his former life. He saw the motionless form of Hook being dragged over to where the others already sat.
Silent. Complacent. Servants to be used.
Again an image of Shockwave.
This time the frizzing effect was more pronounced. The mech in question seemed to be wavering, like a bad hologram, then tore apart into pixels to reform as…
<“Ratchet!”>
Sam’s cry was vocal as well as technopathic, but it was too late.
The formerly inert form of the Constructicon leader surged up, optical band blazing red, and he screamed a terrible scream. It was pain and denial and anger and fear and fury combined. Ratchet was too surprised to react immediately. He was pushed back, actually flung halfway across the room to collide with a monitoring station.
Scrapper surged forward, optics too bright to be called sane, filled with a fire that told Sam all he needed to now.
::Scrapper!:: he sent forcefully.
The mech wasn’t be deterred. Unarmed he was still very well able to crush the human he was towering over.
Sam felt the nightmares, sharp and slashing through the tortured spark. Nightmares of the Modulator, of watching his friends turning into nothing more than obedient drones, of feeling the fiery access to his own mind…
Ratchet was on his feet, guns out, but Sam sent denial.
Not yet.
::Scrapper!:: he yelled once more.
The Constructicon screamed, clutching his spark, then tried to lash out at the small life form within his reach.
Sam ducked, rolled around, and did the only thing he could: he sent a lance of technopathic force into the other mind.
Scrapper’s howl was terrible and it hurt Sam more than anything.
The Constructicon fell to his knees, sharp claws crashing left and right of the technopath, who was staring up into the feverish visor band. Sam heard the wheezing, the grinding of gears, the inner workings of the tortured body with its equally tortured soul.
::You’re safe:: he told the other firmly. ::Safe! We want to help you::
The door to the lab was flung open and Sam knew just who had stormed inside. His peripheral senses informed him of everything. Still he didn’t say anything, just looked into the torn mind, all calm and collected.
::Relax. Let us help. Let us erase what the Modulator did. We helped the others already. We will help you::
Scrapper made a desperate sound, unable to articulate himself. His fingers twitched spasmodically. One wrong twitch and he could just flick Sam into the wall, but he wouldn’t.
Sam stepped closer.
He heard a gun charge.
::Scrapper. Trust me::
::S…s…sam… trrrr…st…::
::Thank you:: he whispered, meaning it.
And then Scrapper collapsed to one side with a soft whine of need and fear. Sam held onto the flailing mind, calming it, aware of the others but ignoring them completely until Scrapper slipped into unconsciousness.
When he looked up, the unlikely pair of guardians he had acquired were still pointing their weapons at Scrapper.
“It’s okay. It was a nightmare,” Sam said calmly. “He got a flashback of the moment he was dragged into the Modulator, and Shockwave’s image morphed into Ratchet.” He shot the medic an apologetic smile.
Ratchet’s expression was grim. “I shouldn’t have taken the chance. I should have known! He appeared stable enough…”
“None of them are. But he’s okay.”
Sam felt a little dizzy, but surprisingly strong.
Bumblebee only holstered his gun when Ratchet had reassured them all that Scrapper was now in a deep stasis lock, and Barricade followed about a minute later. Both hadn’t spoken a word, but it was clear what their intent would have been: destroy what threatened Sam.
::Thanks:: Sam sent, addressing both.
Barricade only rumbled and turned, leaving. Bumblebee remained behind, optics on Sam, scanning him for injuries.
“I’m fine,” the human replied.
And he was.
He also had work to do.
Bumblebee didn’t argue with him over Sam’s choice to continue his work. He simply remained in the lab at his partner’s side for the rest of the time it took Ratchet to complete his work.
Ratchet had removed all traces left by the combiner nodes and modules. Physically they would no longer be able to merge and if they finally were allowed to trans-scan alt modes, the protoform wouldn’t recreate that interlocking ability either. They were free of the physical aspect.
What Ratchet had been unable to clear fully was the programming that had merged their minds into Devastator. While they now had shields and wouldn’t get flashes from the other four, the connection wasn’t completely gone. All five had bonds of various strengths to another. It no longer threatened to let them slide into one mind pool. Ratchet had been unable to do more for them.
In the six weeks he had been at Yuma Sam had relied heavily on Bumblebee. Aside from anchoring his mind, he had also unloaded all the unspent physical energy on his partner. Bumblebee hadn’t complained and if he ever told anyone what had happened behind closed doors, they would probably stop talking to him, see him as a freak.
Bumblebee let amusement roll through their connection. ::I wouldn’t call you a freak, Sam. More like a starved maniac::
::Not helping!::
He just hoped that half the base didn’t know about it already. Ratchet knew, of course. It had been beyond embarrassing when Scrapper had remarked on it. The Constructicon had been intrigued, but not averse to the fact of human-mech socializing on that level. They had also picked up on Sam’s dietary needs when he pushed himself too far and once, after pulling Mixmaster back from the brink, when Sam had curled up in a corner and just wished for the world to stop spinning, Scavenger had shown how much they had learned indeed.
A pack of powerbars and M&Ms had been gently placed beside him and the Constructicon had watched Sam with bright optics, fidgeting a little.
“Thanks,” Sam had told the large mech, managing a smile as he chose the chocolaty goodies first.
Scavenger’s smile had been almost tentative.
The relationship between the five Constructicons and the Autobots, as well as their human allies, had evened out immensely. Sam had taken care to make sure he could help that along. He knew those five weren’t evil incarnate. They had been manipulated and almost annihilated. Ratchet had found a ready assistant in Scavenger, who had developed an interest in the medic’s work. He was still a builder, an engineer of structures, not mechs, but he had learned willingly to help in whatever way he could.
::Optimus Prime is coming in tonight:: Bumblebee interrupted his musings. ::Lieutenant Fenn just got word from Lieutenant DeMarco that he is on the next flight::
::ETA?::
::2100 hours::
Sam stretched lazily. That was still a few hours off. Sam briefly pondered driving into Yuma and spend some time just hanging around, but he was too lazy. This was his first day without anything major breathing down his neck. He could touch Bumblebee without clinging to him like some needy energizer bunny out of juice. He also didn’t want to go to the base. He had a pass that allowed him unrestricted access to every facility, but he didn’t feel like mingling.
::We don’t have to be anywhere for the next four point seven-five hours:: Bumblebee informed him.
::Good. I think I need at least two of those hours to just feel human again::
Bumblebee chuckled. ::Anything I can do to help?::
::You already are. More than you think::
The mech hummed softly, a familiar, welcome noise.
* * *
Optimus Prime didn’t even try to hide the relief he felt that the five surviving Constructicons had come out of the surgical procedure intact. None of them would ever be who they had been, but at least the danger of a total collapse had been averted. They were individuals again, no longer forced to live a life that might fuse their minds into a hive mind one day. Or kill them. The combiner traits had been removed.
None had been allowed to trans-scan just yet. Ratchet wasn’t a mother-hen exactly, but he kept a very close optic on them all and the slightest flicker in their energy consumption had him run complete test sequences once more.
“I appreciate his care,” Scrapper told Prime as they met for the first time since the beginning of the procedures. “But I think it’s time to risk a little.”
Optimus chuckled. “You can’t hurry him in matters this grave.”
Even in his protoform there was the visorband and the mouth shield, so Scrapper’s smile was simply a flash of optics and an amused hum.
“Scavenger is already eager to get a new alt mode, as is Long Haul. Being unable to give in to the impulse to transform is… unnerving after a while.”
“Understandable. The moment Ratchet clears you completely, you can go wherever you want to take your preferred mode.”
Scrapper tilted his head a little. “You would let us go?”
Prime was slightly taken aback by the subtext. “Of course. You’re not our prisoners, Scrapper. What we did was because you asked for our help and we could give some of it. Ratchet sent me a very detailed report. All changes wrought by the Modulator on your character and personality have been removed. You’re back to your old selves.”
“With a few losses here or there, which we expected,” Scrapper agreed.
“It can’t be undone, because it had already been erased or shattered so completely, no repair was possible.”
“We understand, Prime. As I told you before, it’s more than we ever hoped for. We didn’t expect our freedom, though.”
Optimus’ optics turned an even deeper blue. “I’d be honored to call you our allies. You might not affiliate with the Autobots, but an alliance would help both our teams.”
Scrapper nodded.
“You already made an offering by drawing up plans for remodeling the Ark. I want to offer the lead on the reconstruction to you and your team.”
Scrapper could hardly gape, since he had no visible mouth, but the flare of red was a clear indicator. “You would trust us with that?” he stuttered.
“Yes. You are still the best. Your team is brilliant, Scrapper, don’t deny it. The satellite station is an asset we need. You are an asset we need. Will you accept this request?”
The other mech gave a whirr that sounded like laughter mixed with disbelief. “Of course, Prime. We’d be honored to serve you.”
“And I’d be honored to call you our allies and friends.”
tbc...
SERIES: Imperfection Deviation
AUTHOR: Macx
RATING: R for violence
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me, sadly. They are owned by people with a lot more money :)
FEEDBACK: Loved
GRAMMAR BETA: okami_myrrhibis
PLOT BETA: Sapphire, who suffered through random bouts of my madness
Six weeks.
Six long weeks.
It wasn’t over, but after those six weeks the worst lay behind them.
Sam gazed at the impossibly blue sky above him, feeling more relaxed than he had for some weeks. He had his hands folded on his stomach, feet crossed at his ankles, and the warmth from Bumblebee’s hood and windshield were reassuring at his back. His partner’s mind was a passive, gentle presence in his own mind and it was like a healing bath, taken by a technopath who had been pushed to and even past his limits.
Barricade’s training had helped him immensely. The situation hadn’t called for attack-defense, but the rigorous sessions with the former Decepticon had prepared Sam for the intensity of each mind contact. He had sometimes just sat and watched as Ratchet worked, mind open, looking for even the slightest twitch out of the ordinary. That had been draining. Even more draining had been the glitching and stuttering spark from Long Haul and later Mixmaster. But he had gone through hours of passive control to moments of sudden activity, and he had come out with less of a migraine than expected.
Six weeks and they finally had the Constructicons where Ratchet felt that there wouldn’t be set-backs. All five were still locked in their protoforms, unable to trans-scan since Ratchet had forcefully deactivated that ability until they were strong enough to spare that amount of energy.
It had been touch and go for a while. Especially for Long Haul. Ratchet had spent a whole night trying to save the core unit from a fatal crash. Sam had held the wavering spark while energy had slipped through his grasp. He had been desperate in the end. Long Haul had nearly perished and what he had been able to hold onto wasn’t what the mech had once been.
Scrapper had still thanked him. Long Haul was still Long Haul in the Constructicon leader’s optics. Sam had blamed himself for the recurring memory lapses, but it was slowly getting better.
::The difference between what could have been and what is, Sam, is life:: Bumblebee murmured.
::Yeah, I know. They survived::
::Not just that. They can live now. Really live::
Mixmaster had been another severe case. His spark had been so scarred and erratic, Ratchet had taken two weeks to more or less rebuild the basic containment structure to support the traumatized core. He hadn’t tried to slip into oblivion like Long Haul, but when Sam had touched the other mind, he had felt so much shame and guilt and lingering insanity, it had taken his breath away. In the end they had needed Scrapper’s strength to pull Mixmaster from the edge.
The Constructicon leader had been the last to undergo repairs and Ratchet had felt it to be safe enough to forego a complete deactivation of Scrapper for that task.
He had been wrong.
Terribly, terribly wrong.
Sam sat in his usual spot, technopathic senses on Scrapper, who was in a milder form of stasis. He was still aware to some degree, not disconnected from his body. He had been the best-maintained, the leader, the one needed to function throughout the time the five individuals had hidden themselves. With the knowledge Ratchet had gained from the other four he had set out on his task to remove the Modulator’s traces, separate the connections to the combiner’s mind, and restore what could be restored.
Sam was scanning, careful not to interfere with the resting mind too much. He had gotten to know them all to some degree, felt comfortable and secure in his work, and so did Ratchet.
The first tremor was barely registering. Sam didn’t even react until the third one came in, stronger and more pronounced, but nothing to worry about. He reached out and calmed Scrapper gently.
Ratchet was just about to start the program that would purge as much of the Modulator’s influence as was possible in a mind as scarred as the Constructicon’s.
The next tremor was more like a little quake. It left eddies of unease, drifting around, lapping at the borders of Sam’s mind.
The technopath sat up.
He caught an image of a mech he had never met but had gotten to know throughout the weeks working here.
Shockwave.
The image wavered, blurred, like static was racing across a screen.
Shockwave. The Modulator. The machine that had just cost another Constructicon his former life. He saw the motionless form of Hook being dragged over to where the others already sat.
Silent. Complacent. Servants to be used.
Again an image of Shockwave.
This time the frizzing effect was more pronounced. The mech in question seemed to be wavering, like a bad hologram, then tore apart into pixels to reform as…
<“Ratchet!”>
Sam’s cry was vocal as well as technopathic, but it was too late.
The formerly inert form of the Constructicon leader surged up, optical band blazing red, and he screamed a terrible scream. It was pain and denial and anger and fear and fury combined. Ratchet was too surprised to react immediately. He was pushed back, actually flung halfway across the room to collide with a monitoring station.
Scrapper surged forward, optics too bright to be called sane, filled with a fire that told Sam all he needed to now.
::Scrapper!:: he sent forcefully.
The mech wasn’t be deterred. Unarmed he was still very well able to crush the human he was towering over.
Sam felt the nightmares, sharp and slashing through the tortured spark. Nightmares of the Modulator, of watching his friends turning into nothing more than obedient drones, of feeling the fiery access to his own mind…
Ratchet was on his feet, guns out, but Sam sent denial.
Not yet.
::Scrapper!:: he yelled once more.
The Constructicon screamed, clutching his spark, then tried to lash out at the small life form within his reach.
Sam ducked, rolled around, and did the only thing he could: he sent a lance of technopathic force into the other mind.
Scrapper’s howl was terrible and it hurt Sam more than anything.
The Constructicon fell to his knees, sharp claws crashing left and right of the technopath, who was staring up into the feverish visor band. Sam heard the wheezing, the grinding of gears, the inner workings of the tortured body with its equally tortured soul.
::You’re safe:: he told the other firmly. ::Safe! We want to help you::
The door to the lab was flung open and Sam knew just who had stormed inside. His peripheral senses informed him of everything. Still he didn’t say anything, just looked into the torn mind, all calm and collected.
::Relax. Let us help. Let us erase what the Modulator did. We helped the others already. We will help you::
Scrapper made a desperate sound, unable to articulate himself. His fingers twitched spasmodically. One wrong twitch and he could just flick Sam into the wall, but he wouldn’t.
Sam stepped closer.
He heard a gun charge.
::Scrapper. Trust me::
::S…s…sam… trrrr…st…::
::Thank you:: he whispered, meaning it.
And then Scrapper collapsed to one side with a soft whine of need and fear. Sam held onto the flailing mind, calming it, aware of the others but ignoring them completely until Scrapper slipped into unconsciousness.
When he looked up, the unlikely pair of guardians he had acquired were still pointing their weapons at Scrapper.
“It’s okay. It was a nightmare,” Sam said calmly. “He got a flashback of the moment he was dragged into the Modulator, and Shockwave’s image morphed into Ratchet.” He shot the medic an apologetic smile.
Ratchet’s expression was grim. “I shouldn’t have taken the chance. I should have known! He appeared stable enough…”
“None of them are. But he’s okay.”
Sam felt a little dizzy, but surprisingly strong.
Bumblebee only holstered his gun when Ratchet had reassured them all that Scrapper was now in a deep stasis lock, and Barricade followed about a minute later. Both hadn’t spoken a word, but it was clear what their intent would have been: destroy what threatened Sam.
::Thanks:: Sam sent, addressing both.
Barricade only rumbled and turned, leaving. Bumblebee remained behind, optics on Sam, scanning him for injuries.
“I’m fine,” the human replied.
And he was.
He also had work to do.
Bumblebee didn’t argue with him over Sam’s choice to continue his work. He simply remained in the lab at his partner’s side for the rest of the time it took Ratchet to complete his work.
Ratchet had removed all traces left by the combiner nodes and modules. Physically they would no longer be able to merge and if they finally were allowed to trans-scan alt modes, the protoform wouldn’t recreate that interlocking ability either. They were free of the physical aspect.
What Ratchet had been unable to clear fully was the programming that had merged their minds into Devastator. While they now had shields and wouldn’t get flashes from the other four, the connection wasn’t completely gone. All five had bonds of various strengths to another. It no longer threatened to let them slide into one mind pool. Ratchet had been unable to do more for them.
In the six weeks he had been at Yuma Sam had relied heavily on Bumblebee. Aside from anchoring his mind, he had also unloaded all the unspent physical energy on his partner. Bumblebee hadn’t complained and if he ever told anyone what had happened behind closed doors, they would probably stop talking to him, see him as a freak.
Bumblebee let amusement roll through their connection. ::I wouldn’t call you a freak, Sam. More like a starved maniac::
::Not helping!::
He just hoped that half the base didn’t know about it already. Ratchet knew, of course. It had been beyond embarrassing when Scrapper had remarked on it. The Constructicon had been intrigued, but not averse to the fact of human-mech socializing on that level. They had also picked up on Sam’s dietary needs when he pushed himself too far and once, after pulling Mixmaster back from the brink, when Sam had curled up in a corner and just wished for the world to stop spinning, Scavenger had shown how much they had learned indeed.
A pack of powerbars and M&Ms had been gently placed beside him and the Constructicon had watched Sam with bright optics, fidgeting a little.
“Thanks,” Sam had told the large mech, managing a smile as he chose the chocolaty goodies first.
Scavenger’s smile had been almost tentative.
The relationship between the five Constructicons and the Autobots, as well as their human allies, had evened out immensely. Sam had taken care to make sure he could help that along. He knew those five weren’t evil incarnate. They had been manipulated and almost annihilated. Ratchet had found a ready assistant in Scavenger, who had developed an interest in the medic’s work. He was still a builder, an engineer of structures, not mechs, but he had learned willingly to help in whatever way he could.
::Optimus Prime is coming in tonight:: Bumblebee interrupted his musings. ::Lieutenant Fenn just got word from Lieutenant DeMarco that he is on the next flight::
::ETA?::
::2100 hours::
Sam stretched lazily. That was still a few hours off. Sam briefly pondered driving into Yuma and spend some time just hanging around, but he was too lazy. This was his first day without anything major breathing down his neck. He could touch Bumblebee without clinging to him like some needy energizer bunny out of juice. He also didn’t want to go to the base. He had a pass that allowed him unrestricted access to every facility, but he didn’t feel like mingling.
::We don’t have to be anywhere for the next four point seven-five hours:: Bumblebee informed him.
::Good. I think I need at least two of those hours to just feel human again::
Bumblebee chuckled. ::Anything I can do to help?::
::You already are. More than you think::
The mech hummed softly, a familiar, welcome noise.
* * *
Optimus Prime didn’t even try to hide the relief he felt that the five surviving Constructicons had come out of the surgical procedure intact. None of them would ever be who they had been, but at least the danger of a total collapse had been averted. They were individuals again, no longer forced to live a life that might fuse their minds into a hive mind one day. Or kill them. The combiner traits had been removed.
None had been allowed to trans-scan just yet. Ratchet wasn’t a mother-hen exactly, but he kept a very close optic on them all and the slightest flicker in their energy consumption had him run complete test sequences once more.
“I appreciate his care,” Scrapper told Prime as they met for the first time since the beginning of the procedures. “But I think it’s time to risk a little.”
Optimus chuckled. “You can’t hurry him in matters this grave.”
Even in his protoform there was the visorband and the mouth shield, so Scrapper’s smile was simply a flash of optics and an amused hum.
“Scavenger is already eager to get a new alt mode, as is Long Haul. Being unable to give in to the impulse to transform is… unnerving after a while.”
“Understandable. The moment Ratchet clears you completely, you can go wherever you want to take your preferred mode.”
Scrapper tilted his head a little. “You would let us go?”
Prime was slightly taken aback by the subtext. “Of course. You’re not our prisoners, Scrapper. What we did was because you asked for our help and we could give some of it. Ratchet sent me a very detailed report. All changes wrought by the Modulator on your character and personality have been removed. You’re back to your old selves.”
“With a few losses here or there, which we expected,” Scrapper agreed.
“It can’t be undone, because it had already been erased or shattered so completely, no repair was possible.”
“We understand, Prime. As I told you before, it’s more than we ever hoped for. We didn’t expect our freedom, though.”
Optimus’ optics turned an even deeper blue. “I’d be honored to call you our allies. You might not affiliate with the Autobots, but an alliance would help both our teams.”
Scrapper nodded.
“You already made an offering by drawing up plans for remodeling the Ark. I want to offer the lead on the reconstruction to you and your team.”
Scrapper could hardly gape, since he had no visible mouth, but the flare of red was a clear indicator. “You would trust us with that?” he stuttered.
“Yes. You are still the best. Your team is brilliant, Scrapper, don’t deny it. The satellite station is an asset we need. You are an asset we need. Will you accept this request?”
The other mech gave a whirr that sounded like laughter mixed with disbelief. “Of course, Prime. We’d be honored to serve you.”
“And I’d be honored to call you our allies and friends.”
tbc...