Part Nine
For Yana, who hasn’t given up yet. Thanks. ;)
In the world behind his optics, he drifted in dark, soundless waiting. He registered dimly that he WAS waiting for something and wondered when that had started. He also wondered, without much concern, what it was he was waiting for. He dismissed the questions as unimportant and let himself wait. The darkness pressed into him comfortably, and with that pressure he realized he had form. He was big, larger than his consciousness could touch because his interest faded as quickly as his awareness did. It was enough to know that he had a body around him, even if he couldn’t comprehend its shape or function. He drifted, forgetting thoughts as soon as they started, remembering the ends long after he’d lost the beginnings. The body around him was tired and not quite awake, and his mind wasn’t much better.
As if from a distance, whispers of sound reached him, almost inaudible and meaningless in their near-silence. The sounds prodded at him, inspiring his slow thoughts into reaching toward completion. One thought after another nearly finished, only to disappear into the comforting darkness before he could wrap his mind around them and wake to their meaning. A vague feeling started: this wasn’t normal for him. He didn’t care much that it wasn’t, but at least he could hold onto that feeling. It was something of an accomplishment. With it as an anchor, his mind explored more often than it drifted, touching on half-finished ideas and fully-formed reports from the body coming out of stasis that he inhabited. None of it seemed terribly interesting, but with a kind of absent-minded duty, he gradually pulled himself together from the bits floating about in the darkness. He couldn’t remember WHY he felt this duty, but it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. He had no direction in this world of darkness, just a nagging sense of self formed somewhere between the motionless, numb bulk of his body and the stumbling mass of mechanical responses and spark-deep subconscious thought that was mind.
So, he went toward the whispering. There was nowhere else to go. The rise and fall of soft background noises began to separate like oil and water, the higher and lower tones dissolving out of the whole to become different voices. He couldn’t tell how many there were because something connected in his head when he heard one voice, louder and more familiar than he could place. Louder, or perhaps just closer to his body, but why in the Pit did that light a brief flare of alarm in some distant corner of his mind? If there was a synapse firing up in his head, it hadn’t turned over completely yet. He noticed that he’d become somewhat frustrated by his lack of control and resolved to do something about that. The fact that he’d managed to care enough to make a resolution surprised him, and the surprise itself was a surprise. He marveled at it for a moment before resuming his exploration.
If the voice was UP, and his body was OUT, then logically somewhere between the two was a way they joined. His body had a method of hearing sound, yes. Audios, they were called. When he concentrated, he could recall that little fact, along with the logic to figure it out. His thoughts were becoming more organized, stuttering slightly before they completed but finishing and slotting neatly into place. Good. Following thoughts to their ends gave him a greater sense of self, of who and what he was. The reports filed in his head integrated as he figured out individual words even as he didn’t necessarily understand everything they said, and he realized that they were all about his body. Something was generating the reports; it took him some hesitant probing in other directions, but eventually he followed the data to its source. It allowed him access at a touch, and he tested it, trying to figure out what it was for. Audios, yes, and surface damage, and repair systems were online to deal with it all, automatically brought online long before he’d stopped drifting. An automatic interface between his body and thoughts, then, and he searched through it for something more than this unclear recollection. He designated it an onboard computer of some kind, and it immediately started to bring things to his attention. Primary in this new influx of status reports was a blaring proximity alert. He debated being worried by this, wondering who his computer could be tracking and whether this person had the familiar voice.
Along the way toward what might have been a memory, a few thoughts snapped into place. He paused and tried them out. The numbness of his body receded slowly, but it felt like his limbs were filled with lead weights. One finger twitched, and he analyzed the information brought in by that small movement. It gave him an idea of how he was supposed to use this body he’d found himself in. HIS body, waking a minute at a time and bringing his hazy mind back to himself. Abandoning the automatic systems for the moment, he concentrated on the loud voice. It hadn’t gone away while internal radar pinpointed its position, and he still felt alarmed by this. He’d have to come out of his dark internal world to find out why. With innate caution and some trepidation, he mentally flicked a connection into place and came out from behind his optics.
Let there be light…
The technician looked up at the Cybertronian on the other side of the platform the raybot was on. “You are certain this is normal?” she asked in heavily accented Standard. The large robot nodded silently, and she turned back to her equipment again. The team that had initially made contact with the two beings in her care had established that while the conscious robot couldn’t understand the planet’s native tongue, he at least partially understood the trade language. He hadn’t spoken more than a few words to anyone, either from trauma or lack of linguistic skill. He seemed intelligent to her, though, and he made a very unnerving watcher for this procedure, in her opinion. She couldn’t very well ask him to leave, not after what he’d gone through to keep this other robot alive. “I’m sorry I keep asking,” she said over one shoulder knob, “but I have no experience with your kind’s natural functioning.”
Rampage barely spared her a glance. She had no weaponry that he could detect, and he could kill her with a single blow to her soft cranial dome. There was nothing here to stop him. There was a guard outside the room, but the alien was meant to be his guide around the station more than an actual threat to keep him in line. The lack of security on this space station utterly amazed him. He could easily destroy the place in an hour, and the urge to do so was there, beating in his split spark. Dark urges made all the more persuasive now that he had a way to escape, a planet and a working space station with starships, ways to find new victims and slip from the Maximal High Council’s grasp. His captor was offline, and he could take back what was his and LEAVE…but, no. The Council would follow, Jirex and Kilju snapping at his heels, until he destroyed them.
And he wanted their destruction with a deeper yearning than he’d ever experienced before.
He wanted to crush the alien technician, however, and feel her extinguished life at his fingertips. Had he been alone, the pull of her emotions would have sucked him into a maelstrom of violence and glee that he would have gladly surrendered to--but he wasn’t alone. There was another spark, a familiar spark, that held him in a fragile spell of control that he didn’t wish to break however much he contradicted himself in imagining the alien’s innards spread across the wall. It helped if he didn’t look at her.
Instead of looking at her, then, he watched his old friend. It was fascinating. He’d never seen his enemy-made-ally this out of it. In stasis and near death, the ray had been vulnerable, but he hadn’t made these tiny noises that seemed to belong to someone like Cheetor. It was like the raybot was being dragged out of stasis by his tail, complaining all the while that he’d been sleeping, slaggit!
It made Rampage smirk and chuckle, and he wistfully regretted not having some way of recording the Maximal’s waking. This was perfect blackmail material in the making, if he could’ve used it right. Or, at least, he could have embarrassed the Pit out of the raybot. Ah, well. He’d just have to use it how he could.
More important than that was the simple fact that Depth Charge was near waking. The raybot’s familiar spark drew into itself, the soft vagueness disappearing into the bare, sharp angles of the personality he knew, and Rampage leaned over him curiously. There was no stasis pod lid to stand between them this time, and he found himself morbidly fascinated by watching someone who’d almost died come back to life.
“You made it,” he murmured to the inert form, and the technician glanced up. A look of what he was coming to identify as confusion crossed her alien features, but he ignored her. “Imagine my surprise that we’ve BOTH made it to a planet,” he commented wryly, voice barely audible, and after a moment of listening to his words, the female went back to her work. She couldn’t understand his words any more than he could understand her planetary language. He didn’t know what the language he spoke was called because it was all he’d ever been taught, but he was willing to bet it was specific to Cybertron and its colonies and allies. That would explain why he was ignorant of more than a few words in any other tongue. He hadn’t wandered far beyond Cybertron’s sphere of influence in his life. That didn’t mean he couldn’t learn; in the time since the rescue, he’d picked up the basics of what these beings called ‘Standard.’ Knowledge of a trade language could be useful in the future.
Thoughts of how he could use it were pushed to the back of his mind as the Maximal’s optics lit dimly. Chuckling quietly, Rampage looked down at him. “Welcome back, old friend.”
He had just enough time to realize his mistake when he saw the lightening-quick movement of Depth Charge’s hand, but nothing would ever prepare him for the PAIN. It punched into his chest like a living thing with vicious intent, ripping into his damaged spark as his core smashed flat in the small box Depth Charge now held. Each crystal of raw energon could be clearly felt, a reminder of the agony time and his own mind had blurred, unable to believe that such pain could be endured. He’d scream if he’d the ability, but the rest of his body had faded away as his entire consciousness folded around the mad flutters of his spark. Tortured by itself, it shrieked for him.
The results, he had to admit, were gratifying. A grenade would have inconvenienced the red-purple ‘bot; this had incapacitated him. That was a good thing, since the raybot shook his head as a wave of dizziness swept over him. He wasn’t in fighting condition at the moment. When the dizziness passed, he blinked his optics and let up on the spark-box. Rampage immediately moaned in response, the noise sounding torn from his throat. If the painful sound was any indication of what he had just suffered, the crab wasn’t about to start anything more.
More?
Depth Charge blinked and shook his head again, trying to force his memory to supply the events leading to waking up with Rampage hovering over him. The problem was that he just didn’t remember. Still, even if he didn’t know what was going on, it was a fair bet that Rampage had been up to no good.
A high-pitched squeak finally jerked his gaze from his downed foe to the other occupant of the room. A frail biped of some kind with two upper limbs set above a dome-shaped structure he thought was a head squeaked urgently at the door, which hissed open to reveal a blockier version of the species. The Maximal’s mind suddenly turned over, analyzing his surroundings with startled alarm. He hadn’t had time to look beyond the immediate threat, and he realized that he had no idea where he was. Not only was he not on the ship, but the last thing he remembered was shutting down into stasis. Somewhere between going offline and coming back online he’d been taken off the ship, Rampage had somehow been freed, and they had ended up in this room. It wasn’t a place he recognized. The features were foreign, designed for the aliens advancing toward him. They were both wearing harnesses that were probably uniforms, but while the smaller biped’s harness held electronic tools, the larger’s had a holster.
And the gun the holster belonged to was pointed firmly in Depth Charge’s direction.
He froze, hands in plain sight and launcher at the wrong angle to shoot a grenade even if he’d been inclined to fight. He wasn’t. The majority of his mind had scrambled an answer to his abrupt confusion: he’d screwed up. The situation wasn’t what he’d assumed it was. He still had no idea what was going on, but apparently he was in the wrong.
A forceful shrill came from the armed alien, and Depth Charge coughed to clear his throat. His voice box sounded rusty, anyway. How long had he been in stasis? “I don’t understand.” The smaller biped ducked under the weapon and ran across the room toward Rampage, and his optics widened. The instinct to protect temporarily overcame common sense, and he moved, one hand extending. “Get away from him--!”
“Lower your arm!” The command was said in the same squeaky voice but in Standard this time, and Depth Charge’s attention shifted back to the weapon trained on him. The raised hand lowered slowly, and he anxiously looked back to Rampage as the other alien reached him.
“Get back!” he urgently ordered in Standard. “He’s dangerous!”
“Less than you are,” the smaller biped spat back, piercing voice couched in heavily-accented, angry Standard. A sharp squeak was directed at the other alien before switching back to Standard. “Do you function correctly? Do you require aid?” the biped asked the robot shaking on the floor, a fragile, three-digit hands detaching a flat tool to scan him with.
“I must ask that you drop the weapon,” the armed alien demanded at the same time, and Depth Charge stared at it in shock. What weapon..? “The box,” it said, one hand leaving the gun to point at the spark-box held in the Maximal’s hand. “You used it for an attack without discernable cause, and I must ask that you disarm and surrender.”
“You don’t understand,” he protested. “I--“
“Disarm at once or I will be forced to shoot you!” the alien shrilled. “You are under arrest until it is determined that you are not a threat. Cooperate, and you will not be harmed!”
He was being ARRESTED! But the robot they had to fear was Rampage! The crab lifted his head, and Depth Charge’s optics lit in fear for the biped attempting to help the psychotic murderer. One monstrous hand lifted toward it, and the Maximal shouted a wordless warning, already despairing for one more life lost to Protoform X--
“Drop the weapon!”
“No,” Rampage rumbled to the alien in broken Standard, “but…gratitude. Pain…ends.”
The Maximal’s mind stuttered to a stunned halt. He distantly heard a strident, “Drop it!”
“No thanks are necessary.” It caught Rampage’s hand and helped him to his feet, preposterously frail next to his massive form. One flex of metal joints could crush its delicate body, yet the red-purple ‘bot merely accepted the help. “You are safe. Your energy flux is passing.”
“NOW!” The gun popped, shooting a dark ball of power.
Emerald optics full of fury, pain, and ironic laughter met the Maximal’s eyes, and the spark-box dropped from numb fingers as Depth Charge lost consciousness.
“They’ll release me once I’ve explained the circumstances,” Depth Charge snarled back, but underneath the Maximal’s anger roiled terror he couldn’t hide from his enemy.
Not fear for himself, Rampage judged. Restrained and helpless, The raybot still worried for those he couldn’t protect. The Maximal had been offline through the flurry of activity that had put him behind bars, leaving him ignorant of what exactly had occurred. He’d only been online for a few minutes before his yelling had brought a stone-faced alien into the room, evidently there to escort the crab. The guard had left and closed the door, leaving one ‘bot on each side of the cell bars. Unfortunately for Depth Charge, he was on the wrong side of said bars.
“Ah, but will they release you in time?” Rampage taunted, his inflection on the last two words leaving them open to visions of what the raybot might be too late for. Depth Charge stiffened, the fear leaping higher. “This is a nice little planet. The spaceport is a bit more defensive, from what I understand, but I could take out most of the major cities without meeting much resistance.”
The raybot strained against the bonds wrapped around him. “Don’t you slagging DARE,” he snarled. “Don’t even THINK about it, or I’ll--“
“Or you’ll what?” Rampage asked mildly. “Hunt me down? Kill me? Those threats have gotten old, Fish Face. I’ve lived through the worst anyone could do to me.” He shook his head and turned on his heel to stride toward the exit.
“Where are you going?” Fear laced the hunter’s voice, and the crab paused to savor it. It would be so incredibly easy to meet the Maximal’s expectations and create his worst nightmare all over again on this planet. The vast whirlpool of anger and fear threatened to pull him down, however, and he couldn’t allow that yet. He had to calm the raybot, then.
He made his voice as bored as if they were discussing wiring. “To get you released. They think you’re a criminal and I your jailor at the moment, but I imagine that I’ve picked up enough of the trade language to convince them to let you out. Try not to contradict what I tell them, hmm?” He leveled a serious look over his shoulder at the befuddled raybot. “I’ve haven’t been talking much yet, but I’ll spin enough of a tale that you can get the fleshbags’ to help us. It’s probably not wise to tell them what really happened. I know it probably goes against your blasted Maximal morals, but even you have to see the sense in not revealing our identities.”
The question burst from him, low but intense with shocked suspicion: “Why!” Was the Predacon toying with him in his helpless state? He had his spark back, so why would he do anything but go on a murder spree? Depth Charge shook his head as if trying to shake some sense into the bizarre situation he’d been dumped into. “Why are you…I…” He fell silent, unaware that his optics brightened with a frustrated plea for enlightenment from the universe. It all felt like some strange role-reversal dream, and he couldn’t wake up.
Rampage shrugged. “It’s a nice planet, but it’s not Rarmet. We’ll need transportation, then, or at least repairs on the Cutting Edge. Unless,” one brow ridge went up in sardonic inquiry, “you want to remain here?” The Maximal mutely shook his head. The anger and fear he felt from the raybot had flatlined into sheer confusion, and while it wasn’t soothing to either of them, Rampage found it less troublesome to deal with. He felt as calmly smug as he sounded when he turned to leave, saying, “I didn’t think so.”
Depth Charge slumped in his bonds and watched him go, wondering when the rest of the universe had gone crazy.
Hours later, looking up at a green night sky, he wondered about his own sanity.
Sighing, the silver-blue ‘bot leaned down to rest his elbows on the balcony railing as he looked out over what he now knew was the capital city of the planet Clieforma. Clie was a sprawling metropolis that had expanded out instead of up as the population grew. It provided an interesting carpet of multicolored lights when looked down at from above, and since Depth Charge’s guest quarters were located in Clie Central, the government operations tower, he had such a vantage point. He absently admired the patterns created by the native tendency toward orange and green light colors, but the view couldn’t distract him from his roiling thoughts. The day had started out odd and gotten stranger from there. He still couldn’t decide if that been a bad thing.
After a tense waiting period where his internal radar had tracked the two pieces of the Protoform X out of range, the aliens had indeed released him from the cell and brought him to an official. The biped spoke understandable Standard and introduced himself as Leigetuant Rew, which was a military title indicating that he had sworn fealty or some such religious rite involving a planetary god. The Maximal had listened to politely to the history of the title and promptly discarded the parts he didn’t think were significant. That he was speaking to someone in the armed forces was enough for him. When he’d asked about his imprisonment, the Leigetuant had apologized for any offense given and told him that they had had no prior knowledge about the wild reactions of Cybertronians taken out of stasis. His companion had explained that the raybot hadn’t been in control of his own actions at the time but indicated that it was safe to free him. Depth Charge had uneasily agreed with the lie Rampage had fed the officer and assured him that he was fully aware now.
“Excellent!” the blocky biped had squeaked in Standard. “Then I hope we can learn from this as a racial misunderstanding and put it behind us.” An expression that was his species’ version of courteous questioning settled on his face. “Your companion has requested help, but we have had difficulty communicating with him. Would you care to elucidate?”
How much of that ‘difficulty communicating’ had been made by Rampage? The crab learned at a frightening rate, and it could be that he hadn’t wanted to deal with the aliens and left it to Depth Charge. More important than the depth of Rampage’s knowledge was the fact that Depth Charge’s internal radar couldn’t find the Predacon’s spark. “Where is, ah, my companion?” There was sense in not revealing their identities. If the Maximal High Council had labeled them both criminals…but that meant that it was likely Rampage had picked names for them. He just didn’t know what they were.
The Leigetuant check a flat screen suspended before him. “Finn is currently at the spaceport, in your ship. We felt that he was being made too uncomfortable by his limited ability to understand us, and he indicated desire to return to the ship.” A diagram of the Cutting Edge appeared on the screen and rotated, the damage clearly visible and vital parts highlighted. “Your repairs have astounded the engineers. Except for a need for energy, your starship still functions. A repair crew has volunteered their time if you wish our assistance.”
The name Rampage had picked baffled him, but he didn’t have time to ponder it. “I would--WE would,” he corrected himself, “be extremely grateful for that assistance. We have to reach Rarmet. You see, our ship was damaged in escaping a science facility under the control of a despotic doctor…”
The story he told sickened him in how few half-truths he had to tell in order to cast them in the role of two victims of a joint takeover by a ship commander and the lead doctor of the facility. He relived the horror of watching fellow Maximals and prisoners die alike, and cringed inside that he had lived when they had not. It didn’t seem real that a place like the Center could exist, much less the people who’d staffed it. The Leigetuant listened gravely and asked relevant questions, but the Maximal’s anger and need for justice were almost tangibly felt. Counterfeiting that would take more talent that the raybot had. Except for implying that the corruption of the facility ended on the moon and went no further, the only outright lie Depth Charge told was to say that Rampage was a fellow guard.
He panicked even as he said it. Actually, he’d been panicking all along that the Predacon was loose, but his fear spiked when he condoned it. The lie marked something he had trouble comprehending, and it made him edgy despite his respectful outward appearance.
Rampage was loose, Primus help them all, and he didn’t dare warn anyone.
He HAD to get the help of these aliens because reaching Rarmet and exposing the Maximal High Council’s crimes had become an obsession. A justified one, yes, but an obsession he had to fulfill. He couldn’t let his friends--and perhaps Rattrap most of all--die in vain. It had been a desperate gamble to flee the A.L.H. Research, a gamble that had cost Rattrap his life, and now Depth Charge risked playing the game against even higher stakes. If he lost this gamble, the planet would lose lives.
It all hinged on half-understood ideas and something cautious that was mostly hope but partially trust; Rampage had kept him alive. Learning how exactly he’d been kept alive long enough to be rescued had turned everything he thought was concrete fact into a jumbled mess of transparent assumptions without proof to back them up. The Leigetuant’s version of events was spotty with Rampage’s lack of linguistic capabilities, but what the aliens did know was that the crab had freed himself before the rescue and used his energy to keep the manta ray alive long enough to BE rescued. Hazy with exhaustion, the Predacons had collapsed on board the rescue ship. Energy infusions had put him online again, and he’d been fully functional for close to 4 planetary days before Depth Charge had been revived.
At no point had Rampage turned violent.
Now the crab had his spark back, and Depth Charge had no way of controlling or stopping him. Rampage was free…but he had only retreated to the Cutting Edge. The raybot had no way of knowing why the mass murderer would suddenly restrain himself, no way of seeing the thoughts, so the only thing he could do was look at the Predacon’s actions. Those actions were, as far as he could tell, dedicated to reaching Rarmet.
He didn’t trust it. But what choice did he have? Reveal themselves as who they were and possibly be imprisoned as fugitives? Even if he could recapture the spark-box, the fight to get it likely inspire the aliens’ government to keep Rampage, at the very least, safely locked up, and other than another break-out, there was no quick way to get through a bureaucracy. They were both intelligent Cybertronians; if Depth Charge had reasoned that out, then in all likelihood, so had Rampage.
He’d clung to that throughout the day when his internal radar couldn’t pick up traces of the crab on-planet. Somehow, it was even worse when he COULD sense where the crab was. His radar had pinpointed the Protoform X spark when the Leigetuant had escorted him to the spaceport. While he didn’t show it while personally meeting and thanking the crew of the Garbage Gamine and the volunteer repair crew, he was a nervous wreck. Concealing his jittery behavior under a façade of polite gratitude had been hard. He’d gone through all the motions of a rescue victim, expressing gratitude over and over again to the Clieformans who had given their time and effort into helping two strangers, but his mind stayed fixed on the distant spark. The tour of repairs on the Cutting Edge had been an exercise of will as the crab constantly moved to keep the bulk of the ship between them. Returning to Clie had been a relief, even though not knowing Rampage’s whereabouts strained him.
Leaning on the balcony railing, he wondered if he’d reached his breaking point. His internal computer tracked as it was supposed to, but he just couldn’t seem to rouse himself for…well, he didn’t know for what. He’d tracked this particular signal as soon as it came in range, but neither explosions nor screams had preceded it. The world had turned topsy-turvy, and he wasn’t sure he was right-side up anymore.
Now it waited at his back, and he couldn’t even turn to face it. “Doors have admittance chimes for a reason,” he said, just for something to do.
He didn’t have to see the careless shrug to know it happened. “It seemed kind of pointless,” the deep voice rasped as Rampage came into the corner of his vision at the far edge of the balcony and put a hand on the railing. “You already knew I was there, after all. Would you have answered if I’d waited at the door?”
The Maximal looked out over Clie’s lights and frowned. “Probably not.”
“And if I’d walked past?” Emerald optics turned from their study of the city to study his enemy-ally instead.
Magenta met green, and Depth Charge didn’t look away. “I’d have pursued.”
Rampage nodded as if he’d expected that answer, and he probably had. The crab’s thoughts were his own, however, as he moved his optics back to staring at the alien city, and the raybot couldn’t read them. That worried him. He’d relied on his knowledge of the killer only to discover that his knowledge was unreliable at best. He didn’t UNDERSTAND. He didn’t even know how to approach the issue. If his confusion could be condensed into a single problem it would be easier to understand, but he had to get a grasp on the question before he could start on the answer. And he was almost superstitiously afraid that if he asked, the spell would be broken to release the psychopath once more.
Why hadn’t he killed anyone? Why hadn’t he killed HIM? Why hadn’t he run? Why, why, why?
Depth Charge blinked, picking a mostly harmless question from the whirlwind in his mind. It was one he was almost certain he knew the answer to, and he turned to look at the crab when he asked it. “Did you cause the ship’s energy drain?”
From the slightly puzzled expression on his face, that was the last question Rampage had expected him to ask. “No…the cold woke me after we’d been drifting for a while.” He cocked his head. “Why do you ask?” The question was almost, but not quite, teasing. He could feel the confusion in the other ‘bot.
The Maximal refused to rise to the bait. “The computer showed when you’d reactivated it, but I didn’t know when you’d freed yourself.” The question was implied, although he didn’t say it aloud.
He chose to answer it. The little issues were things that the raybot could figure out given some time; it was the larger things he covered with a smirk. “I picked the locks, Fish Face.” Adding a bit of gloating to let the raybot think he’d given away an advantage, “Next time, use better handcuffs.” He laughed, ignoring the question burning between them, silent behind magenta optics:
Why was he still alive?
The raybot wouldn’t dare ask it.
Still, it’d be best to find another subject. “The fleshbags are going to help us?” He’d spent the day dodging repair crews and Depth Charge’s presence onboard the Cutting Edge, unwilling to test his control any longer. The rage and hatred were only subdued, not gone, and the raybot’s emotions pulled on his. Until he was more adjusted, he’d decided to find what solitude he could. The time alone had given him time to advance his own plans, but it had left him ignorant of what the raybot had done. Slag, he’d half expected a convoy of guards headed by his old friend to come after him, but evidently the Maximal had chosen to…trust…him.
Maybe trust wasn’t the right word, but he couldn’t think of a better one to use. It was a start, though.
Depth Charge eyed him warily. “Yeah. Apparently there’s a native religion that the planetary government is based on, and it really pushes seeking justice.” He wasn’t one for mystical rites or deities, but this Wyr was one god he could approve of, especially since it helped him. “They don’t have transport for us, but Leigetuant Rew has promised a new astronomy section and some engine work for the Cutting Edge. It’s not a new ship, but it’s the best we can do.” He hadn’t wanted to abandon the Cutting Edge, anyway. It belonged to Captain Venara, even if she was dead, and there was a grim kind of satisfaction in finishing the journey in her ship.
Thinking of the starship reminded him of something that had nagged him all day. It was another small problem that he could safely address. “You couldn’t have picked another name for me?” he demanded somewhat sourly.
Rampage snorted. “I had to give you a rank, and I knew you’d answer to it. Besides, nobody here knows what a minnow IS.” Red hands opened upward on the balcony railing in a shrug. “It was funny at the time.”
All day, he’d endured bittersweet memories as the Leigetuant introduced him to people, and he’d reluctantly decided to be amused by it as well. It was just that…Rattrap’s corpse still lay in the room he’d locked it in, and he’d had to persuade the Leigetuant that now wasn’t the proper time for a funeral. That would have to wait until Rarmet, where he had every intention of using his friend’s martyrdom as one more nail in the High Council’s coffin. That didn’t stop him from grieving today, however.
He shook it off. The fake name had been a surprise, but it WAS kind of funny. “Why ‘Finn’?” The emerald gaze evaded him, and Depth Charge watched with interest as Rampage tried to pull off a casual shrug and failed. To his vague surprise, the raybot found himself capable of taunting the crab about it. “Finn. As in…Huckleberry?” Mass murderers did NOT get flustered. Yeah, right. Tell that to someone who wasn’t watching Rampage at the moment. “You wouldn’t slagging shut up about how stupid that book was, and then you name yourself after the main character. There’s something wrong with that. What’s next, changing your beast mode to a human?”
“Shut up!” Rampage finally grumbled, giving in when the Maximal wouldn’t drop it. “It was the only thing I could think of, alright?” He was intelligent, yes, but not even the most brilliant mind in the universe could be expected to be quick-witted when starving. The blasted bipeds had revived him on the rescue ship and asked him a bewildering series of questions in a language he only understood a couple words of. When they’d switched to pantomime and asked his name, he’d blurted out the first one that came to mind. Using his real name had been a bad idea even then. That didn’t mean the slagging raybot had to laugh at him for it.
The raybot smothered his chuckles under a searing glare of wounded pride. It felt good to laugh, but he didn’t want to provoke a fight. “Ah. Well, I thought it had been something like that. No worse than what you gave me, I suppose.”
He looked out over the city again, pretending that he wasn’t sharing a balcony with Protoform X, free of all control. His earlier confused compliance had slipped away, and while his arms still rested on the railing, his hands were fisted. The tension was there, just beneath the surface conversation like a weapon in its holster. It didn’t matter what they said to each other; read in the battle-ready line of the Maximal’s body was a statement of grim determination. His goal was to reach Rarmet and pass on the information that would bring the High Council down. That didn’t mean that he’d lost sight of his other goals. If the crab hadn’t returned to the Clie Central tower tonight, Depth Charge would have gone to him, and he doubted that their meeting would have been as cordial.
“I won’t let you go free,” the hunter said quietly, no mirth left.
“I know,” Rampage said just as quietly, and his jailor couldn’t read anything from his expression, “but you’re a fool to continue to believe that I wish to.” He turned from the view, face bland, and Depth Charge gaped at what he’d left on the railing as he walked away. “Goodnight, old friend.”
He’d already opened the door to leave when the raybot found his voice again. “Wait! I…” The Predacon’s head didn’t move, but he paused in the doorway to listen. Unsettled, Depth Charge stared down at the spark-box in his hand, then looked up at the wide spread of metallic crab legs that he couldn’t see without thinking of the pain they could inflict and wondered when he’d gone mad. “I apologize for attacking you earlier today,” he said stiffly, formally. “It was unprovoked.”
“Maximal sentiment,” the Predacon muttered just loud enough to be heard, and the door slid shut behind him.
Author’s Whining:
LD: I should mention that there’s a typo somewhere in the last couple of chapters--it’s not Astrology, it’s AstroNOMY. If Rampage was meddling with the Astrology section, well…I think somebody named Thrust has that covered.
RAMPAGE: (pompous ) The stars say that we need to do some engine work before we try a Trans-Warp jump.
DC: (to LD ) You made me a criminal!
LD: Hey, you randomly assaulted a peaceful person. You’re obviously deranged.
RAMPAGE: (laughs hysterically)
DC: Hey! I don’t have to slagging take this, you--
LD: You’re lucky I didn’t turn this into a romance. You know how easy it would have been?
DC:…I’ll behave.