21.Jan.06

Pawn

Chapter Four: Escape

By: Miss Special

By Primus, wake up! Sleeping will not get you out of this situation!

Hinge had managed to ignore the voice for some time, but it reasserted itself every time he fell asleep.

Now stay awake this time!

Hinge wanted nothing more to do with any of this. No more voices in his head, no more lenses or insane femmes. He was going to take the first transport back to Cybertron he could and leave this all behind.

You can't get out of this that easily! Like it or not, you are now involved!

If only that voice would shut up.

Alright, Hinge. I've been nice. I admit I haven't told you anything, but that's because I haven't had the chance. I've got the chance now, but you're not listening.

Then again, that voice was only a faint buzzing.

Listen to me! I don't want to, but I will take control if I have to!

...Take control? Voices in one's head could take control?

I'm not just a voice in your head! I used to be a living being, just like you!

Used to be?

Yes! I've survived in this state by going from one Transformer to another, but my physical self has long since gone to scrap. I'm not the first person this has happened to.

Great. Hinge was haunted.

And I'll possess you if you don't cooperate!

"Possess?" Hinge's head snapped up. He didn't want to be possessed.

Then listen!

"Not until you tell me what's going on!"

I've been trying to!

Hinge sighed. "You have my full attention."

My name is Slate. I was originally part of the team that found the moon the Emerald City uses. I advised against using that moon, but they ignored my reports.

"Maybe because they don't listen to voices in their head either."

I had a body back then. I protested and resisted, and then I threatened to bring my findings to the authorities, but I died before they could.

"Did they kill you?"

It was an accident, as far as I know. I'm a little fuzzy on the details, but my consciousness seems to have been uploaded into the computer system before I died. They don't know I'm still around.

"What was it that you found?"

Have you heard of the Beast Wars?

"I heard about them awhile back. Something about a war being fought on ancient Earth."

When the victors returned to Cybertron, they came with information pertaining to a race known as the Vok. Not much is known about them, but what we do know isn't good. They are extremely possessive of their property and have a particular dislike for Transformers.

"What does this have to do with a moon?"

It's not a moon so much as a weapon. It's also been dubbed the Planet Buster. It was made by the Vok, designed to destroy any and every living thing on the planet it orbits, to sterilize it. My readings showed the moon chosen for the Emerald City was a similar structure.

"And they ignored you?"

Actually, they knew. They wanted the moon for that reason. They wanted to learn from the Vok technology and adapt it to their uses.

"So, what, you want to save the people who killed you?"

For one thing, everyone here, except for the employees, have absolutely nothing to do with this.

"Hey, if the Liberators want to play with the lives of their visitors, that's their thing."

Like how they've played with your life?

Hinge didn't respond to that.

When the Vok come to rain down destruction on this resort planet, what makes you think they'll stop here? Transformers are infernally bothersome creatures to them- why not just wipe them out?

"You think they'll go after Cybertron?"

I do. And then you won't have anyplace to hide. I'm sorry, Hinge, but you're in this until the end.

Forgetting he was a panda, Hinge tried frowning. He didn't want to be any part of this. Couldn't Slate just find someone else?

You've got the lens, and you've got me, therefore you've got the best shot.

"What do you plan on having me doing?"

First, we need to get off this planet. Then we need to put the moon back.

"How does one go about putting a moon back?" Hinge had been feeling better for a moment, but the more he found out, the worse the situation sounded.

We'll have to use the ship they used to bring it here. We'll worry about that later, though. Let's concentrate on getting out of here.

The going was slow, to put it mildly. Hinge had to check around every corner whenever he came to a crossroad, and neither he nor Slate knew the way out of the tunnels. It took what felt like an eternity before Hinge saw the green-tinged surface of the planet.

He'd come out of the labyrinth in the hills and could see the city off in the distance. It was late in the day; soon the sun would be setting.

Hinge looked around apprehensively. There was no sign of trouble. The Liberators didn't seem to know where he was. Not at the moment, anyways.

We need to get to the city.

"Yeah, I know that," Hinge grumbled, taking his first steps towards the city, trying to ignore the pain that lingered in his side. It served as a reminder that what was going on was deadly serious, something Hinge would rather forget.

Night served as a good cover as Hinge came upon the outskirts of the city. The green helped, too. Pandas weren't known for their camouflage, but the green made the white stand out far less.

Hinge transformed when he entered the city. No one took notice of him, which surprised him. He felt that since he was carrying a stolen lens and the spirit of a dead Transformer, he would stick out in a crowd. No one could tell he had such things with him, so no one took notice of the ordinary-looking bot when he walked into town.

Stick with the crowd. You'll blend in better.

Hinge frowned and nodded.

And look out for security cameras.

Hinge looked up, back and forth as he tried to spot a camera.

No, not like that! Don't act so suspicious!

"So I'm supposed to be looking everywhere at once and act perfectly normal at the same time."

...Yes. Just try your best. The tram to the spaceport is five blocks from here.

Five blocks didn't sound so bad.

There was a throng of Transformers waiting to get on the tram. Transformers, not unlike humans, were more apt to wait in bunches instead of neat and orderly lines. Hinge squeezed his way to the middle of the group, trying in vain not to step on any feet.

"The slagging thing doesn't come for another three cycles," an irritated mech said to an equally irritated femme.

"Yes, dear, you've said that."

"We're wasting time. We could've spent more time at the arcade."

Hinge flinched at his memories of the arcade.

The tram usually runs early.

"Good," Hinge murmured. The couple in front of him turned around, wondering what he was talking to. He looked away from them, trying to pretend he hadn't said anything.

"Here it comes," the femme said, looking down the track.

"It's about slagging time," the mech grumbled.

They've been waiting here barely longer than we have! Slate sounded exasperated. Hinge wished the voice would be quiet.

Sorry. I'll only speak up when I need to.

"Thanks."

Another glance from the femme. Hinge reminded himself to be more careful.

The tram pulled into the station, and the bots boarded in a less-than-orderly manner. Hinge was stuck in the middle, between an extremely oversized femme and a jittery, shifty bot.

Hinge kept his gaze fixed on the scenery passing by. He felt this was the best way to keep from attracting attention. He watched patiently as the tram sped through the hills, nearing the spaceport.

"Hey," the jittery bot all but whispered, tapping Hinge on his arm. "Hey, have you heard about what's been going on?"

"No, I haven't," Hinge answered. He was about to add, "And I don't care to," but the shifty bot cut him off.

"There's a conspiracy." The bot hissed his "s" sounds slightly. It was annoying.

Hinge was becoming very familiar with sinking feelings. The spaceport was coming up now and the tram was beginning to slow down.

"I heard that the people who run this place have a superweapon," the bot continued, unbidden. "They're going to use it as political leverage and get federal funding."

Don't listen to him, Slate said. He doesn't know what he's talking about.

"But you can't tell anyone," the bot hissed. "Okay? Just you and me, got it?"

See, Hinge? He's crazy, and I'll bet he doesn't even have a voice in his head.

It wasn't very comforting to know that.

The tram finished its deceleration and the doors opened to let the passengers off into the spaceport. Hinge got off in the same direction as the bot, heading for the ticket counter.

"Where am I supposed to go?" Hinge asked as quietly as possible.

We need to get to the Mothball Fleet. See if you can get any tickets straight to there.

"Can't I go back to Cybertron and stop by my apartment first? I should probably pick up a few things and make sure my houseplant's got enough water."

They've probably got surveillance on your apartment. A trip to Cybertron's too risky.

Hinge approached the ticket counter, adjusting to constant disappointment.

"Can I help you?" the ticket bot absently asked.

"Can I get a ticket to the Mothball Fleet?" It occurred to Hinge that he didn't know why he was going or what was there, but now wasn't a good time to ask.

The ticket bot processed the request for a moment, then raised an optic ridge.

"Mothball Fleet?"

Tell him it's part of your vacation.

"It's part of my vacation," Hinge echoed.

The bot tapped at his computer terminal a bit. "Sorry, but we don't have any service straight there. It says the Fleet's strictly military access only."

Hinge frowned.

How close can we get?

Hinge repeated the question, forgetting to change "we" to "I". The bot didn't seem to notice.

"There's a small spaceport nearby that's generally used only by the military, but it says it's accessible to civilians as well."

That works.

"I'll take it."

As the bot was printing out Hinge's ticket, the jittery bot who had followed Hinge off the tram took hold of Hinge's arm and shook it.

"The guards are here," he said in a loud whisper. Hinge tried to pull his arm out of the bot's grasp, calmly looking around for someone who looked like a guard. A femme painted in a desert camouflage pattern paced not too far away, patrolling for anyone who might look suspicious.

"Here you go. You want gate four, off towards the left. It's scheduled to leave in a cycle and a half, but they've agreed to hold for you. You'd better hurry." The ticket bot handed Hinge his ticket. Hinge kept watch of the patrol femme as he put the ticket away in subspace. The femme's gaze fell in Hinge and the jittery bot's general direction.

"She's spotted us!" the jittery bot shouted well above the spaceport din. "Run for it!" He tried to pull Hinge away, foiled by Hinge's large size.

The patrol femme started in Hinge's direction.

"We have to move!" the bot told Hinge louder than he needed to. "She knows we know!" When Hinge didn't budge, the bot gave up and took off on his own.

Hinge, who had frozen once the patrol femme had spotted him, dumbly watched the femme get closer.

"Your friend there's got a screw loose," the femme said. Hinge just stood.

Do something!

"...not friend," Hinge managed to say, finding his voice. "I don't know him. He just latched onto me in the tram. I've never seen him before."

"Well, I'd better call into HQ and let them know they've got another loon on the loose," the femme said. "It seems like all the crazies are out lately."

The femme tapped her commlink on, then said into it, "Boss, there's a crazy headed for Gate 20. Whoever's over there needs a heads-up."

"Roger that," the femme's boss said. "What's he look like?"

"Short guy, pretty wiry. He sticks out."

"Not a large mech? Panda for a beast mode?"

"Nope, nothing like--" The femme stopped and looked at Hinge.

Run.

Hinge stood still.

Run!!!

Hinge's legs obeyed. He wasn't sure if it was him or Slate who told them to do it, but when he regained coherent thought, he was running towards Gate 4, pursued by the femme.

Hurry, we're almost there!

He spotted Gate 4, which had an impatient-looking attendant waiting in front of it, tapping her foot. Hinge pushed through a crowd of bots lined up to board a different ship, ignoring the complaints of those he shoved out of his way. The line reformed behind him in a clump, forming a convenient barrier to slow down his pursuant.

"You must be the bot we're waiting for," the attendant said as Hinge approached. "Good, we're already to lift off. May I see your--"

"Ticket!" Hinge whipped his ticket out of subspace and shoved it at the attendant.

"Uh, thank you, sir. Please board the ship and take your seat immediately." The attendant stepped out of the way, then began closing the hatch after Hinge stepped inside.

"Wait, stop that ship!" the patrol femme called.

The attendant said back, "I'm sorry, you're too late, you'll have to wait for the next flight," and finished closing the hatch.

Hinge plopped in an empty seat, which were plentiful on the fairly empty spacecraft, and belted in, hearing the roar of the engines already pick up.

I think... I think we're safe, at least for the moment.

Safe? How could they be safe??

If we were still in trouble, the pilot would've cut the engines. Look, we're already lifting off.

Slate's observations were a little late, as Hinge was already being pushed against the back of his seat by the G's.

Don't breathe easy just yet. There's no saying they won't turn the ship around.

Hinge groaned, but no one could hear it over the engines.

I think I've got a plan. We just have to wait until we break orbit. Until then, the ship won't be able to communicate with anyone.

How did Slate know all this?

Experience, of course. Relax and enjoy the ride while you can.

Hinge tried to enjoy the breather, but it was hard to while he sat in a ship accelerating to break from a planet's gravity.