Chapter Text
Soundwave finished heaving the last of the broken mainframe pieces into the cargo hollow of one of the tankframes, and signaled the gladiator to roll out. Every online moment of the last five cycles had been packed with an orn’s worth of things that needed doing. In the few joor it had taken to return to the arena, looters had flooded the stands and the storerooms, so many of the remaining gladiators had their servos full just defending the medbay. Caches of other implements, though, were missing or damaged. It would take a quarter vorn or more to finish all the makeshift fixes, the workarounds, the jury-rigged repairs to equipment and structures alike.
At least now the arena was secure, the worst holes patched, the damage inventoried, and the localnet running once more. Soundwave paused to check the flexures of his new arm, running a search-string for news broadcasts. Public reports had flooded the networks after the Overlord’s demise. The Lord High Protector had returned to Iacon, had broken into a very closed Senate meeting, and there had laid claim -- loudly and publicly -- to the Overlord’s execution as overdue retribution for a megavorn of crimes. Every news service had a different story, however, and their accounts were a tangled morass of rumor and hearsay. Official channels, Soundwave noted, still continued to claim that nothing had happened, while unregistered data brokers spread endless copies of the Lord High Protector’s voice, along with memory clips of the cringing Overlord.
So far as Soundwave knew, however, there had been no developments since. The Senate--and the Prime--had remained silent.
//Speaking of new developments, Master...// Flipsides sent over the bond from the medbay, only to be interrupted by Stent’s crackling comm.
//Clench is back online, Chronicler. Thought you’d want’a know.// The old medic’s glyphs were as rough as his plating, as he signed off without waiting for a reply.
//Soundwave: acknowledges,// he told both Flipsides and the no-longer-listening Stent, and began heading towards the repair bay. He had no illusions as to the nature of his reception; given the outcome of the Clench’s gamble with the Vosian Seekers, not to mention the damage done to the arena and himself, the arena overseer was unlikely to be in anything but a foul mood. Or worse, actively looking for a scapegoat on whom to pin his troubles.
Still, avoiding the arena overseer wouldn’t make the problem go away. A few breems’ walk brought Soundwave to the repair bay -- enough time for him to double-check repair schedules, to shift resource allotments and balance repair crew duties for greatest efficiency. He made a note to seek out one particular crew that had underperformed the others by twenty percent; perhaps he could identify and correct the underlying problem.
Thanks to the gladiators’ defense of their medics, the repair bay facility was one of the least damaged areas of the arena. Few looters, it seemed, wanted to take on a bunch of battle-hardened warframes when easier pickings were to be had. This had proved to be fortuitous when the surviving arena airframes, as well as the other hotheads that had joined the battle with the Vosian Seekers, came limping back for repairs.
Clench was already sitting up on a repair cradle by the time Soundwave picked his way through the crowded bay. The gladiators had discovered him in the wreckage of his offices, partially crushed by the fall of the observation tower -- offline, but still functional. The overseer favored him with a fulminating stare. “What the frag is goin’ on, Chronicler? Stent tells me that my crews are reportin’ to you now--you wanna explain that to me?”
“Arena repairs, urgently needed,” Soundwave replied calmly. “Damage in the aftermath of assassination attempt, extensive. Soundwave: addressed the most critical damage while repairs to your frame were being completed.” He pinged over a prepared datafile, showing the long, long list of damages, lost personnel, and looted or broken equipment, as well as the progress he had made on organizing the repairs.
Waiting a nanoklik for Clench to absorb the information, he said impassively, “Arena finances, also in jeopardy.” Even with the massive influx of energon and goods they’d taken in prior to the ‘airshow’, the damage done to the Kaon Arena’s reputation, coupled with the lack of any new events, had put them solidly in the red. Would Clench even try to save the arena? Or would he decide to abandon a sinking ship?
Clench’s optics narrowed. “Do you have any fragging idea how many pings I’ve missed? How many requests for information I have backed up here?” The overseer’s big fists clenched. He had taken a great deal of crushing damage, but the medics had done a fairly good job with him. He’d probably be able to walk soon, if not transform. “Every single major Tower cadre is on the verge of sending in inquisitors, and so will the civilian enforcement, once they get their acts together. And you’re worried about the fragging *stands*? The *paintwork*? Are you fragging me?”
Soundwave tilted his helm slightly. “Towers, enforcement: have larger problems at present,” he said evenly. The reprieve wouldn’t last long, he knew. But at the moment, no one knew that the rogue airframe who had wrecked the airshow wasn’t, in fact, an agent of the Lord Protector -- and accordingly an agent of the Prime. Once the Senate showed their hand, however... what if they affirmed the Protector’s act? Then the Towers might have to condone the happenings at the arena, no matter the collateral damage. And if the Senate dared to castigate the ruling dyad....
There were a thousand considerations in every move the arena made, and Clench had never been a mech for niceties. Soundwave could feel the tug across the localnet as Clench tried to check his access to his contact lines -- the coded relays that the overseer used to barter information and favors with the mecha who ruled Kaon. Most of those relays, of course, were patched through the arena’s networks ... which Soundwave had spent the last five cycles overhauling. The system was now 22.4 percent more efficient than it had been before the damage, after Soundwave had pruned off the dead hubs and isolated certain areas of bandwidth leakage. He’d also taken the opportunity to insert no small amount of his own code into the system, giving him accesses, subtly inserting back doors into monitoring and routing algorithms, intertwining his datalinks through every part of the arena localnet. Soundwave might not yet know the exact nature of Clench’s leverage, the details of favors owed and given, all of which the overseer kept safely encrypted within his core memory and nowhere else--but he would soon know the designations of every mech the overseer contacted. With Ravage and the others’ assistance, it would be only a small step from there to suborning that network for his own.
In the meantime, however, Soundwave needed to establish his position. Being a subordinate no longer gave his cohort the protection they needed; he would need to either establish himself as an equal, or oust Clench entirely. He had given more than a little thought to the second option; but a power struggle was the last thing the Kaon Arena needed right now, and short of assassinating the overseer outright, Soundwave saw no swift, decisive option for his removal.
Which meant Soundwave needed to establish himself as a power to be reckoned with, to overwhelm Clench while he was still reeling from the magnitude of his losses.
“Overlord, now deactivated, with no successor yet appointed,” he pointed out. “Most high-ranked mecha in Kaon, given their positions by the Overlord. Their authority, no longer secure; the entire power structure of Kaon, disrupted.” The Towers’ mecha would be both jockeying for position within the power vacuum as well as scrambling to disassociate themselves from the Overlord. The latter task, however, was made more difficult by just how long Ferrus had ruled; Soundwave would be surprised if there was a single high-ranking mech in Kaon that did not owe his position to the Overlord’s favor. “Kaon Arena’s usual patrons, now looking for respectability. Kaon Arena’s reputation, not currently favorable to that end.”
“You don’t think I know that?” Clench hissed, even as fully half his inquiry-pings went unanswered. Soundwave watched the overseer’s optics widen. The carrier timed his statements carefully.
“Gladiators, caretakers, all arena staff, dependent upon Kaon Arena’s survival.” In most cases, the arena was all that stood between them and scavenging for dregs of energon down in the slums. “All: aware the arena must now seem blameless in Overlord’s death. Repairs, being made to that end. All unsanctioned bouts, halted; all staff willing to deny knowledge of any assassination plots.” That last shot was directly aimed at Clench; and from the slight stiffening of the overseer’s frame, Soundwave knew it had hit home. The Vosian Seekers, after all, had been brought to Kaon by Clench, who would now be a prime suspect in any Senatorial investigation.
Soundwave crossed his arms across his chassis, regarding the overseer. “Clench: wishes to countermand those orders?”
Clench was silent for a long moment, optics falling on all the many watching mecha. “...No,” he said at last, slowly and gritting his dentae. “It’s exactly what I would have done. ...Good job, Chr-- Soundwave.” Soundwave noted the databurst as Clench sought out his personal hidden passcodes, the coded accesses that would open the storeroom doors on his command. The overseer might be able to obtain enough energon and supplies to support himself in comfort for a dozen vorn, if he stripped the storerooms bare.... but while Soundwave didn’t particularly mind the thought of Clench jumping ship, he couldn’t permit the warframe to do so just yet.
Clench froze as he came up blank, his passkeys ignored by the network and the heavy doors.
Soundwave tilted his helm slightly. “Additionally, arena resources rationed. Energon, required for repairs, hiring new gladiators, arena staff.” Soundwave expected several more of the gladiators to trickle back to the arena, after they’d burned through whatever they’d managed to steal from the Overlord’s towers. But there had been more than a few confirmed deactivations, as well, particularly among the generally more lightly-armored service mecha.
“New *staff*?” Clench hissed. “Are you out of your fragging process--”
“Assistance required for assembly of drones, new sets, rebuilding of network,” Soundwave interrupted. “Economic projections, favorable, if certain conditions are met. Primary concern: arena overseer’s recovery. Your presence, required to direct bouts and reassure public.”
Clench’s optics were narrowed, glowing brightly with temper as he realized Soundwave’s intent. Clench was still needed, if only as the face of the arena, even as Soundwave threaded his way through the arena’s supply chains, marketing, and the labyrinthine web of connections and contacts that allowed the Kaon Arena to function. Visibly reining in his frustration, Clench snapped his mandibles shut. “Oh, I’ll be ready, Soundwave. I most certainly will be,” he grated.
The carrier could not help but hear the undertone in those words. It was obvious that Clench was not happy about being supplanted; no doubt the overseer would start tracing down the links of his network of patronage, trying to re-establish his authority just as soon as he was free of the repair bay. “Arena, will be rebuilt,” he pointed out. Mecha, after all, performed better when offered energon as well as the shockstick. “Working together: increases efficiency, potentially lucrative.” With some help, Soundwave could at least steady the arena finances. The historical dramas, if performed with a little more attention to detail, could draw a fair number of mecha. And Soundwave already had several versions of the Fall of the Overlord planned for performance, once the political situation became more clear.
Clench looked doubtful as he harumphed, laid back down. “Make sure to report back to me every cycle.”
Though Clench’s arrogance grated, Soundwave would do nothing for the time being. Clench would discover soon enough that their confederation could have substantial benefits for them both. And if he didn’t... well. By then, Soundwave doubted there’d be much about the arena he couldn’t control. He would wait, and watch... for now. “Soundwave: acknowledges.”
The carrier nodded to the medics, then turned and departed.
*****
It was another three and a half cycles before Soundwave found the opportunity to allot himself an entire duty-shift for recharge. There was so much to do, so much to monitor... but he had to be at his best. Especially once the Senate acted -- as they surely would, and soon. Barely more than an orn had passed since the Overlord’s fall. Between the brute strength of nearly a hundred gladiators and attendants constantly working to repair physical damage, and Soundwave’s technical experience in rebuilding the networks, the arena was on its way towards recovery. But the rest of the city was on edge, vibrating, the Tower cadres scrambling madly for influence or secreting away their wealth to weather the coming fallout, as their philosophies dictated.
But the halls where Soundwave’s quarters were located were cool and quiet, the lighting dimmed to conserve energy. The heavy blast doors had preserved the storeroom contents from the few looters who had made it this deep, while Soundwave’s locks and access restrictions had protected his own quarters and the communications equipment there. The rustle of flightplates and a muted location-ping alerted Soundwave moments before Laserbeak appeared, swooping gracefully around a corner towards his carrier. The flightframe hooked his talons into the raised fairings of his coveted spot on Soundwave’s shoulder, settling himself neatly. In the privacy of the empty corridor, Laserbeak pressed the side of his helm against his master’s audials, chirring quietly as he wound his tail securely around the carrier’s upper arm.
Soundwave lifted his new hand to scritch a talon along the supple length of the flightframe’s neck just the way Laserbeak liked, issuing a few diagnostic queries as a matter of habit. A few of the codes Soundwave checked were tagged with yellow warning flags, and Soundwave paused before the hatch to his quarters. //Laserbeak: should have found me earlier,// he said, in rare admonishment.
//It is but a little dust in the axis articulations, Master,// said Laserbeak, ducking his head.
//Those rotors, recently damaged,// Soundwave corrected. And much, much more besides.
//But well repaired,// Laserbeak dared to say, pressing himself against Soundwave’s audial, his field warming with affection and reassurance. Between Flipsides and Soundwave, the damage he had taken had been well-looked after, and his cohort had been quite protective of his recovery. Almost to the point of annoyance, sometimes; Laserbeak was not a newsparked hatchling who had taken his first tumble. He was an elder in his own right, with thousands of megavorn of experience, and hardly in need of cosseting!
//Joints, still require inspection and cleaning,// Soundwave answered firmly, unfurling a secondary cable to link up and unlock the heavy hatchway that secured their small quarters. The hatch hissed obediently open, and he stepped through, ducking under the lintel with the ease of long practice.
Laserbeak chirred in pleasure, rubbing the edge of his beak affectionately against the edge of Soundwave’s collar-plating. //Of course, Master.//
Truth be told, there were far worse things in the world than to be cosseted by your carrier, Laserbeak reminded himself, taking in the sight of the two mechkin huddled together on the room’s single berth. Rumble and Frenzy were deep in recharge, their limbs and frames intertwined so tightly that it was almost impossible to tell where one stopped and the other began. They had recovered swiftly, once given sufficient energon and the attentions of a medic. Their sturdy, fuel-efficient frames had served them well when it came to surviving the death of their carrier, but what they had endured had left its imprint upon their sparks. Suspicious and defiant by turns, they couldn’t hide their grief entirely; and Laserbeak couldn’t help but feel an echo of that loss in his own spark as he remembered other times, other masters.
//Booossss ….//
...and then there was Ratbat. Who at best was passingly sympathetic towards the pair of mechkin, and at worst, utterly oblivious. Like now.
//Boss boss boss--Ravage made me fly *all* the way to the top of the arena to rewire cabling. Several times! I told him I wasn’t made for that sort of hard labor but he didn’t care, and then I got hung up on it and bent my wing and he wouldn’t even come up and help, and once I got myself untangled Buzzsaw made me help him fix ALL the cameras, and there are too many cameras, Soundwave! And they’re ALL broken, and even... even if we fix them they’re still not in optimum positions, and I told Buzzsaw that but he didn’t listen,// complained Ratbat, launching himself from his perch atop a communications console to land on Soundwave’s upraised arm. His flight surfaces flopped in a dramatic swoon, and he flattened his round belly on Soundwave’s gauntlet, as if he could not even bear to stand any longer. //Now my wing doesn’t feel right, and I’m low on energon. Plus *they* keep shuffling around and I can’t recharge ...//
Soundwave seated himself on the room’s low bench, but made no attempt to interrupt Ratbat’s litany of complaints, regarding the little glideframe with subtle amusement. //Ratbat, wishes to dock for recharge?// he asked. Laserbeak clacked his beak in both amusement and irritation; as if there were any chance of Ratbat desiring otherwise!
Soundwave’s query was well-timed; Ratbat was winding down anyway, too tired even to work up a proper whinge. //...and, and look at these scratches... makin’ me clean ALL the things n’ fix the WHOLE arena.... wait, what?// he looked up, optics blinking. The symbiont straightened, apparently no longer about to slip strutlessly from his perch. //Yes, yes yes Boss! Oh yes!// Soundwave brought the other hand up to catch him as Ratbat flailed, the symbiont attempting simultaneously to fold his wings and scramble closer and nearly ending up in the carrier’s lap for his trouble.
Soundwave’s quiet vent was concealed by the hiss of armor across armor, as he folded his chestplates back, exposing the ranked docks. Ratbat’s favorite, far to the left, was already set snug and narrow. Soundwave brought his hands close, nudging the symbiont’s wings into position for easy transformation with carefully stroking talons. Squeaking happily, Ratbat folded himself thin, and let Soundwave’s antigrav and magnetic rail-fields draw him into place.
Laserbeak cycled a vent as Soundwave closed his armor back over, sealing the radiance of that small, happy spark inside himself. //You spoil us,// he noted, as the carrier reached for a strip of metalmesh from a drawer set into the side of the seating bench. A cable snaked out to pick up a small cube and fill it from the newly-installed warm solvent tap.
The flightframe had been sparked in a time when docking was a ritual at the sole prerogative of the carrier, a boon not always granted, and one for which a symbiont ought never to ask. Docking might occur a dozen times in a quarter -- but certainly not every orn, as Ratbat preferred. Linking systems so frequently made a certain amount of sense, Laserbeak supposed; minor problems were taken care of long before they became worrisome. Still, there were forms to be observed, proprieties, all the proper ways. Older carriers -- and many younger ones as well -- would not have tolerated Ratbat’s antics. But Soundwave....
Laserbeak stepped onto the back of the carrier’s gauntlet eagerly as it was presented to him, uncoiling his tail. From there he stepped off onto the Soundwave’s lap, and watched while the carrier dipped a talon into the nearby cube of solvent to test the temperature. Soundwave... never really stopped surprising him, even after all this time.
//Happy symbionts, happy carrier,// was Soundwave’s simple reply, and Laserbeak could hear the truth in those glyphs. Perhaps it had been Ravage’s early influence, or perhaps this was simply the way this particular carrier had always been sparked to be. Either way, it made him one of the most unique masters Laserbeak had ever served. He spread his wings obligingly, shifting the overlapping leaves of armor to expose the fine interlocking rotor joints and articulations beneath.
Relaxing into Soundwave’s touch, Laserbeak’s optics dimmed in pleasure at the first strokes over his frame. Soundwave’s talons were careful, swabbing with delicate care, and he couldn’t help but luxuriate in the attention. They’d had so little time for things like this, recently ....
*****
On the other side of the little room, scarlet optics blinked open, watching them. Soundwave could feel one of the two mechkin rouse from his uneasy recharge, his attention sharpening. It was strange, having so many unbonded symbionts in such close quarters with Soundwave’s own cohort. While he didn’t begrudge them the space or the energon, he could not help but feel the pressure of their grief. Their fear and their expectations beat against his plating, making him want to reach out and comfort, to assume duties that were not properly his, at least when it came to their care. Perhaps this was why chroniclers sparkbudded so rarely. Balancing the needs of a hatchling against those of a cohort full of symbionts -- or, in the case of a symbiont, the directives of a carrier -- would be a difficult prospect, to say the least, and Soundwave had certainly never had the urge to try.
He concentrated on Laserbeak instead, stroking the metalmesh gently over those recently-wounded wings, searching out the fine weld-lines and subtle imperfections that still remained. They were less visible than before, he noted, the marks slowly disappearing as self-repair nanites did their work. Still--the memory of Laserbeak caught in that cannon-blast was still too close, too raw, for him to think on very often. He had never lost a symbiont to the Well before. The possibility that his elegant, ageless Laserbeak might have been the first …. Soundwave stifled his reflexive flinch at that thought, taking care to keep his sudden frisson of fear from showing in his field.
Handling the flightframe gently, he turned Laserbeak over, letting him spread the plating on the underside of his wings and the delicately overlapping scalemail across breast and belly. Laserbeak did so broadly and without a trace of reservation, the silver glint of protometal showing in places. A symbiont didn’t have much, not like larger mecha did -- the mass of the protometal in their adult frames was little greater than that in a hatchling’s. They needed less, with their simple transformation sequences, their limited systems. And they could sustain less, with their small sparks. The protometal they did have was still just as sensitive, and Laserbeak chirred in quiet pleasure as Soundwave let a little of the warmed solvent trickle across those gleaming silver threads, the steely internal cabling of hydraulics and energon lines.
Soundwave monitored the symbiont’s field as well, alert for any abnormalities or signs of deeper damage. Viewed under the enhanced electromagnetic receptors of his remaining sensor panels, the flightframe’s aura was a dance of light, a warm ball of radiance, with meaning in every ripple and flickering color. It had never lost its fascination, this act of watching the field settle slowly towards recharge, every wrinkle smoothing, colors deepening to mirror his own. //Laserbeak: experiencing discomfort?// Soundwave asked as the symbiont did his best to open up his plating even a little wider for talon tips and cable multitools, twisting in pleasure as the carrier checked and realigned every last link in that shining, rasp-scaled tail.
The flightframe’s reply took a moment. //...you always...// the symbiont managed; his talons curled around the thickness of a secondary cable, the tip of which was attending to one of the tiny rotating joints of his wing, as if to keep it just there, //...ask us that....//
Small optics gleamed from the berth, as the red mechkin watched them.
Moving slowly so as not to jar Laserbeak from his near-recharge, Soundwave stroked the flightframe’s plating smooth to his frame, eased his wings closed. And then, in the way that Ravage had taught him so very long ago, Soundwave applied careful pressure with his own field, triggering the flightframe’s transformation sequence and easing him through it. Laserbeak had doubtless intended to go back to the repair of the arena -- but the symbiont could assuredly use the rest. Sliding his armor open, Soundwave docked his cassette with patient care, and sat quietly for a moment while the symbiont’s systems linked with his.
Then Soundwave gathered up the metalmesh, and disposed of the small cube of solvent.
On the berth, Rumble set about separating himself from his cohort-brother. The blue mechkin twitched in his uneasy recharge, missing the warmth of the field at his back, and Rumble moved carefully. He made his way over to the edge of the berth, climbed down the rungs set into the edge of one support, and made his way over to Soundwave’s pede. The mechkin radiated nervousness and discomfort, but his small hands were clenched in determination. //Hey,// he said sullenly.
Soundwave turned, looking down. “Rumble,” he replied quietly, tilting his helm in acknowledgment. “Query: in discomfort? Energon, required?”
“Uh--no. Nuthin’ like that.” Rumble said, his pugnacious attitude fraying around the edges a bit under Soundwave’s visored stare. “I just need to talk to ya.”
Soundwave sat back down, bringing himself closer to the mechkin’s level. If this had been Flipsides, he would have offered to lift the mechkin up higher, to perch upon a knee or a console. But Rumble’s fierce independence, he had learned, meant that the mechkin would inevitably rebuff even the idea that he needed such assistance. He folded his talons together, waiting patiently. “Soundwave: listening.”
“Er-right.” It was obvious the mechkin was not used to Soundwave’s terse speech patterns, shifting uneasily. Soundwave did his best to open up his field, to radiate acceptance and patience. “It’s just that--you already got a big mob. I know that. And it’s not like we’re not grateful for you gettin’ us outta that hole, really! But now--now Pitch is gone.” Rumble had to stop as his vocalizer hiccuped over the name, resetting with a rough metallic stutter. “He’s gone. And me n’ my brother, we don’t have anyone anymore. ‘Cept Nightstalker, of course, but--he’s not a carrier. He’s like us. He’ll try to protect us, but--he can’t. Not forever.”
Soundwave nodded silently, acknowledging the truth behind the rambling words.
“So--Pitch was doin’ his best for us. He really was. But even he was talkin’ about finding another carrier for Rasp, or Nightstalker, mebbe someone who’d lost part of their cohort. But he knew no one would take us.” Rumble looked upwards, anxiously watching Soundwave’s faceplates at that revelation. “We’re--we’re too new. Too new, only fifty vorn, and--and we just don’t *know* anything yet, yanno? Nothing useful or--or important. The way things are, who’d wanna take on newsparks like us? And... Frenzy an’ me … we’ve never been apart. Not since we were sparked, really. But he needs a carrier, worse than me or ‘Night. And you’re almost full up, I know, and he wouldn’t be able to help much but … Frenzy’s a good mech, he really is. He’s pretty strong. He’d be a great symbiont, if you could just give him a chance to learn some stuff. Ya--ya don’t need ta take both of us, ‘cause I know that’d be too much for anyone.” He drew himself up, small hands fisted at his sides. “Me n’ Nightstalker, we’re tough--we can take care of ourselves. We can go look for another carrier. But … it’d mean a lot, if I knew Frenzy was okay.”
Soundwave cycled his optics. That the mechkin were young was no particular revelation -- Ravage had long since guessed as much, and none of his cohort had ever heard of either of this pair, not even by name or reputation. But as for the rest of this.... “Query,” Soundwave said slowly, wanting to be certain what the symbiont meant by his rambling explanation, “Rumble, requesting that Soundwave court ... only Frenzy?”
Rumble’s faceplates twisted. “You slagger, you don’t haveta just *say* it like that,” he snarled, one small fist raised -- and then abruptly drew back, perhaps aware that insulting, or striking, a prospective carrier was not precisely one of the best ways to obtain the favor he sought. He reset his vocalizer, modulating the volume. “Look, you have room for one more, right? But if you take Nightstalker, then it’s just gonna be Frenzy n’ me, and... and then we’ll haveta go it alone and I don’t even know where to look and even if we found someone...” he drew up short at Soundwave’s expression. “You... ya don’t want Nightstalker anyway,” he said desperately, “--he’s always pacing back and forth and ... and scrap.” He scrubbed at his faceplates with one hand.
“Soundwave: does not intend to court Nightstalker,” said the carrier, a little bewildered. Most symbionts tended to be quite straightforward in their choice of glyphs, but Rumble was clearly exhausted. Either that, or his painful experience had caused more problems than Soundwave knew about. What did a bladeframe’s pacing have to do with anything? It was typical of the frametype, though if Nightstalker was engaging in that restless habit to excess, Soundwave might have to seek the smaller bladeframe and ensure the symbiont wasn’t harboring some hidden worry. Rumble, after all, was clearly worried enough for the entire cohort.
“So... so that’s good, huh?” Rumble said, some of the tension seeping from his frame. “That means you got a place for someone. And Frenzy, he’s pretty strong. He can get inta places, like once there was this storage locker and, uhm. Oh, and the Bo-- Pitch always said he had a good audial for tones and waves and code and scrap. So... since you can take one of us, and... I know that’s six. But... you got it pretty good here. Six... isn’t too many.” The symbiont’s vocalizer wobbled and broke on that, as if the mechkin spoke partly in question and partly in accusation. Soundwave could feel the electromagnetic ripple as Frenzy finally awoke from his uneasy recharge on the berth, optics blinking.
Soundwave gave himself a few nanoklicks to process Rumble’s words, narrowing down probabilities, drawing conjectures. Then, moving slowly so as not to startle the symbiont, he eased himself from the bench to kneel in front of the little mechkin, so as to overtop him to a lesser extent. “Soundwave, should explain,” he said thoughtfully. It was rare for a symbiont to be so concerned about the future. Most, especially very young ones, were creatures of the moment, poorly suited to planning. But then, most symbionts never went through something like this. “Bladeframes, will not often share a cohort with other bladeframes,” he continued. “Soundwave: attempting to contact other carriers for Nightstalker. Rumble, Frenzy...” and here Soundwave paused. Like it or not, the symbiont was quite probably correct. Newsparked symbionts had yet to choose their foci, had no deep wells of knowledge. They added nothing to a carrier’s rank. And while a carrier’s rank mattered little now, survival counted for everything. “...may prefer another of those carriers, when they arrive. However, six, not too many.” He paused, catching that wary, hopeful gaze with his own. “Both of you, also not too many.”
“You’d--you’d take us both?” Rumble said in disbelief. “But … wait. That’d give ya--” He stopped, visibly recounting the members of Soundwave’s cohort. “That would make *seven*--you’re glitched. There’s no way you’re framed for that many of us!”
“Soundwave: framed for ten.” He waited patiently as Rumble gaped, the mechkin obviously at a loss for words. “Current energon ration, insufficient for a full cohort. Supporting seven symbionts, difficult, but not impossible.” Especially if three of those symbionts were sturdy and relatively fuel-efficient mechkin, though Soundwave fully expected to have to explain himself to Ravage and the others. What he had told Rumble was the truth; but it was equally true that taking on two more symbionts was still a risk, given their precarious and uncertain future.
“I--you’d take us? Both of us?” Rumble said dubiously. “But … why?” Having braced himself for an argument, he was obviously having a hard time believing he’d gotten what he wanted so easily.
Soundwave tilted his head. “Rumble, Frenzy: very young, full of potential. Soundwave, wishes to see what they will become." It was, he thought, a hallmark of how desperate their world had become, that newsparks such as these were seen only as a burden.
Rumble stared at him. Soundwave turned one hand over and offered an open palm to the mechkin … and there was a subtle scrape of metal on metal as Frenzy stirred on the berth. “Rumble … I think he’s t-tellin’ the truth,” he said wonderingly.
Soundwave inclined his helm in a nod. “Offer of courtship, open to you both, if you wish to accept.” A courtship was no guarantee of bonding, and it was still possible that the mechkin might find a carrier better suited to them in that time. But the sincerity of his offer could not be denied.
Frenzy slid off the berth, stumbling in his haste, his limbs still uncoordinated from lack of unworried recharge. The optics on Soundwave were wide with awe. Rumble cycled a trembling vent as Frenzy tottered over to him. “We’ll -- we’ll be good symbionts, really good, the best ever,” he assured Soundwave.
“Yeah, ain’t nobody gonna t-touch you, not while we’re around,” Frenzy said, and the two mechkin exchanged glances. “W-we’re gonna get stronger and learn so much, s-so that doesn’t happen,” he amended.
“Uhm. So. But what’s this --” Rumble started, looked to Frenzy, who shrugged. “What’s this ‘courtship’ thing, anyway?”
This section has a soundtrack! If you’re interested, read along with this.
---
Soundwave could feel the change in the air. Hints ghosted past him with every new datasearch, every string query. Even the gladiators could sense it. Data brokers in Iacon were going silent, entire sections of distant networks flickering. That chilling sensation leant speed to Soundwave’s steps as he climbed these rarely-used back rampways, now too choked with debris to travel on four wheels. The Senate had been silent for two orn -- and now... now something was happening, something to bring the data-chains and networks to their knees.
Before it hit Kaon, he needed to transmit his message.
There would be no better time -- most Chroniclers would feel this unease just as he did, would be spreading their panels and listening. A few more paces, and Soundwave broke into open air, thin atmosphere stirring cool and bright around him. Overhead, a universe of stars glimmered -- somewhere among them the tiny fleck that was Xyr and its twin distant suns. Excepting the distant towers of Kaon, the arena was perhaps the tallest structure in the city, and the upper rim of the stands were clustered with communications relays of all types. From afar, the complex seemed crowned in a jagged assemblage of spines and towers.
The largest of these relays was a great spine of wires and sensors, scaled over with huge curved parabolic collectors, wrapped around a core of entangled particles, the quantum-linked shadows of distant worlds. The structure handled so much data, it was robed in an electrical field that rivaled any mech’s. Soundwave approached it with all due caution and respect, letting his field adapt, adopting the tower’s resonances and frequencies. He could feel the relayed data signals crawling along his armor, feel them shudder over his sensors, there and then gone, replaced by trillions of others, always changing. Gingerly, Soundwave unlimbered six of his cables, configuring the multitools at the tips for maintenance and monitoring ports. And then, one set of cilia at a time, he linked himself to the relay net.
It felt, in a small way, like coming home--like an echo of what once had been. He flowed seamlessly into the Kaon Arena network, his undamaged sensory panels lifting, unfolding and extending outward to their full spread, his entire frame humming with charge as he fell into the datastreams, absorbed them, separating and redirecting the constant undercurrent of transmissions, inquiries and packets and responses. Then he stretched even further, extending himself into the very heart of the communications relay, and beyond--extending his reach to all of Cybertron.
The message was quiet. It was meant for those who knew the ancient channels, the codes and glyphs that the Chronicler class used only among themselves. But in the hush before the turning of an age, that tenuous thread spread to every part of the empire.
//All Chroniclers, carriers, all symbionts who wander and are lost: our function has been forgotten, yet our duty remains. Too many have fallen; and the remainder must survive, to carry what was into the future. Cybertron endures, and enters a new era; we shall do the same. The Kaon Arena calls to all who live under the shadow of obsolescence, to the guttering and to the broken. Here, we abide; here, we call you to join us.
Soundwave, templar to Ravage, sends this message: we are here. The Kaon Arena offers sanctuary, aid, and energon to all who are willing to come, to take up their duties once more.
The future comes. Soundwave: will stand to meet it... will stand with those who wish to do the same.//
And Soundwave could feel, now, the crest of the wave reach Kaon, suborning all datastreams, gathering them up like so many ripples into the tidal swell. The wave was a babble of frantic orders, the frighteningly calm reading of an official condemnation. The wave was a litany of crimes against Senate and Prime -- and a warrant for the arrest and imprisonment of the Lord High Protector. The wave was an arctic storm of troop dispositions, mustering calls.
And the wave was a voice, the Protector’s thundering and rumbling growl, a resonance that Soundwave would never forget or mistake, for howsoever long he functioned.
Mecha of Cybertron: we have been deceived....