By Amanda Flowers
nightspider@crosswinds.net
I remember the underground dungeon.
I won't let them file me away, like old statistics, behind the desk of the underground dungeon.
I remember the underground city where the officers live. Dark holes, old complexes. As many crimes perpetuated as discussed. The criminals that live there look out for each other. I was among them.
But I looked out for myself.
Except once: my direct superior was the one that let me live. I wonder if Stormcrow did him the same courtesy. Somehow I doubt it.
Now, among police, I have no superiors.
Thank Primus I was never a real insider. Thank Primus for the insect symbol that guards my spark. Thank Primus for the fact that The Three didn't trust siblings with sensitive material.
I bring up the lights as I step inside, running my hand across the tarnished metal of the desk where I used to sit. The desk, I don't believe, has changed much. The hand is different...it's...sharper than it used to be. Maybe it's even a little garish, under the ruddy glow of the dim overheads. My body must have picked these colors while I was still insane.
But thank Primus for the insanity, too. It kept me alive.
The databases that sit behind my desk are entirely empty. The hard files...empty, destroyed. I'd assume no less. Copies can't be floating around when agents are no longer servicing. What I know now—even the codes to unlock my own office—I know from the computer at the tower heart, something before I could never access.
This computer would have been more valuable to me, somehow, but no one will ever use it again.
The agent at my flank, outside the door, is a roach. He'd called me "sir" a lifetime ago. He'll get used to doing it again. A good agent always keeps at least half an eye on the agent at his flank. Doubly now that I'm going to be in charge.
"I'll have Darkwave's list prepared tomorrow. If you want to be on it, get a crew to do a thorough clean of this building. Destroy any contraband information in these files, if there is any left. Destroy the hard drives, and install new systems."
His performance will be judged on the amount of information he finds, but withholds. It's been a long time since I deleted someone personally.
"You'll appoint a new Infoban," he asks me, as I make the calculated mistake of turning his back to him as I leave.
"I certainly won't be doing the job."
They leveled Tripredicus Tower: Darkwave's show of power. It was decrepit anyway, not useful for my purposes. We'll move the agents into the basement there, and work on constructing a new headquarters, in the new style. I don't care what Darkwave chooses for himself, but my office will have lights.
After all, I can't afford not to pay attention.
Armageddon is where I thought I'd find him: couch-sitting in his own personal quarters. Maximals have no ambition. ...Even though I notice that the "couch" he sits on is made of energy and air. Krakken is a staring shadow from the corner of the room. He watches the couch, not the television.
"Darkwave has a request for you."
"Shhh," the fuzor responds. "Tee-vee."
I approach him, leaning over the blue light and into his outsized ear. "We're planning on taking you to a place with a lot of teevees."
"Really?!" Armageddon is so inclined to the idea that the couch disappears, and he crashes unceremoniously onto the floor. Naturally, his sidekick is startled.
"Because you watched my back, I'm going to have you watch some monitors. About a hundred of them. And pay close attention, because there'll be a test afterwards."
Armageddon blinked. "I can do that."
"I have no doubt."
I can't resist addressing Krakken. In beast mode like his friend, he is not shaking, but watching. He wonders if I notice him, hopes I do not, and when I turn to him, he shrinks...very slightly.
I laugh. "You wouldn't be afraid of an ordinary fella like me, would you?"
He bites back a shout. When we were fools, we were friends. "You're... you're really different now."
"Not really."
He disagrees, but not with a verbal response.
"How're they treatin' you these days? You're staying out of Upgrade's 'hair'?"
I look to Armageddon, but, staring at his monitor, he's missed the joke. ...They used to pick on me for stunts like that. I decide I like that rabbit after all.
"They all have big important Duties now," Krakken answers me. "I have to get out of the way because I sometimes break things. Hardhead and Stahldrache break things, but they're going on vacation."
That was one way of putting it.
"I had the germ of an idea myself the other day," I mention. "Upgrade rushes Transmetal IIs off the assembly line, but there isn't a lot in the files about them. Most of the new ones don't know how to use their powers. There ought to be a course, you think? Somewhere where they can learn new ways to use what they have, and we can find new ways to respond to it."
Krakken laughs a little. "Is that like Magic School?"
I laugh, too. "It's funny, isn't it?"
"Well, yeah."
"It'd be a job for Epitaph, were he still alive."
Krakken winces. "I hate Epitaph."
"Well, now he's dead, so he's less to worry about."
"You want me to teach?" the lobster asks, either fearful or hopeful.
"No, but I think you should enroll, don't you? Provided we get the program..." I look at Armageddon again, who has gone back to floating... "off the ground. Bad pun."
"That sounds like mutie registration!" says Armageddon.
It takes me a moment to solve that particular statement, twisted around from the recess of a pop-culture addled processor. "Of course!" I finally reply. "We can't have people running around loose creating new powers on us, can we? They've got to be catalogued and checked. Matter of national security; that's my job, last time I heard. But if you signed up, you'd be the first to be there when new powers started to appear. And you'd be senior class in no time."
"I can do that," Krakken says, with veiled excitement.
"You aren't locking me in there," says Armageddon.
"I wouldn't dream of it. You'll be working for me."
And, of course, no one will ever be certain what exactly I can do.
"Armageddon, I'll take care of your assignment first. Darkwave doesn't want me to waste time chatting. Krakken, I will be in touch." I nod at him once. "Stay put, and don't go out adventurin' on me."
Krakken squints up, and searches my eyes. "You're a little bit bipolar now, aren't you?"
He's such a riot.
It's been a long time since I tasted this kind of power. And it's worth it. The chair is comfortable, and I take orders from so few.
There's a kind of primal hunger welling up inside me today; I believe it's something in my programming, my old, renewed programming. I have to chew up documents; I need to see if anything needs deleted. I'll get Armageddon's report. I'll see who knows what. And if it's something I don't know, I'll keep a copy before I erase the original.
I gathered all of the information from Shockwave's old console. In my wildest dreams, I synchronize it with the information in Teletran II, the Autobot computer resting in the center of dead Iacon. Darkwave knows the place; he could get me there. I could access the files, copy the information...
Then wipe Teletran clean. Millions of years of data, erased, a dead universe in a vacuum in the middle of an underground grave. The onyx jewel on a tarnished crown.
No. That would...that would be a shame. Getting the information, now, that was a good idea. But I'd better not get carried away; I'd better send someone else on that assignment.
My com is buzzing. Now I remember why they used to keep my old offices so dim! Sometimes I stare at the lights.
"Nightbird to see you, sir."
"Really? She's cute and all, but tell her I'm busy."
"Security matters!"
"I'm joking. Send her in."
I can't deny that she's built well; Darkwave created a graceful thing. Cool and dark, her face is as stoic as her designer's. "Greetings," she says, in her whispered, light voice, and gives a slight bow.
"Nightbird. What can I do for you today? Message from High Command?"
"Naturally. Darkwave wishes to inform you—"
"Incidentally, I'm not planning on shooting you off the spot, so you can have your cloaked assistant disengage."
Nightbird's eyes widen for just a moment, and she nods to empty air. The femme that comes in to being next to her is stunning; I wonder why anyone would hide such a lovely golden creature behind a stealth cloak.
"You are...perceptive," Nightbird admits.
"And you are surprised." I laugh. "Anti-cloak is a priority in this system. Cloaks are blips on my monitor. No holoprojectors in this office, though. Not my style; I'd let her think she got in before I made sure she didn't get out. She must have cloaked right before entering the office, though. If she'd tried it any earlier, my guards would have stopped her."
I look up to the femme, and she nods in agreement.
"But that's enough. Darkwave wishes to inform me?"
"Darkwave wishes to inform you that he will be going on a reconnaissance mission," says the wyvern. "He is accompanying a Maximal commander. They will be peaceably exploring, an effort to regain contact with some of our lost worlds."
"Nice public affairs stunt. And he wants me to mind the house while he's gone."
"No sir." Nightbird is quite emphatic about this. "He wants me to mind the house while he is gone."
"Ah-ha." I look her over one more time. I do believe that girl is taller than I am. "I'm glad Darkwave's got the common sense not to trust me."
"Again you are wrong, Oblivion. I have the common sense not to trust you."
She looks down her mask at me. The Pride of the Predacons. Darkwave's brand new weak point, right here in my office. And we both know that I am one shrewd son of a gun.
Scanners identify the other Razor Woman as Flareflash, Transmetal One. She's looking at me with deep maroon eyes, and she's making a point of looking interested. She isn't just a test of my perception; she's a test of my concentration.
A test I'll definitely fail if I go staring at the lights again.
"If he's going public with this racial unity business," I tell Nightbird, "he's going to have to watch his step. But you came to the right place. Let him make whatever announcements he wants. I will do what I do best, which is make sure any troublemakers are kept in the dark about important details.
"Don't let Darkwave overconcern himself with my personal loyalty. I have a comfortable chair, and an office..." I look at Nightbird's accomplice—her collateral—"with lights. What more could I possibly ask for?
"Besides," I say, and I pause to look Nightbird in the eyes. She'll know I'm either telling the truth, or a very, very good liar. "I've already destroyed one blind god. I don't want to go pressing my luck."