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sakon76First, pimping the newest part of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
twins_eternal's wonderful comic from sbx's prompt!
Second, sorry that this section took so long. I hit a writer's block. Hopefully it's gone now that I've figured out plot. Hopefully, also, this isn't too talky. I slipped in two more characters in the background (bonus points for spotting both of them!) and reworked my favorite Prowl line from season one. (Manifolds = aorta = not things that should be made of cast iron probably....) Anyhow, please enjoy!
Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger
part 8: Ripple
by K. Stonham
prereleased 21st September 2007
It was a week before the science team told Peter they had all the information they needed... and better yet, to his mind, was Wheeljack having cobbled together a device which would theoretically neutralize the neural implants.
He'd kept himself busy, checking facts and layouts, gathering information and making contacts, running through strategy after battle plan, trying to keep himself from thinking. To keep himself from going mad. To keep himself from going back to those two almost empty graves and breaking down.
How could he have mourned for them while they were still alive? How could he have buried them and let them go, sure they were in Heaven? How could he not have looked harder?
Peter shied away from that accusation. It hadn't just been himself. There had been a bevy of investigators assigned to the case. Nothing had been turned up, nothing, that had suggested his wife and niece had still been alive. He couldn't have known. There had been no chance, no hope.
Except somehow there had been, and he should have known.
Chip and Prowl had seen her. Seen Robin. She'd been healthy and well, an attractive receptionist smiling at two visitors, guiding them to their appointment.
He wondered if she remembered him. It had been ten years, half her life. If she'd been brainwashed for that long, or controlled by what Wheeljack had nicknamed a "hypno-chip"... she might not. Had Marshall raised her as his own child? Was she happy? Was she safe, stable, sane?
How had Peter failed her so badly?
How had he failed Ariel so badly?
His wife, his child....
He buried himself in work and tried not to ask the questions that he was buried under.
*
The meeting had started pleasantly enough, Prime's full team gathering at the conference table for once. Even Ember--Mikaela--had turned up. Apparently the mission details had been big enough news that the full science/engineering/research component of the team couldn't stay away. Unfortunately, though, Michael thought, the auspicious beginning of the meeting hadn't panned out.
"That's enough!" Prime said finally, hands flat on the conference table as he glared at the two combatants. Both Jazz and Ironhide hesitated, then slowly sat down.
"I can defend myself," Michael told Jazz.
"Sorry, I forgot."
"Stop forgetting," Michael advised coldly. Jazz looked taken aback, and it took an instant before Michael realized he'd hurt Jazz. Taking a breath, he forced himself to be calm. "Please," he added more softly, and was rewarded by the way Jazz's shoulders relaxed as he nodded. Michael looked to the team's leader. "Prime, if my... 'dubious mental stability' is going to be a problem, perhaps it's an issue that should be dealt with now."
Optimus raised an eyebrow. "If you're comfortable with that, Prowl."
Michael nodded, and looked back around the table, wanting to get it over with. He'd known it would be a problem. It always was whenever people found out. He sighed in exasperation at human stupidity. "There is a certain psychological report," he started, "which I'm sure most of you have already managed to covertly obtain and read. It details the fact that I have Schizoid Personality Disorder. That does not mean I'm crazy. It also does not mean I'm schizophrenic--that is a completely different mental condition, and I'm fully behind the faction that's lobbying to get one or the other renamed, because it would make my life much easier in avoiding situations like this one."
"So what does it mean, then?" Sparkplug asked levelly.
"Having SPD means I find it difficult to make and maintain emotional connections. Contrary to Tranquility PD rumor, I do actually have and understand emotions. It's just... difficult for me to enter into and maintain relationships with others. Constantly difficult," Michael admitted. He didn't miss the ripple of slight glances that set going around the table. They thought he was talking about Jazz. Michael wasn't. His relationship with Jazz was one of the hardest things for him to deal with, but more than that, everyday relationships with coworkers, superiors, people he dealt with day in and out... he had to pick his battles and sometimes, even so, Michael felt like he'd burn out, trying, forcing himself to care, to understand, to be human. He had burnt out, once, not too long after he'd joined the police... not too long after his parents' deaths in a car accident. It had hurt too much. It had taken him a long time to remember what caring felt like. Even so, most days he had flashes of feeling like he wanted to stop again. It was so hard, and he got so sick of trying to let people be too close, close enough to hurt him. All in the name of normality. It would be so easy, it was so tempting to just quit, to walk away from the life he'd built, to start over somewhere new and be the quiet neighbor that no one really knew who lost himself in books and strategy games. The only thing that kept him from doing exactly that sometimes was an cast iron determination not to let his condition rule his life. Jazz just gave him a sad half-smile and a slight nod. If Michael believed what he said, as he tended to, Jazz had always known he had this. Nothing that Michael could say would be news to him.
Jazz was the other thing that kept him from leaving.
"There are medications that can be taken for SPD," Michael continued. "I've been on them. The psychiatrist eventually agreed with me that the side effects outweighed the advantages in my case. I've had this condition my entire life; if any of you want to think of it as a mental illness," Michael said, looking directly at Ironhide, who met his gaze with a little bit of contempt, "you are perfectly welcome to. I don't care. Personally, I view it as a handicap, not too different from being paralyzed and in a wheelchair." Chip breathed a surprised laugh, nodding slightly at that, understanding. "It's something I'm constantly aware of, and something I have to work around," Michael explained, wanting to drive his point home to the eleven people sitting around the table. "It is not my definition or my limit. It is part of who I am, but not the whole, and I refuse to let it restrict what I can and cannot do." Michael looked around. "If any of you would like to talk to me about it," he offered, "I'm perfectly willing to do so, on our own time. For the moment, though, if no one has any further pertinent questions to ask or aspersions to cast, can we get back to the topic of this meeting?"
"Actually," Perceptor said, "if I may? This segues neatly into what we have discovered about the neural implant."
Wheeljack nodded in agreement and typed a few keys on his laptop. A holographic display sprung into existence over the center of the table, showing a rotating enlargement of the chip and its dangling wires. "When originally implanted, the wires were actually part of the hypno-chip, coiled on what we've decided to label as its underside. After entering into an organic system, they automatically interacted with the bio-electrical impulses, drawing energy from them, and extended, burrowing into the brain and nervous system and taking control."
"Due to Prowl's unique chemical imbalance, however," Perceptor continued, "the chip's programming was insufficient to fully anticipate and smoothly control his actions."
"So because he's got SPD, he was actin' a little off?" Jazz summed up. He tossed a glance at Ironhide. "Too bad we only found out 'bout it 'coz a' that 'dubious mental stability'," he sniped.
"Down, boys," Sparkplug ordered. He looked at his son. "I never thought you and Buster would be practice for this."
Spike didn't answer, just rolled his eyes and slunk a little lower in his chair.
"If I may continue?" Perceptor asked. "Inserted into the minds of those with chemical balances inside a normal range, the chip's influence would be nigh-indetectable. It would theoretically lie dormant until command data was input, rendering the subject able to be remotely controlled."
"So there's no knowing if anyone has a chip?" Spike asked, sitting back up straighter. "Or how long it's been in them if they do?"
"The chip is detectable via a basic, if specialized, medical scan," Ratchet replied. "It shouldn't be that difficult to create portable scanners for the rest of you. How long it's been in someone's head... well, we can make rough estimates based on the scar tissue around the implant and tendrils, but firm dates of implanting may be harder to come by."
"What will happen when they're neutralized or removed from people with normal brain chemistries?" Michael asked quietly.
Perceptor, Wheeljack, and Ratchet exchanged glances. "Unfortunately," Wheeljack said, "with no test subjects or information on that, there's really no way to know."
"The data has to be somewhere," Ember finally spoke, drawing everyone's eyes to her. "What?" she asked defensively. "I know you scientist types... you're not happy with anything unless it's triple-tested under every conceivable condition and written down in neat little books. And given the complexity of that chip's design and the way they 'wasted' it on a visitor, even if he was from the military, there's no way it's a first-generation prototype. Arkeville and whoever have done the tests. Lots of them. They know it works, and that means they've got to have the data lying around somewhere."
"Prime?" Ironhide asked softly.
"Yes, Ironhide?"
"Is this a rescue mission, or a demolition assignment?"
The sudden silence in the room seemed deafening.
*
He hated this subject, this weight, the silence that pressed in, anticipating what he would have to say. Swallowing a sigh, Peter pressed the tips of his fingers together, closing his eyes for just a moment, a breath, to center himself.
He opened his eyes again. "Currently, this is a retrieval mission--both for our theoretical kidnap victims, our four and all others, and for that data Cybercon is concealing. However, that judgment is balanced on a knife's blade," he told his team. "The minute we can confirm that Marshall Travers is involved, our priorities switch to taking him out."
The silence held for a minute, until Chip asked quietly, "This isn't just about what he did to your wife and niece, is it, Prime?"
Peter shook his head. "No. This is... more than that." With a thought he entered authorization override on the encryption of a particular highly-classified document and sent it to the five cybernetic minds and six laptops gathered around the conference table. "You may not wish to eat immediately before or after reading that file," he told them. "Let's just say that our standing orders for Marshall Travers are to kill on sight. Do not attempt to restrain, arrest, or take him into custody." Peter sighed. "Brother or no, I have long come to agree with the reasons for those orders." Something in him still remembered the fair-haired brother who had pushed him on the swings, shared a pack of gum at a baseball game, straightened his tie before tweaking him on the nose the evening of a school dance that had been his first date with Ariel....
That brother, that friend, had to have been real. He had been. Peter believed that with all his heart. He didn't know what had twisted Marshall, changed him. He didn't know what he'd done to turn his brother against him....
"One question," Prowl addressed Wheeljack and Perceptor. "You said the chip can receive outside command sequences. Is it able to be monitored from a distance?"
The scientists exchanged a glance. "There is a transceiver component to the chip, yes," Perceptor replied.
"Then they know we're comin'," Jazz said. "Cybercon'll figure out pretty quick, if they haven't already, that that thing's no longer in Prowl's head."
"Shit," Ironhide gumbled.
"What's our timetable, Prime?" Bumblebee asked.
"That depends on how quickly we can have enough scanners and neutralizing units to deal with those implant chips," Peter replied.
"The structural layout's easy enough," Ember answered, leaning forward and tapping at a few keys. "We have the components in stock, some'll need a little modding.... With four of us working at it... Thursday night?" she asked Sparkplug.
He nodded. "That should be doable, even allowing for mistakes and testing time."
"I'd suggest the best time would be Friday afternoon," Prowl said. "People will be relaxing and starting to go into 'weekend mode'. They won't be expecting a government raid."
"Noted and approved," Peter said with a nod. "Friday afternoon it is, people. Be ready to move out."
"We still need a plan," Ratchet objected.
"Oh, I've got a plan," Prowl said calmly, tapping at a few keys on his laptop. He looked up and around at the six field operatives with a small, sly smile. "If you've all got the cast-iron stomachs for it."
*
"Let's hear it," Isaac said, wanting to know what he was committing to.
"We go in the front door," Prowl said simply. "A full half of their personnel are on our kidnapped or deceased list; there's no point in trying to sneak around and nab them one by one. We set up a perimeter around the building, go in as a government raid, lock down the building, and apprehend the employees one by one. We set up a base station in the perimeter and detain everyone for questioning. Meanwhile, Spike dives every computer in that building until we get the data we need. Then, if it's safe, we neutralize the hypno-chips. It's blatant, but it'll work."
"We'll need more men for that," Optimus said. "S7 will back us up, but more would be better." He looked speculatively at Isaac and Ratchet. "Would either of you happen to know if Captain Lennox's team is free on Friday?"
Isaac shook his head and glanced at Ratchet, who gazed impassively at him. "You call him," the medic directed. "It's your turn."
Rolling his eyes, Isaac patched into the outbound comm lines and dialed a certain cellphone number.
*
Laughing at Fig's half-English half-Spanish attempt to explain what voodoo really was, Will pulled his cellphone out as it started buzzing in his pocket. Noting that the caller ID was blocked--which narrowed down who might be calling him, sadly, only by about half--he flipped it open. "Lennox speaking."
"You and your men busy Friday, Captain?" a familiar voice asked.
"Depends on what's up," he replied. "You wanna give me some details?"
"We're playing FBI raid on a company that's got some kidnap victims and some brain-washing tech," Ironhide told him. "We need a perimeter. You in or out?"
"Who else are you tapping for it?" Will asked first.
"S7."
"Those pricks?!"
Ironhide laughed. "Going to let them show you up, Captain?"
"Hey, guys," Will said, standing up and looking at his men around the lunch table. "You up for playing along with the 'Bots unit on Friday?"
"Sure," Epps said.
"We haven't had a chance to hang with them in way too long," Donnelly agreed.
"We're in," Springer agreed after exchanging a glance with Hansen.
"I got nothin' better to do," Fig said, and Casey just nodded.
"You got yourself a team," Will told Ironhide. "And if you even think of playing those S7 bastards against us again, I'm personally going to help Ratchet teach you a new definition to the word 'pain'."
Ironhide only laughed. "We'll get the details to you later today," he said, and hung up.
Flipping his phone closed, Will sat back down.
"At least you can't say your life is boring, Captain," Hansen told him.
"Shut it," Will growled, but he was smiling.
*
Isaac disconnected. "Lennox's team is in," he reported.
"So we've got our perimeter," Jazz ticked off on his fingers, "we're gonna have our scanners an' disruptors, we've got our very own hacker, what're we missin'?"
"The fact that they've got augments on their side too," Prowl returned.
"You're sure about that?" Ratchet asked.
Prowl nodded. "You don't forget the sensation of being pinned helpless like that. 'Barry'--Barrett Cade, former cop suspected of turning dirty according to his records--is definitely one. And like with the hypno-chips, it doesn't make sense that they'd have only one."
Isaac shrugged. "So we're going in ready for a fight," he said. "Not like it's the first time."
"It'll be the first time against unknown technology, however," Wheeljack spoke up. "We can figure out some things from the examples we have, but it's entirely possible that Cybercon has developed weaponry superior to our own. You'll have to be ready for anything."
Optimus' hand twitched.
"Prime...?" Jazz asked.
Optimus' blue eyes were distant. "Of course," he murmured. "It makes sense...."
"Optimus?" Sparkplug asked, leaning forward slightly.
Prime's eyes refocused. "One of the particular sins regarding Marshall, as detailed in that report," he said quietly, "is that of arms dealing, weapon trading and development."
Spike's eyes widened, as did Bumblebee's and Ember's, all three sitting up practically as one. "You mean that Cybercon's real aim may be weapons?" Spike asked.
"Take the computing advances, add them together with the cybernetic limbs and the hypno-chips," Ember breathed, "and put all together, they add up to...."
"Living weapons," Bumblebee finished, stark horror written across his face.
"Completely controllable by whomever held their programming," Perceptor agreed.
"Like us," Jazz murmured in disbelief.
"No one puts controls in my team's heads," Ratchet retorted acidly, but he too looked shaken.
"Except Prowl," Spike teased, but his voice was still slightly shaken.
"That," Jazz guaranteed, "isn't gonna happen again."
*
Spike disappeared after the meeting broke up. Going with doing things the old-fashioned way, Brian searched for him in all the usual places: the comm room, Wheeljack's lab, where he might be helping his father solder together neutralizers but wasn't, and the lap pool. All three locations turned up blanks. After a moment's consideration, Brian went for a fourth and panned out gold.
Spike mindlessly swooped and soared back and forth through the half-pipe as Brian watched. His ease with the sport was effortless, but this time there was no joy on his face, only anger and discontent.
Spike knew he was there, he had to, but he paid Brian no mind as he perched on a nearby cement ledge and watched. Back and forth, back and forth he went, speeding up with each turning, soaring higher as he crested the lip of the pipe. The frustration wound up tighter and tighter on his expression until it seemed like something would have to snap, and finally it did: with a snarl Spike broke free of gravity one more time and tumbled, landing neatly on his feet, snagging his board out of the air in a show of what seemed like better than human reflexes, even though Brian knew that the only thing Ratchet had altered was his brain.
Spike stalked over to the bench and threw himself down on it beside Brian. //You okay?// Brian texted.
//No,// Spike retorted. Then he sighed and ran his hand through the spiky hair that he'd gotten his codename from. "Dad and I aren't going to be allowed anywhere near Mom and Buster until the whole stupid operation is done and they're cleared," he said aloud.
//That makes sense,// Brian replied, shrugging. //They almost definitely have hypno-chips in them, and that makes them dangerous.//
"I know that!" Spike snapped. "It doesn't make it feel any better."
//It's very likely that they'll be okay after the chips are neutralized,// Brian soothed. //I mean, Prowl was.//
"Prowl's got that brain chemistry imbalance working in his favor," Spike replied. "And he had his chip in his head for less than a day, not three years."
//Which makes it all that much more important, then, for you to get the chip data.//
"Stop talking sense," Spike said, but the beginnings of a smile glimmered on his expression, shoulders relaxing.
//You can't order me around,// Brian retorted. //I rank you.//
"Yeah, but I outskate you." Spike offered him the board. "Did you want to get some practice in?"
//Sure.//
*
Bumblebee still sucked on a skateboard, unused to speed and balance and how it altered your center of gravity, but he was getting better faster than anyone else Sam had ever seen. It helped that cyborg reflexes combined with all that martial arts training that he knew Jazz was putting 'Bee through to make 'Bee more aware of himself than most people, and faster on the self-corrections. So he wasn't easy and he wasn't graceful and he wasn't one with his instrument yet... but he would be, and soon. The thought made Sam smile, and he wondered how he and 'Bee would be able to stack up as a team against some of the Tranquility 'boarders. He was pretty good himself, cybernetic brain letting him make corrections and adjustments faster than he had before, and 'Bee would be able to do the same. But 'Bee had more mass, which could be compensated for with more momentum.... He watched his friend, letting the analytical part of his consciousness spin forth numbers and theorems and probabilities and possibilities.
And once, when 'Bee looked at him, grinning, he caught a flash of something in blue eyes that made his breath catch in realization. Hurriedly, he stuffed that realization, that feeling, down. There were things he needed to concentrate on right now, and he couldn't let himself be distracted. He couldn't let anyone, not even 'Bee, distract him from getting his mother and brother back. From getting Prime's wife and niece back. From getting revenge for what Arkeville had done to Prowl, from stopping an arms development race, from making things right.
No distractions.
No feelings.
Not even for 'Bee.
twins_eternal's wonderful comic from sbx's prompt!Second, sorry that this section took so long. I hit a writer's block. Hopefully it's gone now that I've figured out plot. Hopefully, also, this isn't too talky. I slipped in two more characters in the background (bonus points for spotting both of them!) and reworked my favorite Prowl line from season one. (Manifolds = aorta = not things that should be made of cast iron probably....) Anyhow, please enjoy!
Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger
part 8: Ripple
by K. Stonham
prereleased 21st September 2007
It was a week before the science team told Peter they had all the information they needed... and better yet, to his mind, was Wheeljack having cobbled together a device which would theoretically neutralize the neural implants.
He'd kept himself busy, checking facts and layouts, gathering information and making contacts, running through strategy after battle plan, trying to keep himself from thinking. To keep himself from going mad. To keep himself from going back to those two almost empty graves and breaking down.
How could he have mourned for them while they were still alive? How could he have buried them and let them go, sure they were in Heaven? How could he not have looked harder?
Peter shied away from that accusation. It hadn't just been himself. There had been a bevy of investigators assigned to the case. Nothing had been turned up, nothing, that had suggested his wife and niece had still been alive. He couldn't have known. There had been no chance, no hope.
Except somehow there had been, and he should have known.
Chip and Prowl had seen her. Seen Robin. She'd been healthy and well, an attractive receptionist smiling at two visitors, guiding them to their appointment.
He wondered if she remembered him. It had been ten years, half her life. If she'd been brainwashed for that long, or controlled by what Wheeljack had nicknamed a "hypno-chip"... she might not. Had Marshall raised her as his own child? Was she happy? Was she safe, stable, sane?
How had Peter failed her so badly?
How had he failed Ariel so badly?
His wife, his child....
He buried himself in work and tried not to ask the questions that he was buried under.
The meeting had started pleasantly enough, Prime's full team gathering at the conference table for once. Even Ember--Mikaela--had turned up. Apparently the mission details had been big enough news that the full science/engineering/research component of the team couldn't stay away. Unfortunately, though, Michael thought, the auspicious beginning of the meeting hadn't panned out.
"That's enough!" Prime said finally, hands flat on the conference table as he glared at the two combatants. Both Jazz and Ironhide hesitated, then slowly sat down.
"I can defend myself," Michael told Jazz.
"Sorry, I forgot."
"Stop forgetting," Michael advised coldly. Jazz looked taken aback, and it took an instant before Michael realized he'd hurt Jazz. Taking a breath, he forced himself to be calm. "Please," he added more softly, and was rewarded by the way Jazz's shoulders relaxed as he nodded. Michael looked to the team's leader. "Prime, if my... 'dubious mental stability' is going to be a problem, perhaps it's an issue that should be dealt with now."
Optimus raised an eyebrow. "If you're comfortable with that, Prowl."
Michael nodded, and looked back around the table, wanting to get it over with. He'd known it would be a problem. It always was whenever people found out. He sighed in exasperation at human stupidity. "There is a certain psychological report," he started, "which I'm sure most of you have already managed to covertly obtain and read. It details the fact that I have Schizoid Personality Disorder. That does not mean I'm crazy. It also does not mean I'm schizophrenic--that is a completely different mental condition, and I'm fully behind the faction that's lobbying to get one or the other renamed, because it would make my life much easier in avoiding situations like this one."
"So what does it mean, then?" Sparkplug asked levelly.
"Having SPD means I find it difficult to make and maintain emotional connections. Contrary to Tranquility PD rumor, I do actually have and understand emotions. It's just... difficult for me to enter into and maintain relationships with others. Constantly difficult," Michael admitted. He didn't miss the ripple of slight glances that set going around the table. They thought he was talking about Jazz. Michael wasn't. His relationship with Jazz was one of the hardest things for him to deal with, but more than that, everyday relationships with coworkers, superiors, people he dealt with day in and out... he had to pick his battles and sometimes, even so, Michael felt like he'd burn out, trying, forcing himself to care, to understand, to be human. He had burnt out, once, not too long after he'd joined the police... not too long after his parents' deaths in a car accident. It had hurt too much. It had taken him a long time to remember what caring felt like. Even so, most days he had flashes of feeling like he wanted to stop again. It was so hard, and he got so sick of trying to let people be too close, close enough to hurt him. All in the name of normality. It would be so easy, it was so tempting to just quit, to walk away from the life he'd built, to start over somewhere new and be the quiet neighbor that no one really knew who lost himself in books and strategy games. The only thing that kept him from doing exactly that sometimes was an cast iron determination not to let his condition rule his life. Jazz just gave him a sad half-smile and a slight nod. If Michael believed what he said, as he tended to, Jazz had always known he had this. Nothing that Michael could say would be news to him.
Jazz was the other thing that kept him from leaving.
"There are medications that can be taken for SPD," Michael continued. "I've been on them. The psychiatrist eventually agreed with me that the side effects outweighed the advantages in my case. I've had this condition my entire life; if any of you want to think of it as a mental illness," Michael said, looking directly at Ironhide, who met his gaze with a little bit of contempt, "you are perfectly welcome to. I don't care. Personally, I view it as a handicap, not too different from being paralyzed and in a wheelchair." Chip breathed a surprised laugh, nodding slightly at that, understanding. "It's something I'm constantly aware of, and something I have to work around," Michael explained, wanting to drive his point home to the eleven people sitting around the table. "It is not my definition or my limit. It is part of who I am, but not the whole, and I refuse to let it restrict what I can and cannot do." Michael looked around. "If any of you would like to talk to me about it," he offered, "I'm perfectly willing to do so, on our own time. For the moment, though, if no one has any further pertinent questions to ask or aspersions to cast, can we get back to the topic of this meeting?"
"Actually," Perceptor said, "if I may? This segues neatly into what we have discovered about the neural implant."
Wheeljack nodded in agreement and typed a few keys on his laptop. A holographic display sprung into existence over the center of the table, showing a rotating enlargement of the chip and its dangling wires. "When originally implanted, the wires were actually part of the hypno-chip, coiled on what we've decided to label as its underside. After entering into an organic system, they automatically interacted with the bio-electrical impulses, drawing energy from them, and extended, burrowing into the brain and nervous system and taking control."
"Due to Prowl's unique chemical imbalance, however," Perceptor continued, "the chip's programming was insufficient to fully anticipate and smoothly control his actions."
"So because he's got SPD, he was actin' a little off?" Jazz summed up. He tossed a glance at Ironhide. "Too bad we only found out 'bout it 'coz a' that 'dubious mental stability'," he sniped.
"Down, boys," Sparkplug ordered. He looked at his son. "I never thought you and Buster would be practice for this."
Spike didn't answer, just rolled his eyes and slunk a little lower in his chair.
"If I may continue?" Perceptor asked. "Inserted into the minds of those with chemical balances inside a normal range, the chip's influence would be nigh-indetectable. It would theoretically lie dormant until command data was input, rendering the subject able to be remotely controlled."
"So there's no knowing if anyone has a chip?" Spike asked, sitting back up straighter. "Or how long it's been in them if they do?"
"The chip is detectable via a basic, if specialized, medical scan," Ratchet replied. "It shouldn't be that difficult to create portable scanners for the rest of you. How long it's been in someone's head... well, we can make rough estimates based on the scar tissue around the implant and tendrils, but firm dates of implanting may be harder to come by."
"What will happen when they're neutralized or removed from people with normal brain chemistries?" Michael asked quietly.
Perceptor, Wheeljack, and Ratchet exchanged glances. "Unfortunately," Wheeljack said, "with no test subjects or information on that, there's really no way to know."
"The data has to be somewhere," Ember finally spoke, drawing everyone's eyes to her. "What?" she asked defensively. "I know you scientist types... you're not happy with anything unless it's triple-tested under every conceivable condition and written down in neat little books. And given the complexity of that chip's design and the way they 'wasted' it on a visitor, even if he was from the military, there's no way it's a first-generation prototype. Arkeville and whoever have done the tests. Lots of them. They know it works, and that means they've got to have the data lying around somewhere."
"Prime?" Ironhide asked softly.
"Yes, Ironhide?"
"Is this a rescue mission, or a demolition assignment?"
The sudden silence in the room seemed deafening.
He hated this subject, this weight, the silence that pressed in, anticipating what he would have to say. Swallowing a sigh, Peter pressed the tips of his fingers together, closing his eyes for just a moment, a breath, to center himself.
He opened his eyes again. "Currently, this is a retrieval mission--both for our theoretical kidnap victims, our four and all others, and for that data Cybercon is concealing. However, that judgment is balanced on a knife's blade," he told his team. "The minute we can confirm that Marshall Travers is involved, our priorities switch to taking him out."
The silence held for a minute, until Chip asked quietly, "This isn't just about what he did to your wife and niece, is it, Prime?"
Peter shook his head. "No. This is... more than that." With a thought he entered authorization override on the encryption of a particular highly-classified document and sent it to the five cybernetic minds and six laptops gathered around the conference table. "You may not wish to eat immediately before or after reading that file," he told them. "Let's just say that our standing orders for Marshall Travers are to kill on sight. Do not attempt to restrain, arrest, or take him into custody." Peter sighed. "Brother or no, I have long come to agree with the reasons for those orders." Something in him still remembered the fair-haired brother who had pushed him on the swings, shared a pack of gum at a baseball game, straightened his tie before tweaking him on the nose the evening of a school dance that had been his first date with Ariel....
That brother, that friend, had to have been real. He had been. Peter believed that with all his heart. He didn't know what had twisted Marshall, changed him. He didn't know what he'd done to turn his brother against him....
"One question," Prowl addressed Wheeljack and Perceptor. "You said the chip can receive outside command sequences. Is it able to be monitored from a distance?"
The scientists exchanged a glance. "There is a transceiver component to the chip, yes," Perceptor replied.
"Then they know we're comin'," Jazz said. "Cybercon'll figure out pretty quick, if they haven't already, that that thing's no longer in Prowl's head."
"Shit," Ironhide gumbled.
"What's our timetable, Prime?" Bumblebee asked.
"That depends on how quickly we can have enough scanners and neutralizing units to deal with those implant chips," Peter replied.
"The structural layout's easy enough," Ember answered, leaning forward and tapping at a few keys. "We have the components in stock, some'll need a little modding.... With four of us working at it... Thursday night?" she asked Sparkplug.
He nodded. "That should be doable, even allowing for mistakes and testing time."
"I'd suggest the best time would be Friday afternoon," Prowl said. "People will be relaxing and starting to go into 'weekend mode'. They won't be expecting a government raid."
"Noted and approved," Peter said with a nod. "Friday afternoon it is, people. Be ready to move out."
"We still need a plan," Ratchet objected.
"Oh, I've got a plan," Prowl said calmly, tapping at a few keys on his laptop. He looked up and around at the six field operatives with a small, sly smile. "If you've all got the cast-iron stomachs for it."
"Let's hear it," Isaac said, wanting to know what he was committing to.
"We go in the front door," Prowl said simply. "A full half of their personnel are on our kidnapped or deceased list; there's no point in trying to sneak around and nab them one by one. We set up a perimeter around the building, go in as a government raid, lock down the building, and apprehend the employees one by one. We set up a base station in the perimeter and detain everyone for questioning. Meanwhile, Spike dives every computer in that building until we get the data we need. Then, if it's safe, we neutralize the hypno-chips. It's blatant, but it'll work."
"We'll need more men for that," Optimus said. "S7 will back us up, but more would be better." He looked speculatively at Isaac and Ratchet. "Would either of you happen to know if Captain Lennox's team is free on Friday?"
Isaac shook his head and glanced at Ratchet, who gazed impassively at him. "You call him," the medic directed. "It's your turn."
Rolling his eyes, Isaac patched into the outbound comm lines and dialed a certain cellphone number.
Laughing at Fig's half-English half-Spanish attempt to explain what voodoo really was, Will pulled his cellphone out as it started buzzing in his pocket. Noting that the caller ID was blocked--which narrowed down who might be calling him, sadly, only by about half--he flipped it open. "Lennox speaking."
"You and your men busy Friday, Captain?" a familiar voice asked.
"Depends on what's up," he replied. "You wanna give me some details?"
"We're playing FBI raid on a company that's got some kidnap victims and some brain-washing tech," Ironhide told him. "We need a perimeter. You in or out?"
"Who else are you tapping for it?" Will asked first.
"S7."
"Those pricks?!"
Ironhide laughed. "Going to let them show you up, Captain?"
"Hey, guys," Will said, standing up and looking at his men around the lunch table. "You up for playing along with the 'Bots unit on Friday?"
"Sure," Epps said.
"We haven't had a chance to hang with them in way too long," Donnelly agreed.
"We're in," Springer agreed after exchanging a glance with Hansen.
"I got nothin' better to do," Fig said, and Casey just nodded.
"You got yourself a team," Will told Ironhide. "And if you even think of playing those S7 bastards against us again, I'm personally going to help Ratchet teach you a new definition to the word 'pain'."
Ironhide only laughed. "We'll get the details to you later today," he said, and hung up.
Flipping his phone closed, Will sat back down.
"At least you can't say your life is boring, Captain," Hansen told him.
"Shut it," Will growled, but he was smiling.
Isaac disconnected. "Lennox's team is in," he reported.
"So we've got our perimeter," Jazz ticked off on his fingers, "we're gonna have our scanners an' disruptors, we've got our very own hacker, what're we missin'?"
"The fact that they've got augments on their side too," Prowl returned.
"You're sure about that?" Ratchet asked.
Prowl nodded. "You don't forget the sensation of being pinned helpless like that. 'Barry'--Barrett Cade, former cop suspected of turning dirty according to his records--is definitely one. And like with the hypno-chips, it doesn't make sense that they'd have only one."
Isaac shrugged. "So we're going in ready for a fight," he said. "Not like it's the first time."
"It'll be the first time against unknown technology, however," Wheeljack spoke up. "We can figure out some things from the examples we have, but it's entirely possible that Cybercon has developed weaponry superior to our own. You'll have to be ready for anything."
Optimus' hand twitched.
"Prime...?" Jazz asked.
Optimus' blue eyes were distant. "Of course," he murmured. "It makes sense...."
"Optimus?" Sparkplug asked, leaning forward slightly.
Prime's eyes refocused. "One of the particular sins regarding Marshall, as detailed in that report," he said quietly, "is that of arms dealing, weapon trading and development."
Spike's eyes widened, as did Bumblebee's and Ember's, all three sitting up practically as one. "You mean that Cybercon's real aim may be weapons?" Spike asked.
"Take the computing advances, add them together with the cybernetic limbs and the hypno-chips," Ember breathed, "and put all together, they add up to...."
"Living weapons," Bumblebee finished, stark horror written across his face.
"Completely controllable by whomever held their programming," Perceptor agreed.
"Like us," Jazz murmured in disbelief.
"No one puts controls in my team's heads," Ratchet retorted acidly, but he too looked shaken.
"Except Prowl," Spike teased, but his voice was still slightly shaken.
"That," Jazz guaranteed, "isn't gonna happen again."
Spike disappeared after the meeting broke up. Going with doing things the old-fashioned way, Brian searched for him in all the usual places: the comm room, Wheeljack's lab, where he might be helping his father solder together neutralizers but wasn't, and the lap pool. All three locations turned up blanks. After a moment's consideration, Brian went for a fourth and panned out gold.
Spike mindlessly swooped and soared back and forth through the half-pipe as Brian watched. His ease with the sport was effortless, but this time there was no joy on his face, only anger and discontent.
Spike knew he was there, he had to, but he paid Brian no mind as he perched on a nearby cement ledge and watched. Back and forth, back and forth he went, speeding up with each turning, soaring higher as he crested the lip of the pipe. The frustration wound up tighter and tighter on his expression until it seemed like something would have to snap, and finally it did: with a snarl Spike broke free of gravity one more time and tumbled, landing neatly on his feet, snagging his board out of the air in a show of what seemed like better than human reflexes, even though Brian knew that the only thing Ratchet had altered was his brain.
Spike stalked over to the bench and threw himself down on it beside Brian. //You okay?// Brian texted.
//No,// Spike retorted. Then he sighed and ran his hand through the spiky hair that he'd gotten his codename from. "Dad and I aren't going to be allowed anywhere near Mom and Buster until the whole stupid operation is done and they're cleared," he said aloud.
//That makes sense,// Brian replied, shrugging. //They almost definitely have hypno-chips in them, and that makes them dangerous.//
"I know that!" Spike snapped. "It doesn't make it feel any better."
//It's very likely that they'll be okay after the chips are neutralized,// Brian soothed. //I mean, Prowl was.//
"Prowl's got that brain chemistry imbalance working in his favor," Spike replied. "And he had his chip in his head for less than a day, not three years."
//Which makes it all that much more important, then, for you to get the chip data.//
"Stop talking sense," Spike said, but the beginnings of a smile glimmered on his expression, shoulders relaxing.
//You can't order me around,// Brian retorted. //I rank you.//
"Yeah, but I outskate you." Spike offered him the board. "Did you want to get some practice in?"
//Sure.//
Bumblebee still sucked on a skateboard, unused to speed and balance and how it altered your center of gravity, but he was getting better faster than anyone else Sam had ever seen. It helped that cyborg reflexes combined with all that martial arts training that he knew Jazz was putting 'Bee through to make 'Bee more aware of himself than most people, and faster on the self-corrections. So he wasn't easy and he wasn't graceful and he wasn't one with his instrument yet... but he would be, and soon. The thought made Sam smile, and he wondered how he and 'Bee would be able to stack up as a team against some of the Tranquility 'boarders. He was pretty good himself, cybernetic brain letting him make corrections and adjustments faster than he had before, and 'Bee would be able to do the same. But 'Bee had more mass, which could be compensated for with more momentum.... He watched his friend, letting the analytical part of his consciousness spin forth numbers and theorems and probabilities and possibilities.
And once, when 'Bee looked at him, grinning, he caught a flash of something in blue eyes that made his breath catch in realization. Hurriedly, he stuffed that realization, that feeling, down. There were things he needed to concentrate on right now, and he couldn't let himself be distracted. He couldn't let anyone, not even 'Bee, distract him from getting his mother and brother back. From getting Prime's wife and niece back. From getting revenge for what Arkeville had done to Prowl, from stopping an arms development race, from making things right.
No distractions.
No feelings.
Not even for 'Bee.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2007-09-22 01:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-22 02:17 am (UTC)And as always, much love for this series. At least Sam/Spike is at least realizing about Bee/Brian. :)
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Date: 2007-09-23 03:33 am (UTC)But Springer is correct, and the other character is really really obscurely named (as in, I called up
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Date: 2007-09-22 07:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-22 02:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-22 05:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-22 05:16 pm (UTC)You win at life. Totally.
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Date: 2007-09-23 06:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-26 04:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-30 09:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-30 02:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-30 07:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-10 11:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-10 11:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-11 12:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-13 07:56 am (UTC)I don't know why I had never read this.
Well I certainly rectified that mistake in one sitting.
I love this so much.
It's a refreshing take on the series with new ideas.
I sincerly hope you continue!
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Date: 2009-01-19 01:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-21 08:17 am (UTC)And Bee and Spike are so cute.