HAMMER TIME: DAYS OF THUNDER NO OFFENSE TAKEN by Martin "PCHammer" Rose with Chris "Mako" Meadows[This is the story that -should- have preceded "A Time To Be Born" ... actually, this one and several others. :) But the order in which they're finished just can't be helped...] Thunder Force log, Standard date September 16th, 2288. As the de facto leader (that means nobody else wants the position) of this little band of Wedge Defense Force survivors, I've decided to begin keeping a record of our work, for whomever may care to see what we've done. Who knows, maybe someday we'll be able to look back and think of these as the Good Old Days. I doubt it, though. As I record this, we've just completed our first successful task -- the liberation of the Bodacious Vee star system from a malicious corporate takeover attempt, and the defeat of three warships designed to assist that purpose. We were aided in no small amount by the Sisters of Sol Bianca, a small band of brave young women who just happen to be the owners of one of the most powerful ships known. Though they were branded as pirates and outlaws before, they are now recognized as heroes. It does a heart good to see justice done ... especially after the incredible injustices we've faced. Wrong Side of the Ocean in association with Smalltime Writers, International presents a tale of Undocumented Features H A M M E R T I M E : D A Y S O F T H U N D E R NO OFFENSE TAKEN by Martin "PCHammer" Rose with Chris "Mako" Meadows "And as I try to make my way to the ordinary world, I will learn to survive..." The song faded out, and Chris reached forward and thumbed the player off. From what he'd read in the Guide, Funkotron was anything BUT an ordinary world. "Now arriving in the vicinity of Planet Funkotron," Katie Tanner announced. "I'm getting an incoming transmission over subspace comm." Chris opened his mouth. "And if you say 'on-screen,' I'll eject you, I swear I will." "Wouldn't think of it. Put it up." The starboard comm screen lit up with a metal visage. Blaster! "Hey, Mako! Long time no see!" Katie popped up on the port monitor. "Blaster, nice to see you." "Hey, it's _especially_ nice t'see _you_," Blaster replied with no small enthusiasm. "Don't leer," Chris coached. "It doesn't become you." Katie's answer was a bit more direct. "You blasted piece of home electronics, I'm gonna--" "Drop it, Katie," Chris sighed. "Blaster, we're on our way in. ETA is Very Soon." "Yeah, I noticed. Hammer's planetside right now, but he'll be up soon enough. Bring'er in t'th'main launch bay." "I'm quite capable of bringing myself in, thank you very much," Katie replied indignantly. "Katie, shut up. Roger, wilco, Blaster. See you there." "I'll be waitin'." One of his optics blinked off and back on in a sort of a Cybertronian wink, and his image vanished. "Oooooo, he makes me FURIOUS," Katie seethed. Chris snickered. "I think it's kind'a cute." "Oh, yeah? How would you like to be in my shoes and have Arcee making a pass at you?" Chris shrugged. "I'd go for it. I'm always open to fascinating new experiences." "I wanna new pilot!" Hammer's Batwing was in the launch bay with the engines still hot, and he and Blaster were waiting to welcome Chris back. Katie landed in Gerwalk mode and let Chris climb out before switching to full Battloid. Blaster stepped forward, arms open. "Hey, Katie!" "Come within twenty meters of me and die horribly." She waved her immense particle-beam rifle for emphasis. "For you, babe, it just might be worth th'risk," Blaster grinned. "Children, children, how many times do I have to TELL you?" Martin interrupted. "NOT, IN, the HOUSE." "Sorry, Hammer," Blaster and Katie said in unison. Martin smirked. "That's better. I'll call the others in for a conference." "In here?" Chris asked. "The launch bay?" "Why not? It's the easiest way to accommodate those of us who happen to be over 40 feet tall," Martin replied. He stepped up to a wall intercom, tapping its activation switch. "Attention, all hands -- though I suppose I'd rather have the ears listening -- this is your ersatz Captain speaking. It's conference time again, and we're meeting in the main launch bay. Dani, be a dear and stop by the mess on your way down for some munchies, and Eiko, could you help me bring a few couches from the lounge? Thanks." Chris grinned. Same old Hammer... When they were all gathered together -- the humans sitting on some borrowed sofas and the Transformers on a couple heavy-duty storage cases -- Martin formally (well, as close to formal as they came) opened the discussion. "Okay, so how'd it go?" Chris sighed. "Ever feel like you were in a Road movie to Berlin?" "Can't drive out the way you drove in?" "So sneak out this glass of bourbon, and we'll go, already," Nadia completed. Martin gave her a sidelong glance in reply, returning his attention to Chris. "You speak in riddles, young weed-hopper." "That's bad?" "I never said that. But I take it things could be better." "Yes, they could, now that you mention it. I hadn't even reached 3WA headquarters on Meizuri, just ridin' my Cyke, minding my own business, when I got jumped by a little group of local motor-mutts." "Biker trash. How quaint." "Heavily-armed biker trash. These goons had military-level weaponry, and no compunctions about using it." Martin looked slightly surprised. "I take it they weren't too much trouble, since you made it back here." "No," Katie cut in. "The trouble came later." Chris nodded. "I made it to the 3WA, and got to talk to Yuri. She's ... not taking this whole situation very well." Martin sighed sadly. Even before he'd met her, he'd always been partial toward Yuri. Perhaps it was her fragile beauty, perhaps her subdued demeanor; whatever the case, hearing that she was still out of sorts was depressing news. "I see. And Kei?" "Not around. Yuri said she was out hunting Gryphon." "Oh, happy happy. Just what the galaxy needs -- a hotheaded Detian with a vendetta." "Anyway, she told me a little of what's been going on while we were all busy licking our wounds. Apparently, now that the WDF's dissolved and our people are scattered all over the place, everyone who's ever had an ax to grind against us is using us for target practice. We've got unsettled scores, old vendettas, bounty-hunters and thrill-seekers coming out of the walls." Eiko slumped in her seat next to Martin. If she'd known it was going to come to this, she would've told Largo to take a long walk off a short pier, all those years ago. (Not that it would have mattered -- he would have just found another sucker, and left her alone on a planet full of corpses.) If nothing else, the man was definitely teaching her the true meaning of hatred. "But what about our allies?" Noriko queried, beginning a short list on her fingers. "The United Galactica, the Salusian Empire, the 3WA--" "Everyone else has their hands full," Chris said, breaking her off, "doing the jobs we've been doing for so long. And as if that wasn't enough by itself, just about every enemy the UG has is just about pouncing en masse. They're all stretched to their limits; they can't even keep peace on the streets effectively anymore." "Let alone help us," Martin added. "Life as a Wedge Rat has just turned Bad." Could be worse, Dund signed with a shrug. Martin raised an eyebrow at him. "How?" He thought for a moment. No idea, he replied. But something'll come to me. "I'm not gonna TOUCH that line." Chris cleared his throat. "Oh, I'm sorry. I suppose you were about to tell us about your trouble." "Well, not in any great detail. I was just putting on my CVR outside 3WA HQ when I got jumped by a bunch'a goons." Danilia sat forward, eyes wide with surprise. "Right outside?" He nodded. "Right on their doorstep." "Lucky for him," Katie broke in, "he was talking to me when he got brained. Otherwise, I doubt I could've caught up with his captors soon enough." Martin smiled at the Valkyrie. "Well met, Kate." She responded with a V-for-Victory sign. "Hey, he's practically helpless without me." "Am not," Chris defended. "Are too." "Am not." "Are too." "Am not." "Are too." "Dee too," Martin completed. Nadia stretched her long limbs. "Well, that was unnecessary." "And how," Hanson concurred. "It's still difficult to believe," Tom said, restoring the former train of thought, "that the Wedge Defense Force is being thrown to the Four Winds." "Has been thrown, Tom," Martin corrected. "If anyone were to have attempted to revive it, it would have been Lord Fahrvergnugen, and he's ancient history, bordering on mythology." Eiko looked at him worriedly. Was that a hint of resentment in his voice? "Guess it's true, then," Blaster said with uncharacteristic gravity. "We really are all that's left." For a while, the only sound in the bay was the whisper of Katie's generator. "Alone, against the galaxy," Noriko observed quietly. "With nothing to carry us but the hope that -- someday -- it will all begin anew." "Very profound, Skipper," Korren nodded. "Romantic, in a tragic sort of way." Martin sighed, slumping forward to dump his chin into his hand, leaning his elbow on his knee. "So, I take it everyone would just as soon knuckle under." Nine pairs of eyes and two sets of optic sensors peered at him as if to visually fit him for a straight-jacket. He smirked. "Didn't think so." "Well," Chris opined, "having determined that we're not throwing in the towel, where do we go from here?" Martin slowly rose to his feet and walked over to him. "If you must know, I think that we've recently established ourselves as a moderately independent group. Here, take a look." He handed Chris one of his business cards. Mako looked it over, with Temper peering over his shoulder. They looked back toward him after a moment of disbelief; Chris's face bore a look of slight distaste. "'Thunder Force'?" "We'd hardly sound formidable if we went by the name 'Clay Pigeons', now, would we?" He looked back to the card. "Okay, I can see that. Still..." "Oh, park it, Chris," Katie chided from behind him. "I think it sounds cool." "You two're welcome to join, of course." Chris flipped the card over, considering the insignia on the back. He hummed a long, thoughtful note. "I dunno ... we'll have to think about it." Martin shrugged. "Think all you want. Talk it over with Kate, too. We'll be doing the concert tomorrow, and leaving the system the day after; by then, if you'll be joining us or just want a ride somewhere, let me know." He turned and took a couple paces away. "For now, though, you can just hang out while we practice. Unless you'd rather do a field trip for a half-a-day or so. It's a decent planet; highly musical. You'd like it, Chris." Mako nodded. "I may just do that. Do they have Valkyrie-size facilities?" "Take it from me," Blaster chimed in. "I've been lots'a places, 'n'this one's the best non-cyber world for folks our size I've ever been to. These people like just about everybody." Chris smiled at the mechanoid. "That'll be a refreshing change." "I'll second that," Katie added. "Any points of interest?" "Well," Blaster grinned, "there's the Coolsville Wash'n'Wax..." She hung her head. "Why do I bother?" "I prefer to hand-wash," Chris replied. He snarfed mightily the moment he realized that he had, indeed, actually said that. "Don't encourage him, Chris," Temper grated. Of course, everyone else was just about rolling with laughter by now. "Okay, okay," Martin said at last, "that's enough. Kate, you're going with Chris, right?" "I'll probably regret it, but yes." Chris tried to look hurt in response, but failed miserably. "Nadia, Hanson ... watch practice, or go with them?" The Davions looked at each other, nodded, and looked back at him. "We'll go with them," Nadia said. "We've been too busy working on the ship to actually tour around down below," Hanson elaborated. "Good deal. You can take one of the other Valks or a shuttle. Korren, how about it?" Korren nodded his head toward Chris. "I'll help with the vacation, thanks." "Better make it a shuttle, then. Blaster?" The immense Autobot looked slightly surprised at his relatively diminutive comrade. "Y'don't need me t'run th'sound board?" "Not for a rehearsal. Murdock's capable of running it himself, if you'd rather spend a little quality time with our prodigals. Of course, we'll need you for the concert, since none of the Team are ACIs." Blaster looked over at Katie, who tried to shoot icicles at him through her expressionless optic visor. "Suits me fine," he said with a smile. "I'll help'em get introduced." "Spiffy." He turned to the last non-band member, and Eiko couldn't help but notice that his voice softened considerably as he spoke. "Riko? How about it?" The little brunette met his gaze evenly, with just a hint of a smile. "I'd rather stay ... with you." I'm sure you would, Eiko thought darkly. Martin nodded to her, then snapped his fingers. "Oh! Almost forgot." He sprinted over to the Batwing, hopped up to stand beside the fuselage, and tapped at a point on its side. "Open cargo hatch beta," he announced, and a long, rectangular piece of the astrofighter's armor, centered roughly around where he'd tapped, moved outward, then slid down. Martin reached into the cavity behind it, producing an enormous carrying case, slightly longer than Eiko was tall. "Close cargo hatch beta," he called over his shoulder, walking back toward the group as the ship's armor reassembled itself. "Here you go, Dund. This is why I was planetside in the first place." The enormous mute accepted Hammer's payload eagerly. He laid the case on the ground, opened the fasteners, swung the lid up, and reverently lifted out its contents -- a largeish object resembling an oddly-shaped tabletop attached to a long, fretted plank, polished to a reflective smoothness and with strings down its length -- with a very satisfied look on his face. It was, in truth, the biggest, baddest bass guitar you'll ever want to see. "Oh, WOW!" Danilia squealed. "It's so COOL!" Dund wielded the guitar with an authority never before seen in a bass player. The phrase "shit-eating" didn't even come close to doing justice to the size of his grin. "You're welcome," Martin stated smugly. Catching Chris and Kate's awed stares, he noted, "We lost our old instruments when the Son went down, so we finally got some replacements. Dund's bass here was a special-order we got from a terrific music shop down yonder, run by a guy named Peabo. Y'might wanna check the place out." He received numb nodding as his reply. Time to kick ass and take names, Dund signed. "I couldn't agree more. All right, Pigeons -- let's get dangerous." Martin strode from the bay with the rest of the Clay Pigeons close behind. Noriko followed at a discreet distance; Eiko's glares hadn't gone unnoticed. The Constellation flew in a close formation with the Righteous Indignation's shuttle. Only Mako was aboard the fighter, but he most assuredly wasn't alone. "I can't believe that cybernetic busybody tagged along!" Katie fumed, finally able to speak one-to-one with Chris. Her blond image on the nav/comm screen was positively livid. "I don't get a moment's peace when he's around! What does he think I am, some kind of baby?" "Cut him some slack, Kate," Chris sighed. "He's concerned, like the rest of us. He's just trying to help." "Help, my iron ass! I don't see how having to constantly snub some lovelorn stereo is supposed to help anything!" Chris smiled at her. "Okay, so maybe he's trying to help himself while he's at it. If I were a robot, I suppose I'd find you rather attractive, too." She blinked at him, then rolled her eyes. "Oh, great ... he's contagious. Next you'll start making jokes about male and female interface plugs." Chris unsuccessfully tried to suppress a very loud snarf. "One more word from you and you'll be landing without a plane, mister!" "Sorry," Chris managed between stifled chuckles. "You'd better be." "A little lower. To the right ... there, perfect." "Cables incoming!" "Test. One, two. Test." "Where'd my pedals get to?" "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm proud to announce legislation outlawing the Soviet Union. The bombing begins in five minutes." "Enough with the testing already! We hear you!" The Pigeons were setting up their instruments in the studio Nadia and Danilia had set up during the later phases of rebuilding the Righteous Indignation. It looked like any one of thousands of recording studios throughout the Quadrant, if somewhat larger than most. Martin looked around the room with a sigh. At their peak, the Clay Pigeons had several more members than Yes did when they were recording their album, "Union". With a little more effort, he'd once thought, they could actually be an orchestra. (Well, a chamber orchestra, anyway.) Now, thanks to The End of the World as They Knew It (and They Didn't Feel Fine), they were a classic five-member band -- two guitars, keys, bass and drums. Dani herself was enlisting Dund's help in assembling her newly- acquired percussion suite. All told, the entire contraption was easily twice as tall as she, in its store display. When Martin had asked her how she expected to play it, her only reply was a smile, a wink, and a light giggle. This, translated into Standard, meant something approximating "I know what I'm doing, so trust me, okay?" As Martin rechecked the connections between his keyboards, tone generators, and several other controllers, Tom and Eiko were already starting a mini-jam session of their own, with Tom wailing a complex melody as Eiko belted out a chorded power rhythm. Noriko stood quietly within the sound stage itself, leaving the control room vacant, leaning against a wall with her arms folded under her chest as her eyes attentively followed the activity. Dund and Dani soon completed their task, and joined the jam. Dund's thundering bass was a welcome complement to Eiko's chording, and immediately confirmed his choice of instruments; it was definitely the best-sounding bass guitar he'd ever owned. Dani entered the fray, too, and Martin laughed as he discovered her solution to the problem -- she'd had the drums arranged in a hemisphere around herself, with cymbals almost completely behind, and she stood-sat on a small, padded seat that nearly prevented her feet from touching the kick pedals. She beat out a strong, regular rhythm, and Eiko shifted gears to accompany Tom. "I think that might be too fatiguing for a concert-length performance, Dani." "Nah, I'm fine." She produced a quick Rush-esque riff to emphasize her point. "We'll see. Murdock?" An image of a slightly-crazed-looking man with a baseball cap trying to cover a head of hair that definitely needed trimming appeared on a wall monitor. What could be seen of his shoulders appeared to be wearing a leather flight jacket. "Ee-yo, boss!" "Everything ship-shape where you are?" "Clear as a bell, an' just as dingy." He spoke with a very slight Southern United States accent. "Good deal." With that, Martin threw himself into the fray, assuming a harmony that linked Eiko's accompaniment with Dund's bassline, and, in that peculiar fashion they'd worked out over the years, directing the flow of the music from the background. Noriko smiled as she watched him play, her foot tapping gently with the rhythm. She hadn't seen him perform since they'd parted ways in 2026, and the fact that he still did was something she found very reassuring. Martin took them through several instrumentals and game themes without so much as a pause in between. He thought of it as more of a testament to their ability than to his leadership, since, most of the time, he never really felt he was in control. Still, though he denied it, his was the hand that guided them. They charged into an extended version of one of the Stardust Speedway themes from "Sonic CD", finally starting to feel better about themselves, their lives, and the Universe as a whole. No one noticed Noriko, standing alone with her eyes closed, her whole body noticeably moving with the beat as she slowly surrendered herself to the music. She loved to dance, but after what had happened, what she'd been through, she thought she'd never be able to dance again... The band transitioned once more, working toward a rapid, furious crescendo. Their instruments tensed and screamed. Then, abruptly, they all stopped, leaving Tom's sole guitar as the only sound in the studio as he belted out the near-legendary intro to the Dire Straits' "Money for Nothing". When the others joined in, Noriko couldn't hold herself back any longer. She pushed away from the wall and went into motion, her legs and arms tracing graceful, intricate patterns all about her, painting a hundred images at once on a canvas of thin air. Her eyes were open, but she was unaware that she'd rapidly garnered the attention of everyone in the room, who continued to play as they watched her move, almost in a state of awe. Martin, who'd found himself rediscovering precisely how beautiful she was, nearly missed the first verse, and his brain defaulted to the Weird Al lyrics before he could stop himself. Now lookie here, people, listen to my story A little story 'bout a man named Jed You know sum'n'? That poor mountaineer They say he barely kept his fam'ly fed Now lemme tell ya, one day he was shootin' Oh yeah'e was shootin' at some food When all of a sudden, right up from the ground, there Well, there came a-bubblin' crude Oh, that is what maybe you call it "black gold" or "Texas tea" He gonna move next to Mr. Drysdale An' be a Beverly Hillbilly... Noriko's impromptu dance routine had moved out onto the floor, and she was everywhere, a gorgeous blur of barely-controlled, passionate movement. The music was her mind and soul, and her body whirled, kicked, twisted and flew eagerly to meet its demands. She was only aware of the band in a cursory fashion, as moving obstacles with which to avoid colliding. (Except for one person, that is, and he bloody well knew who he was.) "It's high noon on _my_ sundial," a voice in his head prodded. He mentally beat it to a pulp as he continued with the song. Before ya know it, all the kinfolk are a-sayin' Yeah, buddy, move away from there That little Clampett got'is own see-ment pond That little Clampett, he's a millionaire Now everyone says Californie Is the place that you ought'a be We gonna load up this ol' truck, now We gonna move to Beverly! (Hills, that is) Swimmin' pools Move-a move-a movie stars Huh. Lookithat! Lookithat! Where the song would have faded out, however, they kept on playing, and Noriko kept on moving. She was covered with a fine, glistening layer of perspiration; sweat flew from her shoulder-length hair whenever she spun or snapped her head to one side. With every whirl, with every kick, she sent another of the demons that clung to her flying, shrugging off the terrors that weighed her down by day and haunted her by night. The barely-concealed morass of bitter emotion and fear that had enveloped her spirit was almost tangibly flaking away. It was as if her body actually became lighter, and she moved all the more intensely in response. She wasn't just responding to music anymore, but speaking through her movements, telling of her dreams, her nightmares, her fears and fantasies. She danced more eloquently than any author had ever written. For the first time in far too long, she felt so alive, and she wanted to share every part of that life, every part of her being... After stretching the song for another five minutes, they brought it to a rapid, hard coda -- not a slow-down-and-stop or a repeat-and-fade, but a POW!-that's-it finale. Noriko froze just as quickly and stood almost perfectly still, save for the labored heaving of her chest as she gasped to regain her breath, working to calm her autonomic system down as the adrenaline rush wore off. After an eternity of silence, she opened her eyes. She could feel a presence to her right, and a pair of eyes boring into her. She turned her head to see. Eiko stood no more than a meter from her, still wearing her guitar. Its body was the same flaming crimson as her hair. The two silently locked stares. "Okay ... so, the instruments work," Martin warbled in a feeble attempt to relieve the tension that had abruptly filled the studio. "This is good, okay? How'd it sound to you, Murdock?" "Don't know about him, but it sounded great to me." The image on the screen was of an older-looking man with a full head of gray hair. He removed a cigar from his mouth to speak. "Oh, hi, Hannibal. Decided to peep on us, I see." "Yeahp. It was worth the time, too. You gonna find some way to work her into the act?" "I'm not sure." Martin glanced back at Noriko, who was still engaged in a staredown with Eiko. "I've never really thought about adding choreography to our stage act. We're a band, not a ballet." "You may want to consider it. She'd make quite an addition." Martin shrugged. "I suppose ... it'd sure boost our fanboy potential, I'll guarantee that much. Still, what I know about it could probably fit into a VIC-20." Hannibal made a distasteful scowl and vanished. Turning away from the monitor, Martin addressed the rest of the group. "Okay, folks, let's take five or so. I think we've pretty much proven that we can still use these things. After the break, we'll hash out a playbill." The group filed out, exchanging nervous glances with each other and allowing a wide berth around Eiko and Noriko, who remained motionless. After the room had been vacated by all but the three of them, Eiko walked slowly, cautiously, around Noriko. Their gazes remained locked, and Noriko turned slowly, tracking Eiko's movement as she removed her guitar, placed it on its stand, and started toward the door. The redhead ran a hand meaningfully down Martin's arm as she passed him, giving his fingers a squeeze, which he returned, before walking from the room. Martin's gaze went from the exiting Eiko to the motionless Noriko. After Eiko's footsteps had faded, he turned back toward the door and started walking. He was four paces from it when he heard the sharp staccato of rapid footfalls behind him. When he was at the threshold, Noriko collided with him from behind, throwing her arms around his waist and pulling herself tight against him, her hands clawing to grasp his violet jumpsuit. He stopped. After a moment's hesitation, he put his hands on her bare arms, gently massaging the backs of her hands. He felt her relax, heard her sigh; his mind's eye could almost see her smile. She soon released him, dragging her hands around him and down as she pulled them back, and he left at a brisk walk. She never did see the pained look on his face. Somewhere within the metal shell which was now her body, Katie smiled. She'd nearly forgotten what it meant to have fun, and, loath though she was to admit it, she had Blaster to thank for this. He may act like a drooling weenie at times, but he could be incredibly thoughtful when he had to. He'd been dead-on about one thing, that was for sure; Funkotronians were very open, and even friendly, toward cybernetic folk. There were only a couple places the group had been that day where she and Blaster had to wait outside due to a human-sized entrance. She'd actually asked a few shopkeepers why they had forty-foot-tall doorways, and received congenial smiles and explanations about high ceilings being In this year as responses, which struck her as just making an excuse for the sake of convenience. Whatever the reason, it certainly beat being left back at the spaceport, and she was happy to actually get to do the Tourist Thing with Chris and the others. Of course, there were still a few things that were denied her in her present form. Shopping for clothes was just such a thing. Oh, she could tag along, and she could give advice and make comments, but it just wasn't the same when everything on the rack was three hundred sizes too small. Noticing her downcast tone of voice, Blaster had excused the two of them and taken her to another shop which offered a slight variant on the concept. She gave him the impression of begrudgingly agreeing, at first, for the sake of finding some way to make her look less like a WDF plane. By now, however, she was really getting into it. "Here, Blaster," she said, pointing to an on-screen image of a Valkyrie colored white with wide black edging and regular stripes, "how do you think this one would look on me?" The mechanoid rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I d'know, Temp." He'd already taken to giving her callsign a rather severe abbreviation. "That doesn't look much diff'rent than what'cher wearin' now." "Well, I like the basic white-with-edging motif. It gives me that Valiant Crusader look, y'know?" Blaster smiled. "But y'aren't a Crusader; you're a custom Super." Kate bobbed her head back and forth as she replied, "Well, Ha, Ha. You're a real cut-up, Blaster." "Hey, I try. But seriously, those lines're definitely Not You." She considered the image again. "You could be right. Maybe I need something with a little more color." Blaster paged forward in the catalog. "How 'bout this one?" Katie made a gagging noise. "Paisley?! Yeah, over my deactivated remains. And that wretched tie-dye pattern is out of the question, too, so don't even THINK about it." Blaster shook his head. "Some people just never get hip." "Yeah, and some people actually think Nehru jackets look good." "Ouch. Touche, Temper." Satisfied that she'd made her point, Katie flipped through several more patterns, pausing to laugh at the one that had "Baby On Board" signs painted both on the sides of the fuselage (in fighter and Gerwalk modes) and across the chest (in Battloid mode). "Saaaaaaaaay." She stopped abruptly. "I do believe I've found the very thing." The Cybertronian smiled at the image on-screen. "Y'got that right. This one's a genuine head-turner." Katie nodded, touching the "Order" button to confirm her selection. "This should surprise Chris quite a bit," she said with more than just a hint of satisfaction. "See you in a few." She followed a small line of clerks who guided her into one of their refinishing salons. Blaster's gaze followed her as she went through the large, swinging door. She's really come a long way, he noted with no small satisfaction. I think she really is learning to enjoy this. A low mutter from out in the street caught his attention. He couldn't quite make out the words, but the tone of the voices he heard told him he ought to. Transforming to boom-box mode, he readily amplified the conversation and filtered out most other sounds. < < patterns weren't sufficiently jargon-rich for them to be natives. < < < < to open him up to see how he works. Here's the sum.>> There was an appreciative whistle. < < < < < < the Indignation. Guess they have cat connections.>> < < < Blaster returned to his bipedal form, startling a sales clerk who'd wandered curiously over to him. He'd heard more than enough. As soon as Katie was done, they'd go collect the others and get back to the ship. At least he knew two of them wouldn't be surprised. The entire group listened to Blaster's playback in stunned silence. Chris shook his head sadly. Funkotron was everything he'd been told, and then some; he was really enjoying his time there when Blaster and Katie told them to return. He didn't even get the opportunity to ask Kate about her "makeover", a rather astonishing new paint job which decked her, stem to stern, in white-and-black zebra stripes with no sign of WDF markings or insigniae -- just her registration number. After the playback concluded, Martin remained in his Thinker pose for another minute as, one by one, the group turned to him. "It would appear," Tom opened, "that our good fortune has reached its terminus." Dund made a gesture whose translation will not be repeated. "We should call off the show," Noriko stated firmly. "No, we shouldn't." Eiko folded her arms indignantly over her chest. "We made a promise; we should keep it." Noriko glared at her. "We can't risk our lives for the sake of a concert." Eiko glared back. "We also can't go running scared every time we think we're threatened!" "This isn't just a theory! You heard the tape!" "Well, I never said we should just sit around and wait for'em to take potshots at us!" Eiko smacked her fist into her opposing palm. "I say we show these bastards what it means to cross us!" "Right," Martin muttered at last. "And how do we find'em? We only know what they sound like." The redhead made a confident, dismissive gesture. "Can't be too hard to find an offworlder or two down there." "Well, you're right," Dani replied, "but not the way you think. There're lots of people down there from other star systems. The planet's a pretty major tourism center." Nadia nodded agreement. "I'd almost say I saw more offworlders today than natives." Hanson looked at her curiously. "How could you tell?" She smiled back at him. "Simple. Non-natives are better dressers." He blinked, looking genuinely surprised. "Really? I didn't notice." She patted his arm. "I know, dear. I know." "Declaring a manhunt in a foreign land without asking first is poor manners," Martin said, attempting to get them back on track. "There's no way we could find these guys before showtime." Noriko smiled confidently. "So we cancel, right?" "Wrong." Martin's eyes were closed, and he let his head slide down a bit on his hand so that his fingers formed a sort of cage over his right eye. He drummed his fingertips on his forehead; Dund could tell he was still turning something over in his mind. Noriko looked confused. "But if we're not going to cancel..." Eiko was equally perplexed. "...and we're not gonna fight..." "We're going to play." Martin stood, rising to his full height. "Tomorrow, the Clay Pigeons will be live, in concert, at the Grand Ole Funky. Exactly as we promised." He paused for effect, a wholly unnecessary step in this audience, and curled a sly smirk. "With some slight additions to the program." "Yo, pull it in over there, check it ... way, bitchin'! 'Kay, now smile 'n' say 'Duuuuuuuude!'" "Duuuuuuude!" As the entire group broke down laughing, the shutter snapped. "Excellent!" The young man grinned, returning the camera to Noriko's hands. She smiled and nodded to him, gingerly accepting the camera. "Thanks for the help, Theo." "'Tai'no thang." He was just one of the local folks who'd volunteered to be a stage hand for the Clay Pigeons concert. He hadn't thought that taking a group photo would be part of the job, but, for some reason, they didn't seem to want the little blond girl with the horns to take it. So when they asked him to help, he naturally agreed, under the condition that he get a print of the end product. For now, though, there was still a lot of set-up to take care of, and he returned to it. Chris looked up at Katie. "You know, you never did tell me about this new paint job of yours." She proceeded to vogue for him, the mere sight of which forced him to chuckle. "You like?" "Depends on how you define 'like'." "Like shut up, Chris," she q'ed good-naturedly. He chuckled. "No, but seriously. I think it looks good on you." "I'll second that," Blaster smiled, approaching from a recently- completed lifting task. He, Martin and Eiko had been taking care of all the heavy moving they'd needed so far. "You keep out of this, you rustbound Romeo." "Hey, I call'em like I see'em." "Yeah, and I think I see'em needing your help over thataway." Katie pointed a finger toward the control room. Blaster turned to look, and was slightly surprised to hear a faint whisper over a secure WDF frequency. "Chris and I need to discuss something alone," Katie's voice told him. "Thanks for everything." He turned back around with a smile. "I do believe you're right, Temp. Seeya." He spun on his heel and marched toward the far end of the auditorium as he radioed a similarly private reply to Katie: "No problem, girl. Anytime you wanna hand, just ask." Katie watched him go, glad, for a change, that her face held no expression; her pride still refused to let her show any sign of weakness. Once he was out of sight, she bent down, laying a hand on the ground near Chris, palm-up. Chris, for his part, climbed up onto her hand. She lifted it carefully until it was level with her shoulder, and he climbed off, taking a seat next to her head as she seated herself on a sturdy crate. "I take it this means you want to talk," he said bluntly. She nodded. "Have you made up your mind yet?" "About?" "Whether we're staying with Martin or not." Chris took a deep breath. "I've been applying a lot of thought to that." "So you haven't really decided yet." "Not really." He sighed. "I was hoping to get your opinion." She was quiet for a moment. "I'm not sure. On the one hand, I can see how we'd be a help; adding two more good pilots to his team would be a plus, even if neither of us plays an instrument." Chris nodded. "But then I'd be flying another plane. To optimize our effectiveness in the field ... we couldn't be together." Kate looked as sullen as she could. "I know. If we always stuck together, we'd add just one pilot and plane to the force." "And we'd always fight over who gets to actually fly the next mission." He laughed in spite of himself. She laughed as well, but quieted before he did. "Still, we'd be at a disadvantage," she said. "How so?" "Well..." She hesitated. "It's just that ... I think we'd be flying paranoid, however we went about it." "Paranoid?" "Yeah ... you know, 'cause..." Katie looked at the floor, shuffling her feet nervously. In her enormous frame, the unconscious gesture almost seemed humorous. "...we'd always be trying to, you know, keep each other from getting hurt." Chris nodded somberly. "You're right. There's no way I could go as hog-wild as I used to if I knew that every hit I took would hurt you." "Well, that, and you're rusty." "Am not." She looked directly at him. "You may be able to fool some people, Mako, but you can't fool your own fighter." Chris threw up his hands. "Okay, okay, I'll admit I'm a little out of practice." He sighed. "All the more reason not to put myself in the line of fire." "You could work in the engine room." He shook his head. "That'd never pan out." "Why not? I know you're a great engineer." "Maybe so, but you _don't_ know how Nadia is with Her Engine." Katie looked at him for just a moment, then stifled a laugh. "I see." "She's one of ... no, she's _the_ most meticulous person I've ever met. When we were still overhauling the engines, 'good enough' was never good enough." "Going through a jury-rigging combat situation with her must be hellish." "I don't want to even think about it." They fell into silence. "Chris..." "Hm?" "Are we saying that we're actually tired of fighting?" He considered the thought. "You know ... I think you're right." "I never, in all my life, thought I'd actually say that about myself." Katie shook her head slowly. "I'm getting old already." "It could just be some latent shock over your big change." "That doesn't explain you, though." "True. But I've never been that hot on the glorious fighter jock's lifestyle, either." She sighed audibly. It didn't have the same physical feeling of release as it did when she had a human body, but it was the only way she could think of to express herself at the time. "Where should we go, if we're not going to stick with them?" Chris was leaning against the side of her head. "I wish I knew. I'd like to stay here ... the people are so friendly ... but we both know it's just not as safe as we'd like." Chris folded his arms. Martin _had_ offered to take them anywhere they wanted to go, which would save quite a bit of transit time, if they could make up their minds before tomorrow. He wondered about places that would be reasonably safe. UP? No thanks, been there. Salusia? Sure, that'd probably be almost as safe as Meizuri. Earth? Same answer. A dozen worlds passed through his mind, and they all gave the same negative response to his internal query. Then, like a bolt from the blue, he realized he was literally sitting on the answer. "Cybertron!" "Bwa?!" His shout startled Katie, and she nearly tipped Chris off of her shoulder as a result. "Whoa, hey, careful!" "Sorry." She scooped a hand under his feet, giving him the platform he needed to clamber back onto her shoulder. "What were you saying?" "I just realized that Cybertron should be plenty safe. The Autobots have always allied themselves with the WDF; I'm sure they'd be glad to help us out." Katie's smile, though missing from her face, was obvious in her voice. "Yeah! I'd like to see any penny-ante bounty hunter try to take us down when we're surrounded by Autobots!" "And plus," Chris added, "you'll be able to pal around with people your own size." She nodded. "Humans are fun, but it's hard to have a relationship when you have to double over just to talk." She turned to look at her shoulder-mounted companion. "Present company excepted." "Of course." Chris smiled to her. "So ... when do we tell him?" "After the concert." "Right. And until then?" Katie rose to her feet. "Until then, I think there are people here who could use our help. Let's give'em a hand, shall we?" Chris braced himself as she strode forward. "Do I have a choice?" "Oh, don't be such a baby. I'll only make you carry the lighter stuff." Lighter than what? was the only question Chris had in mind. Jared Selik strolled quietly, slightly slower than the crowd around him. His overcoat was closed against the slight chill that rushed through Hipsville this night, covering a blue flannel button-down shirt and gray denim slacks, and his midnight-blue baseball cap, bearing the white Gothic-D emblem of the Terran Detroit Tigers, was pulled low over his eyes. Only his dark hair and moustache were visible to frame his slightly drawn face. People around him would give him a glance, which he would answer with a smile and a nod. This would satisfy their curiosity, they would say something friendly that he didn't understand in the least, and that would be the end of it as they walked on. He knew what it was about him that drew their attention in the first place. His overcoat, a light brown hue and looking somewhat aged, though not torn, sported a few unnatural-seeming bulges in places where the wind would, on occasion, press it against him. Combined with the way he wore his cap close to his eyes, this gave him the appearance of being some sort of assassin. However, his smile and natural charm radiated an air of harmlessness, which put that idea out of their minds quite readily. This was good, since he didn't want anyone to know their suspicions were completely correct until his work was done. While he could easily speak in the coarse fashion which seemed to be all the rage among low-class bounty hunters, as he had spoken earlier that day to his informant, he considered himself to be somewhat above that level. He was just working his way upward, waiting for a break to get into the big money and trying not to attract too much attention in the meantime. "You are destined for great things," he would tell himself. It was a mantra of sorts for him, a one-sentence litany he used to keep himself aimed toward his ultimate goal. He stopped, turning to regard the star-filled expanse above him as the crowd continued to flow past him; he was amazed that he could actually see the stars, so near the border of the world's capitol city. One of the respects in which he considered himself superior to others in his line of work was how he tried to keep himself informed about the areas he operated in, not just knowing the relative tech level and maybe a smattering of the local language to get by, but making a more thorough study of the culture and history of the place. He went well beyond the "forewarned is forearmed" mentality, to the point where he could identify no fewer than twenty pieces of irrelevant trivia for each planet he'd worked on. He also had an interest in astronomy, which is why this particular planet's history had proven so fascinating to him. Funkotron's night sky was one of the many attractions the world had to offer to its visitors and, indeed, its residents. It had been over a century ago when a stargazer, sometimes theorized to be under the influence of a controlled substance (though tests taken at the time insisted otherwise), claimed that the stars in the sky had formed an uncanny image of Elvis Presley. This vision bolstered what would eventually become known as the Funky Revolution, which took the entire star system through the most peaceful shift of power ever seen either before or since, and from which the worlds in the system took their names. The constellation Preslius was soon afterward identified, logged and made a national symbol, though no one ever determined why anyone could think it actually resembled the King. Jared started on his way once more, noticing that his pause to consider the stars above had prompted a few people in his vicinity to do the same. The Funkotroni were a silly folk, which caused many races to believe them to be rather stupid. He knew nothing could be further from the truth; the very story of their independence, and of all their dealings since, was a legacy of careful craft and adept planning covered with a deceptive, yet sincere layer of silliness. Oh, yes -- the people here valued sincerity and honesty far above perception and opinion. Good thing that's not the case everywhere, he thought, or I'd likely be out of a job. Up ahead, he could make out the lettering on the enormous marquee advertising his objective. YO! CHECK IT CLAY PIGEONS LIKE LIVE TONIGHT DUDE The Clay Pigeons. Here's where his attention to trivia and history paid off. The Pigeons were a combination of rock band and fighter squadron; not the only such entity in the Wedge Defense Force, to be sure, but their comic style of performance generally made them stand out from the others. (Whether this was good or bad had long been a subject of debate.) One of the things that definitely stood out in his mind was the fact that the group's organizer was none other than Martin "PCHammer" Rose, the man Cybertronians knew as the Hero of '26 -- the man who was rebuilt to be half human, half Transformer. Even 80% of the price Galvatron put on his head for that humiliating defeat was nothing to sneeze at. And this would be far safer than trying to collect the reward directly from that robotic maniac. Though the entire band had been stationed on the Wayward Son, he was sure there'd be crewfolk from the Righteous Indignation present at the concert as well. After all, that was the ship they'd had their big battle with, just outside this planet's atmosphere, and it sure didn't fly by itself to pick them up from where the Son crashed. Jared made a careful pass over the crowd, both at the ground level and the balcony. It wasn't hard to determine that there were no other bounty-hunters present; when you happen to be one, they become quite easy to spot. Good. No one to split the take with. He worked his way carefully through the floor-level gathering, moving closer to the stage. More smiles and nods, lots of gobbledygook from the wildly-dressed natives and "hey there"s from visitors. He considered the wisdom of actually trying to make this hit in such a dense crowd. Of course, you nimnul, he chided. The crowd makes for great cover if you miss. Never know when you'll need a hostage. Hel-lo, I'm in lust. His eyes were magnetically drawn to an extremely pretty girl down near the pit. She was small, in overall height, and around the waist, and in no other way he could see. Her reddish-brown hair was tied back on one side of her head with a red ribbon, accentuating the youthful look of her face in a way that her incredible body failed to do. Her concert tee-shirt, tight in all the right places, and daring cherry-red shorts gave him a genuine eyeful. He hoped she thought bounty-hunters were cool. She caught his lingering stare out of the corner of her eye and turned to look directly at him. Their eyes met for a very long moment. "Hi!" she said, smiling brightly. "Hey, babe," he opened. The come-on seemed to pass directly through her to zero effect. He decided she must be immune. "You're from offworld too, aren't you?" He nodded, shifting gears to a more subtle approach. "Yeah." She turned toward him a bit more fully. "Did you come to see the Pigeons?" He grinned. If only she knew. "That I did." This seemed to resonate rather fully with her, and she hopped up to him, brown eyes sparkling. "Wow, me too!" Down, boy. Try to remember why you're here. "Imagine that." "Hey, we can watch the show together! That'll be soooo cool!" She hooked herself around one of his overcoat-pocketed arms. "I need a date for tonight. My boyfriend couldn't be here; he's busy." "For how long?" "He'll be busy aaaaaall night," she cooed, brushing up against his arm and giving him a look that was anything but angelic. Scha-WING! (Business before pleasure, Jared.) Shut up, killjoy. (Stop whining. Make this hit and she'll be just the beginning.) Oh, all right. But she'll make good cover anyway. (Now, you're cookin'.) He took the hand from his coat pocket and brought it around her back. "Well ... y'talked me into it." She laughed with delight, pulling him over to where she'd been standing before. He definitely didn't regret his decision now. Not only did he have a gorgeous companion for the duration, and maybe an excellent little piece of cover should things go sour, but she took him directly into a prime targeting position, being in the farthest-forward row before the recessed mosh pit (a major fixture in the Grand Ole Funky, taking the first ten rows' space), directly in front of a safety railing that kept the more sedate audience from dropping onto the more dynamic. It was another forty-five minutes of waiting before the curtain would rise, according to his chron. Norrie -- which is what his little companion said her name was -- babbled for some twenty of those minutes with almost no prompting, giving him a ten-minute respite while she "powdered her nose". She managed to draw only a few pieces of falsified information from him, including a fake name and birthworld. Just because he wanted to sleep with her didn't mean he had to be honest, after all. Even so, she was a little cagey when it came to questions about her missing boyfriend, which he'd expected, so he just dropped the subject entirely, turning to more relevant issues, such as her plans after the concert (she had none, unless he had Something In Mind, Wink Wink). A small corner of his mind wanted to figure out why she looked slightly familiar. The rest of it told that small corner that she must be reminding it of his mother, and to shut up with its Oedipus Complex fixation already. At long last, the lights dimmed and the curtain rose, bringing an expectant hush over the near-capacity audience. Norrie instantly released Jared and leaned forward over the railing, eyes intent on the stage. That's my cue, he didn't say. The house lights were completely out at this point, leaving them in total darkness. No one could have noticed him removing a shortened beam rifle from his overcoat. A lethal, nearly-silent weapon, he'd taken the added precaution of installing a smart-sight on it; the glowing red dot of a laser sight could tip off the target before you had a chance to pull the trigger, and raising the weapon to your eye was a ridiculously obvious gesture. This way, he could keep it low and out of sight. Under ideal conditions, no one would even know he was carrying it, let alone taking aim. He'd thought of everything. (Well, almost everything, he admitted; collecting the full reward would obviously require him to retrieve the body. Well, pulling him from a local hospital or morgue shouldn't be too hard.) A heavy beat sounded through the auditorium as the first spot came on. It illuminated the form of a petite blonde girl with a pair of thick, curled horns over her forehead, dressed in the bright red Gizmonics Institute jumpsuit that had become the trademark of the Clay Pigeons and seated inside a drum collection that underscored her diminutive stature. She waved and blew kisses to the crowd between beats. The second spot came up as a solo guitar opened with a familiar riff that garnered a preliminary round of applause and cheers. This one revealed a young-looking fellow with long ears protruding from the sides of his head. He wailed on his guitar with the passion and precision of a true master of the art. He and the drummer exchanged a pair of silly grins as they played. The third spot shone to his side to introduce the third member, a girl standing not far from the lead guitarist with brilliant red hair and an equally red guitar. She sounded out a roaring set of chords to accompany the lead's end-of-line punctuation, then let her instrument growl as he proceeded with the second line. Finally, the entire stage lit up as the remaining two members of the band broke in. A true titan of a man wielded a mammoth bass guitar, and another fellow, certainly no slouch in the height department, danced his fingers on a keyboard. Jared curled his finger around the trigger, feeling the reassuring tingle of the smartgun interfacing with the finger's neural link. The gun's sight overlaid on his vision, providing him with a picture of the keyboard player's head, large and steady in the crosshairs. He smiled. You'll make me a rich man tonight, my friend. The song's intro drew to a close, and the man behind the keyboard leaned forward, singing in a most peculiar voice. Jared followed his motion but decided to hold his fire, allowing his target to sing his swan song. I have a mansion, I forget the price Ain't never been there, they tell me it's nice I live in hotels, tear out the walls I have accountants pay for it all They say I'm crazy but I have a good time, yeah I'm just lookin' for clues at the scene of the crime Life's been good to me so far... Jared smiled. Life will be good to you for about another minute, chum. Almost as an afterthought, he noticed that Norrie was very much into the performance, her body swaying happily with the rhythm. So much for that idea, he decided. No way she'll make it with the guy who knocked off her favorite band. Oh, well, such is fate. My Maserati does one-eighty-five I lost my license, now I don't drive I have a limo, ride in the back I lock the doors in case I'm attacked I'm makin' records, my fans, they can't wait They write me letters, tell me I'm great So I got me an office, gold records on the wall Just leave a message, maybe I'll call Lucky I'm sane after all I've been through Ever'body say oh, cool (he's cool) I can't complain, but sometimes I still do Life's been-- Jared fired off a startled shot as his arm was unexpectedly bumped completely off-target. The particle beam flashed brilliantly, sailing just in front of Martin's head and puncturing the wall far behind him. The band stopped cold. "Oops! Oh, gosh, I'm sorry!" Norrie gushed, apparently quite embarrassed with how high she'd unthinkingly kicked her foot up behind her. "I wasn't looking, I didn't ... what are you-- oh my GODYOU'VEGOTAGUN!" Her voice escalated to a shriek as she recoiled against the railing, eyes wide with fear. Jared hissed something obscene and unintelligible as the house lights came back up. He jammed the rifle back into his coat and grabbed Norrie by the arm, pulling her toward the aisle. "NOyoutriedtoKILLhimletmeGOwhatareyouDOING!" She was babbling again, this time in a shrill panic that carried easily over the shocked murmur of the audience, and she pulled futilely against his grip. "BACK OFF!" he bellowed. His right hand exited his coat with a blaster pistol, prompting some frightened shouts from the people around him, and he jerked Norrie closer to himself, wrapping his left arm tight around her chest, clutching at her shirt with his hand. "OWWdon'tSQUEEZEyou'reHURTINGmegetyourHANDSoffmeyouPERV--" Her shrieking came to an abrupt halt when she realized there was a cold metal ring pressed against the side of her head. "...vert," she completed weakly. "EVERYONE BACK THE HELL OFF! One funny move and she GETS IT!" The crowd obediently parted before him, giving him a clear path to the nearest exit. "That's BETTER." He whirled around as he made his way toward the doorway, pulling his petrified companion roughly by the bosom as he watched for any hostile activity around him. "Hey! You, with the gun and the brunette!" The powerful voice over the PA system made Jared whip around to face the stage again, dragging Norrie to keep her in front of him as she squirmed nervously in his grip. Hammer had walked out from behind his keyboard and now stood in center stage, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Let her go!" he demanded. "SHUT the FUCK UP!" Jared wondered, for a moment, how Hammer's voice was coming over the loudspeakers when he had no microphone. "Just keep yer DISTANCE or this sweet thing DIES!" He jammed the gun against Norrie's head for emphasis, producing a yelp of painful surprise. "You think you can get away with this?" "Just watch me, asshole!" He began dragging her backward, toward the exit. "I'm afraid we can't let you leave this place." Hammer's voice was most insistent. "Yeah? You can c'mon down an'stop me!" He smiled a self-assured smile in reply, folding his arms over his chest. "I don't _have_ to. You're coming to _me_." Jared was still attempting to compose a reply when he suddenly realized his left arm was vacant. A pair of hands grabbed him and pulled him forward, and he only barely had time to look down into Norrie's determined eyes before she judo-threw him ten rows forward. He hit the ground hard, but managed to roll back to his feet. She was already up and facing him, her body bent into a fighting stance, her childlike face turned hard and cold. The ribbon that had kept her hair back had come loose, and her auburn tresses fell straight, just touching her shoulders. He realized, about then, that he'd been set up. "Eat this, bitch!" His weapon was still in his hand, and he started to bring it forward. A hard chop on his right shoulder short-circuited that plan rather succinctly, loosening his grip as he winced at the pain. "Watch your mouth, dickweed." The new speaker was a dark-skinned woman with not-quite-shoulder-length hair, very slim and about six feet tall. She brought a leg up around him, planting her knee firmly in his breadbasket. He stumbled backward a step, discovering rather quickly that he had nothing to stumble backward onto. Before he could fall down the short stairway into the mosh pit, though, Norrie was in front of him again. She reached into his overcoat and grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him forward from his fall. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said in a mock apologetic tone, grinning fiercely. "Did I mention that my boyfriend's in the band?" With that, she smashed the underside of his jaw with her fist, hurling him backward. He sailed over the few steps remaining below, knocking his head hard on the floor of the pit. Almost immediately after he'd landed, a heavy-set man with blue-dyed hair stomped on his right arm, forcing him to release the gun. A Salusian, a naturaform Cheltari, walked up to him from his left, gathered the front of his overcoat in one hand, and lifted him. Then, as if he hadn't had enough surprises for one night, he was transferred from the Salusian's grip to that of a Battloid-mode Valkyrie, which carried him even farther forward. It let him dangle helplessly in its grip as he tried to regain his senses, then let him fall. He waited for the stage to slam into him, knocking him out completely. He was caught before that could happen. When he forced his attention forward, he discovered that his target was the one who'd caught him. "So," Hammer growled. "Out to pick off some 'Wedgies' and make a name for yourself. Feeling like a big man yet?" "Fuck off," he wheezed. "Oh, and so creative, too. Here, take a good look at the people who humiliated you." Hammer turned him around to face the crowd, singling out certain members. "Down there we have Hanson Davion. Go easy on'im, he's shy." The blue-haired man took a bow, looking somewhat embarrassed as the concert audience began applauding. "Right next to him, Korren, our own harmless, lovable little fuzzball." The Salusian nodded, tapping a couple fingers to his forehead in a sort of respectless salute. "I'm sure you remember Temper, who's always ready to lend a hand." The Valkyrie made a V-for-Victory sign as it exited stage left. "Let's not forget Nadia Davion. As if she'd ever let you." The tall, dark woman hopped down into the pit, standing beside Hanson and bowing with him. "And, certainly not least, the starlet of our little side attraction and a fine actress in her own right, let's hear it for our very own Noriko Takaya!" 'Norrie' raised her arms like a triumphant gymnast and pirouetted, acknowledging the cheers of the crowd with a broad smile. See? She DID look familiar, the neglected corner of Jared's mind I- told-you-so'ed. (Oh, DO shut up, the rest of it replied.) Hammer whirled his handload around again, looking him directly in the eye. "I certainly hope you learned your lesson, punkweed. And I hope lots of other twits like you learn your lesson, too. Oh, here come your new tour guides." Three men wearing the eye-destroying uniforms of the Funkotroni security force marched onto the stage, taking Jared from his grasp and carrying him away. "Don't forget to shake'im down, fellas!" he called after them. He was about to return to his previous post behind his keyboard when he saw one last figure striding toward him. This was another woman with dark skin, but not so tall as Nadia and with long, raven hair. Her uniform was significantly more subdued in coloration than those of the peace officers who'd just left. She stood at arm's length from him, regarding him uncertainly for a few moments. "Hello, Feb," Martin said. Security Director Fall nodded. "I'd like to apologize for that incident, Hammer. I'm afraid we really weren't expecting trouble..." "Don't worry about it," he replied. "You can't be prepared for everything. That's what we're here for." He shrugged. "It's something we're going to have to live with for a while." "I see." She extended a hand. "Thank you for understanding. This world means you no offense." "And there was none taken." He took the proffered hand, and, after a moment, Feb turned and strode off-stage. Hammer, for his part, hopped back behind his keyboard. "And now that the mini-drama is over," he announced, "we'll be getting on with the show. We're doing the alternate opening song, folks, so hang tight." This produced a low muttering from the crowd, which was well aware that the Pigeons _always_ opened with "Life's Been Good". On stage, the entire band regarded him quietly. He met their gazes, one by one, with a somber expression. He finally looked directly at Danilia, and they exchanged nods. "By the numbers, people. One. Two." After Dani hammered out the first half-measure in sixteenth slams, the rest of the band went into full swing. Most of the audience instantly recognized the brief, angry lead-in of the new anthem Martin had chosen -- after all, if there was one thing the Funkotroni knew, it was music. When his cue came, Martin fairly shouted into the microphone with an effortless impression of Phil Collins. I must've dreamed a thousand dreams Been haunted by a million screams I can hear the marching feet They're moving into the street Now did you read the news today They say the danger's gone away But I can see the fire's still alight It's burning into the night There's too many men Too many people Making too many problems And not much love to go around Can't you see this is a land of confusion This is the world we live in (oh oh, oh) And these are the hands we're given (oh oh, oh) Use them and let's start trying (oh oh, oh) To make it a place worth living in Oh, Superman, where are you now When everything's gone wrong somehow The men of steel, men of power Are losing control by the hour This is the time This is the place So we look for the future But there's not much love to go around Tell me why this is a land of confusion This is the world we live in (oh oh, oh) And these are the hands we're given (oh oh, oh) Use them and let's start trying (oh oh, oh) To make it a place worth living in I remember long ago When the sun was shining The stars were bright All through the night And the sound of your laughter As I held you tight So long ago... Martin took advantage of the brief instrumental bridge to look out into the pit. A large number of people had gathered around a large area they'd cleared out, giving Noriko plenty of space to work in, and work she did, seemingly defying every law of physics. She was making quite a show on her own; he made a mental note to reconsider adding her to the stage act. I won't be coming home tonight My generation will put it right We're not just making promises That we know we'll never keep Too many men Too many people Making too many problems And not much love to go around Can't you see this is a land of confusion Now this is the world we live in (oh oh, oh) And these are the hands we're given (oh oh, oh) Use them and let's start trying (oh oh, oh) To make it a place worth fighting for This is the world we live in (oh oh, oh) And these are the names we're given (oh oh, oh) Stand up and let's start showing (oh oh, oh) Just where our lives are going to The familiar fireball of a hyperspace fold resolved into the form of the WDF Righteous Indignation, repaired and restored from her crew's trial by fire. "Cybertron ho," Blaster announced. Martin nodded. "You know the schtick, B-man." "You got it." Martin's gaze turned to rest on Chris and Katie, seated next to Blaster's station at the back of the bridge. "You sure you won't think it over again? I know I can't guarantee security, but I doubt it'll be a dull life." Chris smiled. "I know. But this is our choice. We want to lay low, for a while at least, while we come to terms with ourselves." "And each other," Katie added. Looking the two of them over, Martin sighed and rose to his feet. "Your relationship is going to be ... interesting. Just make sure it's not bad-interesting. You know I'll always wish you two the best, and my prayers go with you." Chris stood as well as Martin walked toward him. They clasped hands for a moment, then pulled together and embraced. "You take care of your crew, Martin. And take care of yourself." "Certain members of the crew would have my head if I tried anything different." "And I'll make damn sure he takes care of the ship," Nadia added. Her fierce grin covered the usual sadness of parting ways with a friend. The good-byes went on for a few minutes more, with Chris on the receiving end of everything from a big, wet kiss (from Dani) to a nearly crushing clap on the back (from Dund). Katie was getting well-wishes, too, but not quite as much affection. As the ritual of farewell drew to a close, Blaster chimed in from his station. "The Autobot Government of Cybertron accepts you with open arms, guys. If y'fly down t'th'Iacon spaceport, Prime'll be waitin' there t'welcome you." Chris smiled. "Thanks, Blaster. See you all later, people. C'mon, Kate -- we shouldn't keep Optimus waiting." "Right with you, Chris. Just..." She looked back at Blaster, who drew himself up to his full height. "...just a second." They each took a small step, readily closing the distance between them. "So," Blaster said, "'guess this's g'bye f'ra while." She nodded. "Yeah." She shuffled her feet nervously. "Blaster..." "Hm?" He blinked at her, uncertain what to make of her featureless facial expression. "I ... I want to thank you. You've been ... a great help. I..." Her voice faltered in an odd fashion. "I don't know what I would've done without you ... to help me." He smiled. "All part'a th'job, Temp." She made a small, irritated sound. Then, with a mutter of "Shut up," she grabbed him, pulled him close with a slight CLANG of contact, and gave him as warm a hug as any Valkyrie has ever given. Chris noted that he'd never seen anyone looking so surprised as Blaster did just then. The Cybertronian brought his own arms around Katie as she produced a quiet sound resembling a sob. "I'll miss you..." "I'll miss you too, Temper." He patted her back reassuringly. "Don't worry ... I'll be back. We'll all take care'a each other." They parted, and, with final waves and words, Chris and Katie left the bridge. Dani sang quietly to herself. "Blaa-ster's goot a giirl-frieend, Blaa-ster's goot a giirl-frieend..." "You know it," he grinned, then snapped his fingers. (Since they were made of metal, this produced a light ping.) "Oh, nearly forgot. Hammer, Prime said there was someone down below who was int'rested in hitchin' a ride with us f'r'a few years." Martin lowered an eyebrow as he regarded the Cybertronian. "Well, any help we can get is more than welcome, I s'pose. Did this mystery benefactor give any hints as to who he was?" "Prime just said t'tellya that 'Doc' was on'is way." Martin's eyes widened as Tom, Danilia and Dund chuckled. He allowed his look of surprise to break into a smile as he sank into his command chair. Well, well, he mused to himself ... the more things change... The doors to the bridge finally swept open, and a familiar, welcome face strode onto its deck. "Great Scott, Marty!" he called in his classic Emmet Brown impression, greeting the third-tallest member of the crew. Martin stepped forward from his standing position beside the Captain's chair, offering his hand, which was accepted. "Ehh, what's up, Doc?" Pearson "Doc" Mui winced, almost as if struck. "Do you _have_ to phrase it that way?" "Why, yes, as a matter of fact. Why do you ask?" Martin's grin was nearly as frustrating as ever. Pearson sighed. "Just checking." He glanced around at the faces, both familiar and non-. "I see you've managed to draw a crowd, even in the face of everything that's going on." Martin shrugged. "It's easier to watch your back when you have a few people to help. Besides, where would I be without my band?" Dund began to sign a response, but was "silenced" by an accusing finger. "Don't even start, Laughing Boy." Dund held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and tried his best to look innocent. Pearson turned to face the unlikely trio of Tom and Danilia M'krelth'nyr'knet and Dund Wollern. "Hi, guys ... long time no see." Danilia greeted him in the usual fashion -- giving him as big a hug as her tiny frame could administer, followed by a big wet one on the cheek. Tom and Dund were a bit more sedate, offering handshakes and telling him it was good to see him again, a sentiment to which he heartily agreed. "So," he said, turning to face Martin again, "who are the new faces? I don't--" His voice trailed off as he peered at the Executive Officer. "Wait a minute ... _you_, I've already met." Noriko smiled and nodded. "Only briefly, I believe. I had you send a little message to Marty at the time." Pearson snapped his fingers. "Of course, that's right. That was before you were assigned to ... this ship, wasn't it?" She nodded again. "That's right. I've been the Indignation's XO for just about two-and-a-half centuries now." Doc nodded. "Looks like a great ship. One question, though; howcome you're not in the center seat?" Noriko smiled slyly. "You'll find out." Pearson blinked. "Uh ... yeah. Speaking of the ship," he resumed, turning to face Martin again, "was that bad-attitude CI I spoke with in the landing bay who I _thought_ it was?" Martin smirked. "Do you really want that question answered?" "...No, now that you mention it." "Well, then, why did--" Martin's reply was interrupted by a small chime from the communications console. Blaster took his seat and flew his massive fingers over the keypad. Satisfied with the results, he turned back to face the Captain's chair. "Code red, Hammer. A tradin' fleet's under attack by Elasi pirates. Say they're bein' overwhelmed." Martin nodded. "Hand off the coordinates to Nadia. Tell them help is on the way. Dani, Tom, we're in our fighters -- we'll be launching as soon as we defold." He turned back to Pearson. "Welcome to Thunder Force, Doc. It won't be an easy life, but it won't be dull, either. We'll finish the introductions later. Ready for a fight?" "Ready as I'll ever be, pilgrim," he replied in his best John Wayne. Martin's brow furrowed for a moment, followed by his familiar smirk. "Don't quit your day job. Come on, we're goin' pirate-huntin'. Riko, the ship is yours." The brunette nodded. "Count on me, Marty." "You'll have to take off your boots if I'm going to get past 10." A Nerf brick struck him on the side of the head. "Cut the critique and get in the lift, Dani." "I'm going, I'm going!" The tiny blonde skipped over to the lift to join her husband. Pearson was right behind her, wondering just what he'd gotten himself into. Martin joined them, and whirled to face the bridge. "Let's get dangerous," he recited dramatically just before the turbolift doors shut. -- The High Diggy-Hoek of Chihuahua-Wala Land (or Martin Rose, if you must) --------------------------- mfrose@umcc.umich.edu --------------------------- Truth is stranger than Fiction ---------------- Stupid is a boundless concept The Limbaugh Institute for Advanced Conservative Studies: Ann Arbor Division |