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Who: Backfire, Boomslang, Fusillade, Smokestack and Windshear. |
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Summary: (July 2031) Continue about your ideas of empire, by all means...
Smokestack's Vault (SV)
A large and open space, it seems partway between quarters and a museum. A long, low bunk is laid out like an afterthought against one wall. Off to one side of the chamber, a set of rails have been laid down and four or five armoured trucks rest there, each constructed of black iron with red trim, and a prominent Decepticon logo on their sides. At the end of the row of trucks sits a coal car, filled two thirds full with crisp black coal, and beside it, a large watertank for topping up Smokestack's reserves.
The rest of the room contains a number of plinths, each with an interesting or strange piece of archaic technology resting atop it. Several pieces are missing parts, others blackened with weapons damage, and all have the unmistakable air of age. Taking pride of place near the centre of the chamber is a huge mechanical model of a solar system, carefully cleaned and polished metal the colour of brass, eleven planets with associated moons orbiting a binary star at the centre, each star rotating slowly around the other and glowing brightly. The light of the double suns fills the chamber, as does the immense tick of the clockwork that powers the device.
“Hrm.” Smokestack stands bent over a huge mass of parts and rusted metal that occupies a cleared area against one wall, a row of much smaller piles of cleaned and restored parts gleaming nearby. Hearing the knock, he straightened and strode across the chamber to the flattened vault door, spinning the centrally mounted wheel and opening it inwards. He nods as he sees Windshear and steps back. “Come in.”
Windshear waits till the door is open enough to accomodate his pretty hefty wings (got a lot of lateral realestate going on.. ask Catechism, he’s sent her flying a few times cuffing her across the face with em >_>).. and he enters. "Hi -- oh what you doing there?" Windy asks as he notices the parts and stuff by the wall. He doesnt stare though and steps aside so the door can be closed.
“It is a restoration project, the first significantly sized artefact I have taken from this world. A relic of the last great European land war, a train cannon of significant size. It was cut up and abandoned in a forest in the face of an advancing enemy to avoid its capture. I have been seeking what remains of it, in the forest and larger pieces of scrap from scrap yards in continental Russia.” Several parts are simmering in a bath of chemicals that is slowly stripping away the rust and revealing clean metal underneath. Smokestack rests a hand on the mouldering pile of rusted iron and steel with a touch of pride.
Windshear listens and looks at the items. "Seems each one of us actually likes certain aspects of the humans world. I myself enjoy their music, rock, metal, death metal, heavy... do not care for their /country/, their 'jazz' is appealing as well. The Aerialbot Air Raid also enjoys humans music but sadly he lost his entire /CD/ collection not too long ago..." and the Seeker looks like the cat that ate the canary at that comment.
Smokestack allows his amusement to show at that comment, leaving the pile of parts for later and strolling across the room to the central piece, double suns glowing brightly. “A most unfortunate turn of events for him, I’m sure... battle wounds can be repaired but treasured possessions aren’t so easily replaced. I am not interested in humans specifically; simply the technological legacy of civilisations other than our own, ones that have taken a different path. This orrery is one of the last legacies of a vanished civilisation. I recovered it from a derelict ship, many years ago.”
Windshear looks curiously at the item with the double suns. He nods with a smirk, "Yea it was pretty sad that he lost them... Hes got good taste in Earth music.. *ahem* ... And no, Im not interested in humans either. They side with the Autobots and thats their biggest mistake in my optics. Their technology though is interesting. IVe noticed most Seekers actually prefer Tarren Jet forms..." his left wing twitches a bit, "I like my alternate mode just fine though..."
Smokestack looks Windshear over with a touch of professional interest, extrapolating the relatively familiar tetrajet form. “You choose to maintain your Cybertronian altmode. A reasonable decision. The inhabitants of this world are long past the point where they react to unknown aircraft or unmanned vehicles with anything but hostility. The masquerade is long over. I chose an alt mode based on this world’s experimentations with steam power... it suited my base chassis, and the elegance of the design appeals to me. How long have you maintained your current form?”
Windshear frowns for a brief second then smirks slightly, "Ive never had any form but Tetrajet. I can not see myself as anything other then a jet, I will admit the F15 is very appealing but Ive been a Tetrajet since my creation, why mess with perfection?" his smirk becomes a smile. "And humans are past the point of us diguising ourselves, I agree." he studies Smokestacks form for a moment. "I must admit that I have not done much research on the humans mechanical evolution though yes, it is interesting to see how other races approach machine technology."
The tall black plated mech nods with interest. “This is true. Plainly, homeworld has no oceans, and so there is an entire branch of technological evolution which can only be studied on worlds like this one.” He pauses, and then adds “I have known many machines who changed their altmodes for little purpose other than their whim. When there were still factories that made such tasks simpler, more resources. More of everything. Homeworld is so unbearably impoverished now.” Crossing over to near the row of trucks and transport cars lined against one wall, Smokestack settled onto a currently bare plinth and gestured at another opposite him in invitation. “I approve of stability. Yours is admirable.”
Windshear walks over and sits down. "I think you are onto something in regards to the way some mechs change forms -- and colors for that matter, at the drop of a ratchet. I can't fathom it. I am quite pleased with my form." Yea Windy shares the same features as a certin treacherous late Air Commander and the same arrogance in regards to appearance. Though the Seekers paint job is almost always in a state of fresh welds, new plating, scorch marks, chipped and pitted. Seems as quick as he gets repainted it gets destroyed. "It is a waste of resources too right now, the state of our planet. It wasnt quite to that point when I last saw Cybertron. 4 million years can certainly change ones homeworld particularly when theres a war that never ends going on, on it."
Shaking his head disapprovingly, Smokestack growls “I ran into an Autobot called Blowout the day I landed on this world. An idiot, who was covered in neon splatters of paint, who had no patience, no tactical consideration, no common sense at all, and just threw himself at me ‘for the excitement’ which he said he craved. Fools like that, on both sides, are why this war is even more pointlessly destructive than it has to be.” His tone of voice changed, the deep rumble becoming slightly higher to indicate his sarcasm. “It’s an enemy! Let’s fight, let’s fight! Never mind the environment we’re in, never mind the energy debt of battling, never mind the cost in resources of repairing, and above all, never even once stop to ask whether we will gain *anything* from this confrontation, whee, lasers.”
Windshear nods in agreement, "I think what it is is this has been going for so long, the war has become a way of life, a condition of our species if you will to all the young bots. They have no idea what the ware is actually about, to them its part of the condition of being what they are and nothing more." he pauses a beat and kind of smirks a bit sheepishly, "Although I should not talk of cost of repairing... I don’t know what’s been going on lately but it seems all the damage I should have taken in the past 4 million years and didn’t is trying to play catch up with me all at once. I have cost the empire dearly just in my repair costs alone and Im not sure what I’ve contributed to better the Empire -- I mean I’ve raided for materials when I can but still -- things are so different now, I don’t know right now if I should really care what I cost the Empire and sadly, that’s the worst thinking I could be doing..."
“Hrm.” Smokestack leans forward, taking in the scarred patchwork of Windshear’s armour. “Your damage has not been lost on me. However, we cannot count the cost of repair and rebuilding so highly that it inhibits our strategy, our ability to make decisive moves. What concerns me is that battles are initiated when we have something to gain, something worthy of combat for. Some battles are unavoidable, of course. The enemy may have something to gain we do not, or fools have simply rushed in.” Smokestack runs his fingers across his chain with the sound of metal grinding and then asks slowly “Tell me, Windshear, why is it that you serve the Empire? Why did you begin, and why do you continue to?”
Windshear thinks for a long moment then, "I was built as a Decepticon, its all I’ve ever known. I don’t know if that’s an answer but I’ve never been anything other then a Decepticon. I serve because its all I know though... I am not of my own free will, don’t think otherwise. I just serve the Empire as it were because it was what I was built for. As for why I continue? That’s a question I’ve been asking myself since my return... I lived for millions of years as a mercenary, pirate, sometimes a slave, free merchant, pilot, you name it on the free trading sectors of space, I can go back to that if I must but Id rather not. I was naive though to think that the Empire had not changed in all the time I was gone. What a .. culture shock that was, to borrow a human term."
“It is possible that some of the rot has crept in that way. Machines built for the Empire, but with no understanding of why they are fighting for it.” Smokestack bowed his head slightly and added “I intend no offence. Not all who fight for the Empire are as well constructed mentally as you appear to be. I was built as an individual, by an unaligned group. I chose to join the Decepticons, because Megatron saw what Alpha Trion and Optimus Prime did not. Homeworld is fundamentally fragile. Even these humans, with their primitive technology, have constructed bombs that could ruin significant areas of our world. The only reason they are rarely used here is that all sides have to live on the same planet. To an enemy without that restriction, it takes only one ship that is let through, not properly inspected, to devastate homeworld. Peace is an unstable state; it will always collapse into warfare. Thus then, I have come to my own conclusions on what is necessary for homeworld to survive and flourish. Empire. Buffer worlds that can be sacrificed for our own, if needed. Rebellious subjects to keep our forces sharp and ready to fight, instead of rusting away atop their own laurels.”
"No offence taken." Windshear replies. "I was one of a small line of Seekers made to by a specific group -- their exact allegiance I am not sure of but I would imagine Decepticon..." he pauses for a moment seeming hesitant on if he wants to go any deeper into the subject. "I was one of two, that I am aware of." he continues at length, "One .. has been killed -- we knew exactly what was at stake for the Decepticons and the Homeworld when we were made. But we were/are individuals and we each chose our own path regarding our core programming based on the Empire and her goals – I’ve said too much." he stops then and listens to the rest of what Smoke says. If the homeworld -- us are to survive the Empire must be made to what it was before, not what is now." and there he said it. Words that would get his lasercore destroyed if certain members of command heard him speak them. But ifs what he saying really treasonous or words to spur the salvation of the Empire?
Smokestack steepled his hands, made asymmetrical by the nozzle and thick cabling of the flamethrower built into the back of the right one. “I continue to serve the Empire, and I will continue, because it is the only faction which is willing to do what needs to be done in order that homeworld survive and prosper. I believe in Megatron’s vision of a militarised world to ensure we are never overtaken again. Galvatron I have not met, but if Megatron is his core, he must be equally worthy and decisive. Now we know our motivations. The next step is to work out what must be done to achieve those goals. Sweeping strokes of a strategy are easy to put together, but executing them is not, and I have little resources save myself to work with. Nor are our commanders fools; they will have strategies and goals of their own. The question then becomes: what can we accomplish in the short term that serves our long term ambitions?”
Windshear shakes his head suddenly, "Megatron is his core but there is nothing left -- Galvatron is insane, Smokestack and I don’t care that I say this, don’t care that its treason. What you say is sound and good but it will never happen. Not while Galvatron is our leader..."
Smokestack’s red optics narrowed to slits and he raised his hand to still the other Decepticon. “Do not speak those words. Not here, not outside, not in the wilderness, in space or in the silence of your own core. No one remains leader of the Decepticons without the cunning to recognise a mutinous thought a thousand miles away, and if you let that thought become the foundation of your thinking, it will be your end. We must work with what we have. Should the Empire eventually be threatened overtly by the one who leads it, there will be many others who seek to dethrone him. For myself, Megatron led for ten million years and I recognise a pattern when I see it. Mutineers do not prosper in our people.”
Windshear nods quietly and seems in thought about something, the realization of something he didn’t think he was capable of. The other one was and it got him killed and he never thought he had it in him to be the same. Perhaps there was more to his core programming then he thought. The Seeker focuses his mind back to the conversation and replies. "Then we make it where there are those around him that can compensate for .. the insanity, but as of right now there is no counterbalance for it and the Empire us suffering for it."
“I have never spoken personally to him. However, the impression I have received is that he is powerful, and dangerous. A strong figure. He is also capable of cunning beyond what I would expect from a truly flawed figure, as regards the recent use of Dominator technology.” Smokestack exhales, a thick stream of smoke leaking from his stacks and vanishing into the ventilators. “Let us phrase it in this manner: to survive, the Empire needs to be a honed and efficient tool for conquest. We wish to serve the Empire by sharpening its blades.” He raises a hand and ticks off points on his fingers. “We require better discipline of the troops. We require an overall strategy. We require short term goals for individuals to be assigned, that fit into the longer strategy.”
Like a bad cross between Double O seven and Inspector Gagdet, Backfire slinks down the hallway towards the personal barracks. He's been interested in getting some dirt on one of their new Earth Decepticons, but no amount of real 'detective' work comes to any leads. So when stuck between a rock and a hard place, the only feasible option at this juncture is ... breaking and entering?
The simpleton keeps flat against the hall, inching ever closer towards the 'vault door'. A group of gumbie soldiers continue up the hallway, not surprised by the Seeker's behaviour. One even waves hello. "How did they see me?" he mumbles, coming to a stop outside the door. Fumbling with his lock picks, Backfire unsuccessfully attempts seven different times to insert the small metal tabs into the device ... to no avail.
"Thinkthinkthinkthink, one small lock shall not deter the glory of the EMPIRE ... shall it??" Before long, Backfire is crawling through the vehicle access hole and gotten himself rightly stuck.
"Blast it all to hell."
Windshear nods with every point Smokestack brings up then asks bluntly, "And just how do you propose we go about this?"
Smokestack props his chin on his hand, not currently aware of the wriggling seeker stuck headfirst in the vehicle access portion of the vault doors. Fortunately he’s not planning on sending any trucks rolling down the tracks there. “We have limited resources and authority. Therefore, there are two paths to take in seeking to improve order and discipline in our ranks. Firstly, to convince a superior officer of the need for tighter discipline and regimented attack strategies. Coldwar may be receptive to such an approach. Second, we may work together, performing missions with individual Decepticons and seeing whom are more reliable, who are receptive to functioning in a more tightly honed unit. Once one is trustworthy, another can be brought in and the process repeated. Slow, but steady. Eventually a team identity, like that of the Autobot Wreckers, may help.”
Windshear likes what he’s hearing and smirks, "Coldwar is a good choice but I know of a higher ranking officer that may also be of assistance in this. I will not say right now but I believe if we can route out enough of us that feel the same way and get this unit going --" both his wings twitch at the mention of 'wreckers' "did you have to say /wreckers/? -- though..." and he pauses at the thought of a decepticon band of warriors like the autobot team handing those bots their afts on a platter, "...it has merit. the question remains, how do we prevent this tightening of rank and behaviour from being looked at as a possible overthrow attempt in the optics of, Galvatron? I think that’s all he will see it as."
Backfire wiggles some more, gains about a foot and a half. "Blast!" he yelps, then remembers the need for silence. "How do I get myself into the situations, think Backfire. You need to get out of this mess, pronto." Struggling against the confined conditions, he makes some headway at least ... now most of his chest and one arm are on the otherside of the tunnel.
"Success!" Backfire laughs quietly, then hears a persistent *PSSSSSSSHHH* sound from outside the door. "Wonder what that is..."
Outside the door, two Decepticon pranksters are spray painting Backfire's bottom half PINK. :(
“Hrrm. No, I don’t think so.” Smokestack’s thoughtful grunt resonates through his heavy boilerplate chest. “Galvatron would not destroy his own people for demonstrating competence. I would expect him to be tired of soldiers each wandering around on their own without coordination and direction. As long as those who we gather are prompt to show due deference to our Leader, we will be an asset. In the best case scenario, a demonstration of organisation and discipline from one group may result in raising his expectations of the others, spreading our intent to the ranks we cannot reach.” A thicker streamer of smoke wafted up towards the vents in the ceiling, glancing once in the general direction of the vault door as he heard stifled whispering and giggling from the direction of the corridor.
Windshear was about to reply when he hears a muffled noise from the direction of the door. He looks back at Smokestack. "Dare I say that we have company?" and he stands quietly and carefully so as not to smack around anything in his wings path, and he watches the door guardedly, "I think someone is trying to get in here. Have you offended anyone recently?"
"Your cover has been compromised Unit Backfire, prepare for 'Operation: More than Meets the Eye'!" Backfire speaks to himself in hushed tones, in the third person no less. "In the event of capture, the agency will disavow any knowledge of your existence. Good luck agent!"
Theatric acting aside, the Seeker is panicing to find some sort of distraction or cover to prevent the proverbial jig from being up. "Thinkthinkthink."
A giant oversized cardboard box is ever so neatly placed over Backfire's front half, he lies perfectly still in wait ... to find out if his two week online course in 'Obvious Cover is Superior Cover: A lecture on urban camouflage' pays off.
Drawing himself to his feet, the towering Decepticon replies absently “Offending someone is not a difficult task in some quarters. However, I do not recall anyone showing particular ire at my actions of late. It is not unheard of for the runts to sneak into other’s quarters, looking for incriminating materials they can blackmail or sell for favours, though.” Half turning, Smokestack gave Windshear a significant look and added “Conversations are not always as private as you might wish.” His heavy tread crosses the chamber towards the main vault door, then slows to a halt as he notices the obvious incongruity. “Odd. Someone has left this storage container on the tracks.”
Windshear follows Smokestack, "True." he comments in rerference to Smoke's remarks about mechs that like to dig up dirt on others. Then he pauses as he gets closer and looks at the box. "I dont recall that there when I came in."
The nefarious box lies still, no indication whatsoever that an idiot is hiding underneath it ... nope, none at all.
“I don’t tend to leave rubbish on my tracks. It gets in the way of my trucks.” Smokestack bends down towards it, optics narrowed warily. “I doubt anyone would be stupid enough to leave an explosive device inside our own city, let alone so badly camouflaged, but the stupidity of others never entirely ceases to amaze.” Taking hold of the box, he straightens, lifting it entirely off the Seeker. A second of silence, during which his shoulder mounted stacks begin pouring smoke more heavily, and then he says levelly “I see. Explain.”
Windshear wasn’t exactly sure who or what was going to be under the box but when he sees Backfire -- spattered in hot pink paint none the less, he suddenly starts laughing. "A box?" he wheezes, "You thought you could hide in a box?"
"Silence, curr!" Backfire spits out in anger, still struggling against his current predicament. "Oh, greetings comrade. I've been asked to inspect this uhh ... tunnel, and I'm afraid to report that it does not meet standard regulations. You see, my shoulders are already at the regulation minimum ... and as you can see, they didn't fit through. If you wouldn't mind lending a hand comrade, we can discuss your remodel."
Smokestack drums his fingers on his upper arm, arms folded across the circular boiler plate of his upper chest. Inspecting Backfire silently for a moment, he finally reaches down and takes hold of the Seeker’s shoulders, pulling firmly to drag him fully inside his vault. The light of twin suns in the orrery illuminate the chamber, the heavy, thrumming tick underscoring the stillness. “Welcome to my vault... Inspector. I’m concerned to hear that you could nearly fit through that entrance, and it will have to be remodelled, yes. Perhaps you’d like to find a pedestal and tell me your identity, and how long you’ve been inspecting my vault.”
Backfire is drug forcibly into the chamber by Smokestack, rising to his feet and dusting himself off. Then he notices the pink spray paint on his lower half. "For some time actually, it's only a credit to my sheer skill in NINJA that you didn't detect my presence sooner, comrade." Taking the invitation into Smokestack's inner dwelling, the Seeker walks and talks. "Oh, please excuse my rather ... pinkness today. I assure you, it's only temporary highlights."
Windshear just looks at Backfire and just shakes his head as he tries to control his laughter still. "Backfire how do you get in these messes?" he approaches the Seeker and looks at his legs, "Pink?" he fights very hard to not totally lose it.
“Hrrrm.” The black plated machine scowls for a moment, and then shakes his helm slowly. “It is just as well that I don’t take that seriously. Still, now you are here, you may as well stay. It will be interesting to hear your points of view on matters of Empire.” Crossing the chamber, he returns to the bare pedestal near his line of waiting trucks. “Make yourself comfortable, Backfire. As much as possible with your current paintjob.”
-WHAM WHAM WHAM- resounds off the main entrance. A crabby, "KNOCK IT OFF IN THERE! I'M TRYING TO ENJOY MY OIL SOAK! What in the smelt are thinking?! It's too PITT-FORSAKEN early in the cycle! Go back to recharging!!!" Fusillade invites herself in after assigning probable cause to the set of Skyraiders dashing away, polishing cloth dangling from a clawed hand.
Windshear hears the banging on the wall and smirks, "Backfire, do you have an accomplice?" he’s only kidding, "Look at it this way, you snuck past Fusillade, it was the pink paint that got you..."
Backfire nods slowly, then almost jumps out of his frame at Fusillade's door banging. Now, why didn't -I- think of that?? Taking his seat at a pedestal, the Seeker simpleton gives Fusillade a curt nod before regarding Windshear. "The Executrix? No, she arrived here of her own volition ... I'm sure."
The arrival of Fusillade through the vault door with considerably less subtlety and more volume than Backfire causes Smokestack to rise smoothly to his feet and incline his head in respect. For the moment letting the problem of the inexplicably pink streaked seeker go, he says calmly “Welcome to my quarters, Executrix Fusillade. Are you having difficulty with noise?”
Strutting into the main floor of the chamber, Fusillade pauses, tilting her head as she eyes the line of cars. "Droll," she remarks in bemusement as she plucks up a piece of coal. Dusting her fingers off after letting it clatter back down onto the pile, she circles around the railing, and oooohs quietly to herself at the brass binary star solar system. "I want it," she says with an enchanted lilt of avarice in her voice.
She scowls as Windshear speaks, before twisting the polishing cloth up and snapping it at Windshear's helmet. "No, he didn't sneak PAST me, I was in my quarters until the screaming began. You asssume too much, Windshear. Smokestack, this is highly irregular of you. Hosting parties? If I didn't know better, I'd say that Astrotrain was rubbing off on you."
Windshear's optical covers slide forward and back -- a blink as he gets thwaped on the helm with her polishing cloth which in turn reminds him of how horrible his paintjob is right now and all the new weldseams that need painting over. Hes not even going to bother this time. "I assume sarcasm, Executrix." he rumbles, "Aimed at Backfire who is too wrapped up in his pink to notice." the mention of pink again causes him to laugh but he stiffles it quickly.
"Nono, I'm pretty sure that one was directed at you comrade." Backfire replies dryly, looking around the 'abode' to get some quick background on Smokestack. Armored trucks, Coal car, and a model solar system. Everything else of note gives the area a museum-esque feel, like he's trapped in time here. "So tell me Smokestack, what are these plans for our glorious EMPIRE you speak of? Do they include maiming and hunting down the Autobots, that would be capital!"
Smokestack nods with an approving gleam in his optics at the moment of appreciation for the mechanical solar system, before straightening fractionally at the mention of Astrotrain. “I do not host parties, Executrix, and I am not in the habit of raising my voice. Nor am I in the habit of emulating that most famous example of my altmode class: I hear his name frequently enough regardless. Whatever foolishness is taking place in the corridors is not of my doing.”
Half turning towards Backfire, he drums his fingers against his own plating and adds “Though it may be related to why Backfire is crawling through the access tunnels... painted pink. As for your questions... maiming Autobots is a futile endeavour. The damage is repaired and they are rarely permanently degraded. Destroying Autobots, down to the last servo, is the correct way to deal with them.”
Pointedly ignoring Windshear's sulky reply, Fusillade smirks a bit at Backfire's enthusiasm. Gingerly setting aside one of the displayed objects on the floor, and draping herself over the plinth, she idly swings one foot while she listens to Smokestack object to the comparison. "Oh don't be so shy. Continue about your ideas of empire, by all means though." She doesn't add anything else yet, waiting to see how he develops his thesis.
"Well, maim then destroy ... point being Smokestack, does this plan involve scratching some of Lord Galvatron's personal itches?" Backfire replies to the Trainformer's rather invasive response. Leaning back on the pedestal, the Seeker simpleton grows bored quickly and begins thumping his fingers on the underside of the seat.
"Wait a nano, that didn't sound right."
Windshear realizes the art of humorous sarcasm in this instance was lost and quietly he resumes the seat he had before and was prepared to simply listen when Backfire speaks. He looks slowly over at him. "You think?" he quetions rather dryly.
Smokestack notes the care Fusillade takes moving aside the artefact with a nod of thanks, settling back down onto his pedestal. “I have been discussing with Windshear my personal opinions and motivations for serving the Empire. Thus some of what I say will be familiar to him. Regardless, allow me to speak of long term factors for a moment. It is impossible to defend a single planet from attack with no other resources. All it takes is one ship loaded down with atomic explosives of sufficient magnitude and homeworld would be severely damaged, both in terms of instant explosive damage and long term impaired energy generation from solar radiance due to suspended shrapnel. The only way to keep homeworld secure is to possess Empire, worlds which act as buffer zones and can be sacrificed if need be to sustain Cybertron itself. An enslaved Empire also constantly threatens rebellion, which is a necessary external threat to ensure that the ruling class – our kind – remain in excellent shape to put down a rebellion and fight off any aggressor, rather than rusting in the aftermath our victory. Do you concur, Executrix?”
Fusillade's shoulders rise and fall wistfully as Smokestack talks about planet-busting. "Oh, that reminds me of the time we cracked open Neocron." She nods a bit, leaning on one elbow. "It's a lot of fun, until it's your planet. Up until recently, Cybertron had been a husk, and not useful for much. In that regard, your line of thought is correct, and is also in line with Dirge's recent exhortation of Aerospace to join him in conquest. The amount of time and energy that we have put into this one single planet is ridiculous, and distracts from acheiving that goal." She straightens again, squaring her shoulders as she flicks saffron optics over each of the collected Decepticons, "A goal which we will have to delay briefly for the Intergalactic Olympics. I can assure you that our participation will be required by Galvatron as a show of force in this sector. We can plan in between simulated shootouts and sprinting," she deadpans, as she pulls out a wingblade and snaps it open to polish and dry its seams of residual oil.
"Very admirable Smokestack, but with the addition of even more worlds to defend ... we run the risk of spreading the EMPIRE too thin, if such a thing is possible." Backfire replies, ignoring Windshear's statement for now. "Right now we've got Cybertron on lockdown, Earth is still up for grabs. Perhaps as a tactical distraction, given the right amount of energon ... your plan could be seen to fruition."
Leaning forward in the seat, he questions. "Who did you have in mind for such a arduous task, comrade?"
"Did I hear something about a ship loaded down with atomic bombs?" says Boomslang's voice suddenly from right next to Smokestack. "Sign me up for that!"
The trainformer’s optics flick towards Backfire with more consideration, as his buffoonery seems to give way to more measured consideration. However, before he can reply, Boomslang’s voice speaks from the empty air and he stiffens slightly. Darker threads of smoke creeping into the wisps of dirty grey steam leaking from his stacks, he remarks “Boomslang. I was not aware of your presence. I have been speaking of the necessity to defend homeworld from further disruption, particularly now that energy reserves are building and for the first time in eons, it begins to be achievable to reconstruct something of what we have lost. Conquering way points and directing all traffic through them before they can be allowed to approach homeworld is a precaution that may be necessary to ensure there are no unpleasant surprises.”
Smokestack inclines his head at Backfire. “I agree that our forces are currently scattered, and an excessive grasp will spread them too thin. That is why the goal of multiple buffer worlds enfolded by the Empire is a long term one. In the short term, there is disarray in our forces at hand. I believe that an increase in direction and discipline is required. A clear strategy, with sub objectives which can be assigned to individuals or made available as a list of targets. Small skirmishes with no greater goal in mind are gaining us nothing.”
Crossing her arms, Fusillade looks increasingly more attentive. "The desire to serve the Empire often conflicts with the self-indulgent interests of those in command, Smokestack. You'll see more of that as time goes on. I do agree that the lack of direction from both the ranks above and below is frustrating. Show too much ambition, though, and you wind up atomized." She shrugs helplessly. "Although I do quite like the idea of Cybertron becoming the crown jewel in the diadem of the Decepticon Empire, a day of stormtag in the Razor Hills is much more enjoyable when you know the laser fire is coming from your own teammates. It's encouraging to see such thought and desire go into the process. Tell me, what would be your first moves to that ultimate goal once the Olympics were over, and you had the troops to command?" She pulls out her holopadd from a wrist compartment, fingers wrapped around the handgrips as she eagerly awaits Smokestack's input. She spares a glower in the approximate direction of Boomslang's voice.
Backfire nods his head as if in understanding or listening, when in reality ... he's sidetracked by the shiny suns above them in the system. "Yesyes Smokestack, it sounds like a delightful plan. But as the Executrix pointed out, ambition will mark you as a target in this glorious EMPIRE. I am but a tool for you to direct at our enemies, expand on this notion and explain in full how you plan to deliver?" he spits out, still idly staring up at the two suns.
"Can I have one?"
Windshear merely sits and listens... and observes, the look on his face unreadable.
“Ambitious machines can be guided if handled properly.” Smokestack replies calmly. “My goal is the preservation and restoration of homeworld. Not merely to break the Autobots, not simply to establish the Empire, but to construct a stable system that will endure indefinitely, balancing social and political factors to ensure security from within and without. It is my life’s work, and leaves little room for advancement for its own sake. Those who would disassemble me for my vision, I would offer that they are better served to let me work to expand their reign. It will not always suffice to disarm hostility, but risks can be minimised.”
Smokestack leans forward a little as he pauses. “The first moves. Hrm. To obtain suitable scanning equipment to blanket the sky of Cybertron with an early warning system. Appropriate technology for the task needs to be located, secured, and then mass produced. These three tasks would be the initial step to an eventual system designed to blockade homeworld against unauthorised flights that did not originate at a holding station.”
Turning towards Backfire, he adds more mildly “Not unless you have access to time travel technology. I discovered the remains of the orrery in a derelict ship, a remnant of a dead civilisation sterilised when one of the binary pair erupted in a nova.”
"Have you thought about installing it on our space station?" asks Boomslang from Smokestack's other side, by his elbow. "Nobody ever seems to use that thing."
"Aspiring for rank -- and the added WORK it entails -- can be less hazardous to your health if you go through the proper channels, though." Fusillade nods to Backfire as she gives one last fond swipe of the cloth across her wingblade, and reholsters it. "Open challenges, such as what sprung Dreadwind to his unlikely position of authority, as well as advocacy by higher ranking officers, on the other hand..." She gives Smokestack a pointed glance, "Such as what might happen in your case, if you provide the HOW to make your sound, admirable aspirations a reality." As Smokestack outlines his plan, she nods, "Good, good. Your aim is to fortify then. What other early moves would you take, outside of the logistics arena, Smokestack?"
Fusillade grins wickedly at the mention of the space station. "Oh bless, its Commander-dodging berths and docks. Yes. You should go visit that some time, Smokestack."
"I don't know if I'd call it 'authority,'" sneers Boomslang. "Dirge seems to have pretty well usurped it just by saying so."
"Contrary to Blueshift's belief, I do not wield magical powers of that magnitude." Backfire replies to Smokestack, his attention drawn back down to the conversation at hand. "I wonder, have you thought to include Unit Coldwar in any of these plans? Just fifteen cycles ago I was commissioned to help him search out easily conquereable planets in or around our system, low profile ones with little to no resistence."
"I like that guy," Boomslang's disembodied voice says. "Real solid trooper. Shockwave should dig up more like him and send them down."
Inclining his head, Smokestack responds “Very well, Executrix, I will set aside time to visit the station. I’d not considered placing relics aboard parts of our facilities aside from my own storage, Boomslang, but if it is acceptable I may find something suitable to place in the station.” Placing his hands together, Smokestack looks over the top of them. “Beyond logistics, there is the matter of the troops themselves. It is apparent that many of our troops fight as berserkers, charging into battle without tactical consideration nor working as a unit. Thus then, troops would have to be tested, trained to act in concert, and where necessary discarded or assigned a non-combat role. Smaller machines must be reliable, or the larger machines that they are part of will break down. I have considered inviting Coldwar to assist me in this, as he has an admirable grasp of military protocol and efficiency. His work with the lower ranks is thorough and precise. Windshear: what have you to add on the matter of improving troop efficiency?”
"Well, are -YOU- going to argue with Dirge?" Fusillade directs to Boomslang, and hmmms thoughtfully to Backfire's comment. "Ah, another example of fragmentation. We would have been essentially reinventing the wheel. There is... a distinct lack of communication between our branches," Fusillade hisses out irritably. "Thank you for that information, Backfire, it will be useful. I will have to act on this while I am actually still in a 'Fusillade gives a scrap' mood." She hauls herself up off the plinth, sets the displaced artifact back in place with a cheerful flex of her wrists, and begins to sashay toward the exit. "Continue to reconnoiter the surrounding planets, feed the information to Coldwar, Dirge, Catechism, and myself. Sort out troop revues with Coldwar. If you want, I'll let you be in charge of the ones in MilOps, Smokestack," she says, poking her head back into the chamber from the edge of the door threshold. "Bai!"
Windshear slowly looks over at Smokestack and thinks for a moment and then calmly waits till it is silent again. Then he speaks. "Enough... this is what I see... lip service to the real problems of this empire and narrow minded individualistic ambitions for self promotion, figuratively and literally..." and with a cold smirk he falls silent again.
"I exist to serve, Executrix." Backfire offers at her departure, leaning forward in a semi-bow. "You bring up a very good point Smokestack, one we are fully capable of capitalizing on during our 'peace' event. We use the pair matchups to size up compatible soldiers and use the event itself to practice our cohesive teamwork."
"Windshear, comrade. If one is unwilling to change that which they despise, are they no better than the one who approves of it?"
"And why are you asking me this, Backfire?" Windshear counters turning his gaze onto the Seeker.
"He's asking if you're just flapping your hatch in a misguided attempt to try to look smart, like Dreadwind's constant bitching," says Boomslang's voice from behind Windshear, "or if there's something going on inside that flat head of yours other than grumbling."
"That would be useful, Executrix. Thank you." Smokestack replies to the jet as she looks back around the circular hatchway frame. "If you may dispense orders as such, I will take responsibility for those personnel." Nodding at Backfire, Smokestack adds "I agree the games may be used as a testbed, and it would be most efficient to achieve further gain from the event. Every advantage we take is a worthwhile one."
Windshear doesnt flinch when Boomslang speaks from behind him suddenly and the look on his face does not change, "And since when do you speak for him?" he asks unphased by any of the other con's words. "And what a talant you must have to be able to know everything that was said, or were you here the whole time? If you were then you would know what you just said was a waste of the energon it took for you to power your mouth to say it."
"More or less, yes Boomslang. That was my intention, as you've remained silent for the majority of this converstaion Windshear." Standing up, the Seeker flexes his arms out and paces across the room towards them both. Nervously rubbing the side of his faceplate all the while. "The question remains, will you stand by Smokestack's side as he sees his plan to fruition ... or will you continue to heckle?"
"So far you sound like somebody without much to say, Windshear. Are you a real moron or do you just pretend to be one in order to try to fit in?" asks Boomslang, with an audible sneer.
- Combat: Boomslang analyzes Windshear for weaknesses.
Windshear still doesnt even grant the other Seeker the courtesy of looking back at him but he does reply, "Sounds like I hit a nerve in my statment a few moments ago -- I wonder why that could be?"
"I don't have to have my 'feelings hurt' in order to despise you, Windshear," Boomslang replies. "I can despise you because you're useless, hopeless, and a tremendous failure in everything to which you lay your hand, but Smokestack here has an IDEA and you've got nothing to add to it but sniffing your stupid nose in the air. What are YOU for? What do you do to justify your acting superior at him?"
Smokestack rises to his feet, the tall mech looking down at the arguing seekers. His rolling voice is calm and firm. “I believe this discussion has reached the end of its usefulness, and these chambers are filled with relics that would not survive a sudden outburst. I will be leaving now; I have matters to attend to. It would likely be best if my honourable comrades did the same.” Crossing the chamber, he opens the vault door wide, then ducks through it and out into the corridor.
"Yet, you avoid the question still." Backfire muses to himself aloud, for all their benefit no doubt. Continuing his pacing, the Seeker gives Smokestack a slight look of worry ... but it quickly fades into a smile once Boomslang takes the offensive in the conversation.
"Listen Windshear, all deceptive games aside; we're on the same side here. I'm sure we'd all like just a -tad- bit..." he gestures, bringing his index and thumb out to measure just a smidgen in front of his optics. "Reassurance, comrade. What's it gonna be, playing tiddly winks or rising to meet our glorious destiny?"
Windshear's lips curl into a old and evil smile. "Is that the best you can do? Throw what deep down you know is true about yourself onto those you feel are weak?"
"You don't make much sense, but I don't expect that of somebody with your tiny brainpan," scoffs Boomslang. "I know I'm useful because I GET with the PROGRAM. I know you're useless because Fusillade told me that was why she quit mentoring you. You're an embarrassment to her. That and you're on the bottom of the Aerospace kill chart, of course. Smokestack's right though. He's got a plan and all you've got is petulant whining. Are you going to get with the plan like the rest of us, or are you going to be a useless little bitch and keep turning up your nose?"
Boomslang pitches up his voice in an imitation of Starscream. "You gonna whiiiine, whiny bitch? Like the big failure you worship? Cry for us a little more or GET IN LINE."
Windshear sits there just as before, actually hes lookig pretty bored at this point. "Are you done yet?"
Backfire grows tired of the tit for tat game of cat and mouse, his pacing brings him towards the door of Smokestack's abode. "When you reach a decision comrade, you know where we'll be. But unlike -some- slackers, I've got patrol duty!" he yelps, out the door before anyone can jab a knife in his chest.
"Why, have I convinced you to team up with Smokestack and be useful yet, or are you going to keep sulking in his apartment feeling sorry for yourself?" asks Boomslang, with a cheerfully curious tone. "Don't answer that, I don't think I've got any more invective to spew on you if you still refuse to be part of the plan. This is time I could be spending making progress on it!"
"I guess he picked 'tiddly winks,'" Boomslang can be overheard saying to Backfire, snickering outside the door as he follows the other seeker off on their mission.
Windshear replies flatly, "Oh I have a plan, before you appeared in here, a plan already worked out before you decided to try and make it your own -- which I hear is the only way you ever get anything 'planned'..."