Might as well talk to the wall...
The Dis is alone in high orbit above Charr, uncrewed, its systems powered down to standby. Outside the bridge viewport, the stars wheel overhead as the huge ship cruises in orbit, waiting with silent patience for its fellow Unicronians to have need of it again.
Then, the bridge doors slide open and Cyclonus enters, stepping quietly. He doesn't turn up the bridge lights, just goes over and sits in the pilot's chair in the darkness, laying his fingertips lightly on the console and staring at the stars...
And it isn't long before a cold steel voice whispers into his mind, the ship's monstrous, almost subliminal awareness sparked into activity by the touch of Cyclonus's keener thoughts. ~~welcome, lieutenant...~~
"Mmm." It's an almost thoughtless acknowledgement, as between old friends.
~~you need what?~~
Cyclonus smiles a little - one of the many things he and the ship have in common is their devotion to duty "Nothing tonight, my friend." *pauses* "Except perhaps not to be alone with my thoughts."
~~share, then.~~
"You first," Cyclonus answers wryly. /The last flight logs - let me see.../
The Dis obligingly uploads the files over the touch-link. It takes a few moments - these are not the summary logs that most ships keep, but the play-by-play. The vector maps and stress-measurements and sensory memories that let anyone with the right hard- and software reconstruct not only what happened, but what it felt like to be the Dis - to soar through space under the guiding touch of Galvatron's hand, driven fast and hard across the wastelands of the stars, turned loose to hunt and fight and kill in a storm of thruster wash and laser fire...
...Cyclonus finishes the data transfer, then sits with his optics closed for quite some time, his powerful frame occasionally quivering slightly. At last he opens his optics and shakes his head, with a gasp. /Thank... thank you./
~~always. this is about the warmaster?~~
Cyclonus laughs bitterly at that. "What isn't?" /I want.../
~~know you do~~
A long silence.
/I would die for him./
~~yes~~
And while he's used to having these half-voiced, half-hinted conversations with his triadmates and their ship, since they were made to know each other so well... he finds himself wondering, carefully, if and how a certain fire-marked Chosen One would fit into the subtleties of their kinship...
...and wishing that the phrase "Sharkticon in a crystal merchant's" hadn't come to mind.
Then, the bridge doors slide open and Cyclonus enters, stepping quietly. He doesn't turn up the bridge lights, just goes over and sits in the pilot's chair in the darkness, laying his fingertips lightly on the console and staring at the stars...
And it isn't long before a cold steel voice whispers into his mind, the ship's monstrous, almost subliminal awareness sparked into activity by the touch of Cyclonus's keener thoughts. ~~welcome, lieutenant...~~
"Mmm." It's an almost thoughtless acknowledgement, as between old friends.
~~you need what?~~
Cyclonus smiles a little - one of the many things he and the ship have in common is their devotion to duty "Nothing tonight, my friend." *pauses* "Except perhaps not to be alone with my thoughts."
~~share, then.~~
"You first," Cyclonus answers wryly. /The last flight logs - let me see.../
The Dis obligingly uploads the files over the touch-link. It takes a few moments - these are not the summary logs that most ships keep, but the play-by-play. The vector maps and stress-measurements and sensory memories that let anyone with the right hard- and software reconstruct not only what happened, but what it felt like to be the Dis - to soar through space under the guiding touch of Galvatron's hand, driven fast and hard across the wastelands of the stars, turned loose to hunt and fight and kill in a storm of thruster wash and laser fire...
...Cyclonus finishes the data transfer, then sits with his optics closed for quite some time, his powerful frame occasionally quivering slightly. At last he opens his optics and shakes his head, with a gasp. /Thank... thank you./
~~always. this is about the warmaster?~~
Cyclonus laughs bitterly at that. "What isn't?" /I want.../
~~know you do~~
A long silence.
/I would die for him./
~~yes~~
And while he's used to having these half-voiced, half-hinted conversations with his triadmates and their ship, since they were made to know each other so well... he finds himself wondering, carefully, if and how a certain fire-marked Chosen One would fit into the subtleties of their kinship...
...and wishing that the phrase "Sharkticon in a crystal merchant's" hadn't come to mind.