Pride and Prejudice

++ Kaon ++

One of the largest energon mining centers on Cybertron, Kaon is part of a
stretch of rough, difficult terrain known collectively as the Badlands.
Bordered by the seemingly endless orange desert of the Sea of Rust to the
east and south, this large, flat plain is almost sealed in by the rising
red-purple peaks of the Manganese Mountains to the north and west. Kaon
provides the central hub of activity and civilization in this area, while
smaller polities such as Blaster City and Tesarus have arisen at its edges.

Dark gray and black metal, tough and resillient against wear, form the main
colors of the city, its buildings in the shapes of domes, pyramids and
jagged peaks. All of them are aerodynamically shaped so that their edges
face the Sea of Rust, allowing the buildings to withstand the edges of any
storms that blow in from the oxidized desert beyond. The area is noisy and
dirty from the constant drumming of machinery: mining equipment, enormous
energon transport haulers and low-flying ore shuttles fill the air with
noise and lightly shake the ground as they pass. Heavy laborers, almost
always low-caste, toil away here either at the surface, or below the
ground, enjoying few comforts and fewer respites from their work. The slums
of Wreckage Row are home to Kaon's work force, while the edge of the
massive highway leading to nearby Kalis is guarded by the looming
mushroom-shaped fortress of Kolkular. Somewhere near the edges of the ruins
of Blaster City, an underground arena known as the 'Pits of Kaon' hosts
illegal gladiator combat.

Contents:
Blast Off, Space Shuttle
The Forge <F>
Exits:
NE [Wreckage Row]                       N [Kalis]
NW [Kolkular]                           E [Edge of the Rust Sea]
 S [Blaster City]                       W [Tesarus]

The area was abuzz with rumours, and where things buzz, Detour's business flourishes. Alright. So a revolt in the Forge has little to do with his trade, but nonetheless, Detour is standing near some of the supply stores sifting through rumours to find the most common threads to piece together the action he had missed. He stands just a small ways off from a group of glossa-wagging workers, milling about and dawdling before their shift. His posture is very casual, slightly leaning against a stark, dark gray metal wall that is part of a hardware outlet. He only occasionally glances over to the group, but otherwise seems to be reviewing something on a datapad while listening.

Blast Off heard about the big revolt too. He wasn't there to witness it personally, but some of his team was, and they regaled him with the stories in loud and boisterous voices until he finally just shook his head in annoyance and walked away. It sounded fine, in fact it sounded like the Decepticons were finally getting their act together and deciding to DO something about this corrupt government. But he's got other things on his mind right now. He's failed in saving a friend, and it ... hurts, though he wouldn't actually admit it to himself. He's just in an... inexplicably bad mood, is all. Actually- not so inexplicable... he had a shot at Blurr the other cycle and was \*thwarted\* from finishing the job. Yes, that's the whole thing.

Now he finds himself walking by that same crowd, though he sidesteps to avoid them, for he doesn't like crowd- or noise.

"Unbelievable..." mutters Detour as he reads something off of his pad which obviously gives him great displeasure. He ficks the corner of it with the back of his hand as his countenance grows more grim. "What is this--" he stops himself from finishing his sentence, mostly because his databanks just cannot find a fitting word. He straightens up, departing from his long stand against the wall and takes a few steps towards the narrow streetway. The chattering had gotten rediculous and the tales less believable, especially as some of the ones telling their version of the event were rapidly changing their stories. If Detour were the sort to not be aware of his surroundings, he would have stepped right into the path of Blast Off while muttering. However, he is not quite so unobservant and stops abruptly before a collision can happen, quickly holding his pad tight against his chestplate to avoid any stray glances consuming the content.

Blast Off is also fairly observant of his surroundings. He has many reasons to be, after all. Number one of which is being a fugitive with a bounty on his head. He is also blessed with fairly fast reflexes, so is able to come to a stop when the other spacecraft suddenly appears before him. His violet optics widen- he recognizes the mech from Nyon. "You." Quickly, he straightens to his maximum height, trying to look as impressive as possible. "You are that... spacecraft. Like me."

There is a long pauise as Detour just... stares at Blast Off. No expression, despite a squint. No body language. he doesn't have that 'caught in the headlights' sort of frozen look. Just stillness and silence, leaving no clues to what may be going through his processor. After a moment of this, he makes a very short, amost jerky nod of his head and tucks away his datapad. With his hands free, he steeples his phalanges together loosely, holding them out in front of his mid-section.

"You." Is his likewise response, although the tone in his voice is less surprise and certainly less inviting. He glances about himself warily. "I see you are on your own. That tends to happen to people who get themselves shot at."

Blast Off notices the less "inviting", colder tone of the other spacecraft. This causes him to pause a moment, taken aback just a bit. Especially at the being "shot at" remark. His optics dart to the side uncomfortably, then his more aloof and aristocratic demeanor returns. "Well," he starts, trying to look dignified as can be, "We live in troubled times. There are ruffians about- mechs up to no good. I had the unfortunate luck of meeting one then. But... well, a civilized person such as \*myself\* can hardly be blamed for that. You know how these groundpounders can be... and that racer is among the \*worst\*."

Detour silently listens to Blast Off trying to dig himself out of the pit Detour cast him in with a smooth explanation. He brings a hand up to his chin and wears a contemplative expression. "Ruffians start brawls. That was a little more like an ambush," Detour responds. He contintues to stare at Blast Off hard, as if stripping him down with his optics. Howver, after a moment there is just a subtle softening in his hardened face and he exvents a sigh. "But it does seem the groundpounders think they rule this place just because of a few, ah, /temporary/ resitrictions on space travel."

Blast Off begins to feel even MORE uncomfortable. If even his fellow \*spacecraft\* are rejecting him, what hope does he have? There's already Quantum trying to kill him- he finds himself wanting some sort of approval from this mech. For a sense of \*normalcy\* if nothing else. He wants to feel above it all again, to hobnob with a fellow snob... not that he'd PUT it that way, mind you. "Well... true. THAT particular ruffian has been attempting to start trouble with me for quite some time now." As have so many others. NONE of which is HIS fault, of course.

But Detour's final words give him hope. Optics light up again as he raises a finger. "Yes! Exactly. They're jealous, is what they are. Thye can't understand our sophistication and skill, and what they don't understand they seek to tear down." He glances upwards, as if looking towards the stars. "And yes... temporary. I mean- we were BUILT for space- it's not a crime to go up there, it's a crime to keep us from our birthright!"

Detour glances over to where the workers had been chatting, seieng that they have mostly dispersed to go about their duties. Feeling it prudent not to dawdle either, Detour begins to walk. However, he gives an inviting tilt of his head to Blast Off, indiciating that the mech is free to walk with him. "Jealous, some. Others, just doing what the jealous ones teach them. They are small minded and don't know better because they haven't seen how big the universe really is." Detour had been walking with his optics slightly down cast, but his other sensors keyed up for any trouble. After a moment or two of speaking, he lifts his chin. "It was getting rough out there. Trade was drying up. Other races getting mighty suspicious. I got more and more crafts requesting alternate routes about the spaceways. I just keep telling myself this... this clamp down is for our protection."

Blast Off notices that invitation, too, and accepts. His own strides are elegant, poised, as he walks alongside his fellow space alt. As he listens, his spark simply soars as if he were back among the stars. YESSS. Exactly. SOMEONE UNDERSTANDS. "Indeed! I \*pity\* them really. They cannot understand what they're missing, what we know. And when I try to explain, their small minds simply cannot encompass the information! Or sometimes... they simply \*refuse\* to even try! They're so... limited here in the rust and the ...dust. Their world is so limited and restricted they have no idea what true freedom and true sophistication even \*is\*. "

He then sighs a little. "Yes... I was seeing that as well. The organics were always rather hostile and primitive- but became even more so." The last line gets a huff, however. "No... the Clampdown is for the \*Senate's\* protection, not OURS. We can handle what's out there- they just don't want to expend the resources or effort. Or let anyone else do so. Keep us limited, too, in hopes that even WE forget what we're truly capable of."

Detour arches an optic ridge and gives Blast Off a side glance, but does not alter his gait. "That's dangerous talk. No wonder you got shot at." He smirks a little to himself after this remark, but then resumes a somewhat grim expression.

Blast Off narrows his optics slightly, then looks around at where they are. Kaon, home of the new Decepticon movement. "Well... yes. It is to be expected here, among the Decepticons. Come, you cannot tell me you are Okay with the way ur kind is currently treated by this government?" Not HIS government, mind you.

Detour offers up a shrug. "Expected, yes, but don't go thinking this place isn't already crawling with spies expecting that kind of talk. I'm sure there's agents logging names around every corner." Detour offers a casual glance around. "If the government is as oppressive as you say, then they won't let this stand and come down with crushing force. I'm planning on moving operations out of here as soon as I can get my affairs in order." Detour idly kicks an over-sized bolt out of his path. "Or, you just feel the need to make an enemy of the Senate to soothe your trampled ego when the real trouble are the Guildmasters. The senate may have made the ban, but the Guildmasters made sure we got kicked to the bottom rung once we no longer could use our alt modes as they were so called intended." Detour does little to hide contempt in his voice when mentioning Guildmasters.

Blast Off raises an optic ridge. he'd sort of just... assumed the other spacecraft was probably a Decepticon, because he is here and he surely must also be angry at the government at the way their kind has been treated? "Well... yes, there are spies. Not everyone can be trusted, naturally." He should know, he was tricked and entrapped by one not long ago. "But... what? The Guildsmasters?" There's a huff. "If I have an ego it is \*warranted\*. I am a shuttle and justifiably \*proud\* of it. The Senate is the most corrupt group and the most responsible. What did the Guildmasters do?" Of course, Blast Off lost a large chunk of history thanks to being imprisoned in Garrus-1's white-out chamber- a mental limbo where his bodiless mind lingered for millions of years before being freed recently. All he knows is the Senate.

Detour shrugs yet again, throwing open his hands with his palms up. "Who knows the real truth of what goes on and who is to blame?" Detour shakes his head as his optics dim ever so slightly. "It's the guildmasters who rigorously keep reshuffling our places in society, isn't it? And why should I, a space farer, suddenly be tossed to humiliatingly lowly work just because my alt mode isn't presently in use? I should be celebrated and maintained for when I will be of use again! Instead... grulling work, little pay, limited rations... pah! No. I wasn't made for that kind of existence, and those who believe in the will of Adaptus or whatever should know it's not for me. Frauds. All of them. Members of the senate don't seem much to care about my change in, ah, function, but the guildmasters would crack down on my legitimate business practices and probvably seize everything for themselves." Whilst it had been Blast Offs time to rant earlier, it would seem he has cracked open Detour's tight-lipped tendencies and hit a rather sensitive wire.

Blast Off blinks at the other spacemech. Some of this is news to him, some is rumor, and some fact. He lets out a weary-sounding huff through his ventilation systems. "I... hear you." He looks at his own hands and arms- they're built for speed, not strength. "We aren't built for this... dirty work. We are thrown amonst the rabble and ruffians and expected to lower ourselves to their way of life." Looking around, he sighs. "I am stuck here, thanks to this government. But I don't belong here. I belong in a much more... cutlured place. ANY space alt does. My gears and rockets get rusty and grungy just walking \*through\* this mess."

He looks down at his purple rocket feet- and no, they don't look as if they're particularly well suited for this terrain. "Where are these Guildmasters then?" He's been a bit sheltered, also, in a way because when he was woken up the Senate placed him in a Gaurd job, granting him high status until he became a renegade.

"Where? What, you mean, where do they convene?" Detour looks at him with a slightly perplexed expression. "Or are you insinuating I'm some crazy glitch spinning conspiracy theories about some authority that doesn't even exist?" Detour frowns and begins speaking in a much more hushed tone. "Never mind. I should take my own advice about speaking too freely and too loudly against the governing bodies."

The Combaticon's optics dart to the side as if worried he's been caught in... \*gasp\* ignorance. He's just been out of the loop for awhile, and yes, he'd heard about them but hadn't really paid a lot of attention to the Guildmasters before. "Oh... well, no, I just... I meant where they might convene?" Yes, that's it. "I mean, if you wanted to \*do\* something about them..."

"There you go with that loose vocoder again. I'm not the sort of person who 'does' something about the higher ups." Detour chuckles wryly for a moment. "That's what over idealistic mechs with a penchant for violence do." This latter sentence he says much more quietly. Not naming names, but some may fill in the blanks with their own imaginations and take offense. Despite saying he is taking his own advice about being careful of whom he says ill against, he may have managed to alienate Functionists, Government Officials, and Decepticons all in short succession. "Look, I spent millenia guiding space vessels safely around trouble. It's my very nature to avoid trouble. So, if you are going to cause me trouble, intentional or not, you'd best be on your way. On the other hand, if you happen to have any well off assosciates or employers looking to buy some hard to come by wares.... then let's talk business instead. Politics are making me grow weary."

Blast Off blinks once more. "Idealistic mech? I am /not/ an idealistic mech. I am simply a mech who is tired of people trying to lead him around like a \*turbo-sheep\* and tell him what to do." The shuttle may be an elitist High Caste, but he's another thing, too- a Combaticon. And it shows right now. Optics flaring a deeper purple, he looks sharply at the other mech. "I am better than these imbeciles who would dictate to me my own obsolescence! Are you really that willing to bow down to them like they are your masters?"

Detour's optics flicker at the change in demeanor from his current company. He stares at him a moment, and then cracks out a somewhat nasty smile and chuckles. "That comment wasn't meant for you... but all the same... don't go challenging people who don't revolt under a little pressure. We all resist in our own ways. There will always be masters and slaves. I don't bow to them. I bow to a higher master that even they cleave unto. Greed."

There's a pause, and Blast Off straightens himself, attempting to regain that poise and calm aloofness he had before. ".... Fine. I... suppose as long as you don't act like some meek turbo-sheep, what you do is your own business. But we are spacecraft and we have a certain reputation to maintain, despite the Senate and these Guildmasters. It is the shuttle... the \*space alt\*... way to carry oneself with pride and dignity. ALWAYS. I for one, shall not eschew that responsibilty." At the mention of Greed, he pauses. "Oh? Greed. That is the cause my teammate Swindle holds most dear, too." He sounds a bit unsure that that's anything to be proud of.

Detour smirks and shakes his head as he turns down an alley way. "Were I a mere follower, willing to submit, I would have just gone down to the mines and worked until I was falling apart, and then get tossed aside as junk. Instead, I took a change of vocation and went into trade. It isn't as glorious as my previous work, but it affords me the finer things and comforts I was used to. Finer things I am sure you miss."

Blast Off ahhs. Ok, this at least seems more... dignified than admitting to being a turbo-sheep. "I see." He tilts his head at the mention of /comfort/. It is indeed something he misses... more than Detour can know. He glances away before turning back and asking, "...Comfort? ...What do you do?"

Detour grins much more graciously than he had before. "Why, I play on supply and demand. That is, I trade in Insecticons and Insecticon related products. Hatching pods, hive generated energon, drones, ornaments and novelties made from their shells..."

Blast Off blinks. "Insecticons?" Hmm. He doesn't have any fondness for the creatures, but he's known a few. Actually been aided by a few, and looked after one for what used to be a friend. "You... go into their hives and take the young?"

Detour holds up his hands and shakes his head. "Used to. Got too dangerous. Now I manage some domesticated hives and commission the hunters. I did my time in the wilds beneath. Now I live much more comofrtably, gathering information about hunting spots, getting to know the various hunters and their skills, and manage energon production and scrap disposal of a few captive hives still in operation. Of course, they are rather small and not self sustaining without Queens or Seeders."

The shuttleformer listens to all this and ...considers. "Really? ...HOW comfortably? Is it... something anyone can get into?" Blast Off's desire for those lost comforts of life is really showing. Not that he's sure he wants to obtain it THIS way. But... can't hurt to ask. "So... you have a... nice habsuite?" Oh, how he misses HIS nice habsuite. "Do those... hunters make money?" He's a sniper, he can shoot VERY well.

Detour crosses his arms over his chest as if evaluating Blast Off under a new criteria. "Not very big accommodations, but has a lot of the nicer facilities. It's at a nice lofty height. It's not quite as nice as what I used to have, but it's still tolerably comfortable. But the quality of energon and other consumables I have access to is the real perk. Have you ever tried a hatching pod? They're full of rarified energon that not only is high efficiency for lower intake, but is just a real experience in and of itself to consume."

Detour hmms and haws for a very short moment. "As for getting into the business... hunters make as much as they put into it. Higher risk, higher pay. And you have to not overly mangle the merchandise. It does take some skill to extract the young and transport them safely. But since it IS a high risk job, there's always openings for new hunters."

Blast Off suddenly finds himself lost in thought. He isn't really looking to start hunting down Insecticons... in fact, the few he's met seem more like fellow Cybertronians than mere beasts. "Don't... you ever come across intelligent ones? I... have seen some who certainly \*appear\* to be..." His voice carries the conflict he's feeling. "But... I am an \*excellent\* shot. I am sure I would make a good.... hunter."

Detour snorts. "Oh, yes, some of them are intelligent enough to speak Cybertronian. I've only come across one or two myself. If you ask me, they are mostly mimics. Some of them even seem to have personality. But they are inferior to us. Their drones do not think for themselves or feel anything. Just tools to enact the will of their Queen or Seeder. But... if you knew about the Warpers, you'd not hesitate to put them down. Insidious creatures, warping and enslaving anything they come across. Worse than the Senate, I say... so if you are going to terminate something, it's those beastly Warper Queens and Seeders."

His inner conflict continues as Blast Off listens to Detour explain things about Insecticons. At first he nods his head, "Yes... yes, I suppose that's right. No one can compare to a space alt, after all." His natural arrogance about his alt mode conflicts with his own experiences. Harbinger was... an odd one, but she didn't seem to simply be a mimic. Kickback seemed genuinely thoughtful. And Scorn.... Scorn seemed an elegant Queen. None of them seemed quite as inferior as Detour is claiming.

But then his optics narrow at the mention of a Warper. There's a slight hiss of his vents. "Oh... now that is something you don't have to tell me. I... met one. Here, in Kaon. Goes by the name of Bombshell. Arrogant... yes, insiduous creature. He is one I would gladly shoot." Looking at Detour, he asks, "If I did, how much might I get paid?"

Detour brings up a hand to his chin with a contemplative expression. "Well... you would have to bring proof of the extermination. One less warper hatching evil upon Cybertron is worth some shanix, maybe some information, or some rarified energon. But don't go killing insecticons thinking you'll get paid for each one. Most are better alive than dead, just so long as they don't fight being put in their place - and that place is to serve superior beings like us, and maintain energy on Cybertron." Detour pauses by a small building. "Ah... I do have someone to meet about a contract... and I don't think bringing an unknown would be well received."

Blast Off's hands clasp behind his back thoughtfully as Detour explains this. His gaze lifts up as the possiblilites rush by, then returns to the other mech. "I see." He still seems rather unperturbed by all this talk. He is used to this elitism, and to thinking of himself and his alt kin as superior, after all. It's just that recent experiences have begun to wear that assumption down just a little, leaving him a little uncertain still. But he doesn't want to show it to Detour.

"I shall... consider this. And perhaps next time I see Bombshell I shall repay a certain... debt I owe him." As they get to the building, Blast off stops. "Ah. Yes. I understand." He gives the other mech a polite nod. "It was a pleasure speaking with a fellow... sophisticate. I hope your contract discussions go well." Then he turns and proceeds to walk down the street.