Cleaning Up The Wreckage

Summary: (June 2031) Take one Decepticon, one human hanging from a tree, add some battle damage and shake vigorously. More tea? (Continuation of Chasing the Atomic Train)

Agra, India

Buildings crowd together along the mostly narrow streets of this city, capital of the province by the same name. Former capital of the Muslim Mogul Empire from before colonial times, the city remains a center of art and architecture, focused on the splendor of the Taj Mahal, considered one of the greatest works of humankind. Electric street lights cast a yellow glow over the broad, paved avenues where the homes of the wealthy congregate, but much of the city falls into total darkness after the sun goes down, save for the glow from scattered windows. A puttering car occasionally rumbles through the streets, the infrequent engines the only sound besides the lowing of a few wandering cattle.

Obvious exits: Northeast [NE] leads to Himalayas. Northwest [NW] leads to Iran. South [S] leads to Bay of Bengal. Fly [Up]

Well, it's a beautiful sunny day, yup. The views are breathtaking. Yup. You can prolly even hear a faint rendition of "Roadside Romeo" playing in the distance. ..and you can certainly hear odd grunts and grumbles as somebody jiggles in their parachute seat in the middle of nowhere, dangling from a rocky upcrop not a thousand miles away from a smoking train wreck.

The sun shone down on a scene of mass wreckage. An armoured train, peppered by explosions and dotted by melted pools of slag from high energy weapons fire, severed in two and partially derailed, sat forlornly astride the tracks in a remote valley. Looming over the cars, an enormous black figure strode from car to car, wrenching off sheets of high density armour plate and stacking them to one side. One arm hugs his wounded flank as he works, steam gushing from a long tear down his side and molten wounds still simmering across the circular chestplate. Boiling water splattered across the ground from ruptured hoses.

Keeping one eye open for reinforcements, Smokestack worked stripping the train for parts, preparing to follow the beacon after the others, when he heard the odd grunts and sounds of protest. Drawing himself mostly upright, hunched forward a little to ease the damage, he approaches the source of the sound.

Jennifer at least has shade from the sun, a limp parachute canopy forming a cover overhead, sheeting and cords entangled in the branches of a small bush growing above her. "Cleanup crew always arrives on call... flippin' summer weather... crap radio reception. I HATE INDIA!"

-tink!- a small plastic radio is hurled hard and makes a tiny smash sound as it falls to the ground. Probably not a wise move. If she'd held onto it, she could call for help come evening. Too late, she realises... she really IS stuck, now!

The hissing of escaping steam and the rhythmic thud of approaching footsteps mingled to announce Smokestack’s arrival, looming up from the rocks. Deep set red optics followed the path of the radio to the ground where it smashed into pieces, and the Decepticon shook his head, taking in her predicament. “An unwise choice, human. What little satisfaction that act may have given you is obliterated by the loss of your ability to signal for help. The gain does not outweigh the loss.”

Jennifer's first reaction is to be startled. But not in the usual "OMG giant robot, argh!" sort of way. No, this one is well-used to big fellas. Overcoming her initial reaction, the girl quickly reverts to looking sullen. "Oh, god. Just peachy. Come to gloat, I suppose..?" she grumbles, arms folded.

Smokestack slowly half-sat, half-leaned against a boulder, clutching his hand harder against the steaming gash in his side. “There is little to be gained by doing so. I rarely gloat. Have you radioed for assistance? Your actions imply your radio was damaged. Your reaction implies familiarity with my species. Your predicament suggests association with the helicopter-form. You may know something of value to me.”

Jay eyes the behemoth. After a pause, she uncrosses her arms, but holds onto a seat restraint for safety as she dangles, combs a strand from her eyes and looks at him more critically. "Huh. You're not political, are you... 'just doing your job', huh...? One of those..?" She tilts her head. "Summer weather, plays havoc with radio signals. You're right about my tantrum... but you'd think they'd have something to get round that by now... even out here. Ho-hum."

Smokestack shook his squared off helm slowly. “You assume politics and gibbering violence are the same. I believe in the goals of Straxus, and his philosophical descendants. Cybertron must have a strong military capacity and wide buffer zones to endure as a civilisation and a functioning world. I simply do not destroy things unless there is a significant reason for me to do so. You pose no threat to me, and you may be of use. Therefore, I will not harm you.”

Jay gives a wry smile and a half nod. The bloke's got logic. Sort of. "Okay, Smoky. You're the big guy here. What's the arrangement?"

By way of answer, Smokestack reaches out for the tree she is hanging from and snaps the branch with one finger, dropping tangled parachute, branch, girl and all into his open hand. Turning, he strides back towards the ruined train, one arm braced across his side. “You tell me what I wish to know. I am sure there are many things you would rather tell me than be dropped into my furnace. Why were you here this day? Who do you work for? Who were your companions?”

She folds her arms again but meets his gaze, as far as mid-day sun will permit. It's obvious he has no intention of harming her - at least, not casually. And she suspects a touch of old-school... the guy's got principles. Warrior's honour? Hum. At the ease with which he extricates her from the tree and rocky outcrop, then totes her along, Jay winces and does the startled thing again, but also quickly recovers. She's been carried by Bots, as well, before now. His furnace threat sounds like a standard line from his kind, and the questions seek far from confidential information. "I was helping my Autobot mates Gort and Highbrow on a tip-off that something was up here in India that had attracted Con interest. And we were right, weren't we?" She wags a finger. "You need to pick your partners more carefully. I don't think any of that damage came from our guys... Who are EDC, by the way. Earth Defence Corps. We keep an eye on comings and goings. Especially where big fellas like you are concerned. That answer your questions so far..?" Jennifer looks over the side of his hand at the damage to his side. For a guy who's a converted locomotive, who could easily fly into a berserk rage and destroy acres, he seems pretty... well, rather like the robot in the cartoon "Iron Giant". 'Which would make me Hogarth', she supposes. 'He must be new in from Cybertron or something. Those are 'where am I?' questions...'

“Earth Defence Corps. Hrrm.” The Decepticon lowered his hand onto the roof of a stripped train carriage and slid her off, with brusque efficiency if not any particular malice. “The suit that attacked me. How long have they possessed that technology? Was it developed from your technological base, or from Cybertronian influences?” Half turning away, he keeps one eye on her as he tears another carriage to pieces, setting great slabs of armour on the stack he’s building up. “You mentioned two Autobots. Where was the other?” The sentence broke off with a growl as he listed a little to the right, and grunted half to himself “I’m losing pressure. My internal water reserves won’t last forever with this damage.”

Jennifer is thankful that she was still secured in the parachute seat. Undoing the restraining harness, the human gets to her feet, bending and flexing her knees and performing little limbering up exercises. "Hold your horsepower, big guy. Let me get my motors running a bit here..." She shows no sign of trying to escape. She wouldn't get far, anyway.

The streamers of smoke and steam sighing from his stacks are beginning to look a bit thready. Nonetheless, he keeps working. Most of the train has been reduced to skeletal frames by now, so he turns his attention to the train itself. The screech of tearing metal is loud in the hot calm as he pulls off a side panel. “Your radio is ruined, and you are far from any possible help. Your best path for survival is to remain with the train and shelter in it until a clean up crew are sent to retrieve what remains. That also entails no futile attempts to flee into the brush, and no prevarication in answering my simple questions. I am an unknown quantity to you, and you do not know my level of patience. Therefore you will be intelligent enough to take only as much time as you absolutely need, and do not give the impression of stalling.”

The teen watches him work. She gives a slight groan. "Okay, okay. Rationale time. Since the worst of your injuries weren't from us... I don't think... it's okay to do a bit of fix up work. I always did have a soft spot for you transforming types. So here's what -I- say. I'm pretty sure this wreckage has a few tools somewhere for fixes on the fly... but I can't work on you while your boiler's too hot to touch. You'll have to deliberately lose pressure anyhow, big guy. Jennifer walks along the carriage, tip-toes along chassis frames and hops until close to the huge frame of the iron Decepticon. "Stop what you're doing for a moment," she says simply.

The big, black armoured Decepticon straightened for a moment, thinking. Seeing no reason not to speak his thoughts aloud, he rumbles in his low, rolling voice “You could be attempting to weaken me, until reinforcements arrive. You have shown yourself to be a sensible creature so far, which could be clarity of thought and could be cunning and patience. However, I am losing pressure regardless.” His degree of functionality without steam pressure and his private assessment that he will not be able to follow the beacon in his current state, he keeps to himself. After a moment, he simply transforms. His head withdraws as the central chestplate swings up, his arms draw flat against his sides, and he hinges at the waist. Wheels crash into place, upper body locking against the lower. A gigantic black train rests in the dust, the damage now clear as a long pressure rip down the right flank of his cylindrical boiler. Sluggishly rolling forward, he presents his flank to the carriage where she stands and with a sudden explosion of steam, a heavy column of white steam roars from his twin stacks for a few moments until his boiler is fully depressurised.

Wow. He did as she said. A small human and he did what she said. Sort of. Not bad..! She places both hands on the side of one huge wheel. "I like to think I have my unknown quantities too." Jay pats as solidly a she can. "Seems we gain more together than not. I can't hurt you. Can you trust me?" She h'mphs to herself as she steps back to take a look at the big picture. "You are one handsome testament to the Industrial Revolution..."

The engine grunted, without much force. The metal was still dangerously hot, but within the tear a patchable split in the inner boiler can now be seen, together with a large number of copper and bronze hoses. Most of them are split or torn open entirely. Valves can be closed to compartmentalise the damage. “I have no need of trust. If you attempted to damage my systems, you could do little worse than the wound has already caused, and I would certainly kill you. What little inconvenience you could cause me is irrelevant to your own death. Therefore you would not make the offer if you did not intend to do something of use.” After a pause, the locomotive added “I prefer the aesthetics of age. Older forms are simpler, purer. More permanent. Modern forms change too often, too fast. They have no strength, no staying power.”

Jennifer begins a hunt for tools. "I'll take that as a 'yes' and a 'thank you'" she quips.

“As you please.” the locomotive rumbled, single headlamp brightening and fading with the words. Despite his natural reluctance to accept the assistance, it was helping the pain to relax in vehicle mode for the time being.

Jennifer locates (so conveniently!) the exact tools for the job in a metal box somewhere in one of the abandoned carriages. She hauls the box over to the boiler section, set up the tools, takes a few minutes to figure them out and starts work from the inside out, clambering round and fixing those hoses as best she can. "Ya load sixteen tons, and what do you get? Another day older and covered in sweat. Saint Peter don't you call me cause I can't go... I owe my soul to the company store..." Jennifer hops out of the cooled boiler, finds some copper, hops back in, rinse and repeat; like watching a bird building a nest, perhaps, given the scale of the Decepticon entity and the small human.

It’s an odd sensation. The creature is tiny, even smaller than cassette forms, but her hands are nimble and the nagging ache of ruined systems dies away under her surprisingly expert care. Smokestack considers questioning her further on the EDC’s technological basis, but chooses to let her concentrate while she works. She is either expert enough to sabotage him while repairing, or she is genuinely undoing much of the deeper damage. The rest is merely plating, and can be replaced at leisure. Eventually, he says “Good. You are skilled at working on my kind. Are you trained in repair?”

The huge engine provides nice shade from the sun's powerful rays, although working with an arc welder in an oily great boiler makes her sweaty and grimy regardless. It takes a long time to fix the boiler too, as she, being only human, can only lift small pieces of metal and work on them. "You're going to look like a Junkion all over in here, babes, I hope you can live with that..." "I like to think I've got a skill or two," she adds, grinning.

Smokestack grunts, the sound reverberating through the cavity she is working in. “Your field repairs appear to be effective. Their aesthetic value is a secondary concern and can be amended at leisure.” Time is passing, and the recovery crews won’t stay away forever. They may be spying on the wreckage already – time to move. “Vacate the cavity. I am going to repressurise.”

Jennifer does her best at fixing the internal boiler damage... and once fixed, it -stays- fixed. But the outer layer is yet to go... and fatigue shows on the girl's face. "Phewwww....I feel like I've been in there forever..." She does as told, retrieving tools and moving a safe distance. "I could murder a cup of tea." One might wonder what he would repressurise with, but then she recalls the amazing properties of subspace. No doubt he's got a camel's reserves hidden away...

The internal furnace, dampened down while the boiler was at low pressure, flares to life once more with a dimly audible roar. Water floods into the boiler chamber, nearly emptying his last reserves, and thin streamers of smoke start to leak from his stacks again. “Hrm. Repairs are holding. Pressure is building.” The pistons twitch slightly, inching back and forth as he tests their responsiveness. “Systems are recovering responsiveness. An excellent demonstration of the reasons why it is better to only destroy when there is a sound tactical reason to do so.”

Jennifer walks up and down the track by the wreckage, limbering up again, while the afternoon sun allows for longer shadows in the wake of the carriages. As she explores idly, something catches her attention. YESSSS! A small wooden box - tiny - with DARJEELING branded into the lid. And nearby; a tin cup. Clutching her newly-acquired prizes, Jay returns to the locomotive Decepticon. "How's it holding up?" she inquires, somewhat proudly. "Kettle boiling yet?"

Smokestack notes the element of pride in her voice and approves. “You have the spirit of a craftsman. That’s good. Craftsmen build things that endure. Steam pressure is rising to operational levels. The repairs are holding well. The influx of water has reached appropriate temperatures.” After a half second pause, the train adds “What is that you are holding?”

Knocking a sticking tap-like valve on, via a handy rock, Jay leans back sharply as a solid jet of steam hisses out. "WHOA!" she hollers, then recovers, holding the tin cup in the steam to clean it. Shaking out the dirt and condensation, she then taps the tap on further, so boiling water trickles out. "This, my good metal friend, is the key to happiness, to paradise on Earth..." Jennifer places a little muslin 'teabag' into the tin cup and holds it under the flow of boiling water. Once the mug is full, she knocks the valve back shut. "-also known as a nice hot cup of tea." She whirls the teabag around in the water by the string, then pulls it out after a certain measure of time. "..dot of milk would be nice, but youcan't have everything. And this IS India..."

Jennifer sits on the floor of the locomotive's cab, her feet dangling over the side of the footplate. She sips at her tea and looks around at the wilderness landscape. "Maybe you and I could start a business... I could make a bit of money selling oven-baked vindaloo pizzas or something. You've got the oven..."

It’s a leak. Trifling in comparison to the gushing vents he was losing before, but he’s not happy about it nonetheless. Before he can instruct her to close the valve, however, she does so of her own accord. “Stand back.” he warns her tersely, and his giant iron wheels stir into slow rotation, pulling him back from where she stands. After a few yards, he considers himself clear and transforms, first drive wheel on each slide sliding under with a clang to form the heel of his foot, body splitting into his towering robot mode. A fresh gout of steam explodes from the two stacks now flanking each shoulder as his head emerges. “A refreshment. I see.” Stalking around her, he moves to the heavy pile of armour sheets and lifts them into the air with a long groan of metal coming under stress. “I am finished here. You would be wise to take shelter now.”

Jennifer regards him, sipping at her tea. "Might be better if you walked a little first. Make sure everything's working right so you don't come crashing to earth after a failed flight." She gestures towards the outskirts of the town, in the far distance, with her mug. "You could drop me off over there. Then do your thing."

“I have considered the possibility of sudden containment failure. I judge it less pressing than the imminent arrival of reinforcements and recovery teams. I have lingered dangerously long. Further tests provide insufficient reassurance to outweigh the approach of whoever will respond to this incident, and I do not possess data on the defence capabilities of the settlement. The correct action is to leave.” Shouldering the sheets, the machine fires up his antigravity generators and his feet slowly lighten and lift from the ground. Hanging in the air before her, Smokestack says finally “Continue to act calmly and in accordance with the most logical path, and you may survive to the full lifespan of your species.”

Jennifer oh-wells to herself. It was worth a try. She supposes she got off pretty lightly for somebody face to face with a Decepticon. Something about his parting words prompts something in the back of her mind. Holding up one hand calmly to chest level, Jay folds in her thumb and parts her four fingers into two sets of two... "Fly safely..." is all she says, however.

With a single brief nod of his helm, Smokestack acknowledges her and rises fully into the air. His gargantuan body passes before her, tear visible down his side with her handiwork gleaming in the gap, and then he is gone, a distant dark speck cruising between hills as he flies low and close to the ground, disappearing into the haze.

Jennifer watches him fade to a distant black speck, slight grey clouds in his wake. "Huh. 'Imminent arrival', huh? He'd better be right about that." She sips at her tea. "I need a bath -so bad- or Gort's going to be making fun of ME next!"