Masks and Lies

 

Logged April 2001

 

Enfilade, Nightfire and Whiplash have ended up in Silentsteel’s repair bay after getting the losing end of a fight with the Autobot Freefall.  Enfilade gets in a battle with the medic Silentsteel…bound and determined that no matter what, Silentsteel is /not/ getting a look under the faceplate she always wears.

 

Silentsteel

A bot of long, slim design. The wings of her altmode sitting easily on her back, each one of them in two sections that fan out at slightly different angles. While the wings themselves are a pale violet, the turbo-jets set into them to provide her VTOL capabilities in her haltmode, are of a pale grey. Her lower arms, legs, and the 'horns' upon her head as well as the rim of her 'helmet' are of a deep royal purple. Her hands and face are also a pale grey, and the rest of her body is also pale violet. Her face is rather sharply triangular of features, her optics (which glow a vibrant yellow) themselves are of a curved-line triangular shape.

 

Silentsteel raises an opticridge, even as she tests the strength of one of her scalpels. “The amount of feedback from a damaged face can easily overstrain sections of your neural network over time . . eventually leading to interference with your moter cortex.” She tilts her head slightly, looking down at Enfilade. “It /does/ need to be checked, Enfilade.”

 

Enfilade says, “No, it doesn't. It was a glancing blow to my mask, you can see where I welded it. What's underneath is just fine.”

 

Silentsteel pokes the tip of the mask where Enfilade's 'nose' would be with the handlebutt of one of the probes. “Dent damage can actually be the /worst/ damage to the circuitry underneath the external facial armor, Enfilade. This is something I must insist on being checked. If not now, soon.”

 

Nightfire can see that Enfilade doesn't want anything to be seen underneath, “Come on Enfilade, if Silentsteel thinks it needs to be repaired...”

 

Enfilade says, “Silentsteel doesn't have classification clearance to see what's under there,” in a very terse voice.

 

Silentsteel says, “Unfortunately, I'm the only active medic at this point. However, if you wish to leave it to later, I must insist that it be within five solar cycles.” Without waiting for a reply, she steps down, and shuffles that fine-point set of repairtools away again. She also remembers something, as she pulls out the standard set of repairtools. “And no, I'm not attempting to make a joke.”

 

Enfilade says, her voice still cold, “I'll run it past Ghost, when I see her, to “discuss” your security clearance.”

 

Nightfire falls limp and optics shut off, and he is showing signs of losing conciousness.

 

Silentsteel nods once, the gesture abrupt .. .but otherwise no outward reaction to Enfilade's tone. “As long as the damage is dealt with . . by a /trained/ medic, is all that I ask.” With a faint whine as the scalpel's powersource fires up, she sets to cutting away the damaged armor on Enfilade's body. Unaware of Night mfire falling unconscious again.

 

Enfilade says, “I'll do what I can, but my devotion to the Empire demands that I value classified information over my own health and comfort.”

 

Silentsteel taps the hilt of the scalpel against her nose, glancing up at Enfilade with some mild curiosity. “I see.” Making a few more cuts, she begins working at removing the damaged circuitry revealed, in some cases able to save a damaged piece.

 

Enfilade whuffs a bit, “Look, do you think it's my enjoyment going around with a mask everywhere? Now...it's not that I'm saying you can't take what I look like under it...if anyone could it's you...but duty, you know.”

 

Silentsteel shrugs lightly, attention mostly upon a specific section of circuitry .. it's being a wee bit stubborn about her removing it. “Duty I do know . . .and to be honest, scars, if that is the case, do not disturb me. Nor political ramifications.”

 

Enfilade mutters, “I remember not giving a damn about political ramifications...trust me, a few court martials might change yer mind on that.”

 

Silentsteel glances up at Enfilade, in the midst of reaching for replacement parts. “Status, or rank, in the Decepticon empire, are of no importance to me.”

 

Enfilade glances up at her. “How 'bout stayin' outta the brig?” She pauses. “Um...you can check for dents under the visor if you want...just not the mask...”

 

Silentsteel shakes her head, soddering a new circuit in place. “I would need to remove both, /and/ the external facial armor in order to make effective repairs without adding scars.”

 

Enfilade grumbles, “There /ain't/ no external...um...” A pause. “Well, you don't have to anyway. Like I said, it was a glancing blow to the mask clasp.”

 

Silentsteel raises an opticridge, and files that little slip of information away. “Interesting. I would still need to check, though.”

 

Enfilade almost growls, “We'll leave that to the High Command,” but the prospect really seems to be upsetting her.

 

Silentsteel doesn't push further . . . instead, working on getting the last of the new circuitry in place. Within a very short amount of time, she's beginning to patch in the new external armor.

 

Enfilade lies back, letting the medic do her work...an obviously unsettled light in the optics.

 

Silentsteel swears softly, as the laser cutter abruptly goes skittering off across Enfilade's stomach . . only causing a light gash, not even going through the  armor fully, but . . .

 

 The medic abruptly pulls the armor back up, searching for what tripped up the blade.

 

Enfilade cranes her head up. “Hey there...I already got sliced by that Autoscrap...don' tneed you cuttin' on me too,” but she winks to show she's joking.

 

Silentsteel snorts, digging around in Enfilade's guts . . . and finally ending up yanking one half of a dead petrorat out of Enfilade's gut. She blinks a few times at it, then sets the thing down on Enfilade's chest.

 

“Any idea how that got in there?”   Asked just as Steel sets to repairing the small amount of damage she caused.

 

Enfilade snorts. “Theta-12, Operation Driving Rain, last vorn.”

 

Enfilade elaborates, “The Bots decided to starve us out, kept intercepting our energon shipments. So we were finally reduced to eating...well um...” She seems kind of embarrassed about the whole thing..

 

Silentsteel chuckles softly, settling the new armor in place. “Understandable. but should I be on the lookout for more?”

 

Enfilade squirms a bit. “I'd'a thought all the evidence of Driving Rain's...cuilinary masterpieces would be gone by now. Well...no guarantees....”

 

Silentsteel has that bizarre squished frown that heralds someone trying to not laugh on her face . . . and her amusement shows clearly when she speaks. “A most lamentable situation it was then.” She finishes the last piece, patching it into place.

 

Enfilade says, “You ever eaten turbo-rat? Slaggit! The little backfires must not have any oil filters in 'em, their liquids are like sludge, all thick 'n' dirty....”

 

Silentsteel says, “I haven't had that misfortune, as much as I can remember ... “ She hits a button on the side of table. “And that's about what I can repairat the moment.”

 

Enfilade nods. “Thanks Silentsteel. It's appreciated.”

 

Silentsteel starts putting away her tools, not waiting for Enfilade to sit up as the straps zip out of sight. “You're clear for duty . . might be a bit sore.”

 

Enfilade nods. “Thanks...” There's a weird sound that might be a yawn. “Ain't no hurry for this bunk though, is there? Wanna...takea...nap...” The big femme rolls over on her side, dimming her optics.

 

Several hours later, Enfilade wakes up to hear Whiplash talking to her about Freefall.

 

Whiplash says, “So you're up for going after him again, right?”

 

Enfilade says, “Say...hard to believe you slept thorugh my little “discussion” with Silentsteel.” A pause. “Oh yeah, I'm going after him, but not head to head.  I'm thinkin' brains ain't the guy's strongest point.”

 

Whiplash says, “What do you expect? He's a 'Bot.” She scowls then. “I slept?”

 

Enfilade says, “Out like a light.” A pause, and she grows serious and says quietly, “You can't do that, Whiplash. Dismiss them as stupid just because they're Autobots. They don't think like us, but they're just as intelligent strategically.”                                

 

Whiplash seems more annoyed by learning that she was curled up in her corner sleeping, than by Enfilade's thoughts on Autobots. “How long?” she demands.

 

Enfilade shrugs. “Hour maybe.”

 

Whiplash says, “In *this* place. Imagine that.”

 

Enfilade says, “What's with /you/ ? You get injured, you get tired. You sleep, you heal. What's so strange about that?”

 

Whiplash makes as though to uncurl herself and get up, but winces at a jolt of pain that shoots through her from her torn armor. She decides to stay in the corner after all, trying to make it look intentional.

 

Enfilade is only noticing the extent of Whiplash's injuries now, for she is no longer distracted by her own condition. “Freefall did a number on you too, eh?”

 

Whiplash protests, “Just a scratch. It'll be fine.”

 

Enfilade says, “We did our bit, did our duty. Now we recuperate and get ready to fight again. I'm already thinkin' about laying an ambush for our buddy Freefall...guy with armour like that is bound to be a menace.”

 

Whiplash nods. “I'm up for that.”  Whiplash corrects almost grudgingly, “Or, I *will* be, in a little bit.”

 

Enfilade grumbles to herself. “Say, you know anyone in the High Command with a high security clearance--who's a decent person and can keep a secret?”

 

Whiplash's tentacle-tips flicker back and forth a little as she considers. “Yeah- but he's been off-planet for months now.”

 

Enfilade sighs. “Any chance I can contact him in the next five solar cycles?”

 

Whiplash says, “So you might try Ghost. I still don't have her figured, but she might be someone to talk to. Depends. What's it about?”

 

Enfilade replies, “Gettin' Silentsteel off my back.” She taps her face mask with one finger.

 

Whiplash looks more interested now. “She was trying to fix up the mask, I take it?”

 

Enfilade nods. “She's convinced I might have dents or damage, and I was tryin' to tell her that I only got clipped a glancing blow to the mask clasp...here, you can see where I sautered it.” She leans over, indicating the weld, to give Whiplash a good look.

 

Whiplash leans forward a little too, out of her corner, to get a closer look. “Right,” she says thoughtfully. “But, what's the deal with the mask, anyway? Not that many females wear facemasks - but you make like your friends would run off in horror if they saw what was underneath.”

 

Enfilade shrugs. “Depends how strong my friends' fuel tanks are.”

 

Whiplash says, “Like I told you, I've seen plenty in my time. But hey, your choice. You need someone in the upper ranks to tell Silentsteel to leave you alone about that? Yeah, I figure we can talk to Ghost.”

 

Enfilade nods. “Silentsteel won't back off. Insists I get it checked out by a proper medic. I said I don't know any medic with that kind of security clearance, and even if I /did/, it's not an issue because there's no more damage under there than there ever was...”

 

Whiplash says, “Damage could be fixed, though, couldn't it?”

 

Enfilade says, “There's /no damage/ from this fight...”

 

Whiplash says, “That's what you said. No more than ever. That's what I mean.”

 

Enfilade sighs. “You want the story I tell everyone, or the real reason?”

 

Whiplash chuckles softly. “I'd be kinda interested in both, if you don't mind telling.”

 

Enfilade says, “I'll tell you the real reason only if you promise not to call me a liar next time I give someone like the kid...” A quick glance at Nightfire, to make sure he's not awake and listening “...the easy answer.”

 

Whiplash grins. “You'd be surprised what all I hear out at the guard post. If Im passed it along to everyone else, this place would be a disaster area.”

 

Enfilade raises an optic ridge behind her visor, but continues. “Okay. The faceplate don't come off 'cuz what I look like is classified, right up to the upper  levels.”

 

Whiplash says, “Why's that?”

 

Enfilade says, “Now if you were the kid and you asked, I'd tell you that while I was out out on a mission in my early days, just outta the Academy, I got hit in the face by a nifty new Autobot weapon. Corrosive acid.”

 

Whiplash nods. “He might ask you why you didn't get it fixed, though.”

 

Enfilade says, “Medics managed to halt the damage, but it don't fix so good. You can't sauder onto it so well. An' I was in no hurry to risk a whole laser core transplant...hell, as a field soldier I wasn't worth the effort. As I advanced...well...by then I'd kinda gotten used'ta the mask.” She shrugs. “I was a curiousity for a while though...they wanted to know what kinda damage this new toy could do. That's why it's classified, eh...chemical technology.”  Enfilade says, “Nasty stuff...burns, and even if you stop it, can't really fix it...not without cuttin' a lot away, and that's my slaggin /head/ for slot's sake.”

 

Whiplash says, “Yeah, I can see that. Okay, so - the amount of damage is classified because - the 'Bots aren't supposed to know that we're onto them? That we can make something just like it?”

 

Enfilade says, “And now you're getting into the difference between the garbage answer and the truth.”

 

Whiplash says, “I'll tell you, I don't muck around in the politics of this stuff so much. Some of the directions the high-ups take, well, I can't claim that it makes sense to me. Seems like it would be easier to take the direct approach. But they know what they're doing, I imagine.”

 

Enfilade snorts again. “That's why I don't like elaborating on it too much. To the kid...”I was hit by acid, it's classified, can't let you see.” The end. You start thinking on it, you realize that's not answer enough...” She doesn't seem too impressed at the comment about the higher ups knowing what they were doing.  “Some of 'em do...and some of 'em sure as slag don't.”

 

Whiplash says, “Well, did anything come out of it? Countermeasure developed, or something? Once they knew what kind of effect that stuff had?”

 

Enfilade says, “Ok, now I'm gonna give you the truth.” Another glance at Nightfire. “'Wasn't a Bot weapon. Was one of ours.”

 

Whiplash's optics flicker in a “blink.” “Ours? How did that happen?”

 

Enfilade shrugs. “New technology. Backfired under field conditions. Last I heard, they're still trying to make the stuff less volatile...suitable for a weapon for the troops...”

 

Whiplash says, “Damn. And you were right in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

 

Enfilade nods. “You got it. I was the lucky one.” She shrugs. “Not so bad, really. Always said that if all I had to give for the Empire was my jaw plate, I was doin' better than a lotta the other guys in the 58th.”

 

Whiplash says, “Still. What a way to start out. But the faceplate gives you one advantage, you know that?”

 

Enfilade says, “'Side from makin' me look mean?”

 

Whiplash says, “Heh. That's the advantage. Okay, more exactly, it hides the expression. Why do you think warriors like 'em? Easier to psych out an opponent.”  Whiplash says, “'Course then there's others that want their enemy to know damn well that they're mad as hell and ready to rip their core out with their teeth.”

 

Enfilade nods a little. “Yeah, I can see that. Think I got so used to keeping my 'xpression blank, I do it naturally under the plate still.... 'course, in the field, sometimes you never even see the other guy before you've pumped him full'a holes....  Enfilade tilts her head. “Yer awfully emotional 'bout fightin'.”

 

Whiplash says, “Hmm. I like my fighting close-up, I gotta say. I like the feeling of sinking my fangs into 'em, of feeling the fuel run out of their miserable carcass.”

 

Enfilade shakes her head, a bit indulgently. “I swear, that beastie-mode of yours has rubbed off.”

 

Whiplash says, “Nah, I'm the same way in this mode.”  Whiplash says, “The battle blade takes the place of the fangs, but you're still up close and personal.”

 

Enfilade nods. “'S'what I mean. Us with vehicle modes...lots'a us are more “mechanical” 'bout it all.”

 

Solar has arrived.

 

Whiplash is curled up in a corner as she awaits repairs and tries not to look too damaged, and is meanwhile chatting with Enfilade.

 

Enfilade glances up. She's lying on a bunk, all fixed now, talking to Whiplash.

 

Solar is still thinking things over, although every once in a while he idly throws a dart at the board. He is a determined mech

 

Whiplash says, “The other guy's just a number to you then, a target to knock down?”

 

Enfilade nods. “Business. Don't know the guy, don't get nothin' against him personally. Slag, he's probably a lot like me. His bad luck...cause I'm about to blow his head off.”

 

Whiplash resumes the comparison, “See, to me, it's *personal*. If I go up against someone, I want 'em dead, and dead in the worst possible way. That's what keeps me in the fight - the anger, and the triumph.”

 

Enfilade shrugs. “How can it be personal with someone you don't even know?”

 

Whiplash says, “They're attacking me, right? Or up to something that's going to mess over the Empire. That makes it personal.”

 

Solar looks up “Cause if it ain't personal you’re dead”

 

Whiplash glances over toward Solar as he speaks, noting that he's awake again. How he can make himself so comfortable in here, she'll never figure out, never mind that he's already explained it to her.

 

Enfilade shrugs. “Way I figure it, Solar, if you let it get personal, you get mad an' then you do somethin' stupid. Emotions get in the way.”

 

Whiplash says, “The way it was in the Games ... I'd go up against some smirking groundpounder that thought he'd do me in during the first round, and I had to prove different. To him, and to the spectators.”

 

Enfilade shrugs. “Sure, they're attackin' you. Because it's their job to. Because they were built in Iacon 'steada Polyhex. I'd lay money that lotsa those Bots, are the kind of folks I'd hang out with if'n only they weren't Bots. Er if I weren't a Con. But I am, 'n' my job is to kill 'em, so's I do.” She listens to Lash's story. “Heh. Presumption...and there's /another/ tactical mistake.”

 

Whiplash says, “Oh, I always used that one against them. The biggest lugs were the ones that were easiest to catch by surprise.”

 

Solar shrugs “It’s the dance, Enfilade. You’re up against someon whose every thought is trying to make you bleed or leave you sparkin. You dance and have to put yourself into the dance to both stay alive and make it interesting. Emotions can help, or hinder. It’s all give and take. You dance or dissipate”

 

Whiplash says, “And as for 'Bots - you know, I don't know and I don't care what goes through their minds, but I got a hard time seeing any of 'em as someone I'd hang out with. Not any longer than it took to run a battle blade through 'em, anyway.”

 

Enfilade shrugs. “Dance...that's interestin', Solar. Me, I see it more like a game...y'know those little 3-d models? Er one of those strategy games played on a little board...”

 

Whiplash says, “Strategy games?”  Whiplash looks questioningly from Enfilade to Solar.

 

Enfilade shrugs. “An' my thought isn't just 'bout killin'. No point in killin' if it don't /get/ you somewhere, no matter how fun it is. There's times when you can kill a whole pack'a Bots and still lose...cause you've burned up all your fuel and can't hold what you've won.”

 

Solar says, “I can't see it that way. In a game both of you walk away, and the only thing that counts is chance. Fightin and dancin takes skill.”

 

Enfilade grins at Lash, sits up, wipes off the counter, and starts assembling another little model. Bolts on one side of a line...screws on another...a landscape of boxes, rods, tools....

 

Whiplash notes, “Only the winner walked away in the State Games.”

 

Enfilade shrugs. “Yer thinkin' one-on-one, the both'a ya. War's bigger'n that. It's got hundreds of guys, thousands sometimes, on both sides...made up of a whole bunch of little confrontations...but someone's gotta be thinking of the larger picture.”

 

Whiplash says, “Heh. That's why I'm a sentry and not a leadership type.”

 

Enfilade nods. “It ain't everyone's thing. And 'sides, generals ain't much goodm without troops to fight for 'em.”

 

Whiplash pulls herself up out of her corner, ignoring the pain of her injuries, and finds a spot on a nearby table from where she can see Enfilade's “toys”.

 

Solar shakes his head “You’re thinking of war in general, Enfilade. But if you don't concentrate on the battle you’re in, you'll never concentrate on anything again.”

 

Enfilade points down to the model. “Okay, so the nuts are us, an' the screws are the Autobots. We got this ridge here, see --she points to a box--”so what should we do with it?”

 

Enfilade glances over at Solar. “It's my job, Solar. I'm a field commander. Sure, I know how to think about killin' a Bot when I'm one on one. But I can't let it dominate my thinking all the time. I got fifty other guys countin' on me to do what's best for /them...” Head drops and she mutters, “at least, I /usedta./”

 

Solar says, “We each do what we do best.”

 

Enfilade nods. “You got that right Solar.”

 

Whiplash says, “Eh, give it some time, you never know where you'll end up again.”

 

Whiplash indicates the setup before Enfilade. “What's this about, then?”

 

Enfilade says, “Strategy games. I got a game of “Alliance and Entente” in my quarters, but this is kind of what I mean as well...another perspective. Okay, all these screws are us, and all these nuts are the Bots. And this box is a cliff, and this wiring is artillery. Okay, if we got the cliff, where do we put the artillery?”

 

Whiplash says, “Highest point. So you can shoot down at anyone trying to climb up.”

 

Enfilade nods. “Okay...” She moves a pile of wiring and three screws to wards the cliff. “Uh oh.” Ten nuts come over, with a sweep of the left hand, to block the “con-screws” path.”  Enfilade says, “Now what?”

 

Whiplash says, “Hmm. Call in more troops to even the score?”

 

Solar says, “Attack from the hill and flank em. Use the artillery to draw them out and catch them in the crossfire.”

 

Enfilade shakes her head. “No good. What you see is all you got. OK, so you radio for reinforcements, but they aren't here yet.” She glances at Solar....moves a bunch more screws up on top of the hill. “Nice move Solar.” The nuts are swept off the board...but then...a wrench comes down from the sky. “Look, it's that Freefall guy with a squadron of flyers.”

 

Solar says, “Thats when you call me in and I make it personal.”

 

Whiplash says, “You lure him off by himself and take him out first.”

 

Enfilade laughs to Solar, but then glances at Whiplash. “How you gonna do that?  There's his ten little buddies. And your guys all counting on you to lead 'em.”

 

Whiplash smirks a little. “So you say to the sentry who's not supposed to lead, to distract the big lug and get him mad enough to come follow her. Put someone in ambush to help out if you need to, just to make sure. Someone all cloaked, like Solar here.”

 

Enfilade gives Whiplash the squinty-optic “grin.” And I can bet you'd rather be the sentry, than the field commander.”

 

Whiplash says, “Good guess. Hey, you can be the field commander.”

 

Solar gives his own goofy grin. “Then I bury them in napalm”

 

Enfilade visibly beams. “See? Different perspectives. I wouldn't like being a gladiator, Lash. I c'n fight, but I'd rather think of a big picture...” She whuffs laughter to Solar, rummaging through the box of tools. “I could use this oil as napalm, but don’t think Silentsteel would appreciate cleanin' up the mess...”

 

Whiplash looks at the setup quizically. “So did we win?”

 

Enfilade nods. “Yep. This game is called, though, on account of it being too messy to imitate Solar's napalm.”

 

Whiplash says, “Almost a shame, eh? Would liven this room up a little.”

 

Enfilade chuckles. “Silentsteel's already mad at me...”

 

Whiplash says, “Ah, got it. Better not push your luck, then.”

 

Solar says, “Silentsteel has been hangin out with my brother too much.”

 

Whiplash says, “Lunar? Seriously?”

 

Enfilade blinks. “That reminds me...Lunar asked me a question. Wanted to know who defused that bomb at your place. He said he didnt' set it...that he was framed.”

 

Solar shrugs “I defused it. Brawl could have defused it. I'll ask him personally the next time I see him.”

 

Whiplash says, “You know, he said that to me too. Said he didn't do it.” She looks to Solar. “You buy that?”

 

Enfilade shrugs. “I don't know why he cared who defused it.”

 

Enfilade says, “That's what I told him. That it could have been anyone; it justhappened to be you, cuz you found it.”

 

Whiplash slips back down from the table and withdraws into her corner, looking thoughtful.

 

Solar says, “I didn't find it Silentsteel told me it was there. And I think Lunar is just trying to deflect the blame.”

 

Enfilade shrugs again. “Just thought you ought to know. What's the deal with your brother, anyway?”

 

Solar says, “You mean besides the fact that he's psychotic?”

 

Enfilade says, “I don't know this story. He ain't a Con, is he?”

 

Whiplash mutters, “Could have been.”

 

Solar says, “He's a deserter, and the surprising thing is he's still functioning.”

 

Enfilade glances at Whiplash. “I'll take that as a “no”. She listens to Solar. “What's he do, then? He don't look like one of the Crystal City types.”

 

Whiplash says, “What if he came back, Solar? Did he ever tell you why he ran out on us? And why I didn't take his head off for it?”

 

Solar says, “He wouldn't come back, Lash. He doesn't believe in our cause anymore. I don't think he ever did. We were just a means to an end.”

 

Whiplash shakes her head, as though not quite believing that. “He got screwed up somewhere pretty bad, that's for sure - but what if that could be fixed? What if all those misunderstandings could be settled?”

 

Solar says, “It’s not possible. He already fixed the problem personally. And he's still out there. His beliefs are what now set him apart from a Decepticon. He has no faith.”

 

Whiplash says, “Now *that's* true. He doesn't trust the high-ups, thinks they sold him out.”

 

 Enfilade listens quietly. “No faith in the Cause?” she asks. And then pauses, grumbling, her optics darkening at the last.

 

Whiplash says, “Thinks we're getting all complacent instead of taking the war to the 'Bots and digging 'em up from where ever they're hiding. Little thing he forgets is, we gotta *find* 'em first.”

 

Enfilade nods. “That's the big picture for ya.”

 

Solar says, “You believe the war is personal is for us? Lunar is ten times worse. Leaving them alive is out of the question.”

 

Enfilade says, “Oh, sure, some things are gonna get personal...I've got it out for that Freefall guy...but you can't let that get in the way of logic and strategy. Staying cool will kill a guy faster than losing your head and going off raging.”

 

Solar says, “Lunar is never in calm state.”

 

Enfilade says, “Not him. /You./ Use that against him, if you will.”

 

Whiplash draws her tentacles around her and withdraws further from the conversation, thinking over the topic in silence.

 

Solar says, “I am just going to lay him to waste. But what I'm worried about now is that smeggin fence-sitte.r”

 

Enfilade blinks. “Who?”

 

Solar says, “Phalanx.”

 

Enfilade says, “Let me guess, you hate his guts.” A pause. “I really wish he hadn't interrupted that fight. We had Freefall dead to rights.”

 

Solar says, “Look his annexation of that complex essentially gives him contol of millions of clicks or disputed space. It gives them almost too much space. And it way to close to Darkmount for my tastes. As a field commander what do you think of the situation?”

 

Whiplash looks up again from her own thoughts (predictably) at the mention of Phalanx.

 

Enfilade says, “To be honest? I have no idea how they're gonna hold it. The area's too big for their forces. They'll have to reinforce it like crazy, and that'll strip troops from Crystal City. Keeping some of it, sure, but I can't see how they'll manage to hold all of it.”  Enfilade elaborates, “Which is probably the point. Grab it all, gives 'em something to negotiate with. They'll probably be allowed to keep half maybe, which is likely all they need in the first place.”

 

Solar says, “Wanna hear a couple of ideas I have on the subject?”

 

Enfilade says, “Fire away.”

 

Whiplash watches and listens with interest.

 

Solar says, “I have certain contacts in the unfavorable side of the Unafilliated group. Mainly the syndicate. Why not take over CC? Send in the Syn and have them do a takeover of the city while the Militia is running rampant over the complex. Idea 2 build our own outpost right next door to them. Take away whatever advantage they think they have.”

 

Enfilade says, “What's the Synidicate?”

 

Whiplash says, “Isn't Lunar part of that crowd?”

 

Solar says, “Not any more.”

 

Whiplash looks puzzled. “Not anymore? They kicked him out?”

 

Solar says, “No he left them too. He is a faction of one.”

 

Whiplash says, “Oh, brilliant. What does he think he's going to do, take on everyone by himself?”

 

Enfilade snorts. “He ain't got a chance on his own, unless he stays so unobtrusive no one notices him. and he's done a bad job of that so far.”

 

Whiplash says, “Solar, if you want to run these Syndicate guys into Crystal City, that'd be one way of working around this damn 'treaty'. But do they have the firepower to take the place? I thought it was a pretty small group.”

 

Enfilade repeats, “What in slag is the Syndicate?”

 

Solar says, “Lash you forget I have the firepower. In fact I have a whole weapons room at the Light deal. I can supply them with whatever they need. And the Syndicate is a crime group based in the Dead End.”

 

Whiplash says, “Sorry, Fil. Got caught up in my own thoughts there. Best I can describe 'em is they're a group that runs Dead End City and helps themselves to whatever they can get hold of.”

 

Solar says, “They used to run Dead End City.”

 

Enfilade says, “And why should a crime group work for us? And why should the Empire sully itself by getting a bunch of hooligans to do our work for us?”

 

Whiplash says, “What's to keep 'em from turning that firepower back against us,though? And yeah, I gotta agree - much as I'd like to see Crystal City in shards, I was kinda hoping to be in on the attack myself.”

 

Solar says, “Thats why the second Idea is better.”

 

Enfilade says, “If we /have/ to take Crystal City, we should be doing it ourselves. Then it's ours by right.”

 

Solar says, “I wish I had a copy of that smeggin treaty.”

 

Whiplash says, “Set up shop next to their new outpost? What, ruin the neighborhood for 'em?”  Whiplash laughs.

 

Enfilade says, “We should strengthen our defences near the area under contention. Keep 'em out of our territory.”

 

Whiplash says, “Then maybe that's a message that needs to be sent to Shockwave. I don't even know if he's aware of it.”

 

Enfilade nods. “You wanna do it or shall I?”

 

Whiplash smiles faintly. “You're a little more professional about it than I am.”