Chapter Text
It was a drone.
It stood before Senator Ratbat on the rooftop, sheltered in the docking bay where he accepted his personal shipments, freshly unbound from the protective packaging that it had arrived in.
Even at his brisk approach on the receiving platform, he could tell that it had turned out stunningly. Exquisitely crafted by hand, molded to exacting specifications, and polished to a diamond sheen with custom matching lacquer, it managed to outshine even the factory’s previous attempts, all of which he’d felt the need to return. It could be that the manufacturers had finally gotten this drone right….but he knew it would be impossible to tell that much on appearances alone.
His problem up until now had not been with how the drones looked.
“Activate,” Senator Ratbat commanded as he stopped in front of it. His voice rang out sharp and clear inside the docking chamber, his silken intonation attempting to bury the anticipation of annoyance: he hated having to be present for this. As busy as he’d been with affairs of state, he wanted to trust his personal assistants to be able to receive a simple drone, but neither the shipment nor the servants had met his expectations the last three times. Sadly, his underlings were not as discerning as he. They didn’t catch small nuances in behavior algorithms, and they couldn’t differentiate between a high-gloss polymer and an actual carbon hexagonal matrix coating. He’d learned after he had sent the third one back that it was necessary to look over his acquisitions personally.
This one needed to be right from the start.
The delivery-mech appeared to have some inkling of that, also. He stood at the ready, hovering several feet away from the drone, watching it with a slight shaking of his knees. Ratbat thought that he recognized the posture, confirming the familiar, timid stance of a terrified automaton with a single glance over the common laborer. The mech seemed ready to run, as if something might go wrong.
Ratbat dearly hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Thus far, however, there were no signs of flaws. The drone primed to life on his command, shedding the last few clinging strips of packing compounds as its engine started up, vibrating only slightly as it warmed.
Unlike the other drones there was no flicker of life, no motion, and no evidence of any kind that this new model was aware of its surroundings. It did not shift to look towards him when Ratbat took a step to the side. It did not query for its purpose or its orders. It did not send out a radar pulse. The only indication that its processor had activated, in fact, was a faint buzzing along the back of Ratbat’s sensors, ions polarizing with an inverse tang, that ‘new drone’ scent he recognized.
Nothing else.
Nervous, the mech who had delivered the drone shuffled from one foot to the other, glancing down at his receipt-pad. “Er…boss. I hate to rush ya, but I’ve got--”
“Time.” Ratbat finished, calmly, a delicate hand rising to override whatever excuse the worker made as his optics continued to bore into the blank faceplates of the drone. “You have time.”
The delivery-mech stilled, and in the sudden and very attentive silence Ratbat waited to see what his new drone would do.
It continued to do nothing, standing at the ready, engines whirring, failing to display all signs of self-awareness.
This did nothing to calm the waiting mech, his mouth gaping, his optics shifting uneasily from Ratbat to the drone…but that was no surprise. Ratbat was sure that this commoner had never seen a drone like this before.
Of course he hadn’t.
Shipments such as this weren’t common. Drones were still too new, too cutting edge, and too controversial for exposure to the general public. Certainly the dock worker had to have heard of them or glimpsed them in advertisments, but he’d never own one or be around one frequently enough to understand a drone’s typical behavior. He would have no concept of the difference between a batch-produced model and a high-end customization. He’d only be capable of listening to the news reports, unwittingly affected by whatever drivel the writers were currently feeding them about ‘unholy sparks,’ ignorant of what processes actually went on to create Cybertron’s newest work-force.
This commoner, unsurprisingly, wasn’t afraid of Ratbat’s approval or disapproval.
He was afraid of Ratbat’s drone.
That would make this testing perfect.
“Drone.” Ratbat began, gesturing to the delivery-mech while pointedly addressing his newest acquisition. “Provide this courier’s receipt-pad with my authentication, access level 48-3927, Senator Ratbat of the third nexus council, vocal imprint beta. Begin.”
There was no verbal response. Instead, the drone simply obeyed, turning with precision to face its quarry, solid heels clicking loudly across polished floors as it advanced.
Startled, the delivery-mech began to take a step back, and then another, and another, until the tires on his back pressed up against the metal of his cargo’s hold. Apparently unconcerned by this reaction, the drone continued its progress, methodically, each step of equal measure to the last. It bore down upon the smaller courier, and reached out toward it with a single cable that extruded from its torso, barbed at the end.
Obviously terrified, the delivery-mech held the receipt pad between them, bringing it to bear as if it could provide protection. This hardly stopped the drone’s prehensile cable from snaking forward, winding around the device, and feeling across the surface until it found an open port…
…where it plugged in. A millicycle passed, data transferring, before the tiny red diode on the pad turned green.
The Authentication was accepted.
The drone was now his.
“Disconnect and return.” Ratbat commanded, and watched as it performed accordingly, unwinding its cable and leaving a shuddering, awe-struck mech in its wake.
Frozen in place, the delivery driver stared at the Senator while the drone departed, watching for some sign that it was safe to move again. It wasn’t until the drone was solidly settled safely behind his owner that the courier even dared to lower the datapad, shaking his head. “I’ve got a return receipt in the cockpit if you’d like.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Ratbat finally smiled, tight-lipped and Austere, looking just past his left shoulder where the drone had taken up a position of subservience suitable for its status.
“B…but!” The delivery mech started, glancing down to the delicate receipt-pad that his fingers had left dents in. “You sure this one’s safe, sir?”
“This one?” Ratbat arched a finely carved brow ridge at the drone, letting his optics travel up and down the frame of his new drone as if confirming its worth. “This is the first one they’ve done right.”
“He’s right? Uh. Right.” Obviously not convinced, the mech clung to the pad a few seconds longer, watching Ratbat to make sure he didn’t change his mind. When a few beats passed without incident, the delivery-mech’s shoulders relaxed with a deep ex-vent of hot air, shaking himself down before he shelved the pad. Without further delay he turned to retreat toward the pilot’s chair, clearly eager to leave now that his cargo was delivered and signed off. “Well, he’s yours, and he authorized it officially for you.”
“Yes.” Ratbat’s smile grew stale at the use of the autonomous pronoun, though he remained pleased despite the commoner’s misinterpretation. “It did.” His long fingers reached up, tapping flightily along the dark blue sloping shoulder, practically purring at the lack of response. “It obeyed completely.”
This time, the drone they’d sent him didn’t even suffer from a personality.
“Come.” He said, speaking calmly through the sudden loud whine of the transport’s warming rotors. “There’s much that we have to discuss.” He turned smoothly, leading the way inside, knowing that it would follow, knowing that it would obey him unerringly, and knowing that this was the first success in what would become many drone-centered purchases.
This was the future, and much like the expensive sheen on the surface of his customized drone’s plating?
It was looking very bright, indeed.
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It was a drone.
When it was online, it provided a number of specific functions.
Every 36 cycles, it would exit its docking closet and traverse 2.7 meters to the relay dock.
At the relay dock, it would plug in and commence processing airwaves.
For 33 cycles, it would monitor and intercept transmissions, attempt to decode any encrypted messages, and file each broadcast away in order of importance.
Importance was a variable, calculated by the addition of a multitude of factors.
Mentions of Ratbat. Mentions of the Council. Mentions of seditious acts. Mentions of unrest. Mentions of scandal. Mentions of Decimus, Optarus, and Septimus. Mentions of Sentinel Prime. Mentions of account numbers. Mentions of privatization codes.
Its list was extensive, with various numerical weights assigned in ratio to peripheral references, number of occurrences, and urgency as allocated by supplemental programming.
After 33 cycles had passed, it would return to its docking closet and recharge for 3 cycles.
Interruptions to this routine were to only be authorized by Sentator Ratbat, authentication 48-3927, third nexus council, voice command recognition required.
In addition to its base manufactured skill set, it had been equipped to monitor short-range transmissions, safely interface with foreign technology, pilot vehicles of class L-MM, translate all known programming languages, and process…
Sound.
It heard everything.
It heard…something.
Eighteen cycles into its thirty-eighth shift, a recognized pattern emerged and was misfiled.
It was incorrectly labeled as ‘important.’
It was re-filed into a sub-secondary directory, override 26-A, new-folder substantiation authority Qx2.
It was not deleted.
All other processes continued without incident, and the associated error was recorded, forwarded to the appropriate authorities, and ignored.