Chapter Text
There may come a time when a lass needs a lawyer,
But diamonds are a girl's best friend;
There may come a time when a hard-boiled employer
Thinks you're awful nice, but get that ice or else no dice!
He's your guy when stocks are high,
But beware when they start to descend –
It's then that those louses go back to their spouses…
Diamonds are a girl's best friend!
Marylin Monroe, Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend
If a mech had artistic inclinations, they could say the atmosphere in The Caveat that (very early) evening was dark, full of wayward dreams and promises yet to be broken, and sins against decency longing to be committed. Cloudburst, who had such inclinations, took in the tastefully seedy interior and in-vented the shifty air of the establishment before making his way between the tables to ask the visibly bored bartender:
“Excuse me? I was supposed to meet Mr… Mr Long Haul, here, at six… I don’t know him personally – do you happen to know if he’s already arri–”
“Figures.” The tall and lanky black-and-chrome-coloured mech gave the newcomer a short appraising look. Cloudburst’s fancy high Iaconian chatter probably impressed him; and that impression wasn’t very good.
Without any further acknowledgement of Cloudburst’s urgent business with someone people referred to as “the most wanted mech in Iacon”, he took out a triple-sized glass, threw into it a dozen opalescent dices of dry ice, and covered them with half-engex and half-hardened industrial high grade. The sheer scale of this monstrosity of a drink made the dark red newcomer with indiscernible alt-mode forget about his mission for one shocking moment.
“Um, sir – I asked you a–”
“Wait.” The bartender transformed his right hand into a nozzle and drizzled into the glass a healthy helping of dark and thick syrup smelling of energon and burnt copper. Cloudburst felt his optics getting misty just from looking at this substance crawling down the glass, all the way to the dry ice at the bottom. He had used to party a lot when he was young and even more artistic than currently, but even his wild younger self probably would have said “No” to a drink like this. He wouldn’t dare to ask about it, but his more morbid part suspected the concoction was called “Attempted Murder”. Who in their right mind would even sniff something like that?!
Transforming his hand back, the bartender begrudgingly looked at Cloudburst, then to Cloudburst’s right, then… He pushed the forbidden glass towards the smaller mech.
“Mr Long Haul is over there, near the right corner,” he named the most crowded location on the further side of the bar. “Take it to him, this is how he’ll know it’s you.”
“O-oh…” Cloudburst looked to the right, seeing nothing but two or three couples with clearly some other business in mind and a congregation of ten or twelve mechs – one of them being his target was a safe if inconvenient bet. Then, he slowly returned his gaze to the glass the size of his head.
“You can order something while you’re at it; it’s on your tab anyway.”
“Eh…” Cloudburst found himself unable to articulate in an intelligent way how he had only two hands, and lifting the Attempted Murder here would require both of them – his entire mechpower dedicated to such exploits.
The bartender looked at him through the bottom of the glass he’s been polishing to appear even dimmer and cloudier than before. Probably taking pity on the stressed-out mech he added:
“Order what you want, and I’ll bring it to you later. You’re not gonna have anything in the beginning anyway; no bot ever does.” He pointed at the monstrous fuel pitcher with his lack of chin. “But that thing must be delivered first, or Mr Long Haul won’t spare his time for you.” The now foggy glass was put next to the fuming and smoking goliath. “Sooo?”
“Oh… Thank you!” Cloudburst smiled with premature relief. And, by chance, the cloudy glass looked perfect for… “I’ll have a double Magma-teeny with dry ice, not shaken, just stirred, no copper please, but some silica would be great.”
“Yeah, I thought you look like a mech who’d have it.” The bartender took the bottle from the shelf behind him and started slowly filling the tiny glass with sparkling amber liquid Cloudburst desired. “Nervous much?”
“Um, yeah!” Cloudburst was observing the pouring progress, wondering if he should take his drink and down it right away. “I, uh… Normally don’t visit tough, serious places like this to discuss tough, serious business with tough, serious mechs!” And, possibly, witness their attempted murder. Totally not nervous, he gave out a strangled chuckle.
This chuckle died under the other’s serious stare.
“Don’t say such things in front of him,” the bartender advised. “He ditched mechs for less. The moment he sees you’re not worth his time, he’ll kick you out – and you’ll still have the bill to pay.”
“Oh… Oh.” Cloudburst’s optics blinked in shock. “M-my boss will shoot me through the wall if I’ll f-fail here…”
“Don’t fail then.” The bartender corked the bottle, put it back, and produced a measly three opaque dices of dry ice to drown them in the decadent beverage. “You wanna talk tough, serious business, you gotta talk like tough, serious mech.”
Cloudburst sighed and – since some people just couldn’t be helped – confessed:
“I’ve always been more of a lover than a fighter…”
The bartender shook his head, as if giving up on him.
“Good luck, you no-fighter.” He pushed the monster glass even closer to Cloudburst. “You can still come here and have your drink even after he kicks you out… Just – turn off your vents. Don’t sniff it. One whiff will knock you out, light-bot. No circulation until you’re seated down and the Hardfrag is delivered.”
“O-okay…” Cloudburst gingerly reached over the counter and took hold of the giant glass. He lifted it and slowly turned to the right as if it was an undefused bomb he was carrying. “Circulation turned off. Thank you, sir!”
This slag is called Hardfrag ?! Oh, well… It probably frags with a mech’s systems, hard .
His walk to the darker side of The Caveat was so tense that he didn’t even feel his vents weren’t working. He had to deliver the drink to the right person – but who in the rowdy group he was slowly approaching was the right person?
It was a colourful bunch – four or five speedsters, a heliformer, some average-looking guys who had to be just regular civilians, even a bulky military mech or two and, of course, several industrial frames. All laughing, chatting, showing each other unidentified objects or contents of datapads, buffed and shiny like governmental officials right after a tax increase – gathered around the table that could have held six mechs at best, maybe eight if they were all light and slender speedsters.
Low-grade socialites, Cloudburst identified. They were like all those polished mechs gathering in the downtown – minus the money and, in some cases, the looks. Instead of fancy clubs, they had dimly lit bars. Instead of expensive yet tasteless fuels grown on Luna-2 crystals or slag like that, they were getting themselves smashed with odd and dangerous mixtures. Instead of unwinding after the hustle of growing their fortunes, they were trying to forget about how broke they were, and they would be equally or even more broke the next cycle. But one mech stood out.
A large industrial frame, his paintjob appearing light in the dim far corner of The Caveat, a masked face, a red visor, a long benzene cigarette holder in the dark hand – he was seated under the wall, opposite to the approaching Cloudburst, one powerful leg hooked atop the other, looking all stoic and mysterious… And, possibly, dangerous.
Cloudburst continued his advance until he was, approximately, five mechanometres from the table. Then, the light-coloured mech raised his left hand and the entire group around him went quiet and alerted.
“Here’s my contact,” the large mech said, his red visor trained on the Hardfrag bringer with an almost terrifying precision. “Scatter. You’ll know if yer needed.”
His colourful posse obeyed faster than Cloudburst could say “Um, hello?”. They grabbed everything they should, including empty glasses and cubes, and rushed to take up the space on both sides of the emptied table – to lay in waiting in case they would be beckoned back.
Never stopping his careful walk, the average-sized red mech went right to the large light green industrial frame and put the cold smoking glass on the table in front of him.
“Here’s your drink, Mr–”
While carefully lowering the glass, Cloudburst ended up lowering his optics as well and took a peek at the exact shape of the large right leg hooked atop the left green knee. His vocaliser hitched at the instant recognition. A ridge on the outer side enveloping a broad flat plain of a massive sheen, and a less armoured but equally powerful thigh. Together with its left counterpart, this impressive and extraordinarily shaped limb formed the bed of a truck! Just like the Long Haul he used to… All those vorns ago…
The mech was comfortable and unapologetic about it; his back leaning against the wall, his lower body slightly slumped forward and his – no other word could possibly apply – magnificent pelvic area low-key exposed to the world to admire. Cloudburst hastily straightened up while he still could ( Primus Almighty! Those red marks… They’re supposed to bring attention! And… I can see the outline of his left interfacing panel! God, I’m not worthy… ) and looked up. Long Haul’s grey head set on amazing broad shoulders had turned to him to follow all the inappropriate peeks and intense reactions.
Cloudburst forced his jaw and his vocalizer to work with a great effort, his emptied hands hanging on his sides and trembling with emotion.
“It’s you…” he almost whispered. “I thought the name was a coincidence, but now I know – it’s you…”
“Yer saying?” Long Haul put the cigarette holder on a little decorative tray and wrapped his long and powerful dark fingers around the giant glass of giant health hazards.
Finally, Cloudburst re-opened his vents and took a deep in-vent – which almost cost him whatever remained of his mind clarity. The suffocating aroma of the nearby Hardfrag went straight into his vents, then into his head, then into his vocalizer:
“I… I was a student at the University of Iacon back when… When you were a courier–”
“Another.” Long Haul put his leg down, righted himself on the discreet bar couch, and turned from Cloudburst to study his drink. “Fraggin’ fantastic…”
“And I was obsessed with you!”
“Yeah, sure – you an’ a million other fraggers…”
“But you changed…” Cloudburst took a step back to get a fuller picture. He definitely needed the fuller picture. “You’re sooo big!”
“Nooo, really?” Long Haul retracted his facemask and took a big gulp from his dangerous drink. He ex-vented, and the very same opalescent fumes dancing inside the colossal glass emerged from his upper vents.
“Yes!” Cloudburst continued oversharing. “But your proportions are still… Unmatched! Vector Sigma… To see you again, after all those vorns… Everybody dreamed about you. Everybody wanted to have you!…”
His words failed him as soon as the sharp look behind the red visor was on him.
“Sure they wanted me!” Long Haul grimaced and then bared his teeth. “An’ some succeeded – and I hated it.” He corrected his posture to add himself a couple of mechanoinches, as if a mech like him would need it. “But let them try this slag with me now!”
Cloudburst watched in awe. Long Haul was, indeed, changed – and not just size-wise. Without looking closely, it would be hard to believe this bright yet brooding large mech had used to be the cheerful average-sized grounder courier whose extraordinary beauty defied all odds.
Seeing that courier for the first time, everybody needed a double take. His build delicate and exquisitely shaped, his paintjob a mosaic of blues and purples, his face like a waking dream… But he wasn’t a Seeker or a speedster, or another fancy model. He was a common industrial frame constructed for industrial work, for getting dirty and dented and, possibly, dying young in a work accident… Not made to be out and about with all that grace and flair and charm, delivering their orders to lone and thirsty students in Iacon and positively forcing them into fantasizing about him and gossiping about Long Haul secretly being a porn star, among other things. Cloudburst was a part of the fantasizing crowd, and wasn’t completely rejecting the porn star theory. He was absolutely smitten with that wonder of mechanical nature and every so often imagined asking the gorgeous mech out on a date…
Now, hundreds of vorns older and proportionately more experienced, Cloudburst could see that Long Haul wasn’t exactly pretty anymore. Not buffed and shiny for his customer service work, no more vivid and optic-catching colours on him; every element appealing to the young and immature decidedly toned down. Instead, Cloudburst’s more mature optics could see something different . The student Cloudburst wouldn’t think twice about this tough industrial mech, while the adult Cloudburst was hooked.
Rather than striving for the fancy high Iaconian accent and over-correcting his manners, Long Haul returned to the coarse low Iaconian demeanour typical of all honest working-class mechs here, and Primus, wasn’t he more comfortable and articulate than that courier twink had ever been… There was something so alluring in how unapologetic he was about being himself. He wasn’t pretty, no – he was hot like molten slag. His powerful frame was exuding pure, unadulterated confidence and sexual charisma, bringing mechs everywhere to their knees. Cloudburst clasped his hands together on his front to stop them from trembling so much; just in time when his legs started trembling too.
The younger Long Haul carried his face bare, occasionally opting for a purple visor – while he always wore a smile. For some reason, this made his visage the most mundane and forgettable part of his persona. But now, with the visor always in place – not purple anymore but glorious deep red – and with the facemask, he was enigmatic. Endlessly fascinating. Every time he retracted his mask, it was exciting. And…
While the always polite courier seemed to be as approachable as a mech could be, as if he was wearing his spark in his arm compartment… There was something terrifying about him. Cloudburst had never mustered enough courage to outward complement him, not to mention confess his puddle-deep feelings. Oddly, though, right now he felt ready to fall to his knees in front of this confidently ruthless mech, shameless, to beg Long Haul to let him worship his frame, because even rejection and public humiliation would feel gratifying. He hadn’t done it though.
Yet.
“So, you… Didn’t actually like your courier job?”
Then, Long Haul shocked his nervous dark red supplicant: he took another swig from his hazardous glass, put it back, extended his left arm… And patted the spot on the couch next to him.
“Go an’ sit down, mech.”
“Oh… Oh!” Startled by the sudden invitation, Cloudburst willed himself into moving and obeying the order. Could it mean he wasn’t being kicked out?… Could it possibly mean he was welcome to press his frame to Long Haul’s body? “Thank you!”
Long Haul picked up the cigarillo with his right hand, took a long draw, and blew a thin wisp of benzene-scented smoke through his mouth before stating:
“Don’t feel like lookin’ at you.”
Cloudburst immediately moved a half a dozen mechanoinches away from him.
Several deep puffs and sips later, Long Haul exvented and finally spoke:
“No, Cloudburst – I fraggin’ didn’t like that job.”
“Wow!…” Excited to hear his own name coming from that perfect troubled mouth, Cloudburst quickly corrected himself: “I– I’m sorry to hear that… But not surprised.”
Because, one terrible cycle, you disappeared.
“Yeah…”
From his vantage point, Cloudburst couldn’t tell whether Long Haul was looking at his still reactive drink or somewhere beyond it. Suddenly, he heard silence.
Everyone in this side part of the bar was listening. Even the three couples, which should be more interested in themselves than in Long Haul’s life story – even they ceased all the activities and were just waiting for the imposing mech to fill them in. Something told Cloudburst they all had already known this; that they’d heard it numerous times… And wanted to hear it again.
“I became a courier ‘cause I hated workin’ as a dump truck. Still not a great fan, to be honest… But bein’ a dump truck around other construction mechs was better an’ safer than any delivery company I tried. Always the same pattern with the dirty fraggers…” Suddenly, Long Haul looked sideways at the smaller bot. “An’ they didn’t lose their fraggin’ minds when they freaking saw me.”
“Um… Oh.” Cloudburst couldn’t find words to apologize for existing and loving beauty, and being very bad at hiding it.
“Oh.” His point made, Long Haul took another thoughtful swig. “Returnin’ was nice, initially – what about clear rules an’ no more workplace violations. But I still wanted to be someone else… So I started becoming somebody else.”
The pause he made was probably intended to be left the frag alone, but Cloudburst didn’t have this kind of respect and self-preservation in him.
“So, you became an information dealer! Right?”
Slowly, Long Haul graced him with another look, the right half of his perfect mouth raised in contempt.
“No, ya idiot,” he said softly. “I worked on certifications to do somethin’ else than hauling stuff. I don’t have no certification for what am doin’ with you right now.” Shaking his head, he took another long draw and let out a slow exvent. Primus, he looked so unbearably hot.
“Oh.” Cloudburst tried to reduce the blatant gawking to a minimum, and was failing. “So, you did… Other things to move up in the world?”
The lightsparked quip, again, earned him a condescending look.
“You can put it this way.” Cloudburst winced as Long Haul took three large gulps of his poison of choice, one after another. “For now, am certified in thirty different things.”
“Thirtyyy?”
“Procurement. Health an’ safety. Labour codes. First aid. Casualty disposal. Iacon-50 norms. Iacon-500 norms. Ten other Iacons. Slag like structural integrity control an’ handling radioactives. An’ other things.” Thoughtful, he rearranged his fingers on the glass, leaving darker marks amongst condensation. “All to stop bein’ the dump truck. But what happened was every company still hirin’ me to be a dump truck, only with additional responsibilities.”
“Oh! Oh no…”
“Oh yes. Still better than that delivery slag.”
“I… I see…” Cloudburst muttered instead of “You’re breaking my spark, baby!”
“That was, until I started workin’ for the Powers Inc.” His mood clearly lifted, Long Haul leaned back until his helm was touching the wall. “Here, I’m a foremech. Logistics. Mecha resources. Lotsa other things.”
“R-really?”
“I hire mechs. I do background checks on ‘em. Keep things from fallin’ apart. Most time in office… But I haul slag only when I really have to.” His head turned to look sideways and down at his irritating interlocutor. Cloudburst gasped, seeing how Long Haul was smirking. This image was… doing things to him. The things he wouldn’t dare to name even inside his own mind.
“An’ I do no unpaid overtime.”
“That’s… F-fantastic…” Cloudburst praised, trying not to think about his own unpaid overtime.
“It is.” Long Haul was unapologetic with his satisfaction. “An’ I finally fixed my people problem.”
“People problem?” It was hard to imagine this powerful mech having problems with people whatsoever.
“See, I became this blasted courier in the first place ‘cause I wanted to get out an’ meet new people. The problem was…” Long Haul in-vented and blew out a long puff of benzene smoke. “That I was meetin’ them all by their rules, not the other way round. Now…”
He twisted his majestic frame to better turn towards Cloudburst, all smug.
“Now I get ta know people – an’ charge for this knowledge. Meet ‘em all the time – but on my terms.” He put the cigarette holder down and reached for the already half-empty titan of the glass. “An’ I stopped bein’ so fraggin accessible.”
“Oh?” It was admirable, Cloudburst had to admit. But it also felt sad. “H-how so?”
Long Haul took another gulp, put the glass down and pointed at himself.
“After I stopped deliverin’ an’ finally found an honest company – I applied for the upgrade. Then another. Then another. Couldn’t have all of ‘em fast enough.” He reached for the glass again and smiled to it before drinking. “Still getting’ used to the last one. I started orderin’ bigger drinks ‘cause I often forget to fuel enough earlier in the cycle.” To Cloudburst’s horror, he took and emptied his glass in one go.
“P-please… Slow down!”
“Huh!” Long Haul put the glass away and wiped his mouth. “Am still testing my limits. For now, I can have three Hardfrags an’ keep talkin’…”
“No-ooo!” Cloudburst was shaking his head, unsure what he was protesting against – Long Haul’s questionable decisions or his unbelievable capabilities.
“Yeeeah,” Long Haul countered. He put his left arm on the couch’s backrest and propped his chin over his elbow to comfortably (and smugly) look down at Cloudburst. “People don’t frag with you when yer big.”
Or they stereotype you as a dangerous thug . Cloudburst had to admit, though – not in Long Haul’s case. He was an industrial class frame, yes, and a working-class mech to a tee, but he undeniably carried so much class himself that no one would categorize him as a potential troublemaker.
“What about love?” he blurted out without thinking.
Long Haul stared at him for a heavy moment before giving an answer:
“Don’t believe in this slag, don’t do that either – I’d rather get paid!”
He appeared to be watching Cloudburst slumping in his seat in defeat with malicious satisfaction. He knew, after all. He couldn’t not know.
“Oh…”
“Exactly.” Long Haul straightened up and turned to look ahead.
The soft thud of a glass landing on the table right next to him startled Cloudburst.
“Your Magma-teeny, Mr light-bot,” the bartender explained before taking the large empty glass away and asking the cringing industrial mech: “What can I get you, Mr Long Haul?”
“Magma-teeny?” Scandalized, Long Haul turned to stunned Cloudburst. “What are you, a newbuild?”
“Huh?”
“We were chuggin’ this stuff long before we were legal!” Long Haul shook his head. “I swear… Razzler, give ‘im an additional double Coppersault shot! Now I feel dirty jus’ talkin’ to that guy…”
“Dirty?” Cloudburst wished to understand this odd hatred of (not so) weak drinks.
“Yeah.” Long Haul took to the cigarillo to calm his nerves. “I don’t touch my co-workers, the Seekers, an’ anyone less than a vorn old.”
Okay, that was intriguing.
“And… What do you mean by not touching?”
Long Haul blew a bout of perfumed smoke right in his face and shrugged.
“I mean not touchin’.”
“Um… Yeah!” Cloudburst turned to the bartender, overcome by an urge to act, now. “Double Coppersault, please, and additional triple Coppersault with high grade!”
This sudden turn earned him a laugh from the mech he admired.
“Not wanna discuss business sober? I can empathise. A Rusty Hinge for me, Razzler!”
“But of course.” Seeing how Cloudburst could still be kicked out, half of the bartender’s face crinkled in dark anticipation. He took the offensive plain drink to soon return with two regular glasses, one smoky and one clear, and one small cube with a twisted straw, which Long Haul used right away.
“So,” he put the cube down after a third of its reddish content was gone. “What do ya want with me, Cloudburst from Prism? Yer company ain’t from here, that’s all I can tell…”
“Oh!…” Cloudburst tried to calm his ventilation after ingesting too much fortified Magma-teeny at once. He could almost feel light pink undertones creeping into his normal azure features. “Right… The thing is that we… The company, I mean… We are in dire need of… Someone.”
“Mysterious,” Long Haul mocked. “An’ who is this ‘someone’ gonna be?”
“Um, oh… Specifications are here!”
Cloudburst reached to the protruding centre of his torso and opened the slim chest compartment to dig a datapad out of credit chips, identification chips, tiny cans of paint and polish, and other miscellaneous items he’d taken with him on this business trip to Iacon. He switched the ‘pad on and jumped to the relevant part before ceremoniously handing it to Long Haul who, very unceremoniously, grabbed it and raised it to his optics with the routine of a mech who stared at datapads all cycle long.
“Prism Inc.,” he muttered. “Minin’ an’ tradin’… Huh!”
Cloudburst used the time Long Haul was reading very wisely – he grabbed his regular Magma-teeny glass with both hands and managed to down half of it without flooding his vents in the process. He definitely didn’t want to talk business sober. When tipsy, he was more likely to laugh about it. Otherwise, there would be nothing to laugh about – especially about what Heckler and Landmine promised to do to him should his mission fail; and they intended to do those horrible things to him specifically to save him from their boss’s wrath.
Honestly, he would rather ponder Long Haul’s cryptic message. He didn’t touch three groups of mechs Cloudburst did not belong to – great. But what “not touching” meant?
Cloudburst’s little spark fluttered in its tight compartment.
Could… Could it possibly be…?
“Prism, Prism, Prism… Minerals an’ rocks… Minin’ and brokerin’… Nope, never heard before.” Long Haul put the ‘pad down and, never taking his optics and left hand from it, he took his cube and emptied it even more, even faster. It looked as if the intensity of his thought processes was matched by the intensity of his fuel intake. “Three vorns old, last stellar cycle… What?” He looked up at Cloudburst, the visible half of his face puzzled and his tone suspicious. “You made ten million in trade an’ I never heard of you? You really sell yer slag, or y’all just avoid this hemisphere? Don’t make sense otherwise – I know all the traders here.”
“Ah, well…” Cloudburst shrugged and took another gulp of his fortified drink, just in case. “I’m just a humble manager, don’t get told everything… Sales are handled by the office somewhere else, Tarn, I think… We’re all just sitting in the reloading hub – things are coming, things are leaving, so I guess they gotta sell somewhere because traffic gets bigger every stellar cycle…”
“It comes an’ goes – an’ it seems to be goin’ nowhere?”
“N-no, it comes from Nowhere…”
Too jaded to deal with this nonsensical answer, Long Haul finished his cube and shut his facemask; he became enigmatic again. He continued reading the datapad until he suddenly sucked air loudly into his vents.
“Nooo waaay…” He looked up at Cloudburst. Then down at the ‘pad. Then up. Then down.
Then he snickered.
“It’s really Nowhere, Polyhex polity… Y’all really had no other place ta operate? Didn’t you hear stories?… Do you have stories?”
“We try not to think about it.” His humour rapidly improving, Cloudburst reached for his fortified high-grade. “But things happen… Sometimes. And some people claimed to see things… But we couldn’t ask them more because they vanished.”
“What?”
“Vanished.” Cloudburst’s slowing processor caught up with Long Haul’s demand. “I mean… Left their positions without notice, that’s official thing to put in the system…”
“They run away,” Long Haul translated flawlessly. “Huh… Must be a real nice company if the workers run away… How often?”
“Every cycle, we find somebody missing… I mean, abandoning their post.” Even tipsy, Cloudburst still remembered how not to frame the facts… But no kind of framing would trick Long Haul into overlooking the most glaring issues.
“Because, what – lousy pay, poor workin’ conditions… Bad management?” He gave Cloudburst a meaningful look. Even amongst his drunken contentment and admiration for everything Long Haul did, Cloudburst felt called out.
“Ah, none of those, I think… I guess they don’t like being in the middle of… You know.”
He reached for his glass to cover his embarrassment. Try as he might, he couldn’t hide the fact that the company hub’s location was unnerving even for him.
“The ordinary workforce isn’t… Isn’t picked based on their intellects, if you get my drift.” He left out that it, in fact, was quite the opposite. “Maybe they… Get bored, or spooked, quicker? It’s been over a vorn for me, and I didn’t see anyone from the higher-ups leaving.”
“Charmin’.” Long Haul didn’t look charmed, at all. “Still, no chance for me to not see ya over here. What d’you exactly sell?”
“Gemstones and stones on the softer side.”
“Ah! This explains things… Maybe.” Long Haul returned to the ‘pad after this low-key stingy response. “An’ yer chair’s name Goldfinder? Okay, kinda fitting…”
“It’s Goldfinger,” Cloudburst corrected.
Long Haul did a double-take on both the small mech and the small datapad.
“What the… What, he has a golden finger, or fraggin’ what?”
“Yes!” Cloudburst confirmed with a big smile. Watching Long Haul’s bewilderment was fun.
“What?”
“Mister Goldfinger, indeed, does have a golden finger,” Cloudburst recited in an almost sing-songy way. “He really likes gold, he surrounds himself with it…”
“Gold? Why… He likes the colour?”
“No, no, no, it must be real gold!” Amused, Cloudburst continued explaining his boss’s eccentricities. “He says it calms his nerves… And you don’t want him nervous. He’s as full of temper as he’s full of cannons!”
Finished with his drink, Long Haul shut his facemask.
“Ex-military? Figures. They’re often weird.” He finally scrolled to the most relevant section of the ‘pad. “Tell me he has no hands-on experience in his company without tellin’ me he has no hands-on experience. An’ he needs…” His, undoubtedly, beautiful optics brightened behind his red visor. “Geologist, dual functioner, industrial frame, certified in… Codex Gemmārum? Dafrag he needs all those things for in his little company in Nowhere?”
“He didn’t get into details.” Cloudburst shrugged. “Just that he needs the best geologist who also knows how to work with materials. You know, how to pack and send them on their way.”
“Ya know how difficult it’s gonna be to find someone exactly as yer boss wants?”
“Yeah, am aware…” Cloudburst gave a sad nod and took a swig from his drink for emphasis. “This is why I… Dared to seek your help. I asked in Iacon, Polyhex, even Kalis – nobody knew about such a mech, and if I won’t succeed, my boss will let me have it…”
“Why not ask in Nova Cronum, where dual functioners are made?”
“Oh… Maybe that’ll be my next stop if you, um…” Yet again, Cloudburst used his drink to cover a mishap on his part. He used it so well that, in the end, he didn’t have a drink anymore to cover his future embarrassment – which, undoubtedly, would come. No professional shortcomings could hide from Long Haul’s keen (and undoubtedly gorgeous) optics.
“Yeah…” The large mech was looking away, his tone disengaged. Cloudburst realised he was probably searching through his guarded database. Oh, let him find someone, please, let it be someone… “Kinda obvious why yer boss wants a geologist if he dabbles in minerals…”
“Oh, he already has me and Landmine!” Cloudburst realised he’d made a mistake when Long Haul returned to him with a cold appraising look. “I mean… We know things, but not everything, and now boss wants to do something special and we’re not enough…”
“Somethin’ special,” Long Haul repeated. “Did he tell ya what it is?”
“N-no.”
“Figures.” He picked up his cigarette holder, retracted his mask, and took a deep draw… Only to release all the scented smoke in one outburst: “Frag me with a chainsaw!”
Cloudburst gasped and cringed on his spot on the narrow couch, half-ready to jump to his feet, which earned him a stern glance from Long Haul.
“It wasn’t a request, just a figure of speech.”
“Oh…” Cloudburst really wished for something to hide behind. “Oh!”
Long Haul sighed and took another puff before announcing:
“Funny, innit… I found only one person machin’ yer requirements–”
“You did?!” This time, Cloudburst definitely jumped to his feet, disbelieving his luck.
“Yep.” Long Haul inhaled and exhaled deeply, taking his time. “He just happens to be our intern.”
“Your… Wow! That’s amazing!…” Cloudburst stopped himself on time from adding breathily: “And you are amazing, babe!”
“Yep.” Long Haul turned the holder and shook out the cigarillo butt from it onto the tray to give it the final blow and stash it in his arm compartment before he fully turned to Cloudburst.
“Nothin’s amazing.”
“Um… What?”
“Yer funny little company sounds shady, that’s one thing. Another… I found the mech – so what?”
“Um… Can I contact him for details?”
“No.”
It felt surreal. After all Cloudburst’s woes seemed resolved, he was served with that one cold word. He couldn’t fragging believe it.
“But… But why?”
“He’s our intern,” Long Haul repeated. “An’ he’s already been through one shady company. Our… Manager is very protective of him. I don’t see why I should let you anywhere near that kid…”
Standing there and facing Long Haul’s unmatched and uncaring figure became too much for the unfortunate headhunter. Cloudburst’s brave little self slumped a little, his shoulders hunching, his head dropping, his hands wrapping around his midsection in self-pity. Long Haul’s words were final – there was no physical way around them.
He was so fragged.
“…But our manager may see it differently.”
“Oh?” Cloudburst’s defeated dark red form sprang back to life. “He can?”
“Frag knows what’s happenin’ in his deranged processor.” Long Haul shrugged and slowly got up, very pointedly forcing Cloudburst to retreat or the smaller mech’s face would be all but buried in his pelvic plating (which Cloudburst wouldn’t mind one bit but social conventions were a glitch). “We gotta go an’ ask ‘im about it.”
“Oh!”
“Yeah.” Long Haul threw the final glance at their table before turning and giving Cloudburst an actual appraising look. Cloudburst froze. Primus, he could swear that crimson gaze felt electric! “An’ then, who knows – my quarters ain’t far from his office.”
The realisation hit Cloudburst like a lightning bolt. After all those vorns of dreaming and imagining talking to Long Haul, finally… Forget about the cold, cruel world and his own dramatic circumstances – nothing of those mattered. It could be the final night of his life for all he cared.
He shot out The Caveat’s side site to pay the tab and profusely wished the visibly bored and disappointed bartender all the luck and prosperity.
* * * * *
Moving through the dim interior and ready to disappear into the night evening twilight, Long Haul couldn’t help but do something he shouldn’t have.
Ignoring Cloudburst’s inebriated chatter, he thought back to the times of his courier career in Iacon and to the one mech he’d come close to dating… Even loving.
Ditching the town wasn’t enough to aid it.
He was, just like Long Haul, a young industrial mech outside his element. Very petite for his frame type. So shy. Opposite to spoiled. Cute. For once, he seemed to order all those weird bitty things because he actually needed them for work and study and not as an excuse to keep seeing (and bothering) Long Haul. No doubt, he was as smitten and overcome by desire for his courier like everyone else, but he wasn’t obnoxious about it.
After his shyness wore out a little, he started striking conversations with Long Haul – normal conversations. For once, treating him like a person and not like an object of obsession. Then, he timidly asked when and where Long Haul was finishing his route and whether he wanted to hang out, even though his own studies and work for the University of Iacon to earn his place there practically left him with no free time.
Long Haul wanted to hang out.
He admired courage and perseverance. Even more so, he was grateful for any respite before returning to the base and dealing with his management. For once, he was able to talk to someone besides empty pleasantries for his customers and self-preserving lies for his superiors. He started sharing his problems – the less drastic ones, aware that his plight was nothing compared to what his companion had been through. They shared thoughts. Space. Everyday joys, no matter how tiny. A drink on one occasion. Secrets. The first kiss, and a couple more…
His almost-love interest could barely afford paint, let alone polish… And, out of all the people in Iacon, he was the one to gift Long Haul with grease. “Not high-end one, a good one,” as he explained – and he was supposed to know the difference. Long Haul couldn’t recharge the following night, the little tin sending him into a cathartic emotional turmoil. First: unlike the tips from horny idiots, he was allowed to keep it. Second: he really needed it. Third: his cute little companion wasn’t just ogling his frame with politely disguised lust; he actually cared to notice that under all the buff and polish Long Haul’s maintenance was lacking, and he wanted to help.
Long Haul kept it a close guarded secret that he repurposed the tin after the grease had run out and he kept it ever since, unable to throw it away. Afterwards, he received many costly gifts – and he found each of them way less valuable than that little worn-out container.
It all came to an end when Long Haul’s life in Iacon finally became too much to bear. His only choice was to leave – to leave without a word. It had all to do with him and absolutely nothing with his would-be lover; Long Haul really hoped that he understood it… Which he, of course, didn’t.
The shy young student had told him that, after completing the compulsory engineering course, he had the ambitious and admirable goal of pursuing medicine.
His name was Hook.