Chapter Text
The ship smelled like overheated circuitry and cheap fuel again.
Which usually meant Nautica was fixing something she swore was “completely salvageable” while simultaneously making it worse.
Arcee stepped over a pile of stripped Decepticon armor plating on her way to the cockpit, one servo still stained with energon from the outpost raid three cycles earlier.
Three cycles.
Three cycles since they picked up Crankcase.
Three cycles since the alleged ex-Decepticon had woken from stasis beneath a mountain of rusted scrap and immediately dropped to his knees begging not to be left behind.
Arcee should have shot him.
Instead, now he was asleep in the cargo berth two snoring loudly enough to vibrate the walls.
From somewhere deeper in the ship Twitch laughed, followed by the unmistakable crash of something expensive breaking.
“THAT WAS ALREADY LOOSE!” Nautica yelled.
Arcee closed her optics.
For one singular blessed moment the engine stopped making the noise.
The moment didn’t last long.
The ship suddenly lurched to the side before the engines shut off completely.
“NAUTICA, WHAT DID YOU DO?”
“That wasn’t me, Capit— Arcee! I-I’m not sure what caused it!”
As the two bots scrambled over the controls trying to restart the ship, Twitch interrupted them with a loud shout.
“GUYS!”
She pointed outside at the massive Decepticon carrier now aiming its sensors directly at them.
A second later the communicator built into the captain’s chair crackled to life, a rough voice speaking from the other side.
“You have entered Decepticon territory. Identify yourselves immediately or you will be fired upon.”
“Scrap,” Arcee muttered.
Her optics darted around the cockpit before she sharply gestured for Nautica and Twitch to stay quiet.
Then she bolted toward the back of the ship.
Crankcase barely had time to react before Arcee grabbed him by the shoulder and slammed him awake.
“You,” she hissed, “your little friends are out there asking for codes and identification. Be useful.”
Crankcase blinked twice before a slow smirk spread across his face.
Without a word he stood up and casually walked toward the captain’s chair, ignoring the suspicious stares from the rest of the crew.
He is absolutely going to get us killed, Arcee thought.
Crankcase leaned against the controls and activated the communicator.
“Greetings,” he said smoothly. “Corporal Crankcase of Unit 1652-D requesting passage authorization. Currently transporting cargo from Outpost X-53.”
Silence.
Nobody in the room moved.
Arcee could hear the ship’s ventilation rattling louder and louder in the quiet.
Then finally the voice returned.
“Crankcase? Don’t know who in the Pit you are, kid, but that unit ID checks out. What kind of cargo are you carrying through this sector?”
“Scrap metal. Salvage parts. The usual,” Crankcase replied without missing a beat.
Another pause.
At this point even Nautica looked ready to pass out from stress.
Then—
“That tracks. Move along.”
The transmission cut.
Almost immediately the ship’s systems flickered back online and the massive searchlight scanning them disappeared into the darkness of space.
The entire crew exhaled at once.
All except Crankcase.
He suddenly burst out laughing.
“Oh, the old 1652-D trick still works!”
The others stared at him in confusion.
“That was fake?” Twitch asked.
“Completely fake,” Crankcase said proudly. “My old crew made it years ago after our Major forgot to log out of the military database. We used that ID constantly and Decepticon intelligence never caught on.”
The room stayed silent for a moment.
Then Arcee crossed her arms.
“I guess even a nobody con can be useful sometimes.”
“Hey, don’t be mean to Crunkface,” Nautica said.
“It’s Crankcase, actually,” he corrected immediately
Crankcase, still sitting in the captain’s chair, leaned forward to look at the tiny navigation screen.
“So where are we landing, gang? What’s the plan now?”
Arcee looked visibly annoyed.
“First, get out of my chair.”
She shoved him off without hesitation before tapping at the controls, projecting a holographic model of a planet into the middle of the cockpit.
“Hedonia.”
“Ohhh, nice,” Crankcase said, optics lighting up. “I’ve been wanting to buy some replacement optics and maybe spend a few hours at the Cable Twisters.”
The expression he made after mentioning the place was somewhere between excitement and outright lust.
Twitch tilted her head.
“What’s a Cable Twister?”
“Oh! You see, it’s this old Quintesson machine that uses—”
Nautica immediately slapped a servo over Crankcase’s mouth.
“You do not want to know, darling,” she said quickly. “Trust me.”
Crankcase mumbled something deeply inappropriate into her hand.
“Besides,” Arcee interrupted, “we’re not going there for a joyride. We sell the weapons, buy supplies, refuel, and leave. I hate Hedonia.”
Her voice carried the kind of disgust that only came from personal experience.
“That’s because you don’t know the real Hedonia, Captain—”
“Stop calling me that.”
“She really doesn’t like it,” Nautica added helpfully.
Crankcase raised both servos defensively.
“Alright, alright. Got it. No Captain.”
He paused dramatically.
“So anyway, Big A—”
Nautica snorted.
Arcee looked seconds away from opening the airlock mid-flight.
“There’s this place on Hedonia you’re gonna love,” Crankcase continued proudly.
Twitch looked completely fascinated.
To be fair, she had barely left the ship since coming online. To her, everything outside the ship sounded exciting.
The engines rumbled as the ship finally jumped into hyperspace, stars stretching into endless lines of light around them.
“We are not getting dragged into some weird side quest on Hedonia,” Arcee warned.
The universe, unfortunately, had already decided otherwise.