Storm's End - 6
Ricochet obeyed Barricade’s order. There was too much at stake if he did not. He walked along the rocky shore, away from Storm’s End and the busy docks. Ori and Jazz thought he was doing the same as them, trying to find a place to set up shop, but really, he was just wandering. How did he convince Ori that Damaxus was a wash? It seemed like a miracle that Straxus had not turned his optics to the island. The last thing he wanted was to be the bounty that brought the warlord to these shores. To Barricade’s doorstep. Somehow, and he really did not know how, he had brought Lockdown to their cove and unknowingly left them to the slaughter. That Barricade and the bitlet had survived his mistakes once was already a miracle. Would the God of Fools care to grant him another? It seemed like too much to expect.
“What are you looking for?” Barricade asked. Waves crashed around his ankles, but he effortlessly kept his peds.
“A cave,” Ricochet replied honestly. “We thought ‘bout a warehouse but then there’d be a lease.”
“You’d prefer there be no paperwork,” the mermech said.
“No idea where Straxus’s agents might be,” the sailor replied.
“They aren't welcome here,” Barricade replied. “So they aren’t here.”
“Like Lockdown’s goons,” Ricochet guessed.
“That’s right,” the innkeeper replied. “A few have come but they never leave. These seas are only friendly for the ships we favour.”
“Did ya know it was Lockdown’s perch?” The Polyhexian asked.
“Oh yes,” Barricade chuckled. “After we landed in Damaxus, we heard tales and investigated. Origin thought there was something poetic about claiming his hideout for ourselves.”
“He was right,” Ricochet replied.
“I can show you a cave,” the mermech said. “It’s well disguised by the rocks and tricky to sail a skip in and out of but you could do it.”
“I don’t want to bring Straxus here,” the sailor replied.
“He’s tried before and he’ll try again and the ships he sends will sink every time,” the mermech said. “The Rust Sea is ours, and everything that passes through it.”
“Show me,” Ricochet said. “I’ll think on it...”
“You said you didn’t tell anyone about the cove,” Barricade said.
“I didn’t,” the Polyhexian replied. “But he found ya anyways. After so long... I can’t trust it was a coincidence.”
“Follow me,” the innkeeper said. “It’s not far.”
They did not speak. The silence was heavy and full of grief. Still, Ricochet felt hopeful. If Barricade was willing to show him a place they could set up shop, it was fair to hope that meant he was willing to give Ricochet a chance to know Tripwire. As they walked, Barricade reached out his servo and took Ricochet’s in his own. Ricochet’s spark leapt out of his chassis, and he squeezed the mermech’s servo. The silence felt lighter. His spark was still racing when he walked into the sea with Barricade. It was freezing, really freezing, but he swam around the rocks and into the cave that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Though the opening was small, big enough for a skip and not much else, it was deep. Barricade all but dragged him onto land, as the cold sea had zapped much of Ricochet’s strength. A moment later, they were both nude. His spike pressurized into Barricade’s heat as his long-lost lover pulled him close.
“Primus,” Ricochet cursed. “Cade!”
In the dark of the cave, they could only feel. Ricochet leaned his helm against Barricade’s shoulder as he made love to him. The last time he had done this, he had been listening to Tripwire’s spark alongside Barricade’s. Once his newspark had dropped into Barricade’s forge, they had not been able to make love this way. Barricade stroked his helm and hugged Ricochet tightly to him. Pleasure was soft and quiet as they lingered on each other. Ricochet did not know he was crying until Barricade wiped the tears from his cheekplates, and they cried together. Grief did not just disappear in an instant. It did not even fade so much as it was overlaid with hope and a fragile joy. He had never imagined Barricade could have survived the slaughter. Neither had he imagined Barricade would have been blamed for it. After learning just what little he had about what happened, Ricochet could hardly believe that Barricade might forgive him.
“I want you to meet my procreators first,” Barricade said, as they dressed. It would have been nice to linger, but the cave was too cold for that luxury. “Really meet them. I believe you and they believe in me, at least they say so...”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Ricochet asked.
“Younglings died,” his lover said. “I was the one cavorting with a landmech. No one ever doubted I brought the pirates to the cove. My procreators just chose not to blame me for it.”
“I don’t know how he found it,” he replied. “I thought I was careful... maybe I wasn’t careful enough.”
Guilt did not fade; it shifted and changed, but it stayed. He had not examined the butchered tails when he had sabotaged the Death’s Head. Maybe if he had, Ricochet would have realized that the tails were all too small to have been Barricade’s. Even if he had, when he found the bones in the cove, he would have believed his lover dead. Barricade would not have fled the slaughter. How he had survived, Ricochet did not dare ask. The topic was painful, and Barricade’s forgiveness was too fresh. The sea felt even colder when Ricochet slipped back in. He did not swim because Barricade chose instead to drag him along. The mermech cut through the waves, even while dragging him along. Ricochet looked for Ori and Jazz, but neither was in sight. Barricade squeezed his wrist and urged him inside. Downshift was at the desk. The one who had sworn to rip out Ricochet’s spark and eat it.
“Go upstairs,” he ordered without heat. “I’ll get your origin.”
“What about the restaurant?” Ricochet asked when Downshift left the lobby.
“Honour system,” Barricade replied. “They’ll put out vats of soup and stew and bottles of engex. Mecha who what to fuel will pay. Mostly because the other guests will make sure of it.”
“Some mecha probably get away wit it anyways,” the sailor said.
“Sure,” the mermech replied. “But it’s never so much it hurts our business and we feed anyone who can’t afford fuel anyways.”
“Ori called ya saints,” Ricochet told him. “He might be onto somethin’.”
“I wouldn’t call us saints,” Barricade replied, leading Ricochet up the stairs. “Just pragmatic. Good will matters. As long as we take care of everyone, they take care of us.”
“No one here knows what you are,” the Polyhexian said.
“No one,” the innkeeper confirmed. “Tripwire learned before he could even speak to hide what he is. They all think we don’t swim... We blame the doorwings. At least a third of the community think we’re crazy but they think they are too so they just accept it.”
“As much as ya do for’em, y’re right not to trust it’d be ‘nough,” Ricochet said.
“You have good judgment at least,” Ricochet flinched when Camshaft spoke, surprising him.
“Ruby tea,” Downshift declared, holding a tray. “It’s early for engex.”
“Not if you ask our clientele,” his conjunx replied.
“Tea’s great,” the sailor said.
“I’ll pour,” Barricade said. He poured the tea into small glasses.
“Have you told your kin of Tripwire?” Camshaft asked.
“No,” Ricochet said. “Even before I knew he ‘n Cade were alive... I ne’er told anyone.”
“You thought them dead and grieved it alone?” Barricade’s originator asked. “Without even your twin?”
“Barricade made me swear on his spark I wouldn’t tell,” the Polyhexian explained. “My glyph to’m was the last thing I had to keep.”
“I don’t think it’s fair to you to tell you to keep Tripwire secret now,” Camshaft said, looking at his conjunx, who nodded as he took his glass from Barricade.
“Wouldn’t be fair to Tripwire either,” Downshift agreed. “Telling him he has a progenitor and kin and asking him to keep away isn’t fair to him.”
“With Tripwire, Barricade’s glyph is law between us,” the maternal mermech said. “But within the family as a whole, it is more complicated. We do not oppose Tripwire getting to know you and your kin. We do oppose you revealing what we are to them.”
“I swore once,” Ricochet said. “I can swear again.”
“Once is enough,” Downshift said. “Barricade told us your smugglers of a fashion.”
“My family are Empties,” the sailor explained. “Enemies o’ Straxus... not that we started it. We’re just tryin’ to keep ourselves ‘n our friends alive. My genitors are in the Dead End. Tryin’ to keep everyone safe. We’re tryin’ to open a supply line so we can bring in medicine, spare parts, fuel.”
“Not weapons?” The paternal mermech asked.
“Nah, we got those,” Ricochet replied. “My genitor’s an engineer... he’s good and fixin’ up scrap ‘n keepin’ us armed.”
“What is the end game?” Camshaft asked. “Escape? War?”
“A lot o’ the Dead End... it’s not just the credits, they been tortured, experimented on, they can’t function anywhere but where they know,” the Polyhexian explained. “Removin’ Straxus’s helm from his shoulders is on our wishlist. But mech don’t make it easy.”
“Since he has dined on mer flesh we take no issue with that,” Barricade originator declared. “But keep that business to your own lands. If you bring the fleet of Polyhex to our seas, I will be annoyed.”
“I don’t want to do that,” Ricochet said. “I don’t know how to tell Ori we should try ‘nother port. I don’t want anythin’ happenin’ to Cade or Tripwire, ‘cause o’ me.”
“There is no safer port than Damaxus,” Camshaft declared. “Barricade would feel the need to make the sea you sail safe for you, whether it is the Mithril or the Rust Sea. Thus it is safer if you do your business from Damaxus.”
“I don’t think ‘m ‘sposed to argue wit ya,” the sailor said.
“You aren’t,” Downshift replied. “Don’t bother. He won’t listen. Not when he’s right.”
“Tripwire will be home from school soon,” Barricade said. “I, we’ll talk to him, and then maybe we can all have dinner?”
“Good plan,” Camshaft said. “In the meantime, rest here. Downshift and I have business covered downstairs.”
When they were gone, Barricade led Ricochet to his berthroom and to his berth. Ricochet lay under him, tracing the faint stretch marks left on his sentio-metallico from Tripwire’s carrying. He had recovered well from carrying; Barricade looked so much the same. Still, to Ricochet, he was in some ways unrecognizable. The Barricade of his memory had been swollen with newspark and passed the point of coming onto land. He had missed the vorns between then and now and regretted it more than anything. Barricade cupped his own wells as he slowly rode Ricochet spike. He said they were larger, but the Polyhexian could not say either way. As Barricade lost his self-consciousness, he dropped his servos and dimmed his optics. Ricochet watched his lover forget himself in pleasure. His heavy wells jiggled as his belly flexed. Barricade looked down at him with hazy red optics, and Ricochet stared back up at him, feeling nothing but awe and adoration.
They cleaned up together. It was a myth that mermecha transformed automatically if they got wet. Barricade kept his peds when they showered. He kept his peds when he stood in the rain. It was when he stepped into the sea that the transformation happened without a thought or a question. Not one of the sailors and fishermecha would imagine for a moment the innkeepers were mermechs. The idea that they could live on land, linger on land like they did, would boggle their processors. Even to Ricochet, it seemed unreal. Barricade had lived his whole life in a shoal, in the sea. They were called to the sea, that was how Barricade had once described it. Somehow, they had a lot of control when they answered. Everyone seemed healthy. Everyone seemed strong. It did not seem that any of them were hurting for living on land, and with the way they controlled the Rust Sea, it seemed it had not diminished their powers.
“Origin?” The youngling sounded hesitant. "Grandori told me to come upstairs. Hello... Sir?”
“Tripwire, Sweetspark,” Barricade opened his arms to his youngling. Confused, the mechling walked into his originator’s arms. He turned his helm and looked confused at Ricochet. “You met Ricochet on the docks, right?”
“Yes,” Tripwire replied. “What’s wrong, Origin?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Sweetspark,” the mermech said. “Ricochet is your progenitor.”
“Sorry... what?” The youngling took a step back as he spoke. “But... I thought... I thought he was bad?”
“He wasn’t,” Barricade explained. “He isn’t.”
“A pirate sabotaged my skip,” Ricochet replied. “I thought he’d killed yer ori ‘n yer kin.”
“Oh...” Tripwire said. “You seemed sad... like an old, old sad that hasn’t healed.”
“I was,” the sailor replied. “I missed yer ori a lot. I missed ya... missed never havin’ the chance to know ya.”
“You’re really my genitor?” The young mermech asked. Barricade nodded his helm. Tripwire grinned and hugged Ricochet. Ricochet hugged him and almost stopped himself from crying until Tripwire spoke again. “I knew in my spark... I knew my genitor wasn’t bad.”
