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“Easy,” said Nyx, as she set the needle in the main energon line which fed Skold’s left forelimb. She manipulated the device, attaching it to the siphon and the tiny container. Energon began to flow, a slow drip into the flask. “There we go. Any pain?”
“No.”
“Glad to hear it. I don’t actually have medic training.”
“Should you even be doing this?”
“Eh, Rhinox showed me how. It’s not exactly mnemosurgery. I did it on myself once.”
“How?”
“How you might expect. Put the tube in a rack on the bench next to me. Set the needle—the angle’s weird but not impossible—then just jammed the other end in the top of the tube.”
“Primus below, and you think I’m unhinged.”
“Almost done. Let me get a patch.”
Nyx detached the siphon, flipped the end of the tubing to face the ceiling. In spite of this, Skold’s energon bubbled up, siding down the sides in a slow leak to fall onto the floor.
“Blast, it’s dripping. Hang on, I’m trying not to get it on you.”
Skold watched as the glowing droplets splattered in an abstract pattern. Like little stars in the dimly lit space of the Axalon’s laboratory. She thought the pattern looked vaguely like the constellation of the Core.
Those with the sign of Shokaract should note possible travel in their future when their glossa freezes to the back of a speeding truck. Avoid rust sticks and play the lottery.
Nyx capped the siphon with her thumb. “Can you help me grab the kit? I’m trying not to make a mess.”
“Can’t you just clean it up?” said Skold unthinkingly.
“Uh, what?”
Skold’s cranial module finally caught up with her glossa and registered what she’d said. “Nothing. You know what I mean.”
“No, I really don’t. What are you suggesting?”
Skold looked away in embarrassment. “Like when you—” Her voice went a little high. “With Terrorsaur.”
Nyx’s optics went wide. “Excuse me, what?”
“Please forget I said anything.”
“You want me to bite out your throat?”
“Obviously not!”
“Then why did you—”
“I don’t know!” Skold yanked on the siphon, sending fine droplets of energon splattering across them. “I don’t know, alright! It’s all messed up in my head and I just keep thinking about it!”
“Stop pulling, you’re going to yank the needle out!”
Skold turned faceplates away in humiliation. As commanded, however, she kept the rest of her body still. Movement in the neck only, a product of megacycles of fine-scale manufacturing work, where even a tiny wobble could spell disaster.
Nyx sighed. “So I guess you can follow instructions.”
“Can you please just take it out?” Skold said miserably.
Nyx said nothing. She patched the leak with gentle servos, while Skold stared out the transparasteel window and tried to will herself to disappear.
“There we go,” said Nyx. “All patched.”
“Thank you,” said Skold stiffly. “I’ll be going then.”
“Hold it,” said Nyx, her voice a gentle rebuke. “You can’t leave like that. You’re a mess.”
“I’ll wash up back in my—”
“Sit still.”
Skold stared at her.
Nyx quirked a brow ridge at her. “Sit still,” she repeated.
Skold didn’t move.
Carefully, Nyx reached out and took the servo of the limb from which she’d been sampling. Energon had dripped and run in little rivulets down Skold’s forearm guard. Little rivers of starlight in the dark.
“Easy,” said Nyx, and bent to lick the stream which had run across Skold’s knuckles.
Skold couldn’t breathe. Nyx’s glossa had apparently been another casualty of the acquisition of her beast mode, and was easily twice as long as Skold had ever seen. She licked in long, unhurried swipes across the plating of Skold’s arm, following each rivulet to the patched source. She chased each shining speck with care, until Skold’s plating shone immaculate once more. Then she squeezed Skold’s servo gently and released her.
“Like that?” she said.
Skold felt her faceplates heat. Her fuel pump throbbed and she feared she might combust.
Nyx gave her a thoughtful look. “You know, it’s interesting,” she said. “There’s so much emphasis on how different we are: Maximal and Predacon. But the energon which powers us is the same. Looks the same. Flows the same. Same composition when you cram it into a spectrometer.” She flicked her glossa into the air, a maneuver which looked both ridiculous and eerily alluring. “Even tastes the same.”
“We all come from the same Well,” said Skold quietly.
“That we do,” said Nyx. “Relatedly, would you like to have dinner?”
“Would I—what?”
“I mean, as fun as this was, I think I’d prefer an activity where we can both refuel.” She aimed an absolutely dastardly wink at Skold. “Though I wouldn’t write off revisiting this.”
“Primus below.”
“I’m not hearing a no.”
“Why do you—you want to have dinner with me?”
“Why not? I was thinking about asking you out back in lab class. Until you opened your mouth.”
Skold looked away in embarrassment. “I was kind of a fraghead in college.”
“I’m aware. But mechs change. I’m willing to give it a go if you are. I thought you were a brilliant scientist.” She tapped the glowing vial of Skold’s energon. “And you still are. Using your own energon and a known date and location when you would have been on Cybertron to exploit the quantum entanglement theory was a stroke of genius.”
“I’m glad someone thinks I’m brilliant at anything.”
“You know, usually this is where you’d say ‘Thank you, Nyx, you’re smoking hot and I’d love to have dinner with you’.”
“Sorry. Yes, I’ll have dinner with you.”
“Brilliant. My only condition is no peroxide-formers.”
“I told you I was sorry about that.”
“I know. Honestly it would have been funny if I hadn’t almost died.”
“So should I describe you as a ‘fine fine femme with nothing but good intentions, and a bad tendency to get burned’?”
“That’s a good one, you should write it down.”
“Show me some more lessons in chemistry and I’ll do it.”
Nyx grinned at her through a mouthful of razor teeth. “You can count on it.”