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Market Commodity	By : Scienceteacher Category: Transformers > G1 > Round Robins Views: 11586 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Do not own the Transformers, am not making anything from this story.

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**Winner’s Luck Pt 2**

**Double Trouble Pt 1**

**A “Market Commodity” Story**
**By TurtleDreamer**
**G1 Universe**

Disclaimer: Transformers is not owned by me. “Market Commodity” idea is by StSe. I’m just fortunate enough to get to play in their universes. I don’t own any copyrighted, registered, or trademarked items that may be mentioned in this story.

Thank you, StSe, for the original concept, beta reading and encouragement. Also, thanks for letting me bend the rules for the start of my story. My plot bunny loves you.

Author’s Note: I’ve edited DTPt1 to bring it consistent with later, more developed chapters. I fixed formatting where needed, and added some detail that meshes better with the story that ended up developing. Hopefully, I managed to catch all spelling and grammatical errors. Thanks for reading.

**

Hope spent the next two weeks staying busy. She’d received her jewelry supply order, and had almost completed the green and blue set; before she was pleasantly swamped with an unexpected houseful of guests. Every dollar earn during the off season was an immense help. As she kept up with her guests’ comfort, Hope anxiously awaited the delivery of her prize.

The previous owners had been incredibly talented when it came to the running, and upkeep of the place. Unfortunately, Hope was having a rough time running it on her own. She’d had to hire help for the high tourist season, which seriously ate into the budget. Hope cringed every time she thought of raising the rates, or cutting services. She just thanked God that the building and grounds wouldn’t be in need of major repairs anytime soon.

She was excited, though, at the idea of getting two able-bodies to help her around the place. The best parts were that she didn’t have to pay them, she didn’t have to provide them with food, they’d be on-site, they would follow her orders, they could be programmed with everything her “Honey-Do” list required, and they were FREE! WOOHOO…

‘At least until somebody gets the bright idea to charge a property tax on them.’ Hope thought in a moment of cynicism.

In a follow up phone call, the DTI sales representative had been very informative and helpful. The woman answered all of Hopes questions, and offered suggestions, as well. Their discussions created the customization package suited to Hope’s immediate business needs. The clones would have their downloaded skill sets tested; especially the ones concerning food preparation, and basic household repair. It would take a little longer for her clones to be delivered, but Hope thought it was worth the wait. She didn’t want to have to spend extensive time training them. The coppery-haired woman had allowed a week of transition time, for herself and the clones.

Hope had thought it was a little odd that the clones were based on Decepticons, but was amused at the thought that perhaps the hostile aliens were finally going “legit”. There had definitely been a decrease in the number of “incidents” reported by the news. The sales rep assured her that the clones’ resemblances to the originals were mostly superficial, and any personality/memory echoes could be programmed out. Said echoes were often harmless, and some owners claimed that it made their clones seem more “real” and “alive”.

‘Whatever…’ Hope had snorted to herself. Apparently, these clones didn’t even qualify as alive by the beings they were modeled after. She was bound and determined not to ever forget that they were merely constructs. Some fools had even gone so far as to want to marry the things. ‘Thank God I’m not that desperate.’

Further talks with the sales rep, had led Hope to decide to go ahead and have the Pleasure Package installed—but not initialized. The rep had suggested that, should Hope change her mind, it would be more cost/time effective than having the clones shipped to a facility for the installation. While Hope really didn’t think she’d be using that feature—she just couldn’t see the appeal in the blocky-bodied robots—her practical money saving side, accepted the woman’s idea.

In the two week before her prize’s delivery, Hope had endured the questions of family and friends. ‘Thanks for the privacy, Friend-Links,’ She’d thought bitterly. Friend-Links had received a succinct e-mail about their privacy policy.

Initially, her sisters were disgusted that she’d signed up for the drawing. After she’d corrected them, they were disgusted that she’d accepted the prize.

“You know that Mom is just rolling in her grave,” one sister had chided.

“Well,” the other sneered. “Since you can’t get a REAL man—I guess beggars can’t be choosers. At least you didn’t waste your own coin on it. Some people just get handed everything.”

Then Hope had explained the choice of program packaging, and how it would help her.

“Oh…well, in that case,” the more supportive sister conceded. “It makes sense, and I’m glad that you’ll have the help you need.”

“You must be a sexless cripple,” was the less supportive sister’s response. Having lost her own virginity at 14, she believed that Hope was actually mentally stunted to have abstained for so long. The older woman had become jealous, over the years, as she watched her youngest sister avoid the mistakes she—herself—had made. To her, Hope was a prude who flaunted her virginity, looking down on anyone who wasn’t as pure as she was. So caught up in her own drama, she’d never realized how far from the truth she was.

Luckily, Hope’s friends had been teasingly supportive.

Dacey, of course, knew all about the clones. FreakyZ was a close second on that. Pops, the local mechanic from whom she’d purchased her rebuilt bug; and his two sons, had congratulated her, as well.

The youngest son, Amos, had wondered if she’d lone him one the clones, for when he couldn’t get a date. He’d been disappointed when Hope had informed him of the lack of pleasure programming. She wasn’t about to tell him that it could be activated.

“Whaaaat?” Amos had questioned in his high, grating voice. “You had them NEUTERED?”

--------------------

The last of Hope’s guests checked out the day before the clones were to be delivered. While the woman bustled around doing laundry and post guest clean up, her aging calico lounged on a favorite sofa. Normally gregarious, Colleen had been withdrawn during their guests stay—prompting Hope to make an appointment with the local vet. The cat hadn’t shown any other odd behaviors, so it was just a precaution.

That night, Colleen left their bed to perform her nightly rounds, but didn’t return. When Hope got up the next morning, she’d found Colleen’s still remains curled up on her favorite sofa. In tears, she called the vet’s office to cancel the appointment. The kindly vet offered his condolences, and asked if there was anything his office could do to help. She quietly replied “No, thank you.” and ended the call.

Green eyes streaming with tears, she sat on the opposite sofa. Hope stared at the bundle of organic matter that had once housed the bright soul who had been her friend, for eighteen years. She said a heartfelt prayer of thanks—then found an adequately sized box, and retrieved her shovel out of the shed.

November in Missouri had been mild, and left the earth easy to turn. Colleen now rested under the burr oak that was home to the squirrels she’d so avidly watched. Hope had never felt more alone. She moved through the rest of the day, in a haze of grief, completely forgetting about the imminent delivery.

The noon hour found Hope in her office, trying futilely to concentrate on anything but the emptiness that now pervaded her home. She had the jewelry set she’d created on a display, and had taken several pictures of it to post on her web-store. Hope couldn’t help but keep glancing at the empty chair that sat next to her. Unable to stand it any further; she grabbed her cell phone, jacket and car keys, locked up the house and headed into town.

Instinct guided Hope down Main St.; where she parked her yellow, Classic Beetle in a space at Tea Haus. The cozy shop was a welcome oasis of peace, which catered to a large range of clientele. A cheerful chime sounded, as Hope entered the shop. She’d just missed the lunch crowd, and had the public area to herself. Karen Dawes, one of the owners, poked her head out of the kitchen.

“Hope! How wonderful to see you!” the older woman beamed, and waved a towel at her. “Take a seat and I’ll bring you your usual.”

Hope walked to the end of the counter, hanging up her jacket on a wall coat rack. She hiked herself up on the end barstool, turning so she could lean back on the wall.

A college student hang-out, the original Tea Haus was still in Warrensburg. Hope, Dacey and Bryan had spent many a cram session drinking tea and coffee, and eating Karen’s wonderful homemade pies and cobblers. A business graduate, and frequent denizen, had taken over when Karen and Bob decided to move to the Truman Lake area. Hope was delighted to find the older couple, several years later, when she’d moved down from Kansas City to take over the B&B.

Gazing out over the room, with its familiar eclectic décor, and listening to Bob bang pans while Karen scolded him—was a balm to Hope’s wounded heart.

Karen bustled out, a few minutes later, with a teapot and a large helping of steaming peach cobbler—complete with melting vanilla ice cream.

“There ya go. Eat hearty lass.” Karen laughed, brown eyes shining warmly. She frowned at Hope’s less than enthusiastic response. “Dearie….what’s the matter? You look as though you’ve lost your best friend.”

“Colleen…” Hope managed to choke out before dissolving into heart-wrenching sobs.

All of Hope’s friends, and acquaintances, knew of the beloved calico. She was just as fast at whipping out the brag book, as any proud parent of an honor roll student. Though, her brag book was located conveniently on her cell phone.

Bob Dawes had been hovering in the kitchen doorway, and came around the counter to envelope Hope in a warm hug. A big softy, he mourned the cat, too. On agreeable days, Hope would put Colleen on a harness and leash, and bring her around to visit. Colleen had learned to expect cat treats and cooing from the Tea Haus owners, as her due. Bob gave Hope a final squeeze, and words of comfort, before returning to his tasks.

Karen had looked on until Bob retreated. She came around the counter and offered her own hug and kiss on the cheek. “You hang in there, sweetie.”

“Thank you…” Hope sniffled, feeling wrung out.

“Take all the time you need. You know Bob and I are here whenever you need us.” Karen reminded.

Hope used a napkin to dab at her swollen eyes, and blow her nose. Amazingly, she was actually starting to feel a little better, and that cobbler smelled really good.

Bob fussed and made her a BLT, when he found out that the cobbler had been the only thing she’d eaten that day. “As good as my wife’s cobbler is,” he said with authority. “You cannot live by cobbler alone.” A statement that earned him a wet towel tossed on his head.

Hope snickered at their antics. A couple of hours, in their friendly company, passed before she knew it.

The FedEx guy was making his usual Friday drop-offs, when he snagged Hope’s attention.

“You gonna beat me to your place? Or do you want me to strap those two honkin’ large crates to the top of your Bug?” he inquired with a raised eyebrow.

Hope stared blankly, “What…?”

“I gotta couple of crates on my truck for you. You forget an order or somethin’?” he tried to joke.

Hope was still having a hard time processing, when it hit her. “Oh, crap!”

“So, you DO remember,” the FedEx guy laughed. “I got two more deliveries to make before I head out to your place,” he warned.

Bob and Karen came out for hugs, before she left. Hope finished stuffing herself into her jacket, as Bob shoved a large wicker basket at her. “You take care of yourself, and call us if you needed anything.”

“Thanks, you guys are great.” Hope scooted out the door and climbed into her yellow Beetle.

Not knowing how long it would take for the truck to get there, Hope didn’t bother to pull her car into the garage. The woman went hunting for the crow bar she’d need to open the crates. She still grieved for her cat-friend, but was becoming excited at the thought of activating her new “help”. She’d finally unearthed the tool, when she heard the truck pull up. Hope trotted back to the front of the house.

“Howdy, again…that was pretty good timing,” she greeted.

“Indeed,” the delivery man agreed. He went round to the back of his truck, lifting the hatch and pulling out the ramp. “Where do you want me put these guys?”

“Just put them on the porch.” She ducked into her office for the two fifties she’d gotten as a tip. One of the clone owner support websites claimed it was good etiquette, considering each crate was approximately 200 pounds. Internally, Hope groused about the money, but then he did remind her of the delivery. Though, it wasn’t as if he was taking them up the stairs. Hope’s B&B had a convenient ramp on one side of its wrap-around porch.

Feeling warm, she stripped off her jacket. Draping it over the back of her office chair, Hope made sure her cell phone was plugged into its charger. Running a hand through her hair, as she walked back to the front porch, Hope could hardly contain herself. It felt like an early Christmas—but without the snow.

The delivery man had the first one up on the porch, and was going for the second; while Hope signed the delivery receipt. She handed him the receipt and the tip, after he slid the second crate off the hand truck.

“Well, have fun…” He leered while handing her the customer copy, knowing full well what was being delivered, and jumping to the wrong conclusion.

Face in full blush, Hope shot him a dirty look and waved him off. He chuckled, pocketing the tip and returning to his truck.

As the FedEx guy left, Hope eyed the crates nervously. They were each 4’x 4’ in size, and looked uncomfortable. She snorted at that thought. Like comfort meant anything to an artificial construct. Hope reached for the crow bar; first cutting the shipping tape, and then prying the first lid off. She’d barely gotten the lid loose, when the crate’s occupant shot up—spraying packing peanuts in its wake.

“Geez, bitch! It took you long enough!” The red clone whined.

Hope’s eyes went wide. ‘Did it just call me a “BITCH”?’ She watched it clamber out of its crate and proceed to frantically pry at the lid of the other crate. “What the hell?” Hope wondered aloud. “Isn’t there supposed to be an activation sequence?” The confused woman asked. She didn’t think the things were supposed to be “alive” when shipped. Wouldn’t that run the batteries down?

Her questions were ignored. “Z…talk to me buddy!” Red cried. There was no answer.

Red fished around in the peanuts, and hauled the second clone halfway out of its crate. It gave the blue clone a few sharp whacks on the back. Blue’s large red eyes flickered, as it coughed and sputtered—and spewed up a goodly amount of packing peanuts. Blue retched a few more times before ridding its insides of the lightweight material.

“Primus fraggit, Rumble,” the blue clone bitched. It straightened itself from where it had been hanging over the side of the crate. “Those foamy things are slaggin’ nasty.”

“Well, if you woulda quite your glitchin’, and shut the pit up; you wouldn’t’ve inhaled the fraggin’ things,” the red clone bitched back. “This was your idea anyways so ya ain’t got no room to complain.”

“Frag off! Ya diode glitchin’, tin-plated, sludge suckin’…”

The rest of Blue’s vitriol was lost, as Hope’s mind began to shut down in shock. The woman watched Red help Blue the rest of the way out of its crate. The two brushed at the foam clinging to each other’s bodies, while continuing the tennis match of bitching. They finally noticed their new master staring on in confusion.

“Yo….babe?” Blue queried, peanuts flying off of the metallic hand it waved in front of her face. “What’s your malfunction?”

Hope snapped out of it long enough to respond with a numbed observation. “I thought there were suppose to be activation codes…and an owner’s manual”

They looked blankly at her a moment, then something seemed to click.

“Oh…..yeah…...” The clones turned to each other…and smirked. They returned their crimson-eyed regard to her, and a chill went down her spine.

The blue clone spoke first. “Model 52430-Z-6000-TDI—Frenzy—activated, registered owner—Hope Erickson.” She could feel its glowing eyes roving over her body—assessing and approving. “Hey, babe…ya ready to get freaky?”

“Frenzy” elbowed its red twin.

‘Now wait just a damn minute….’ Hope managed think before Red snickered and spoke.

“Model 52430-Z-6001-TDI—Rumble—activated, registered owner—Hope Erickson.”

“Rumble” leered at her, “C’mere and tumble with Rumble…” It opened its arms, with its hands out in front making grabby motions. It also gyrated its hips in what was suppose to be a provocative manner.

‘Something’s not right…’ Hope’s self-preservation instinct insisted. Like a deer caught in the headlights, of a speeding Mack truck—the woman had a very bad feeling that she’d be road-kill soon.
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