Fic! Renewal, Part Eleven
Title: Renewal
Series: Transformers Movie 2007, now with a dash of RotF
Rating: PG (violence)
Characters: Ironhide, Motormaster; Morris Brodsky (Sector Seven OC); The Combaticons
Author's Note: I'll be wrapping up this fic in another two parts/epilogue here. There are some loose ends I will address, but if there's anything in particular you're wondering about, feel free to comment on it! :)
Renewal - Part Eleven
Ironhide unshuttered his optics and found the temple walls gone. He was in a cave -- no, he was in the cave, in Uluru, on Earth, in the present. And there was Motormaster, taking a swing at his head with the broad sword.
He threw himself into a roll to the left, leaning up on a stalagmite as he returned to his feet. Motormaster pursued, swinging again. Ironhide ducked then rammed the side of one of his cannons into the Decepticon's middle, off setting his balance long enough for Ironhide to perform a roundhouse kick. As Motormaster went down, the Autobot took the precious seconds to input the codes Ratchet had said would give him temporary weapon access. He wasn't keen on launching a missile around so many stalactites, but he needed to deliver enough punch to delay Motormaster until he could get to a better area.
However, when he tried to cycle a missile into place nothing happened.
By that time Motormaster had pulled himself into a crouch. With Ironhide momentarily distracted, he roared and thrust the sword at the Autobot's right thigh.
Ironhide was not so distracted that he couldn't react; he used the inactive cannon as a deflection shield, blocking the blade then shoving forward on it, forcing Motormaster backward. The Decepticon freed one hand from the sword's hilt and grabbed hold of the cannon, pulling Ironhide toward him while the Autobot struggled to free his weapon from the angle he had caught the sword on. Ironhide transformed his other arm to non-weapon mode and punched Motormaster in the face.
It wasn't enough to shake him, however. Motormaster's hand clawed higher on the cannon and he dug his fingers into the cooling vents, snapping slats with ease. Ironhide clenched his jaw mechanisms and braced the relays in that arm, then jerked it downward, loosening Motormaster's hold just enough to fold down his cannon and shore up his arm plating.
Motormaster took the opening and threw himself forward, toppling Ironhide at the waist. Since the Stunticon had been on his knees Ironhide had a difficult time landing an effective kick in response.
The Decepticon was up first and launched into a hard hitting attack. Ironhide put both arm-mounted running boards to use, managing to ward off the blows but unable to deter him long enough to get up. He timed the swings, looking for a split-second opening, his optics darting to watch the motion. Motormaster caught on to what he was doing and swung down harder. The sword's edge bit into the upraised running board, and became stuck there until Motormaster yanked it free and slashed down faster, again and again, making a jagged mess of the chrome. Ironhide could neither adjust to block better nor move out of the way -- the Stunticon's foot came down to trap his other arm.
Motormaster lifted the sword one more time then plunged it down tip-first and pinned the Autobot's arm to the stone beneath him. Ironhide's hand twitched from the collateral damage to his relays. Motormaster glowered down at him. "Well? Now what? All I have to do is pick this up and run it through your spark while you just lay there. You are nothing without your weapons, you are nothing when you are not a weapon!"
Ironhide was the farthest thing from intimidated. He had processed and discarded four different strategies by then and was just about to act on the fifth when Motormaster made a demand that stopped his processor cold.
"Why are you here?! WHAT are you trying to prove, old mech?! Do you really think you can find a solution?!" The Decepticon wrenched the sword free and drove the tip down toward Ironhide's scarred optic. The black mech resolved not to flinch.
Then the distinctive cracking of rocks drew Ironhide's attention away from the sword -- the least appropriate thing he could do, but instinct put a higher command on sound, not sight. The sword froze above him as the ruined cave wall put itself back together. The engravings were in different places now, forming new meanings. Only the joined symbol returned to its original spot.
Ironhide understood what his Dreamtime was telling him.
He twisted his wounded arm and grasped the sword by the blade. The nanoseconds passed slowly as his gaze met Motormaster's, and the Decepticon glared murder in answer. Ironhide turned on his hi-beams, shoulders shifting to point the light directly into his opponent's optics. Motormaster snarled, his cameras constricting, and he tried to yank the sword back. Although it slipped a few inches, cutting Ironhide's palm, the Autobot hung on.
He waited for Motormaster to pull again, then bucked his entire frame, knocking the foot off of his other arm. Ironhide then jerked the sword downward, using it as leverage to get to his feet. Motormaster raised one fist and brought it down to clobber Ironhide, but the black mech lashed one leg upward, and the resulting impact did not go in the Stunticon's favor despite his superior height. Reverse momentum carried his arm high and tilted him backward.
Ironhide grasped the sword in his wounded hand and clenched the other into a tight fist. As Motormaster came forward again, Ironhide punched him solidly in the lower torso, denting the segmented armor. A quick hiss told him he had damaged an intake reserve. He followed up with a left hook to the Decepticon's chin.
Motormaster rocked back on his heels. Ironhide spun the sword between his hands so that when the Stunticon righted himself yet again he found the tip of his own weapon at his throat.
Motormaster smirked. "And there you are with a weapon in your hand again. You won't ever change."
A rumble built deep in Ironhide's core. "I don't need to change, Decepticreep." He turned the flat of the blade toward Motormaster's neck then shoved, pinning him against the trunk of a huge stalagmite. "I may have been forged for war, but my function is not to decimate those who cannot stand before my might. It is to use my power against those who would deny others their right to live!"
He drew back enough to angle his hold then rammed the hilt of the sword into Motormaster's face, stunning him. "And I have that right as well. I fight for what I believe in, not what I was programmed to believe. I will never be just a weapon!"
"Bah." Although leaning on the stalagmite for support after the blow, Motormaster sneered, then smirked again. "You can't stop us all by yourself."
Ironhide snorted, ejecting steam from his narrow olfactory vents. He tilted his head up, giving an imperious glare, then he tossed the sword down beside Motormaster. "And none of you can stop me." He turned and walked toward the wall with the engravings.
"It will never be over, Ironhide! You will still be like this forever!" The Stunticon grabbed his sword, absorbing it back into his right arm's plating. He took an unsteady step forward, then snarled when he saw that the Autobot had not looked at him.
"Not forever," Ironhide said as he touched the joined faction symbol. He scanned the entire wall, adding the images to the previous file. "I don't want to live forever. But I am ready to wake up."
And so he did. One moment he was in the cavern, the next he was outside, in vehicle mode, as the sun was setting upon Uluru once again.
The next thing he noticed was a park ranger staring at him. He suppressed a sheepish rumble; while he had been Dreaming his holomatter projector had deactivated. He would deal with that a little later. He wanted to review the two scans of the wall -- or rather his memory of them. There were no actual scans packaged in his database since there had never been anything tangible to scan. But now he constructed a data file of them, his Dream-memory very clear on each one of the glyphs. They were of the same language that had been in the Temples on Cybertron. He had learned how to read a few of them since then, and knew that the ones he had seen in his Dreamtime were a clue from the past. The Allspark...and the Seekers...
Then there was the replay of how he had received his scars. He remembered that burning sensation on his face. He felt a ghost of it every time he touched the area around his optic and it was the same when he felt the ache in his right hip. Out of all of his injuries, those were the two that stuck with him the most. He recalled coming to somewhere in the Temple, Chromia staring down at him and a young medic, barely out of the academy, named Ratchet tending his wounds. The plating on his hip and face were replaced, but his own self-repair broke them down soon after, recreating the scarring. Ratchet had tried to replace them on two other occasions but the same thing happened. The scars were permanent, written into his spark. Bypasses around his hip kept him walking, but he accepted and adapted to the handicap of his optic. The camera and visual input were intact, that was the important part. Ratchet had thought to replace his entire hip assembly, but Ironhide had doubted that would matter, either.
He returned his focus to the ranger. He was talking to someone behind the TopKick. Ironhide didn't catch the end of their conversation -- he was suddenly distracted by the feedback from someone climbing onto his back bumper, then over his tailgate and into his bed. Just as he began to fear he would have to blow his cover to keep from being broken into -- the would-be breakee would be startled to find the glass was not so easily shattered -- he felt a hand on the base of the window at the back of his cab and a man's voice whispered, "I'll help you, Ironhide. Conjure the keys on the seat." He sounded like he might be in his early sixties.
Curious to know who the man was, and knowing that holomatter keys would do him no good nor do harm, Ironhide did as he requested. The window opened outward, the man reached in and felt around a few times, then closed his hand on the spot where the keys sat. Ironhide followed his hand's movement, maintaining the holomatter projection. "I've got them," the man called to the ranger. "Thanks, mate, and sorry for the trouble. " He wasn't native Australian. There was a hint of Russian in his voice.
After the ranger walked away, Ironhide felt the man climb over the left side of his bed and maneuver his way to the door along the running board. Ironhide let him open the door and waited as the man, tall, thin, and dressed just like any other tourist, swung himself into the driver's seat. He kept the door open for a few seconds, leaned over to pretend to rummage in the camping supplies, then sat up, closed the door, and took off his sunglasses.
Ironhide suspected he wasn't a mere tourist. He kept his voice quiet as he spoke through his radio. "And you are..?"
"Morris Brodsky. I'm with Sector Seven."
"They were disbanded. Who are you?"
The man smiled. Wrinkles appeared around his gray eyes. "That's what you think. Not all of us gave up our life's work. We just... took on related hobbies."
"How did you find me?" Ironhide couldn't keep the suspicion from his voice on the question.
"You just happened to drive into my latest project. And speaking of driving, we should move along before someone asks if I'm crazy for talking to myself."
Ironhide agreed and shifted gears. He was still a bit wary, but wasn't overly concerned. A scan had shown that Morris did not have anything unusual hidden on his person. If he did try anything Ironhide could always toss him out the door with a quick shift and drive away before anyone realized what he was. "Do you have a destination in mind?"
"We could start heading west. I'm camped out that ways."
Ironhide turned onto a track that led westward. As they passed the last cluster of tourists he asked, "What is your project? I gather it has to do with Uluru's uniqueness."
"Are you familiar with Ley Lines, Ironhide?"
"Somewhat. I know several converge at Uluru." The Autobot was amused that Brodsky sounded like he was having a chat with an old friend. There hadn't been enough information about the other members of Sector Seven, and he wondered how many of them were like Agent Simmons.
The word 'secretive' came to mind when it took about five miles of travel to reach Broadsky's camp site. There wasn't a soul around, but the surroundings gave a good view of Ayer's Rock. Ironhide let Morris out and felt secure about transforming in the growing dark. The man was unfazed by his appearance, and Ironhide wondered where he had been during the Hoover Dam incident. "Observing from here?"
"Yes. I get a nice view of the horizon. Plus this spot is parallel to one of the Ley Lines." Morris knelt to take some things out of a rucksack: a flashlight, a miner's helmet, and a small clip-on radio. "Annnnndd one more thing. Let me show you." Next he took out a utility belt and a thermos. He hooked it, the radio, and the flashlight onto the belt. Ironhide glanced around with a raised optic ridge. He did not see any rock formations large enough for a cave. A campfire would be more effective against the approaching night than either the flashlight or headlamp. "This way." Morris gestured and began to walk further west. Ironhide debated transforming, but then figured that their destination might not be very far.
"So," Morris spoke companionably, "What brought you this way?"
"I'm seeking a solution to something."
"And did your Dreamtime reveal anything helpful?"
"You assume I even had any type of vision."
"I was wondering if your people could enter Dreamtime." Morris looked up with a kind smile. "Plus there is that joke that robots dream of electric sheep."
Ironhide snorted. "We do dream. I doubt sheep are ever a subject. But that is different from this, anyway."
"I know. I was just curious. So did you find your solution?"
"Not quite."
"Looking for love or money?"
Ironhide stopped mid-stride. "What?"
Morris grinned up at him. "Humans usually want to know how to attain one or the other, or both."
"That is still different from Dreaming."
"I know. I'm just curious."
Ironhide was beginning to see the trend with Sector Seven agents: they were very odd people.
He was starting to like this one. "I have no use for money and I already have a sparkmate."
"Ah. Well then, what else?"
"It's a... personal matter."
"Ah. Something troubling your soul that needs to be soothed."
Ironhide wanted to grumble at him this time, but he stopped to think instead. "In a way, yes. That, too."
"I should stop prying. It's a habit." Morris pointed to the raised precipice of a fault scarp about seven yards away. "Almost there. The last earthquake to come through here opened it up and erosion has continued the rest. It's going to be hard to hide it."
Something alien, Ironhide thought. He began to scan the ground, looking for anything hidden near the surface. He went stock still as they reached the last three yards. Then he broke into a sprint and practically leaped over the ridge to see how much of Morris' mystery object was revealed.
The human came puffing over a lower section of the fault scarp moments later. "You have an idea of what it is, I assume."
About five feet up from the ground, a narrow gap about nine feet wide was open in the side of a natural trench created by the scarp and the land it had separated from. The edges of the gap had been superheated to the point of forming glass and chips of obsidian. Within he could see numerous pieces of aged metal. Ironhide stared at them, then gently ran one finger over the lines of glyphs decorating the closest piece. "Yes," the Autobot murmured in awe. "This is one of the Ancients."
~*~
Two of the astronomers at Perth Observatory were hurrying to make trajectory calculations. One of them had spotted a cluster of small meteorites that were going to enter Earth's atmosphere. They were waiting for the computer to tell them where, exactly, the cluster might land.
A third astronomer came over to look in the telescope. In a hushed tone he asked, "Do you think they are new Autobots? There has not been word about more of them incoming in several months."
"If it is Autobots, they are off course." One of the men looked over at the third. "Their trajectory will land them here, east of us."
The other man turned pale. "I hope they are only regular meteors, then. The Autobots are supposed to keep to North America." He peered into the telescope again, checking the cluster. "They have spread out. There are five separate ones..." He moved the telescope's focus along the path the meteoritess had taken so far, looking to confirm a group of passing asteroids that they might have been pulled from. What he found instead made him become even more pale. "There are three more, and I just saw them change their own course." He pulled back and stared solemnly at his compatriots. "They are chasing the first five."
"Alert the Prime Minister."
~*~
Brodsky peered through a magnifying glass he had taken from a pouch on his belt, studying the engravings in the metal. "Definitely looks genuine. It's similar to the marks on the Allspark and on Megatron, but the shape of the lines have a more... elegant? ...quality to them. Although, I thought the Allspark was rather elegant." He glanced up at Ironhide, who loomed directly over him. "Do you think there's an entire Cybertronian in here?"
"Without doubt. I can tell from the superstructure. I know who it is, as well. I once saw a statue of him."
Morris nodded, running his hand over the glyphs. "Do these mean something? If so, can you read them?"
"Yes, they do, but I cannot read all of them. The ancient language was lost to us for a long time until one of our scientists created a partial translation. He would know what they say."
"What would this fellow be doing here?"
Ironhide moved to the side and lowered himself to a sitting position, his back against the eroded face of the scarp. He tried to shrug off the feeling of deja vu. "Long ago there were seven Primes who ruled Cybertron together. When we developed the technology for space travel, six of them set out on exploratory missions throughout the universe. I don't know if they were looking for anything specific or merely expanding our cultural data bases. Those six disappeared into the history tracks, taking their language with them. The generations descended from the remaining Prime allowed slang and new forms of writing to change the old language."
Morris sat back on his heels. "Cultural evolution. Fascinating." He glanced at the gap. "So, who is this fellow?"
"Live Convoy."
Morris looked thoughtful. "So...as a group they're called Primes but an individual is called Convoy?"
Ironhide didn't answer immediately. The way he shifted his cameras downward at the human clearly stated that he was not amused. "Convoy refers to how they are the head of their personal group of followers. Each Prime had different ideals, and attracted different Cybertronians to their entourages. The diversity of the groups helped keep the planet in harmony."
"Ah. I take it that when the Primes who set out to explore left, some members of their entourages went with them?"
Ironhide nodded.
"How long do you think he's been here on Earth?"
"I'm not sure. I don't have any carbon dating equipment."
Morris counted the layers of rock above the gap. "Several thousand at least. Had to have been before the Allspark arrived here."
"Hmm." Ironhide nodded again, his neck creaking.
"Do you think the impact killed him or something else?"
Ironhide shifted closer and leaned over on his hands to peer into the gap, taking note of the condition of parts of the ancient Cybertronian's frame. "He was dead before he hit the atmosphere. We have failsafes for not coming in too hot. I assume they did as well. He was definitely overheated to have done this to the native soil and rock." He gestured to the glass and bits of obsidian.
"How do we get him out?"
"Carefully." Ironhide inspected the glass edges more closely, then ran a thorough scan to make a virtual model of the Ancient's structure and systems. Not a single node was active, yet there was some type of energy residue... "Morris," he said suddenly, "Move away." He put one hand between the human and the gap. "He's radioactive."
"What? But I tested for that first," Brodsky protested while scrambling backward. "My geiger counter didn't register anything."
"Your equipment is not advanced enough to pick up this type of radiation."
Morris jogged along the trench about ten feet before calling back, "It's fortunate you were here."
"Yes..." Ironhide crouched in front of the gap, staring inside and trying not to think too much about the significance of Morris' words. He focused instead on the dilemma he faced: he could not leave the body there but he would need help removing it, and would have to go to the Australian government to get clearance for an excavation. He would then have to explain his unauthorized presence. He rested his elbows on his knees and debated his options.
Morris put away his magnifying glass and took out the thermos. He was taking a drink when the small radio clicked and a voice spoke urgently, "We have confirmed an incoming planetfall. Coordinates are negative two five point two six seven and one three zero point eight seven seven." Morris glanced over at Ironhide. The Autobot had heard and was now gazing skyward.
"I see them."
"Was someone supposed to meet you here?"
"No," Ironhide replied darkly. He stood and made his way out of the trench. "Go back to your camp and find shelter. Warn anyone else nearby. If it isn't a team of Autobots who failed to check in, this will get ugly."
Brodsky's radio clicked again. "We confirm three more, gaining on the five."
Ironhide grunted. "Really ugly." As much as he wanted to see to the safety of his new human friend, it was imperative that he get to the coordinates before the incoming made impact. He transformed and gunned it, driving faster than any TopKick was designed to.
Meanwhile, Morris did not leave right away, instead staying long enough to arrange a Sector Seven-grade camouflage net over the gap in the scarp face. He had left the net there earlier, knowing it would be up to him to protect the deceased alien. It truly had been fortuitous that an Autobot had been in town. His remaining contact in the United States among The Last Seven had warned that going to ARROW with the discovery would be a bad idea.
~*~
As Ironhide raced toward the indicated impact site he considered his new dilemma. He immediately discounted that all eight would be Autobots. It would either be four versus five or six versus three.
He didn't want to think about one versus eight.
The weapon problem still remained. He would need something more than just temporary access. He could still create a new one from the hundreds of schematics in his database. The thing was, his cannons had been perfected and preferred for the last three hundred years. The majority of the system for them was integral to his weapon mode, which was exactly the issue he had mentioned to Ratchet. He would have to enforce several overrides to adapt a second system.
Out of all of this, however, he came to understand exactly what his Dreamtime had been telling him: War would find him. He was in for the fight and in it until it was over.
So be it. He had a world to protect.
When he halted he noted how conveniently isolated the area was. He was glad he had met Morris; if he happened to "disappear" out here, there would be at least one human who knew exactly where he was. He again didn't want to think about details -- had someone among the Decepticons found out he was here, and intended to outnumber and overwhelm him? He also tried not to think too hard on the possibility that the Stunticons had left the planet and were now returning with reinforcements.
Ironhide looked up at the night sky and saw the first five burning through the bottom layer of the atmosphere. They would make impact in seconds. Gears whirred and cables shifted around beneath his armor as he transformed the structure of his back to create a pair of energy-miniguns, mounting them over his shoulders with pivotal joints so he could move around and shoot in multiple directions. They weren't as powerful a weapon as either of his cannons, but it was something. He could improvise with melee tactics if he had to.
A quick glance around the ground didn't offer up any weapon that could be procured from the native surroundings.
He would just have to borrow one from his opponents.
The five impacts sounded off in quick succession. They rose as protoforms but within their first few steps forward they had formed up armor plating. Ironhide chose not to shoot at them in the few seconds they were vulnerable, just in case they were Autobots.
Yet, no. He raised his head stoically as five pairs of malicious red optics looked upon him. Their bodies were different but he knew their faces.
The Combaticons had finally come to Earth.
To Be Continued
[Author's Note #2: I promise this is the last cliffhanger of the fic. XD ]
Series: Transformers Movie 2007, now with a dash of RotF
Rating: PG (violence)
Characters: Ironhide, Motormaster; Morris Brodsky (Sector Seven OC); The Combaticons
Author's Note: I'll be wrapping up this fic in another two parts/epilogue here. There are some loose ends I will address, but if there's anything in particular you're wondering about, feel free to comment on it! :)
Renewal - Part Eleven
Ironhide unshuttered his optics and found the temple walls gone. He was in a cave -- no, he was in the cave, in Uluru, on Earth, in the present. And there was Motormaster, taking a swing at his head with the broad sword.
He threw himself into a roll to the left, leaning up on a stalagmite as he returned to his feet. Motormaster pursued, swinging again. Ironhide ducked then rammed the side of one of his cannons into the Decepticon's middle, off setting his balance long enough for Ironhide to perform a roundhouse kick. As Motormaster went down, the Autobot took the precious seconds to input the codes Ratchet had said would give him temporary weapon access. He wasn't keen on launching a missile around so many stalactites, but he needed to deliver enough punch to delay Motormaster until he could get to a better area.
However, when he tried to cycle a missile into place nothing happened.
By that time Motormaster had pulled himself into a crouch. With Ironhide momentarily distracted, he roared and thrust the sword at the Autobot's right thigh.
Ironhide was not so distracted that he couldn't react; he used the inactive cannon as a deflection shield, blocking the blade then shoving forward on it, forcing Motormaster backward. The Decepticon freed one hand from the sword's hilt and grabbed hold of the cannon, pulling Ironhide toward him while the Autobot struggled to free his weapon from the angle he had caught the sword on. Ironhide transformed his other arm to non-weapon mode and punched Motormaster in the face.
It wasn't enough to shake him, however. Motormaster's hand clawed higher on the cannon and he dug his fingers into the cooling vents, snapping slats with ease. Ironhide clenched his jaw mechanisms and braced the relays in that arm, then jerked it downward, loosening Motormaster's hold just enough to fold down his cannon and shore up his arm plating.
Motormaster took the opening and threw himself forward, toppling Ironhide at the waist. Since the Stunticon had been on his knees Ironhide had a difficult time landing an effective kick in response.
The Decepticon was up first and launched into a hard hitting attack. Ironhide put both arm-mounted running boards to use, managing to ward off the blows but unable to deter him long enough to get up. He timed the swings, looking for a split-second opening, his optics darting to watch the motion. Motormaster caught on to what he was doing and swung down harder. The sword's edge bit into the upraised running board, and became stuck there until Motormaster yanked it free and slashed down faster, again and again, making a jagged mess of the chrome. Ironhide could neither adjust to block better nor move out of the way -- the Stunticon's foot came down to trap his other arm.
Motormaster lifted the sword one more time then plunged it down tip-first and pinned the Autobot's arm to the stone beneath him. Ironhide's hand twitched from the collateral damage to his relays. Motormaster glowered down at him. "Well? Now what? All I have to do is pick this up and run it through your spark while you just lay there. You are nothing without your weapons, you are nothing when you are not a weapon!"
Ironhide was the farthest thing from intimidated. He had processed and discarded four different strategies by then and was just about to act on the fifth when Motormaster made a demand that stopped his processor cold.
"Why are you here?! WHAT are you trying to prove, old mech?! Do you really think you can find a solution?!" The Decepticon wrenched the sword free and drove the tip down toward Ironhide's scarred optic. The black mech resolved not to flinch.
Then the distinctive cracking of rocks drew Ironhide's attention away from the sword -- the least appropriate thing he could do, but instinct put a higher command on sound, not sight. The sword froze above him as the ruined cave wall put itself back together. The engravings were in different places now, forming new meanings. Only the joined symbol returned to its original spot.
Ironhide understood what his Dreamtime was telling him.
He twisted his wounded arm and grasped the sword by the blade. The nanoseconds passed slowly as his gaze met Motormaster's, and the Decepticon glared murder in answer. Ironhide turned on his hi-beams, shoulders shifting to point the light directly into his opponent's optics. Motormaster snarled, his cameras constricting, and he tried to yank the sword back. Although it slipped a few inches, cutting Ironhide's palm, the Autobot hung on.
He waited for Motormaster to pull again, then bucked his entire frame, knocking the foot off of his other arm. Ironhide then jerked the sword downward, using it as leverage to get to his feet. Motormaster raised one fist and brought it down to clobber Ironhide, but the black mech lashed one leg upward, and the resulting impact did not go in the Stunticon's favor despite his superior height. Reverse momentum carried his arm high and tilted him backward.
Ironhide grasped the sword in his wounded hand and clenched the other into a tight fist. As Motormaster came forward again, Ironhide punched him solidly in the lower torso, denting the segmented armor. A quick hiss told him he had damaged an intake reserve. He followed up with a left hook to the Decepticon's chin.
Motormaster rocked back on his heels. Ironhide spun the sword between his hands so that when the Stunticon righted himself yet again he found the tip of his own weapon at his throat.
Motormaster smirked. "And there you are with a weapon in your hand again. You won't ever change."
A rumble built deep in Ironhide's core. "I don't need to change, Decepticreep." He turned the flat of the blade toward Motormaster's neck then shoved, pinning him against the trunk of a huge stalagmite. "I may have been forged for war, but my function is not to decimate those who cannot stand before my might. It is to use my power against those who would deny others their right to live!"
He drew back enough to angle his hold then rammed the hilt of the sword into Motormaster's face, stunning him. "And I have that right as well. I fight for what I believe in, not what I was programmed to believe. I will never be just a weapon!"
"Bah." Although leaning on the stalagmite for support after the blow, Motormaster sneered, then smirked again. "You can't stop us all by yourself."
Ironhide snorted, ejecting steam from his narrow olfactory vents. He tilted his head up, giving an imperious glare, then he tossed the sword down beside Motormaster. "And none of you can stop me." He turned and walked toward the wall with the engravings.
"It will never be over, Ironhide! You will still be like this forever!" The Stunticon grabbed his sword, absorbing it back into his right arm's plating. He took an unsteady step forward, then snarled when he saw that the Autobot had not looked at him.
"Not forever," Ironhide said as he touched the joined faction symbol. He scanned the entire wall, adding the images to the previous file. "I don't want to live forever. But I am ready to wake up."
And so he did. One moment he was in the cavern, the next he was outside, in vehicle mode, as the sun was setting upon Uluru once again.
The next thing he noticed was a park ranger staring at him. He suppressed a sheepish rumble; while he had been Dreaming his holomatter projector had deactivated. He would deal with that a little later. He wanted to review the two scans of the wall -- or rather his memory of them. There were no actual scans packaged in his database since there had never been anything tangible to scan. But now he constructed a data file of them, his Dream-memory very clear on each one of the glyphs. They were of the same language that had been in the Temples on Cybertron. He had learned how to read a few of them since then, and knew that the ones he had seen in his Dreamtime were a clue from the past. The Allspark...and the Seekers...
Then there was the replay of how he had received his scars. He remembered that burning sensation on his face. He felt a ghost of it every time he touched the area around his optic and it was the same when he felt the ache in his right hip. Out of all of his injuries, those were the two that stuck with him the most. He recalled coming to somewhere in the Temple, Chromia staring down at him and a young medic, barely out of the academy, named Ratchet tending his wounds. The plating on his hip and face were replaced, but his own self-repair broke them down soon after, recreating the scarring. Ratchet had tried to replace them on two other occasions but the same thing happened. The scars were permanent, written into his spark. Bypasses around his hip kept him walking, but he accepted and adapted to the handicap of his optic. The camera and visual input were intact, that was the important part. Ratchet had thought to replace his entire hip assembly, but Ironhide had doubted that would matter, either.
He returned his focus to the ranger. He was talking to someone behind the TopKick. Ironhide didn't catch the end of their conversation -- he was suddenly distracted by the feedback from someone climbing onto his back bumper, then over his tailgate and into his bed. Just as he began to fear he would have to blow his cover to keep from being broken into -- the would-be breakee would be startled to find the glass was not so easily shattered -- he felt a hand on the base of the window at the back of his cab and a man's voice whispered, "I'll help you, Ironhide. Conjure the keys on the seat." He sounded like he might be in his early sixties.
Curious to know who the man was, and knowing that holomatter keys would do him no good nor do harm, Ironhide did as he requested. The window opened outward, the man reached in and felt around a few times, then closed his hand on the spot where the keys sat. Ironhide followed his hand's movement, maintaining the holomatter projection. "I've got them," the man called to the ranger. "Thanks, mate, and sorry for the trouble. " He wasn't native Australian. There was a hint of Russian in his voice.
After the ranger walked away, Ironhide felt the man climb over the left side of his bed and maneuver his way to the door along the running board. Ironhide let him open the door and waited as the man, tall, thin, and dressed just like any other tourist, swung himself into the driver's seat. He kept the door open for a few seconds, leaned over to pretend to rummage in the camping supplies, then sat up, closed the door, and took off his sunglasses.
Ironhide suspected he wasn't a mere tourist. He kept his voice quiet as he spoke through his radio. "And you are..?"
"Morris Brodsky. I'm with Sector Seven."
"They were disbanded. Who are you?"
The man smiled. Wrinkles appeared around his gray eyes. "That's what you think. Not all of us gave up our life's work. We just... took on related hobbies."
"How did you find me?" Ironhide couldn't keep the suspicion from his voice on the question.
"You just happened to drive into my latest project. And speaking of driving, we should move along before someone asks if I'm crazy for talking to myself."
Ironhide agreed and shifted gears. He was still a bit wary, but wasn't overly concerned. A scan had shown that Morris did not have anything unusual hidden on his person. If he did try anything Ironhide could always toss him out the door with a quick shift and drive away before anyone realized what he was. "Do you have a destination in mind?"
"We could start heading west. I'm camped out that ways."
Ironhide turned onto a track that led westward. As they passed the last cluster of tourists he asked, "What is your project? I gather it has to do with Uluru's uniqueness."
"Are you familiar with Ley Lines, Ironhide?"
"Somewhat. I know several converge at Uluru." The Autobot was amused that Brodsky sounded like he was having a chat with an old friend. There hadn't been enough information about the other members of Sector Seven, and he wondered how many of them were like Agent Simmons.
The word 'secretive' came to mind when it took about five miles of travel to reach Broadsky's camp site. There wasn't a soul around, but the surroundings gave a good view of Ayer's Rock. Ironhide let Morris out and felt secure about transforming in the growing dark. The man was unfazed by his appearance, and Ironhide wondered where he had been during the Hoover Dam incident. "Observing from here?"
"Yes. I get a nice view of the horizon. Plus this spot is parallel to one of the Ley Lines." Morris knelt to take some things out of a rucksack: a flashlight, a miner's helmet, and a small clip-on radio. "Annnnndd one more thing. Let me show you." Next he took out a utility belt and a thermos. He hooked it, the radio, and the flashlight onto the belt. Ironhide glanced around with a raised optic ridge. He did not see any rock formations large enough for a cave. A campfire would be more effective against the approaching night than either the flashlight or headlamp. "This way." Morris gestured and began to walk further west. Ironhide debated transforming, but then figured that their destination might not be very far.
"So," Morris spoke companionably, "What brought you this way?"
"I'm seeking a solution to something."
"And did your Dreamtime reveal anything helpful?"
"You assume I even had any type of vision."
"I was wondering if your people could enter Dreamtime." Morris looked up with a kind smile. "Plus there is that joke that robots dream of electric sheep."
Ironhide snorted. "We do dream. I doubt sheep are ever a subject. But that is different from this, anyway."
"I know. I was just curious. So did you find your solution?"
"Not quite."
"Looking for love or money?"
Ironhide stopped mid-stride. "What?"
Morris grinned up at him. "Humans usually want to know how to attain one or the other, or both."
"That is still different from Dreaming."
"I know. I'm just curious."
Ironhide was beginning to see the trend with Sector Seven agents: they were very odd people.
He was starting to like this one. "I have no use for money and I already have a sparkmate."
"Ah. Well then, what else?"
"It's a... personal matter."
"Ah. Something troubling your soul that needs to be soothed."
Ironhide wanted to grumble at him this time, but he stopped to think instead. "In a way, yes. That, too."
"I should stop prying. It's a habit." Morris pointed to the raised precipice of a fault scarp about seven yards away. "Almost there. The last earthquake to come through here opened it up and erosion has continued the rest. It's going to be hard to hide it."
Something alien, Ironhide thought. He began to scan the ground, looking for anything hidden near the surface. He went stock still as they reached the last three yards. Then he broke into a sprint and practically leaped over the ridge to see how much of Morris' mystery object was revealed.
The human came puffing over a lower section of the fault scarp moments later. "You have an idea of what it is, I assume."
About five feet up from the ground, a narrow gap about nine feet wide was open in the side of a natural trench created by the scarp and the land it had separated from. The edges of the gap had been superheated to the point of forming glass and chips of obsidian. Within he could see numerous pieces of aged metal. Ironhide stared at them, then gently ran one finger over the lines of glyphs decorating the closest piece. "Yes," the Autobot murmured in awe. "This is one of the Ancients."
~*~
Two of the astronomers at Perth Observatory were hurrying to make trajectory calculations. One of them had spotted a cluster of small meteorites that were going to enter Earth's atmosphere. They were waiting for the computer to tell them where, exactly, the cluster might land.
A third astronomer came over to look in the telescope. In a hushed tone he asked, "Do you think they are new Autobots? There has not been word about more of them incoming in several months."
"If it is Autobots, they are off course." One of the men looked over at the third. "Their trajectory will land them here, east of us."
The other man turned pale. "I hope they are only regular meteors, then. The Autobots are supposed to keep to North America." He peered into the telescope again, checking the cluster. "They have spread out. There are five separate ones..." He moved the telescope's focus along the path the meteoritess had taken so far, looking to confirm a group of passing asteroids that they might have been pulled from. What he found instead made him become even more pale. "There are three more, and I just saw them change their own course." He pulled back and stared solemnly at his compatriots. "They are chasing the first five."
"Alert the Prime Minister."
~*~
Brodsky peered through a magnifying glass he had taken from a pouch on his belt, studying the engravings in the metal. "Definitely looks genuine. It's similar to the marks on the Allspark and on Megatron, but the shape of the lines have a more... elegant? ...quality to them. Although, I thought the Allspark was rather elegant." He glanced up at Ironhide, who loomed directly over him. "Do you think there's an entire Cybertronian in here?"
"Without doubt. I can tell from the superstructure. I know who it is, as well. I once saw a statue of him."
Morris nodded, running his hand over the glyphs. "Do these mean something? If so, can you read them?"
"Yes, they do, but I cannot read all of them. The ancient language was lost to us for a long time until one of our scientists created a partial translation. He would know what they say."
"What would this fellow be doing here?"
Ironhide moved to the side and lowered himself to a sitting position, his back against the eroded face of the scarp. He tried to shrug off the feeling of deja vu. "Long ago there were seven Primes who ruled Cybertron together. When we developed the technology for space travel, six of them set out on exploratory missions throughout the universe. I don't know if they were looking for anything specific or merely expanding our cultural data bases. Those six disappeared into the history tracks, taking their language with them. The generations descended from the remaining Prime allowed slang and new forms of writing to change the old language."
Morris sat back on his heels. "Cultural evolution. Fascinating." He glanced at the gap. "So, who is this fellow?"
"Live Convoy."
Morris looked thoughtful. "So...as a group they're called Primes but an individual is called Convoy?"
Ironhide didn't answer immediately. The way he shifted his cameras downward at the human clearly stated that he was not amused. "Convoy refers to how they are the head of their personal group of followers. Each Prime had different ideals, and attracted different Cybertronians to their entourages. The diversity of the groups helped keep the planet in harmony."
"Ah. I take it that when the Primes who set out to explore left, some members of their entourages went with them?"
Ironhide nodded.
"How long do you think he's been here on Earth?"
"I'm not sure. I don't have any carbon dating equipment."
Morris counted the layers of rock above the gap. "Several thousand at least. Had to have been before the Allspark arrived here."
"Hmm." Ironhide nodded again, his neck creaking.
"Do you think the impact killed him or something else?"
Ironhide shifted closer and leaned over on his hands to peer into the gap, taking note of the condition of parts of the ancient Cybertronian's frame. "He was dead before he hit the atmosphere. We have failsafes for not coming in too hot. I assume they did as well. He was definitely overheated to have done this to the native soil and rock." He gestured to the glass and bits of obsidian.
"How do we get him out?"
"Carefully." Ironhide inspected the glass edges more closely, then ran a thorough scan to make a virtual model of the Ancient's structure and systems. Not a single node was active, yet there was some type of energy residue... "Morris," he said suddenly, "Move away." He put one hand between the human and the gap. "He's radioactive."
"What? But I tested for that first," Brodsky protested while scrambling backward. "My geiger counter didn't register anything."
"Your equipment is not advanced enough to pick up this type of radiation."
Morris jogged along the trench about ten feet before calling back, "It's fortunate you were here."
"Yes..." Ironhide crouched in front of the gap, staring inside and trying not to think too much about the significance of Morris' words. He focused instead on the dilemma he faced: he could not leave the body there but he would need help removing it, and would have to go to the Australian government to get clearance for an excavation. He would then have to explain his unauthorized presence. He rested his elbows on his knees and debated his options.
Morris put away his magnifying glass and took out the thermos. He was taking a drink when the small radio clicked and a voice spoke urgently, "We have confirmed an incoming planetfall. Coordinates are negative two five point two six seven and one three zero point eight seven seven." Morris glanced over at Ironhide. The Autobot had heard and was now gazing skyward.
"I see them."
"Was someone supposed to meet you here?"
"No," Ironhide replied darkly. He stood and made his way out of the trench. "Go back to your camp and find shelter. Warn anyone else nearby. If it isn't a team of Autobots who failed to check in, this will get ugly."
Brodsky's radio clicked again. "We confirm three more, gaining on the five."
Ironhide grunted. "Really ugly." As much as he wanted to see to the safety of his new human friend, it was imperative that he get to the coordinates before the incoming made impact. He transformed and gunned it, driving faster than any TopKick was designed to.
Meanwhile, Morris did not leave right away, instead staying long enough to arrange a Sector Seven-grade camouflage net over the gap in the scarp face. He had left the net there earlier, knowing it would be up to him to protect the deceased alien. It truly had been fortuitous that an Autobot had been in town. His remaining contact in the United States among The Last Seven had warned that going to ARROW with the discovery would be a bad idea.
~*~
As Ironhide raced toward the indicated impact site he considered his new dilemma. He immediately discounted that all eight would be Autobots. It would either be four versus five or six versus three.
He didn't want to think about one versus eight.
The weapon problem still remained. He would need something more than just temporary access. He could still create a new one from the hundreds of schematics in his database. The thing was, his cannons had been perfected and preferred for the last three hundred years. The majority of the system for them was integral to his weapon mode, which was exactly the issue he had mentioned to Ratchet. He would have to enforce several overrides to adapt a second system.
Out of all of this, however, he came to understand exactly what his Dreamtime had been telling him: War would find him. He was in for the fight and in it until it was over.
So be it. He had a world to protect.
When he halted he noted how conveniently isolated the area was. He was glad he had met Morris; if he happened to "disappear" out here, there would be at least one human who knew exactly where he was. He again didn't want to think about details -- had someone among the Decepticons found out he was here, and intended to outnumber and overwhelm him? He also tried not to think too hard on the possibility that the Stunticons had left the planet and were now returning with reinforcements.
Ironhide looked up at the night sky and saw the first five burning through the bottom layer of the atmosphere. They would make impact in seconds. Gears whirred and cables shifted around beneath his armor as he transformed the structure of his back to create a pair of energy-miniguns, mounting them over his shoulders with pivotal joints so he could move around and shoot in multiple directions. They weren't as powerful a weapon as either of his cannons, but it was something. He could improvise with melee tactics if he had to.
A quick glance around the ground didn't offer up any weapon that could be procured from the native surroundings.
He would just have to borrow one from his opponents.
The five impacts sounded off in quick succession. They rose as protoforms but within their first few steps forward they had formed up armor plating. Ironhide chose not to shoot at them in the few seconds they were vulnerable, just in case they were Autobots.
Yet, no. He raised his head stoically as five pairs of malicious red optics looked upon him. Their bodies were different but he knew their faces.
The Combaticons had finally come to Earth.
To Be Continued
[Author's Note #2: I promise this is the last cliffhanger of the fic. XD ]