Alien: Not Over Yet 1 Part 1 (still getting rid of my back-up)
Alien: Not Over Yet
A Side Story
Series: Transformers 2007
Ratings/Warnings: A little language, but nothing more. Probably edging out of the PG range.
Characters/Pairings: Keats, Bluestreak, Irene, Coldfront, Bumblebee, Optimus, Ratchet, Sam, Mikaela, Miles, Thundercracker, Skywarp, Starscreams. Gen.
Summary: Sequel to Alien, in the form of unconnected oneshots. This one takes place approximately a year after the end of Alien. Nothing much has happened during this time. Keats had really expected the end of Brazil to be the end of it all. He was wrong. But getting Bluestreak in touch with the others will be easy, right?
Thank you very much to my beta, mmouse15!
Alien: 1
Alien: 2
Alien: 3
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Alien on FFnet
Alien: Not Over Yet 1
Keats stumbled over to his window. He had been sleeping. Now, he was pretending he was still asleep.
He’d gotten three hours the night before, and it had been well past midnight before he’d gotten to sleep last night. This morning. Whatever. Such was the result of an experiment that needed constant monitoring despite the fact that half the researchers had come down with the flu from hell.
And now one of his neighbors had their car alarm going off at three thirty in the morning. And it had been for somewhere between five and fifteen minutes. Probably between five and fifteen minutes, actually… He was tired enough that his sense of timing was likely to be kind of iffy.
His sheer-intrinsic-dislike-of-the-world factor was setting new records. Ordinarily, he was a pretty good-natured person, he thought, easy to get along with, both professionally and socially, and maybe he wasn’t the most interesting person around-if anything, he was slightly boring-but at least he wasn’t actively grating, when it came to personality.
But he was about five seconds and a positive identification of whose car it was away from knocking on someone’s door and yelling. Doubly so if there was someone in it making all that racket. (Of course, in all reality, he knew that he was much more likely to go knock on someone’s door and make a polite request-no reason to tick off your neighbors, after all-but it was still nice to imagine being unreasonable.)
The responsible car was obvious: the lights flashing in time and everything. Keats rubbed sleep-smeared eyes and looked closer: something sporty and expensive-looking, brand new with just a few smears of fresh-looking mud. He had the distinct feeling that if he was almost any other guy he’d recognize something about the make and model, but as things were, he didn’t. There was a reason he’d majored in biology.
The noise redoubled, and Keats frowned. It wasn’t a car he recognized, so it didn’t belong to anyone in the neighborhood-not that anyone who could afford something like that would live here. And now that he thought about it, the noise was just the car horn and not the car alarm. There wasn’t... anybody in the car…
Realization struck and Keats was pulling on a jacket and pushing his feet into a pair of shoes and out the door in thirty seconds flat.
A door swung open seemingly of its own as he approached, confirming his guess, and a sudden thought struck. What if it wasn’t an Autobot? Nimbus hadn’t been, to start with, at least. And he’d stories about the other who were out there… Just because they hadn’t been the main threat to Earth in his own save-the-earth escapades with the Transformers didn’t mean that they weren’t a very real threat.
Too late now. He climbed into the car, still nervous. The Autobots were kind of… Unnerving. Especially at first, although he’d gotten more comfortable with them as time went on. It’d been a while since he’d seen any of them, though-although he’d caught a glimpse of that one Autobot, Coldfront, when he’d last seen Irene.
The government had promised him that what he’d been told and what he’d seen would never impact his life again, that he could just forget it all-in fact, forgetting about it all would be a very good idea, if he got what they meant. He hadn’t believed them then, and he didn’t believe them now, and clearly he was the one who had been right.
“…Hello?” said a surprisingly young voice, sounding cautious, and Keats jumped visibly. The sound of a voice surrounding you-it was as eerie as he remembered it being. (Although it helped that he wasn’t in the middle of the Amazon and that it wasn’t an ex-Decepticon. He assumed. Actually, he was assuming it was an Autobot at all…)
Okay, now he was kind of freaked out. “Uh, hello-”
“Hi! I’m Bluestreak and I’m new here-really really new-and I found you online since you worked with the rest of the Autobots with that whole Cordyceps business and you were closest to where I landed-I need someone to look like they’re driving me because I don’t want to get caught before I even report in to Optimus Prime and Bumblebee and all the others, by humans or by Decepticons because I’m worried I’ve been followed and that the others won’t get to them in time and that would be really bad-I got this far by hiding and sort of sneaking around but that’s really hard and my stealth sucks. Prowl says it’s because I talk too much.”
Keats didn’t respond, still trying to catch up with what he’d said while running on seven-or possibly less-hours of sleep out of the past 48.
“-are you okay? Oh, Primus, there’s not something wrong, is there? I don’t know what to do if-”
“I’m fine,” squeaked Keats, jumping slightly again. “Just really, really tired. I’ve gotten almost no sleep-there’s this big project…” He had no idea what he was really saying, but he tended to react to stress like this. It was a big problem. “We need to keep on monitoring the cultures, and we can’t just film it because whenever the damned things decide to enter phase II we need someone there to react immediately, which means 24-7 observation, and most of the others have the flu and can barely move, let alone get themselves to the lab, which means that we’re all pulling double and triple shifts, and I was finally-finally-getting some sleep when this happens…!”
“Sorry,” cringed Bluestreak, and Keats sighed.
“Yeah, me too. I really shouldn’t have snapped at you like that-it’s just been a long week. And I, uh, wasn’t expecting this to happen. Again.”
“I’m sorry… But you were closest, that I could find, and I need to be able to get to Optimus Prime to report in-and Prowl said he wanted me to do it in person in case it got intercepted by Decepticons because we’re still not sure where they are, so do you know where they actually are? Anyone, really, because I just need to talk to somebody who has a secure line which I don’t-none of us do ’cause none of us have really had the chance to work with any of the Autobots on Earth right now. At least, I think so, because somebody might have arrived that one of us knows-probably not me, but one of the others-but we don’t know if they’re there if they are, so we can’t send them a message, right?”
“Oh,” said Keats. “Uh… I guess I need to deal with this, then.” He sighed. “Give me fifteen minutes to get some stuff together, okay? I have no idea how long this is going to take, and it’s best to be prepared… And I need to find someone to cover me in the lab. And it’s probably only a matter of time until one of my neighbors calls the police because I’m sitting in a car that’s obviously not mine talking to myself. So, uh, I’ll be right back.”
Keats was back pretty quickly, with a bag of essentials (two changes of clothes, travel food, an emergency kit, toiletries and reference books) and his cell phone. He’d also changed out of his pajamas.
“You know, I have no idea where any of the Autobots are,” he said conversationally as they pulled away.
There was a long, worrying minute of silence.
“-but we could try one of the other scientists involved with the Cordyceps event? I think they might have stayed in touch more… Kristine, maybe. She’s the only one I actually have personal contact information for. She lives in Maine, though… At least the time zone change means it’s two hours later over there then it is here. Here, I’ll call her and see if she knows anything.” Ignoring the fact that ‘two hours later’ still translated to five-thirty AM, he dialed the number.
“Hello?” said the clear, female voice that answered, obviously distracted, after enough rings that Keats was starting to get nervous.
“Kristine! Thank God. I didn’t wake you up, did I…?”
“Do you have any idea what time it is, Keats? Jesus Christ, what were you thinking?”
“Uh-”
“But no, you didn’t wake me up. I’m getting in touch with my nocturnal side in order to commune with the goddamn jellyfish.” Keats winced. Kristine was obviously in a mood.
“…Jellyfish are nocturnal?” some part of him was forced to ask.
“These ones are. But what’s up with you? I’m going to assume that you had some reason you called me-and I’m guessing that it’s not because you missed me.”
“Remember that last project we all worked together on? And how there were some other… people there?”
“Ohhhh, right. Yes, I think I do… Fungus, if I recall. There were some interesting characters, hmm?” They’d all been strictly forbidden from talking about the Autobots-or the Decepticons, he supposed-by any means that weren’t face-to-face: email especially, but also online chatting, phone calls, cell phone calls, even letters. They’d also been told to keep their conversations involving them curtailed to secure, private locations.
“Yeah. You ever keep in touch with any of them?”
“Me? No. Did you try the kids?”
“The kids? Kristine, after saving the world, I think you could be a little less demeaning…”
“Hey, I’ve saved it at least twice that I can remember, and I’m going to do it again with these jellyfish. Just you wait. And I don’t get much respect-my lab students still call me Krissie the Bitchy behind my back when I finish going over their work for the day.”
“…Well, to be fair, you can be kind of harsh…”
“But it pays off in the long run… Would you have improved if your own teacher had been nice?”
“Kristine, my own teacher was nice. But no, I didn’t keep in touch with the other two. Any other ideas?”
“Oh-wait-yeah! Right, I remember now. Do you know where Irene lives?”
oOo
Keats hadn’t known where Irene lived, but he had known that Evan knew, and he had Evan’s phone number.
So now they were headed for northern Oregon. Really, it could have been a lot worse-they could have needed to meet up with Kristine. New Mexico to Maine was not a trip he wanted to make by car.
He kept on drifting off to sleep. Admittedly, this wasn’t as bad as it normally was when someone was in the driver’s seat of a moving car, considering that he wasn’t the one who was actually driving.
But on the other hand, he really didn’t want to end up accidentally upsetting the Autobot currently holding him, because it was probably just good principle to not upset giant alien robots driving you around when you didn’t know them too well, and because, really, he seemed pretty nice. At least he seemed to understand that Keats didn’t have much to say in reply to his ramblings. Of course, he also didn’t seem to understand that humans needed sleep…
“Keats Lagoya? Is something wrong?” asked Bluestreak suddenly, snapping him out of yet another doze. Keats jumped slightly, jerking his neck painfully.
“Ahh! Huh? Yeah-I’m kind of tired.” He smothered another yawn, proving the point-or at least, the point would have been proven if the other person was human and Keats had any reason to think that he could pick up on the meanings of physical reactions like yawning. “I’m running on something like… Uh… Six hours of sleep out of the last forty-eight. Would you mind too much if I tried to nap a little?”
“Oh. I figured you were malfunctioning or something… I didn’t realize it was a voluntary action! I’m still really new here and I’m trying to get some research off of your information network, but it’s going kind of slowly, I think I got some kind of virus implanted the last time I got captured-”
Keats figured it was time to break off this particular tangent, at least so he could get a word in edgewise.
“At this point, it’s really not all that voluntary,” he said tiredly, rubbing at one eye and then smothering another yawn. “Much longer and I’ll probably start hallucinating. That would be a malfunction.”
“…Oh.” Bluestreak had figured that sleep was equivalent to recharge, and then hadn’t bothered to look into it any further. Apparently, it wasn’t as exact a parallel as he’d originally thought… “I’m sorry, then, you should sleep, if you need it. I see- No, I can’t believe-” There was a burst of what sounded like squealing static to Keats; he assumed it was Cybertronian. “(Primus) that can happen to humans because of lack of rest? And it takes so little time?”
“Mmm,” muttered Keats agreeably, half-asleep again. Bluestreak decided to let it go, switching to a private line. Yeah, it didn’t tie into anyone or anything, but he needed something to talk to, after all, and it wouldn’t interrupt the human-and if their processors (brains?) could start malfunctioning like that just because of lack of recharge, no, sleep, he wouldn’t want to show up with his first charge on Earth irreparably damaged-and he’d started to get almost attached to the silence on the other end of the line, what with all the time he’d spent chatting to it out in space. There hadn’t been much else to do, once he’d lost his team.
oOo
It was late when Keats woke up-the sun was setting. He half-stretched, slightly hampered by the room he had, yawning again, working out some of the stiffness. His neck was painfully sore-he’d had it at a funny half-drooped-over angle as he slept, not very comfortable.
“-Oh good, you’re awake,” Bluestreak said suddenly, making Keats jump a little. “I wasn’t sure and I was hoping you were okay and that nothing had gone wrong… I did a little more research, though, because I figured it was going to be necessary for this in the long run, since the Autobots here have been working with the organics-with you-so much, and it took a while but I think I’ve got more of the basics down now, at least, do you need me to stop so you can eat-or well, you’d call it eating, right? I’d use ‘refuel’ but that’s not right for you, is it?”
“Uh, no, ‘eat’ is the right word,” said Keats absentmindedly. “I have a little food with me, but if you could pull over at the next gas station? That’d be good.”
“Alright!” said Bluestreak cheerily. “I mean, sure, it’s no problem at all! You’re the one doing me the favor, after all-”
“It’s no problem. I had the next few days off, anyways-people were finally starting to get over their colds, and taking over their own shifts again, and they gave me some time to recover.”
“-But still, it’s really nice of you. I don’t know what I’d do, I really didn’t want to get discovered and possibly break cover, that would be a really bad way to start this all off, and Prowl wouldn’t let me hear the end of it ever, and I don’t have time to lay low and take my time, I’m still worried about those Decepticons following me-I don’t know how long they’d been behind me, I only picked up their signal right around when I got Optimus Prime’s message, I think I’d been separated from the team maybe a month in your local time at that point, and now I’ve lost them again, probably because of the atmosphere here, it takes a little getting used to-I hope that the others will have met up here by now, although there’s a good chance that they’re dead… Anyways,” Bluestreak tried to cheer back up, it didn’t do any good to dwell on something he couldn’t deal with-“Do you know who’s here on earth already?”
“Optimus you know about,” said Keats. “Um… Ratchet, Coldfront, who’s with Irene, Ironhide, Solarity, Gyro, Bumblebee-”
“Really? He’s always been my hero! Aside from Optimus Prime, of course, but he was incredible at Tyger Pax-And he’s closer to my age, there’s not a lot of us anymore, I’d like to be as heroic as he is… Oh, I’m sorry for interrupting. That’s a lot… There’s more?”
“Yeah. Landslide, and then Nimbus, but he used to be a Decepticon.”
Bluestreak jerked suddenly. “What?”
“Uh… Like I said. He ended up crash-landing on an alien planet, and they took care of him, and he switched factions-I don’t know how long ago. He didn’t seem all that bad to me.”
There was a long, slightly worrying moment of silence.
“…Oh. I guess if Optimus Prime approved there’s not much I can say…”
“Right,” Keats said, deciding to avoid that subject from now on. “Who are the others you’re waiting for?”
“Oh! Well, all that’s left of my original unit is Prowl, he’s the commander-he’s kind of stiff sometimes but he’s really good at what he does. He’s one of the best tacticians there is-and he’s always been really nice to me, in a kind of removed way. I don’t mind too much, I really like him. And then a while ago we ran into the remains of a different unit, so we’ve been working together for a while. That’s Wheeljack and the twins-Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.”
“…Twins.”
“Yeah-that’s kind of the same word, or as close as it gets? English isn’t a very good language for some of these concepts, I think. They’re… It’s like, well, so there’s the spark, right? And it makes you who they are? Theirs are kind of… Connected, in a way, it’s like there’s a little overlap. It’s not that they have the same spark-I met someone-a group of someones-like that once, just one spark and three bodies, so just one mind. It was very, very creepy-always moving together and speaking, and they went by one name. It was kind of unsettling.
“But anyways, some part of the twins’ sparks are more-or-less the same… I think. Wheeljack was trying to explain it to me, but he kept on going off on these complex tangents and I’m not really sure I ended up understanding everything. Or anything, really.”
“So, what’s… Wheeljack like?”
“Oh, he’s the leader of that team. Originally he was with a science branch so I don’t know how he ended up in charge of a couple of brawlers like Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, but he’s really smart. He’s nice, too-I like him. He doesn’t complain when I talk too much-which I do a lot, I know, I try not to but I’m really, really bad at it-and he’s happy to explain things to me. I don’t like the twins as much, they can be kind of scary. Sideswipe’s okay, I guess, but you’re never really sure what he’s thinking or if he’s going to pull some kind of weird prank on you, or do something to freak you out or whatever. And then Sunstreaker’s just… Scary, yeah. He doesn’t really like me at all-and at least with Sideswipe I’m never really sure if he does or not. Actually, I’m not sure that’s any better at all, now I think about it. At least I know where I am, with Sunstreaker. Of course, I think ‘where I am’ might mean ‘dead if I piss him off at the wrong moment,’ so I don’t know. I haven’t been travelling with them very long, though, which probably doesn’t help. And I am kind of annoying, I know, I talk too much-do you want me to just shut up by now?”
“No, it’s fine,” said Keats, looking away from the empty hills flashing past them, only to realize that he had no idea what the equivalent of looking someone in the eye was when they were a car you were sitting in was. He settled for an awkward middle distance that kind of included the rear-view mirror and the steering wheel. “I don’t mind-I understand, I can babble a bit myself, and it’s nice to have something to listen to.”
“Thank you… Where was I? Oh. Sunstreaker. Yeah, I’m kind of annoying, and that probably doesn’t help, and then I’m really kind of useless-I mean, Prowl’s a better fighter than me and he’s meant to be a tactician, and I’m a pretty good shot but I freeze up sometimes and a sniper’s just not as helpful as a general fighter when there’s so few of us, and Wheeljack’s at least always coming up with weapons for us, and things like that, and he’s a genius, everyone knows it… So really, I’m the useless one, and I think the twins like me even less for that. I don’t know. But I’m really looking forward to meeting all the newcomers here on earth! …Well, I suppose I’m the newcomer, but I still can’t wait to meet everyone. It’s been a long time since I’ve really met anyone new-I mean, there was Wheeljack and Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, but that was a while ago, too, really, and it was a long, long time before that-I’m kind of nervous actually…”
oOo
Keats left Bluestreak in the driveway to knock on Irene’s door. He waited for a few minutes-nothing. A little bit of looking revealed a doorbell, ingeniously concealed behind some potted plants. Irene didn’t necessarily want visitors at any given moment.
Still nothing. Keats fidgeted. It was seven in the morning, which was pretty early, yeah, but Irene tended to be an early riser, from what he knew, and even she would probably get up to see what was going on when someone was alternating ringing and knocking insistently on her door, no matter how early it was.
After all, you never knew when it would turn out to be a colleague-of-sorts you’d saved the world with by killing off killer fig virus Cordyceps fungus showing up with a giant alien robot trying to get in touch with his own kind.
A noise behind him made him turn around to look-and freeze.
Ah. Coldfront. Aiming a weapon of some sort-all he was coming up with was “really big gun”-at Bluestreak, who had transformed as well and was standing, frozen-almost comically, Keats thought. He also realized it was the first time he’d seen the newcomer-Bluestreak-as anything other than a car. He was still gray with a red stripe, although the stripe had been broken up with the splitting of the car’s ‘shell’ into, well, armor.
“Coldfront?” he said cautiously. Surprisingly, the Autobot relaxed slightly as he looked over to focus on the scientist.
“Keats,” he said, by way of perfunctory greeting.
“Uh-” Bluestreak started.
“State your faction and your designation,” said Coldfront immediately, eyes narrowing to slits again.
“Autobot Bluestreak under command of Prowl-” started Bluestreak again, before he was cut off.
“Coldfront?” started Keats. “I really don’t think he’s a disguised Decepticon or anything-he got me here in one piece, after all-”
“Protocol dictates that an Autobot contact others in the area using private radio lines-”
“Whoa, Coldfront, it’s okay, calm down a little,” Irene said sleepily, pulling open the front door. Her hair was badly tangled, she had mascara smeared down one cheek and she was wearing wrinkled flannel pajamas: clearly, she had been asleep.
After a second’s thought, Keats changed his original deduction. It was likely that she had been asleep, but you never knew, with Irene.
“I want to know why this self-proclaimed Autobot did not bother to follow protocol and contact another Autobot, instead abducting a human-”
“What?” yelped Bluestreak.
“I haven’t been abducted,” said Keats, objecting mildly.
“I did try sending off a message but nobody responded and I think it’s because our general-call line got switched after the ’Cons got a hold of it and I didn’t want to use a general-frequency message because I’m being followed by Decepticons!” Bluestreak said, in a rush to get his explanation out before the other Autobot interrupted him again.
Coldfront did not look amused.
oOo
The four of them had relocated to a patio around the back; Irene had clearly had it put in specifically for situations involving Autobots, or at least heavily remodeled it: the large, flat gravel bed surrounding it looked slightly out of the place in the middle of the huge, overflowing muddle of a garden, especially with the delineation of it harshened by the still-new construction zone.
“So,” Irene said, pushing a mug and a pot of coffee in Keats’ direction; she already had a cup for herself. “What exactly is going on?” She’d also cleaned herself up, changing into her standard jeans-and-a-t-shirt, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. As she sat she shrugged on a light jacket, defense against the early June morning chill, something Keats wished he had thought to bring with him; New Mexico hadn’t been cold at all, but Oregon was a little chilly.
Bluestreak took the opportunity to speak; he’d been silent, intimidated by Coldfront, and twitch because of it, Keats had noticed. Or twitchy, at least-Keats didn’t know if Bluestreak was or wasn’t twitchy all the time, he’d realized.
“I was separated from my commanding officer and a cooperating team approximately three months ago, after a battle; we weren’t going anywhere in particular, just back in the general direction of Cybertron, to see if we could find someone qualified to give us orders, or at least more Decepticons. I was separated from the group, and failed to make radio contact with any of them for another week, so I continued in the direction we’d been heading towards in the first place. After about a month I picked up Optimus Prime’s signal and switched courses, assuming the others would do the same thing, and around the same time I became aware that I was being followed by Decepticons, I didn’t really know how many-I didn’t manage to shake them off my trail, I don’t know how long they’d been following me before I noticed them and I don’t know if they’re still following me or if I lost them on entry into this planet’s atmosphere.”
“Protocol dictates that I either accompany you to an officer or keep you under watch until an officer can attend to the matter.” Coldfront didn’t sound as sure, as unaffected, as he usually did-he almost sounded torn, conflicted. “In this situation, with possible pursuers, it would be better if you continued, instead of waiting. It’s possible you’ve been bugged.”
“(Primus) I hope not,” Bluestreak said, looking unnerved.
“Okay,” Irene said cheerily. “I guess I’ll see you in a few days or a week, then, Coldfront? I suppose I’ll see you the next time we pull the world’s collective bacon out of the fire, Keats-and I haven’t the foggiest when it comes to you, Bluestreak. Here, Keats, can I give you lettuce and peas to take with you? I always plant way more than I need because the squirrels eat what the raccoons don’t, even with the crazy old lady down the road who’s always feeding them. This year I think Coldfront is scaring them off, so-Coldfront? Is something wrong?”
Keats couldn’t seem much difference in the mech’s expression, himself, but he figured that Irene had more practice than he did.
“I’m going to sent Bluestreak on ahead with directions and Optimus Prime’s contacts,” said Coldfront uneasily. “It’s… Against procedure, but with possible Decepticons in the area, I don’t want to leave you unguarded, in particular now that you’ve been involved in this matter by sheltering Bluestreak and Keats, even for this short a period of time.”
“I’m not sure this counts as ‘sheltering,’” said Bluestreak uneasily.
Keats was surprised by what Coldfront had said, but Irene looked honest-to-God bowled over-he had the feeling that he was missing something in the conversation, probably a year’s worth of context.
“I’d be fine on my own, you know,” said Irene gently.
“Possibly,” allowed Coldfront. “Even probably.”
“I’ll go too, then,” said Irene with a that’s-that tone to her voice.
“…Did you really just compromise with someone?” asked Keats slowly, one eyebrow arched. Irene stuck her tongue out at him.
oOo
Keats was sleeping again and Bluestreak didn’t want to bother Coldfront-who wasn’t as scary as the twins, true, but he was also less annoying, so Bluestreak didn’t want to annoy him even more than he didn’t want to annoy them, and then there was how he was so professional-it reminded Bluestreak of Prowl, only not as familiar or friendly, although he also thought that it might be kind of strange to describe distance, or Prowl too, come to think of it, as ‘friendly,’ even if it was true, which Bluestreak at least thought it was-so he was talking to his blank line again.
There’d never been anyone on the other end of it. Bluestreak had had the number programmed in when he’d been transferred to Prowl’s unit, but the ’bot it had belonged to had died the day before he’d started; they’d never even met. So it wasn’t like he was pretending he was talking to a dead comrade or anything-that would have been down-right crazy, and Bluestreak wasn’t that bad, yet. He just needed something to keep his mind off… Things. He didn’t like silence.
So he talked, even if it meant talking to nobody. Not that anybody knew this. Prowl knew about the insomnia, but that was hard to hide-and it was something that could affect his performance in the field, so he’d kind-of had to tell him. Wheeljack didn’t know, and neither did the twins-who were the ones Bluestreak was most interested in keeping it from. Primus alone knew what they’d do with that sort of information. There was a good chance that Prowl had already guessed that Bluestreak was talking to himself sometimes, as a sort of stop-gap measure, but he hadn’t brought it up with him, and Bluestreak certainly wasn’t going to clue him in if he didn’t already know.
“-So it’s weird how much life there is around here, jammed into everything, it’s almost unbelievable-and most of it is really kind of fragile, it seems almost like a miracle that so many different types have survived-It’s nothing like space, especially. Or even Cybertron-especially afterwards.” Bluestreak cut off quickly, balancing over a thin edge, quiet for a few seconds before he quickly switched directions. “But it’s all kind of cool. I wish I could research it more-or at least more easily.
“Slagging Decepticons, with their invasive programs-I’m lucky I ran into Wheeljack when I did, probably be a twitching, nonfunctional lump with a dead processor by now, one even worse than my glitched self as of right now, and I don’t want that. I hope there’s a medic-I mean a real one, not an engineer like ’Jack-not that he’s not great! But I’m worried about Prowl, and y’know what he’s like. Which I suppose is kind of hypocritical, since he’s always after me about doing that sort of thing. I guess that’s been better now we have a kind-of medic to go to. Or at least we did. I don’t-” Bluestreak broke off again.
“I can’t believe Optimus Prime-Optimus Prime!-would let a Decepticon go free. Live around humans. They shouldn’t be-I know that. It’s going to end badly. I… It’s stupid! And not worth the chance, even if the Pit-damned thing is telling the truth. Maybe the human was just wrong? That’s not too unlikely, I guess. But… Maybe I can ask Coldfront once he’s had some more time to calm down-not that I know how long that takes for him, at all. And I don’t know if he’s talking to that human right now. She might be asleep. It seems awfully inconvenient, to be tied to planetary rotations like that-but I don’t know if it would make that much of a difference if everyone was tied to the same cycle. Of course, I’m not, and the other Autobots, and I suppose even the traitor Decepticon and all the other Decepticons out there-not that they’re going to care about whether or not humans have a heliocentric mindset, things like that don’t matter when you’re killing someone…”
oOo
“Slag,” muttered one of the jets from where they were hunkered down in a small meadow, hidden by the trees surrounding them.
“What?” said the other.
“It’s crazy, an Autobot, and it won’t shut up,” growled the first. “Got it figured out yet?”
His partner ignored him. “Anything useful?” he asked.
“Yeah, actually…”
oOo
Optimus was waiting for them just outside Seattle. It had been a long, long time since Bluestreak had been as nervous as he was for the hour it took to drive to the patch of National Forest they’d agreed to meet at from where Optimus Prime had commed them.
He was bad enough that Keats noticed, and noticed enough to ask.
“Are you… Nervous? I get the feeling that you’re a talker, but this is worse than you’ve been the rest of the trip…”
“Yeah, I’m nervous-This is Optimus Prime. He’s a legend! Nobody doesn’t know about him, Autobot or Decepticon-there’s not a one of them not terrified of him, and on our side he’s the hero you get told about, the one who inspires you to join up in the active-fighting ranks, he’s-he’s…”
“Oh. I, uh, didn’t really know all that when we met. He seemed nice.”
For once, words seemed to fail Bluestreak.
For a while, at least. “…Have you met Bumblebee? What’s he like? Is he really serious? That’s what I’ve always imagined him as, after I heard about him and the Battle at Tyger Pax, but I don’t really know anyone who’s ever met him-well, except for you, of course-”
“I can’t answer the question unless you give me a chance to speak,” Keats said, sounding amused.
“Sorry, I’m trying not to talk so much, but-”
“No, it’s fine.” Keats thought for a second before he answered the question. “Bumblebee’s… Well, I didn’t get to know him all that way, but he was really, really protective when it came to the two kids with him, Sam and Mikaela. And he really, really didn’t like Nimbus because of it, from what I can recall.” Bluestreak brightened considerably-at least someone was keeping some sense to balance out the over-hopeful, unrealistic and dangerous optimism. “And not serious at all. Kind of a joker, actually, really pretty funny. A lot of personality.”
“…Oh. I hadn’t thought-I’d just heard the stories and assumed-”
oOo
The clearing didn’t have Optimus Prime in it, but it did have Nimbus and Bumblebee, both in vehicle mode, with Sam, Mikaela and a boy about their age whom Keats didn’t recognize sitting on a couple of nearby rocks. Bluestreak slid to a halt, a door sliding open, and Keats got out, happy for the chance to stretch. Behind him, Irene did the same, allowing the two Autobots to transform. Bumblebee followed suit, nudging at Nimbus with one foot when he hesitated for a second, before he followed their example.
Bluestreak had reacted before Nimbus had even transformed fully, a mean-looking gun of some type or another-Keats couldn’t say he was able to tell much more than that-sliding (transforming?) into place along his arm, pointed straight-on dead-center at the utterly still ex-Decepticon.
“Jesus,” muttered the kid Keats didn’t recognize.
There was a another soft flurry of noises behind him, and Keats snuck a quick glance over his shoulder: Coldfront had drawn his weapons as well, although presumably to keep Bluestreak in line, not Nimbus, if the new ’bot tried anything. Irene looked the way he felt, and thought he probably looked: surprised and a little (maybe more than a little) frightened. There were some things he didn’t want to experience, and a shootout between two over-powered giant robots was one of them.
“Don’t even think of attacking one of your fellow soldiers on my watch,” said Bumblebee, striding forward aggressively, wings stiff. He was the shortest one there, but he made up for it with sheer presence and attitude.
“What the hell’s going on?” said Mikaela quietly-her tone said it was a rhetorical question, but Keats really did want to know…
“He’s a Decepticon,” said Bluestreak, sounding almost bewildered but mostly nervous, and maybe a little belligerent.
“I can go if things will be easier that way,” said Nimbus softly. Bumblebee didn’t reply immediately, and Nimbus subsided into his vehicle form and left. A second later, Mikaela jogged away after him.
“Bumblebee?” said Sam. “You didn’t have to make him go.”
“He wanted to leave,” Bumblebee pointed out. “And hopefully, it will make things easier.” Motioning slightly with a shoulder and wing for emphasis, he turned his full attention back to Bluestreak. “Who are you?”
“Bluestreak,” said Bluestreak automatically. “But… You’re Bumblebee? The hero of Tyger Pax?”
“Sam-your car is a hero, too?” Miles said, sounding slightly envious, turning a little to look at his friend.
“Miles, I saved the world,” Sam said patiently. “It’s really not that big of a stretch…”
“Should I be insulted?” Bumblebee said brightly, although he didn’t look away from Bluestreak.
After a few seconds more tense waiting, Bluestreak relaxed, lowering his weapon-although he didn’t un-transform it, Keats noticed-and straightened slightly.
“Alright,” said Bumblebee. “Nimbus was a Decepticon: he had a change of heart and defaulted. If it’s good enough for Prime and the rest of us, that should be good enough for you. He’s off probation, and personally responsible for saving the life of a human closely connected to the Autobot cause on at least one situation. Whatever grudges you have from the war, let them go.”
oOo
“Sir!” said Bluestreak promptly, straightening completely and standing stiffly to attention as Optimus Prime transformed.
“At ease,” said Optimus, tone fairly light. Bluestreak relaxed-somewhat. Prowl had made an impression on him. “Bluestreak, right?”
“Yes, sir.” He really wanted to add more, but stopped himself. Bit his tongue-that was the human saying. It was kind of graphic, really, a lot of their sayings seemed to be, and Transformers didn’t have tongues or mouths but he did kind of like the phrase, it made a lot of sense…
Primus above he was nervous.
“Nice to see you again, Keats, Coldfront, Irene. I’m sorry for the trouble.”
“Wasn’t a problem,” said Keats, only lying a little. “I needed a break, anyways.”
“I think it worked out.” Irene’s eyes were hooded, tone inscrutable, and Keats shot her a questioning look, which she ignored.
“What’s the full situation, then, Bluestreak?” Optimus asked, turning towards the young Autobot. He tried to keep his tone somewhat comforting-the newcomer was clearly somewhat anxious.
“My team-well, Prowl-and another were attacked by Decepticons-I was separated from them and then followed on my way here after I got your message and I think I might have lost them but I’m not… Sure.”
Before anyone else could speak, there was a strange, almost shimmery sound that made Keats feel as if his ears, sensitive internal parts included, were trying to turn themselves inside-out and crawl out of his head; when it passed, he looked around: there was a jet circling overhead, and all of the (apparently unaffected) Autobots had produced weapons.
Surprisingly gracefully, the plane transformed, dropping to the ground to face them; he wasn’t obviously armed, but looked unnervingly… spiky to Keats. Kind of like Nimbus.
“Hold fire,” said Optimus Prime quietly, and the other three Autobots obeyed, although Bluestreak looked unnervingly-strained, to Keats-not that he was an expert. “What do you want from us?”
“Not getting shot at would be nice,” rumbled the Decepticon-he looked remarkably like he was smirking. Maybe that was just all the extraneous protrusions around his mouth-and the rest of his body-though. His voice was deep, lower than the others-and he was big, too, maybe the size of Prime.
At least he wasn’t a big airplane, Keats thought, masking a horrified shiver. Autobot or Decepticon, but especially with the latter, he never wanted to see, say, a jumbo jet Transformer, just by virtue of how big it would be.
“Why come here, then?” Bumblebee shot back.
“Well, you know, we’d rather not be hunted down and shot when we’re not expecting it.”
“We?”
“-And we’ve got this injured Autobot. We don’t know what else to do with him.”
Bluestreak stiffened noticeably, and Keats took the time to spare a nervous glance in his direction.
“Which Autobot?” said Bumblebee.
“Oh, I don’t know-he wasn’t conscious when we found him. Kind of short, maybe 20 feet tall, pretty high-ranking, I think a sub-commander but Thundercracker’s the one who studies that stuff, and I don’t know if I’m remembering right-”
“Black and white,” said Bluestreak urgently. “Is he black and white?”
“What? Yeah-”
“Prowl! Oh (Primus) what have you done-”
“Bluestreak,” said Prime, voice commanding. Keats jumped; it was something of a surprise. Optimus was usually pretty easy-going and… Well, not unobtrusive, but not demanding attention. “Calm down.”
Bluestreak didn’t calm down at all, from what Keats could tell.
We’ll get your commander back. Calm down. Now, Bluestreak, I need you to leave; you’re not calm enough for a negotiation, Optimus Prime repeated, sending a private message this time. He continued out loud: “Take the humans with you.”
Keats, Irene, Sam and the other teenager-Keats still didn’t recognize him-followed the unspoken order silently, hurrying around the edge of the glade because the Decepticon was still standing in the middle of it, climbing into a transformed Bluestreak and heading off down the rough road.
They found Mikaela and Nimbus in his vehicle mode around the first curve. Bluestreak didn’t bother trying to hide his absolute loathing as he transformed, glaring at the other Autobot with clearly transformed guns, although he didn’t shoot; he clearly thought of him as a Decepticon and nothing else.
Nimbus followed Bluestreak, transforming to his bipedal mode to stand facing him. He was, Keats realized, braced protectively over Mikaela, quite possibly subconsciously.
“Watch Mikaela for me,” he said simply, turning to walk back down the road. “I have orders to join the main group.”
Bluestreak twitched slightly, which made Keats jump; giant robots with grudges and an apparently itchy trigger finger made him nervous.
He didn’t do anything else, though. After a minute, Irene spoke up. “I think he’s communicating using his internal communications systems-see how the eyes are a little dimmed?”
That explained something, Keats thought.
After a minute he started pacing.
“What’s going on?” asked the unnamed teenager after a minute.
“I don’t know,” said Bluestreak, voice sounding tense, strained. “They can’t risk the loss of concentration to tell me what’s happening. Oh-who are you? What’s your name? And yours-”
“Oh, I’m Miles,” he said. “I got wrapped up in all this because of Sam-we’ve been friends for a long time-since kindergarten, I think-and a few months ago he introduced me to his car.”
“Bee’s not ‘my car,’” said Sam, sounding mildly irritated. “He’s not my anything-except ‘my friend,’ I guess.”
“Whatever. Man, this is so crazy-Decepticons appearing out of nowhere complete with weird brain-melting sound effects and hostages-damn, this is so cool!”
“Keep in mind that the hostage is Bluestreak’s commanding officer,” pointed out Irene from a little ways away-she’d wandered over to investigate some sort of white flower. “Hey, Keats, come look at this, I found some Cornus canadensis!”
“You know weird people,” said Miles to Sam and Mikaela.
“So, you’re Sam?” Bluestreak asked, looking at him.
“They’re scientists,” Mikaela explained in an aside to him. “Irene’s a botanist. We met them in Brazil…”
“Yeah, I’m Sam. And Bee’s my… Partner, I guess. We’ve known each other since before Mission City.”
“And I’m Mikaela. I guess I’m partnered with Nimbus-he was under Bee’s watch while he was on probation, so I lent him my driveway, and he drove me around, and then once he finished his probationary period he kind of just stayed…”
“That happens,” Irene said, standing up and wiping, somewhat uselessly, at the mud on her knees. “Coldfront offered me a ride back up from the Amazon, along with some chauffeuring before I left, and he’s been at my house since then.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Sam, turning to look at her, surprised. “Coldfront? Really? He always seemed kind of-removed, a little too professional-”
“I think it’s like the yin and yang of personalities,” said Keats reflectively. “They balance each other out. Both go a little too far, but in opposite directions…”
“Hey,” said Irene mildly. “What do you mean, ‘go too far?’”
“Irene, I-Actually, that’s so shameless I don’t know where to start. How about almost all the interaction you’ve ever had with Evan?”
“Oh, like your relationship with Kristine is any different-”
“Kristine at least knows when to rein it in and is somewhat helpful-and I’m not as jumpy as Evan and you know it!”
“Negotiations are over,” said Bluestreak suddenly. “We can all head back.”
“What happened?” Mikaela asked.
“I don’t know,” he said distractedly. The girl felt a twinge of sympathy-he sounded deeply worried. Apparently Prowl was more than just his commanding officer-she knew that the original Autobots certainly saw themselves as something more like family than a military unit, at least by human standards. On the other hand, Coldfront clearly had not had that sort of relationship with his commander.
“We’ll catch up,” said Keats. “You should go find out what happened.”
“Thank you,” Bluestreak said, striding forward.
“Come on,” said Irene. “I’m curious, too.”
The Decepticon was still there when the humans walked into the clearing, and was still clearly under guard-he was being flanked by Bumblebee and Coldfront. On the other hand, the other three Autobots-Nimbus, Optimus Prime and Bluestreak-no longer had weapons pointed at him; only Bluestreak had his guns out at all.
“What happened?” Sam asked.
“Skywarp,” Optimus said, nodding at the Decepticon, “And another Decepticon-”
“Thundercracker,” interrupted the Decepticon, making Bluestreak half twitch around, guns rising a little.
Optimus nodded in recognition of the correction. “Skywarp and Thundercracker found Prowl injured in the aftermath of a battle-the one that separated Bluestreak from the rest of his team. This was after they’d received my message. Neither wants to continue fighting, and they brought along Prowl as a gesture of goodwill-although neither is a medic. Prowl was injured, and entered stasis; they’ve kept him stable, but haven’t been able to start repairs. Ratchet and Thundercracker, who has Prowl, are both en route here, and I’ve sent out a message informing the other Autobots of the situation-Landslide is unhappy, and I haven’t heard back from the other three, although I doubt Ironhide will be any more satisfied with the situation.”
“So what are the conditions of the agreement?” Sam asked. He’d started studying politics and diplomacy-things he figured he’d need, if Keller had been serious when he’d told him that the Autobots were going to need liaisons to human governments, and he had the potential to be a prime candidate.
“They’ll be figured out once Thundercracker’s here-apparently he’s the one who’s going to carry out the negotiations. It will probably be some sort of mutual nonaggression pact.”
Irene had wandered over to the small pile of luggage-belonging to, variously, her, the teenagers and Keats-and was digging through one of her bags.
“What are you looking for?” Keats asked.
“I packed a native plants guide,” she explained, still rummaging through it. “And I figured I’d take the chance to get some sight-seeing in. I mean, where we are isn’t the Olympic National Park, but it’s still National Forest-and I’m used to the stuff I get down in Oregon, I’m hoping I’ll see something new. You want to come?”
“Sure,” said Keats. Regardless of whatever else you could say about the Autobots, they seemed to end up in biologically interesting areas. “And other guides?”
“Uh, two birding guides and a guide to ‘Insects of the Pacific Northwest.’”
“Ooo, insect guide! I’ll take that one.”
“We can take the bird ones along for the hell of it, then,” said Irene, grinning at him. And then, louder, “Hey, Coldfront, I’m going to go on a walk with Keats-I’ll tell you if I find anything really interesting! And take pictures. Okay?”
Coldfront nodded stiffly in her direction, which was apparently enough for her. “Okay, then, let’s go. Think the teenagers will want to come? Hey, Sam, Mikaela and Miles, any of you want to go investigate local biodiversity?”
“No,” said Sam and Mikaela, simultaneously.
“You know weird people,” said Miles reflectively, although he knew he was repeating himself, looking up at the towering forms around them.
oOo
Ratchet was working on an injured Autobot-presumably Prowl-and there was a toweringly huge Decepticon in the clearing when the two scientists returned. It was twilight, verging into full night: it was hard to see, with the trees deepening the gloom.
“We got lost,” announced Irene cheerily, rubbing at a patch of mud smeared on her face. “In a swamp. But we found saprophytes!”
“I am never listening to any of your suggestions ever again,” announced Keats, dropping wearily to sit on a comfortable-looking rock. “I am covered in mud.”
“You really are,” said Bumblebee, unhelpfully. Keats shot him a look.
Irene snickered. “You know, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen Kristine use that exact same glare. Like U.S. Government Emergency Team Member Sponsor, like sponsoree?”
“More organics?” said the larger Decepticon-Thundercracker.
“Keats got Bluestreak in touch with us,” said Nimbus, who seemed the calmest in the group.
“I need to look you over, too,” snarled Ratchet to Bluestreak, from where he was half-buried in Prowl. “And you, Decepticon-the smaller one. Something’s wrong with your engine.”
“Whoa,” said Irene, eyes comically wide.
“Nice to see you again, Ratchet,” said Keats, ignoring the Decepticons. He didn’t appreciate being referred to as ‘organic.’ A lot of things fit that description, and a lot of them weren’t particularly complimentary things to be grouped in with.
“Hi, Keats, Irene,” greeted the medic, looking up momentarily.
“You sure can be foul-tempered for someone who’s not a snapping turtle,” said Irene happily.
“What?” said Miles.
“Is that supposed to make sense?” asked the big Decepticon-Thundercracker, Keats though. Thunder-something, certainly.
“Only to Irene,” he said, with a slight sigh. “I think that translates to, more or less, pointing out the fact that Ratchet seems unusually grumpy for someone who’s seemed pretty easy-going in the past-Ow!”
Irene stepped smoothly away from Keats before he could elbow her in the ribs in return, explaining herself. “A snapping turtle is, of course, a type of terrapin known for its foul temper and extraordinarily strong jaws, giving rise to several idiomatic sayings. It’s really not much of a jump to simply translate ‘somebody with a foul temper’ to ‘snapping turtle,’ considering the circumstances. And then my sentence makes perfect sense.”
There was a dumbfounded pause.
“Really weird people,” said Miles.
“So what’s going on?” Irene asked, walking over to sit on Coldfront’s foot as people returned to what they’d been doing before the scientists had interrupted them. He seemed to have been removed from guard duty, although he was still sitting there stiffly, clearly on edge-although not so badly as Bluestreak was. Keats was surprised he wasn’t babbling a mile a minute. Talking a blue streak, so to speak. How did they come up with their names?
“There’s been some discussion about the terms of the ceasefire,” said Coldfront, glaring at the closest Decepticon-Skywarp-who was eying the two of them with a certain amount of interest. “So far, nothing definite has been decided. I think Optimus Prime is currently …discussing something to do with the situation with Ironhide. Did you see anything interesting?”
“Saprophytes!” said Irene happily. “Candystick, to be exact-so named for the resemblance it has to peppermint stick candy-see, here’s the picture I got- Oh! And there were reign orchids as well, once we got into the swamp, where it opened up a little-”
“So, who’re you, squ-organic?” asked the smaller Decepticon, leaning down to eye Keats. The biologist swallowed nervously: he looked distinctly… predatory. Or maybe it was all the spikes.
Or maybe it was how he’d started to say ‘squishy’ and then ended on ‘organic’-which was an improvement, albeit a word that wasn’t a particular favorite of his, at least when it came to how he was referred to. At least Landslide hadn’t been too likely to actually follow through with his threats-and he’d also given Keats a distinct feeling that he had been unnervingly like that, in some ways, at ages fourteen and fifteen. Thankfully, it seemed to be one of the things that he’d grown out of.
“Watch yourself,” snapped Bumblebee, stepping forward a little. Keats did some fast mental calculations about how potentially insulting it would be if he started backing up.
“You know,” said Thundercracker, looking over, “You’re adamant that we need to get along with the natives, but apparently you don’t want us actually interacting with them.” His voice was deceptively lazy.
“I don’t trust them,” said Bluestreak abruptly, standing suddenly and pacing again. “If they’re lying-and they’re Decepticons, I’m slagging sure they are-then any humans are at risk. They’re so fragile-”
Keats thought about protesting but, really, by comparison, they kind of were.
“-and we can’t just let them go free, that would be crazy!”
“I can make decisions for myself, you know,” Keats said, slightly reproachful. “Maybe you should be asking those humans you’re talking about what they think about the potential risk.”
“…Oh,” said Bluestreak, momentarily flummoxed. He really hadn’t thought about that.
Skywarp snickered. His apparent personality getting slightly obnoxious, Keats thought, but he also knew that his own mood was headed straight downhill-not enough sleep, getting lost, now he was kind of hungry, missing work, going off on adventures, and he had a headache sneaking up on him on top of everything else-which wouldn’t help his reaction to the Decepticon’s baiting.
Patience, he told himself.
Thankfully, Irene spoke up at this point. “I’ll talk to you,” she said brightly, looking at the two Decepticons. “I don’t know how interested you’ll be in what I have to say-sadly, not everybody appreciates ‘Hey, I think I found some Solomon’s-seal, want to check it out?’ as a conversation starter-but I’ll do it.”
“Irene!” Coldfront snapped out, sounding horrified. Keats had never heard that much emotion in his voice before. “What are you thinking-”
“If I die, at least I’ll be some kind of extend-the-hand-of-friendship-to-your-enemies martyr-No wait, if I die, I’ll probably only discourage people-”
It was Keats’ turn this time. “Irene!”
“Seriously, Coldfront, it’s a conversation. I have them-okay, not really on a regular basis, unless you count the garden or you-but fairly regularly. Nothing’s going to happen, you’re right here.” More quietly, she added, “I trust you.”
Coldfront didn’t respond, but Irene seemed to get something out of the blank silence. She smiled up at the ’bot.
“Well, that’s decided,” she said. “I’m Irene Grey, it’s nice to meet you. What are your thoughts on the natural sciences?”
“Boring,” said Skywarp promptly, flopping backward so he was staring up at the sky. “Even most organics think that’s boring. And you’re made of carbon.”
“I’m actually in the middle of negotiations,” said Thundercracker, sounding almost sheepish. “Uh…”
“Oh. Well, then,” said Irene, one eyebrow raised. “I don’t suppose somebody would agree to go with me to get food? I don’t think there are any actual cars here.”
oOo
“So,” Thundercracker said. “You’re willing to let us go free-sort of.”
“You’re a risk,” Optimus said calmly. “But I’m willing to give you the benefit of doubt. On the other hand, I’d like to be at least slightly informed about your general location and actions.”
“Skywarp is a teleporter. He doesn’t have a general location.”
“You’re not, though. Are you likely to be separated on a regular basis?”
“No,” admitted Thundercracker. “We’re not. How often would the check-ins be?”
“Six months.”
“Every year.”
“You’re fliers-it won’t take you long, no matter where you are, and with your current alt forms, it will be hard for you to pass unnoticed outside of the United States. Six months, and Ratchet will run basic maintenance or larger repairs whenever you need them.”
“Good enough. What’s your line on interaction with organics?”
“I’d like you to avoid it,” Optimus said coldly, voice chilly.
Thundercracker snorted. “I’ll try. What about the humans who already know about you? …And you realize that you’re about as subtle as a bag of hammers, collectively, and you’re all going to end up revealed to the public eye soon? What should I do then?”
“I doubt any of the people currently connected to the Autobots would be interested in getting to know either of you,” said Ratchet coldly from where he had his hands buried in Prowl’s internals.
“We’ll cross the latter bridge when we come to it,” Optimus said. “The humans already acquainted with Cybertronian life are all free to make their own decisions when it comes to meeting with you, of course, but I’d like you to respect them once they’re made. Why do you ask?”
“Because it’s better safe than sorry, and because Skywarp’s a mediocre conversationalist at best. -Irene seemed happy to talk.”
“I’ll warn you that Coldfront might object even if Irene didn’t, and that Irene is often… difficult to fully follow. She’s also highly eccentric, by human or Cybertronian standards.”
Thundercracker shrugged. “Whatever. But you have to respect a species as determined to fly as humans are, no matter how much their biology sucks for it. Me and ’Warp will try and stay out of the way. It’s not like he really wants to get to know any of them-the opposite, in fact.” He switched topics again, just as suddenly, something Optimus was starting to identify as normal for him. “What happens if one or both of us are attacked by Decepticon forces when an Autobot’s nearby?”
“If it’s a mutually beneficial situation, that Autobot would join in.”
“What? That’s all? Look-No. Okay, how ’bout this: any of your guys in trouble around me and Skywarp, we’ll help, if you’ll do the same for us. You don’t have air support, and we don’t have numbers.”
Optimus regarded him thoughtfully for a minute. “Fair enough. I’ll agree to that. You won’t have any problems fighting against your faction?”
Thundercracker snorted. “No.”
“But you refuse to become Autobots.”
“No.” His tone was absolute: Thundercracker was and always would be a Decepticon.
“I could work on drafting something that would, in essence, give you ties to the Autobot army that convey most of the rights of a full Autobot-on a probationary basis, clearly-while allowing you to remain a Decepticon. It will take time, of course, but there’s a precedent-I know of at least one incident where something similar was used for a neutral.”
“Skywarp?” asked Thundercracker, looking away, towards his partner.
“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. If it means we got back-up if we need it, and energy sources? Yeah.
“Alright,” said Thundercracker firmly, turning back to look Optimus squarely in the face. “But I get time to read the fine print before anything gets signed.”
The Prime sighed. “Of course.”
oOo
On to Part 2
A Side Story
Series: Transformers 2007
Ratings/Warnings: A little language, but nothing more. Probably edging out of the PG range.
Characters/Pairings: Keats, Bluestreak, Irene, Coldfront, Bumblebee, Optimus, Ratchet, Sam, Mikaela, Miles, Thundercracker, Skywarp, Starscreams. Gen.
Summary: Sequel to Alien, in the form of unconnected oneshots. This one takes place approximately a year after the end of Alien. Nothing much has happened during this time. Keats had really expected the end of Brazil to be the end of it all. He was wrong. But getting Bluestreak in touch with the others will be easy, right?
Thank you very much to my beta, mmouse15!
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Alien on FFnet
Alien: Not Over Yet 1
Keats stumbled over to his window. He had been sleeping. Now, he was pretending he was still asleep.
He’d gotten three hours the night before, and it had been well past midnight before he’d gotten to sleep last night. This morning. Whatever. Such was the result of an experiment that needed constant monitoring despite the fact that half the researchers had come down with the flu from hell.
And now one of his neighbors had their car alarm going off at three thirty in the morning. And it had been for somewhere between five and fifteen minutes. Probably between five and fifteen minutes, actually… He was tired enough that his sense of timing was likely to be kind of iffy.
His sheer-intrinsic-dislike-of-the-world factor was setting new records. Ordinarily, he was a pretty good-natured person, he thought, easy to get along with, both professionally and socially, and maybe he wasn’t the most interesting person around-if anything, he was slightly boring-but at least he wasn’t actively grating, when it came to personality.
But he was about five seconds and a positive identification of whose car it was away from knocking on someone’s door and yelling. Doubly so if there was someone in it making all that racket. (Of course, in all reality, he knew that he was much more likely to go knock on someone’s door and make a polite request-no reason to tick off your neighbors, after all-but it was still nice to imagine being unreasonable.)
The responsible car was obvious: the lights flashing in time and everything. Keats rubbed sleep-smeared eyes and looked closer: something sporty and expensive-looking, brand new with just a few smears of fresh-looking mud. He had the distinct feeling that if he was almost any other guy he’d recognize something about the make and model, but as things were, he didn’t. There was a reason he’d majored in biology.
The noise redoubled, and Keats frowned. It wasn’t a car he recognized, so it didn’t belong to anyone in the neighborhood-not that anyone who could afford something like that would live here. And now that he thought about it, the noise was just the car horn and not the car alarm. There wasn’t... anybody in the car…
Realization struck and Keats was pulling on a jacket and pushing his feet into a pair of shoes and out the door in thirty seconds flat.
A door swung open seemingly of its own as he approached, confirming his guess, and a sudden thought struck. What if it wasn’t an Autobot? Nimbus hadn’t been, to start with, at least. And he’d stories about the other who were out there… Just because they hadn’t been the main threat to Earth in his own save-the-earth escapades with the Transformers didn’t mean that they weren’t a very real threat.
Too late now. He climbed into the car, still nervous. The Autobots were kind of… Unnerving. Especially at first, although he’d gotten more comfortable with them as time went on. It’d been a while since he’d seen any of them, though-although he’d caught a glimpse of that one Autobot, Coldfront, when he’d last seen Irene.
The government had promised him that what he’d been told and what he’d seen would never impact his life again, that he could just forget it all-in fact, forgetting about it all would be a very good idea, if he got what they meant. He hadn’t believed them then, and he didn’t believe them now, and clearly he was the one who had been right.
“…Hello?” said a surprisingly young voice, sounding cautious, and Keats jumped visibly. The sound of a voice surrounding you-it was as eerie as he remembered it being. (Although it helped that he wasn’t in the middle of the Amazon and that it wasn’t an ex-Decepticon. He assumed. Actually, he was assuming it was an Autobot at all…)
Okay, now he was kind of freaked out. “Uh, hello-”
“Hi! I’m Bluestreak and I’m new here-really really new-and I found you online since you worked with the rest of the Autobots with that whole Cordyceps business and you were closest to where I landed-I need someone to look like they’re driving me because I don’t want to get caught before I even report in to Optimus Prime and Bumblebee and all the others, by humans or by Decepticons because I’m worried I’ve been followed and that the others won’t get to them in time and that would be really bad-I got this far by hiding and sort of sneaking around but that’s really hard and my stealth sucks. Prowl says it’s because I talk too much.”
Keats didn’t respond, still trying to catch up with what he’d said while running on seven-or possibly less-hours of sleep out of the past 48.
“-are you okay? Oh, Primus, there’s not something wrong, is there? I don’t know what to do if-”
“I’m fine,” squeaked Keats, jumping slightly again. “Just really, really tired. I’ve gotten almost no sleep-there’s this big project…” He had no idea what he was really saying, but he tended to react to stress like this. It was a big problem. “We need to keep on monitoring the cultures, and we can’t just film it because whenever the damned things decide to enter phase II we need someone there to react immediately, which means 24-7 observation, and most of the others have the flu and can barely move, let alone get themselves to the lab, which means that we’re all pulling double and triple shifts, and I was finally-finally-getting some sleep when this happens…!”
“Sorry,” cringed Bluestreak, and Keats sighed.
“Yeah, me too. I really shouldn’t have snapped at you like that-it’s just been a long week. And I, uh, wasn’t expecting this to happen. Again.”
“I’m sorry… But you were closest, that I could find, and I need to be able to get to Optimus Prime to report in-and Prowl said he wanted me to do it in person in case it got intercepted by Decepticons because we’re still not sure where they are, so do you know where they actually are? Anyone, really, because I just need to talk to somebody who has a secure line which I don’t-none of us do ’cause none of us have really had the chance to work with any of the Autobots on Earth right now. At least, I think so, because somebody might have arrived that one of us knows-probably not me, but one of the others-but we don’t know if they’re there if they are, so we can’t send them a message, right?”
“Oh,” said Keats. “Uh… I guess I need to deal with this, then.” He sighed. “Give me fifteen minutes to get some stuff together, okay? I have no idea how long this is going to take, and it’s best to be prepared… And I need to find someone to cover me in the lab. And it’s probably only a matter of time until one of my neighbors calls the police because I’m sitting in a car that’s obviously not mine talking to myself. So, uh, I’ll be right back.”
Keats was back pretty quickly, with a bag of essentials (two changes of clothes, travel food, an emergency kit, toiletries and reference books) and his cell phone. He’d also changed out of his pajamas.
“You know, I have no idea where any of the Autobots are,” he said conversationally as they pulled away.
There was a long, worrying minute of silence.
“-but we could try one of the other scientists involved with the Cordyceps event? I think they might have stayed in touch more… Kristine, maybe. She’s the only one I actually have personal contact information for. She lives in Maine, though… At least the time zone change means it’s two hours later over there then it is here. Here, I’ll call her and see if she knows anything.” Ignoring the fact that ‘two hours later’ still translated to five-thirty AM, he dialed the number.
“Hello?” said the clear, female voice that answered, obviously distracted, after enough rings that Keats was starting to get nervous.
“Kristine! Thank God. I didn’t wake you up, did I…?”
“Do you have any idea what time it is, Keats? Jesus Christ, what were you thinking?”
“Uh-”
“But no, you didn’t wake me up. I’m getting in touch with my nocturnal side in order to commune with the goddamn jellyfish.” Keats winced. Kristine was obviously in a mood.
“…Jellyfish are nocturnal?” some part of him was forced to ask.
“These ones are. But what’s up with you? I’m going to assume that you had some reason you called me-and I’m guessing that it’s not because you missed me.”
“Remember that last project we all worked together on? And how there were some other… people there?”
“Ohhhh, right. Yes, I think I do… Fungus, if I recall. There were some interesting characters, hmm?” They’d all been strictly forbidden from talking about the Autobots-or the Decepticons, he supposed-by any means that weren’t face-to-face: email especially, but also online chatting, phone calls, cell phone calls, even letters. They’d also been told to keep their conversations involving them curtailed to secure, private locations.
“Yeah. You ever keep in touch with any of them?”
“Me? No. Did you try the kids?”
“The kids? Kristine, after saving the world, I think you could be a little less demeaning…”
“Hey, I’ve saved it at least twice that I can remember, and I’m going to do it again with these jellyfish. Just you wait. And I don’t get much respect-my lab students still call me Krissie the Bitchy behind my back when I finish going over their work for the day.”
“…Well, to be fair, you can be kind of harsh…”
“But it pays off in the long run… Would you have improved if your own teacher had been nice?”
“Kristine, my own teacher was nice. But no, I didn’t keep in touch with the other two. Any other ideas?”
“Oh-wait-yeah! Right, I remember now. Do you know where Irene lives?”
oOo
Keats hadn’t known where Irene lived, but he had known that Evan knew, and he had Evan’s phone number.
So now they were headed for northern Oregon. Really, it could have been a lot worse-they could have needed to meet up with Kristine. New Mexico to Maine was not a trip he wanted to make by car.
He kept on drifting off to sleep. Admittedly, this wasn’t as bad as it normally was when someone was in the driver’s seat of a moving car, considering that he wasn’t the one who was actually driving.
But on the other hand, he really didn’t want to end up accidentally upsetting the Autobot currently holding him, because it was probably just good principle to not upset giant alien robots driving you around when you didn’t know them too well, and because, really, he seemed pretty nice. At least he seemed to understand that Keats didn’t have much to say in reply to his ramblings. Of course, he also didn’t seem to understand that humans needed sleep…
“Keats Lagoya? Is something wrong?” asked Bluestreak suddenly, snapping him out of yet another doze. Keats jumped slightly, jerking his neck painfully.
“Ahh! Huh? Yeah-I’m kind of tired.” He smothered another yawn, proving the point-or at least, the point would have been proven if the other person was human and Keats had any reason to think that he could pick up on the meanings of physical reactions like yawning. “I’m running on something like… Uh… Six hours of sleep out of the last forty-eight. Would you mind too much if I tried to nap a little?”
“Oh. I figured you were malfunctioning or something… I didn’t realize it was a voluntary action! I’m still really new here and I’m trying to get some research off of your information network, but it’s going kind of slowly, I think I got some kind of virus implanted the last time I got captured-”
Keats figured it was time to break off this particular tangent, at least so he could get a word in edgewise.
“At this point, it’s really not all that voluntary,” he said tiredly, rubbing at one eye and then smothering another yawn. “Much longer and I’ll probably start hallucinating. That would be a malfunction.”
“…Oh.” Bluestreak had figured that sleep was equivalent to recharge, and then hadn’t bothered to look into it any further. Apparently, it wasn’t as exact a parallel as he’d originally thought… “I’m sorry, then, you should sleep, if you need it. I see- No, I can’t believe-” There was a burst of what sounded like squealing static to Keats; he assumed it was Cybertronian. “(Primus) that can happen to humans because of lack of rest? And it takes so little time?”
“Mmm,” muttered Keats agreeably, half-asleep again. Bluestreak decided to let it go, switching to a private line. Yeah, it didn’t tie into anyone or anything, but he needed something to talk to, after all, and it wouldn’t interrupt the human-and if their processors (brains?) could start malfunctioning like that just because of lack of recharge, no, sleep, he wouldn’t want to show up with his first charge on Earth irreparably damaged-and he’d started to get almost attached to the silence on the other end of the line, what with all the time he’d spent chatting to it out in space. There hadn’t been much else to do, once he’d lost his team.
oOo
It was late when Keats woke up-the sun was setting. He half-stretched, slightly hampered by the room he had, yawning again, working out some of the stiffness. His neck was painfully sore-he’d had it at a funny half-drooped-over angle as he slept, not very comfortable.
“-Oh good, you’re awake,” Bluestreak said suddenly, making Keats jump a little. “I wasn’t sure and I was hoping you were okay and that nothing had gone wrong… I did a little more research, though, because I figured it was going to be necessary for this in the long run, since the Autobots here have been working with the organics-with you-so much, and it took a while but I think I’ve got more of the basics down now, at least, do you need me to stop so you can eat-or well, you’d call it eating, right? I’d use ‘refuel’ but that’s not right for you, is it?”
“Uh, no, ‘eat’ is the right word,” said Keats absentmindedly. “I have a little food with me, but if you could pull over at the next gas station? That’d be good.”
“Alright!” said Bluestreak cheerily. “I mean, sure, it’s no problem at all! You’re the one doing me the favor, after all-”
“It’s no problem. I had the next few days off, anyways-people were finally starting to get over their colds, and taking over their own shifts again, and they gave me some time to recover.”
“-But still, it’s really nice of you. I don’t know what I’d do, I really didn’t want to get discovered and possibly break cover, that would be a really bad way to start this all off, and Prowl wouldn’t let me hear the end of it ever, and I don’t have time to lay low and take my time, I’m still worried about those Decepticons following me-I don’t know how long they’d been behind me, I only picked up their signal right around when I got Optimus Prime’s message, I think I’d been separated from the team maybe a month in your local time at that point, and now I’ve lost them again, probably because of the atmosphere here, it takes a little getting used to-I hope that the others will have met up here by now, although there’s a good chance that they’re dead… Anyways,” Bluestreak tried to cheer back up, it didn’t do any good to dwell on something he couldn’t deal with-“Do you know who’s here on earth already?”
“Optimus you know about,” said Keats. “Um… Ratchet, Coldfront, who’s with Irene, Ironhide, Solarity, Gyro, Bumblebee-”
“Really? He’s always been my hero! Aside from Optimus Prime, of course, but he was incredible at Tyger Pax-And he’s closer to my age, there’s not a lot of us anymore, I’d like to be as heroic as he is… Oh, I’m sorry for interrupting. That’s a lot… There’s more?”
“Yeah. Landslide, and then Nimbus, but he used to be a Decepticon.”
Bluestreak jerked suddenly. “What?”
“Uh… Like I said. He ended up crash-landing on an alien planet, and they took care of him, and he switched factions-I don’t know how long ago. He didn’t seem all that bad to me.”
There was a long, slightly worrying moment of silence.
“…Oh. I guess if Optimus Prime approved there’s not much I can say…”
“Right,” Keats said, deciding to avoid that subject from now on. “Who are the others you’re waiting for?”
“Oh! Well, all that’s left of my original unit is Prowl, he’s the commander-he’s kind of stiff sometimes but he’s really good at what he does. He’s one of the best tacticians there is-and he’s always been really nice to me, in a kind of removed way. I don’t mind too much, I really like him. And then a while ago we ran into the remains of a different unit, so we’ve been working together for a while. That’s Wheeljack and the twins-Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.”
“…Twins.”
“Yeah-that’s kind of the same word, or as close as it gets? English isn’t a very good language for some of these concepts, I think. They’re… It’s like, well, so there’s the spark, right? And it makes you who they are? Theirs are kind of… Connected, in a way, it’s like there’s a little overlap. It’s not that they have the same spark-I met someone-a group of someones-like that once, just one spark and three bodies, so just one mind. It was very, very creepy-always moving together and speaking, and they went by one name. It was kind of unsettling.
“But anyways, some part of the twins’ sparks are more-or-less the same… I think. Wheeljack was trying to explain it to me, but he kept on going off on these complex tangents and I’m not really sure I ended up understanding everything. Or anything, really.”
“So, what’s… Wheeljack like?”
“Oh, he’s the leader of that team. Originally he was with a science branch so I don’t know how he ended up in charge of a couple of brawlers like Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, but he’s really smart. He’s nice, too-I like him. He doesn’t complain when I talk too much-which I do a lot, I know, I try not to but I’m really, really bad at it-and he’s happy to explain things to me. I don’t like the twins as much, they can be kind of scary. Sideswipe’s okay, I guess, but you’re never really sure what he’s thinking or if he’s going to pull some kind of weird prank on you, or do something to freak you out or whatever. And then Sunstreaker’s just… Scary, yeah. He doesn’t really like me at all-and at least with Sideswipe I’m never really sure if he does or not. Actually, I’m not sure that’s any better at all, now I think about it. At least I know where I am, with Sunstreaker. Of course, I think ‘where I am’ might mean ‘dead if I piss him off at the wrong moment,’ so I don’t know. I haven’t been travelling with them very long, though, which probably doesn’t help. And I am kind of annoying, I know, I talk too much-do you want me to just shut up by now?”
“No, it’s fine,” said Keats, looking away from the empty hills flashing past them, only to realize that he had no idea what the equivalent of looking someone in the eye was when they were a car you were sitting in was. He settled for an awkward middle distance that kind of included the rear-view mirror and the steering wheel. “I don’t mind-I understand, I can babble a bit myself, and it’s nice to have something to listen to.”
“Thank you… Where was I? Oh. Sunstreaker. Yeah, I’m kind of annoying, and that probably doesn’t help, and then I’m really kind of useless-I mean, Prowl’s a better fighter than me and he’s meant to be a tactician, and I’m a pretty good shot but I freeze up sometimes and a sniper’s just not as helpful as a general fighter when there’s so few of us, and Wheeljack’s at least always coming up with weapons for us, and things like that, and he’s a genius, everyone knows it… So really, I’m the useless one, and I think the twins like me even less for that. I don’t know. But I’m really looking forward to meeting all the newcomers here on earth! …Well, I suppose I’m the newcomer, but I still can’t wait to meet everyone. It’s been a long time since I’ve really met anyone new-I mean, there was Wheeljack and Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, but that was a while ago, too, really, and it was a long, long time before that-I’m kind of nervous actually…”
oOo
Keats left Bluestreak in the driveway to knock on Irene’s door. He waited for a few minutes-nothing. A little bit of looking revealed a doorbell, ingeniously concealed behind some potted plants. Irene didn’t necessarily want visitors at any given moment.
Still nothing. Keats fidgeted. It was seven in the morning, which was pretty early, yeah, but Irene tended to be an early riser, from what he knew, and even she would probably get up to see what was going on when someone was alternating ringing and knocking insistently on her door, no matter how early it was.
After all, you never knew when it would turn out to be a colleague-of-sorts you’d saved the world with by killing off killer fig virus Cordyceps fungus showing up with a giant alien robot trying to get in touch with his own kind.
A noise behind him made him turn around to look-and freeze.
Ah. Coldfront. Aiming a weapon of some sort-all he was coming up with was “really big gun”-at Bluestreak, who had transformed as well and was standing, frozen-almost comically, Keats thought. He also realized it was the first time he’d seen the newcomer-Bluestreak-as anything other than a car. He was still gray with a red stripe, although the stripe had been broken up with the splitting of the car’s ‘shell’ into, well, armor.
“Coldfront?” he said cautiously. Surprisingly, the Autobot relaxed slightly as he looked over to focus on the scientist.
“Keats,” he said, by way of perfunctory greeting.
“Uh-” Bluestreak started.
“State your faction and your designation,” said Coldfront immediately, eyes narrowing to slits again.
“Autobot Bluestreak under command of Prowl-” started Bluestreak again, before he was cut off.
“Coldfront?” started Keats. “I really don’t think he’s a disguised Decepticon or anything-he got me here in one piece, after all-”
“Protocol dictates that an Autobot contact others in the area using private radio lines-”
“Whoa, Coldfront, it’s okay, calm down a little,” Irene said sleepily, pulling open the front door. Her hair was badly tangled, she had mascara smeared down one cheek and she was wearing wrinkled flannel pajamas: clearly, she had been asleep.
After a second’s thought, Keats changed his original deduction. It was likely that she had been asleep, but you never knew, with Irene.
“I want to know why this self-proclaimed Autobot did not bother to follow protocol and contact another Autobot, instead abducting a human-”
“What?” yelped Bluestreak.
“I haven’t been abducted,” said Keats, objecting mildly.
“I did try sending off a message but nobody responded and I think it’s because our general-call line got switched after the ’Cons got a hold of it and I didn’t want to use a general-frequency message because I’m being followed by Decepticons!” Bluestreak said, in a rush to get his explanation out before the other Autobot interrupted him again.
Coldfront did not look amused.
oOo
The four of them had relocated to a patio around the back; Irene had clearly had it put in specifically for situations involving Autobots, or at least heavily remodeled it: the large, flat gravel bed surrounding it looked slightly out of the place in the middle of the huge, overflowing muddle of a garden, especially with the delineation of it harshened by the still-new construction zone.
“So,” Irene said, pushing a mug and a pot of coffee in Keats’ direction; she already had a cup for herself. “What exactly is going on?” She’d also cleaned herself up, changing into her standard jeans-and-a-t-shirt, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. As she sat she shrugged on a light jacket, defense against the early June morning chill, something Keats wished he had thought to bring with him; New Mexico hadn’t been cold at all, but Oregon was a little chilly.
Bluestreak took the opportunity to speak; he’d been silent, intimidated by Coldfront, and twitch because of it, Keats had noticed. Or twitchy, at least-Keats didn’t know if Bluestreak was or wasn’t twitchy all the time, he’d realized.
“I was separated from my commanding officer and a cooperating team approximately three months ago, after a battle; we weren’t going anywhere in particular, just back in the general direction of Cybertron, to see if we could find someone qualified to give us orders, or at least more Decepticons. I was separated from the group, and failed to make radio contact with any of them for another week, so I continued in the direction we’d been heading towards in the first place. After about a month I picked up Optimus Prime’s signal and switched courses, assuming the others would do the same thing, and around the same time I became aware that I was being followed by Decepticons, I didn’t really know how many-I didn’t manage to shake them off my trail, I don’t know how long they’d been following me before I noticed them and I don’t know if they’re still following me or if I lost them on entry into this planet’s atmosphere.”
“Protocol dictates that I either accompany you to an officer or keep you under watch until an officer can attend to the matter.” Coldfront didn’t sound as sure, as unaffected, as he usually did-he almost sounded torn, conflicted. “In this situation, with possible pursuers, it would be better if you continued, instead of waiting. It’s possible you’ve been bugged.”
“(Primus) I hope not,” Bluestreak said, looking unnerved.
“Okay,” Irene said cheerily. “I guess I’ll see you in a few days or a week, then, Coldfront? I suppose I’ll see you the next time we pull the world’s collective bacon out of the fire, Keats-and I haven’t the foggiest when it comes to you, Bluestreak. Here, Keats, can I give you lettuce and peas to take with you? I always plant way more than I need because the squirrels eat what the raccoons don’t, even with the crazy old lady down the road who’s always feeding them. This year I think Coldfront is scaring them off, so-Coldfront? Is something wrong?”
Keats couldn’t seem much difference in the mech’s expression, himself, but he figured that Irene had more practice than he did.
“I’m going to sent Bluestreak on ahead with directions and Optimus Prime’s contacts,” said Coldfront uneasily. “It’s… Against procedure, but with possible Decepticons in the area, I don’t want to leave you unguarded, in particular now that you’ve been involved in this matter by sheltering Bluestreak and Keats, even for this short a period of time.”
“I’m not sure this counts as ‘sheltering,’” said Bluestreak uneasily.
Keats was surprised by what Coldfront had said, but Irene looked honest-to-God bowled over-he had the feeling that he was missing something in the conversation, probably a year’s worth of context.
“I’d be fine on my own, you know,” said Irene gently.
“Possibly,” allowed Coldfront. “Even probably.”
“I’ll go too, then,” said Irene with a that’s-that tone to her voice.
“…Did you really just compromise with someone?” asked Keats slowly, one eyebrow arched. Irene stuck her tongue out at him.
oOo
Keats was sleeping again and Bluestreak didn’t want to bother Coldfront-who wasn’t as scary as the twins, true, but he was also less annoying, so Bluestreak didn’t want to annoy him even more than he didn’t want to annoy them, and then there was how he was so professional-it reminded Bluestreak of Prowl, only not as familiar or friendly, although he also thought that it might be kind of strange to describe distance, or Prowl too, come to think of it, as ‘friendly,’ even if it was true, which Bluestreak at least thought it was-so he was talking to his blank line again.
There’d never been anyone on the other end of it. Bluestreak had had the number programmed in when he’d been transferred to Prowl’s unit, but the ’bot it had belonged to had died the day before he’d started; they’d never even met. So it wasn’t like he was pretending he was talking to a dead comrade or anything-that would have been down-right crazy, and Bluestreak wasn’t that bad, yet. He just needed something to keep his mind off… Things. He didn’t like silence.
So he talked, even if it meant talking to nobody. Not that anybody knew this. Prowl knew about the insomnia, but that was hard to hide-and it was something that could affect his performance in the field, so he’d kind-of had to tell him. Wheeljack didn’t know, and neither did the twins-who were the ones Bluestreak was most interested in keeping it from. Primus alone knew what they’d do with that sort of information. There was a good chance that Prowl had already guessed that Bluestreak was talking to himself sometimes, as a sort of stop-gap measure, but he hadn’t brought it up with him, and Bluestreak certainly wasn’t going to clue him in if he didn’t already know.
“-So it’s weird how much life there is around here, jammed into everything, it’s almost unbelievable-and most of it is really kind of fragile, it seems almost like a miracle that so many different types have survived-It’s nothing like space, especially. Or even Cybertron-especially afterwards.” Bluestreak cut off quickly, balancing over a thin edge, quiet for a few seconds before he quickly switched directions. “But it’s all kind of cool. I wish I could research it more-or at least more easily.
“Slagging Decepticons, with their invasive programs-I’m lucky I ran into Wheeljack when I did, probably be a twitching, nonfunctional lump with a dead processor by now, one even worse than my glitched self as of right now, and I don’t want that. I hope there’s a medic-I mean a real one, not an engineer like ’Jack-not that he’s not great! But I’m worried about Prowl, and y’know what he’s like. Which I suppose is kind of hypocritical, since he’s always after me about doing that sort of thing. I guess that’s been better now we have a kind-of medic to go to. Or at least we did. I don’t-” Bluestreak broke off again.
“I can’t believe Optimus Prime-Optimus Prime!-would let a Decepticon go free. Live around humans. They shouldn’t be-I know that. It’s going to end badly. I… It’s stupid! And not worth the chance, even if the Pit-damned thing is telling the truth. Maybe the human was just wrong? That’s not too unlikely, I guess. But… Maybe I can ask Coldfront once he’s had some more time to calm down-not that I know how long that takes for him, at all. And I don’t know if he’s talking to that human right now. She might be asleep. It seems awfully inconvenient, to be tied to planetary rotations like that-but I don’t know if it would make that much of a difference if everyone was tied to the same cycle. Of course, I’m not, and the other Autobots, and I suppose even the traitor Decepticon and all the other Decepticons out there-not that they’re going to care about whether or not humans have a heliocentric mindset, things like that don’t matter when you’re killing someone…”
oOo
“Slag,” muttered one of the jets from where they were hunkered down in a small meadow, hidden by the trees surrounding them.
“What?” said the other.
“It’s crazy, an Autobot, and it won’t shut up,” growled the first. “Got it figured out yet?”
His partner ignored him. “Anything useful?” he asked.
“Yeah, actually…”
oOo
Optimus was waiting for them just outside Seattle. It had been a long, long time since Bluestreak had been as nervous as he was for the hour it took to drive to the patch of National Forest they’d agreed to meet at from where Optimus Prime had commed them.
He was bad enough that Keats noticed, and noticed enough to ask.
“Are you… Nervous? I get the feeling that you’re a talker, but this is worse than you’ve been the rest of the trip…”
“Yeah, I’m nervous-This is Optimus Prime. He’s a legend! Nobody doesn’t know about him, Autobot or Decepticon-there’s not a one of them not terrified of him, and on our side he’s the hero you get told about, the one who inspires you to join up in the active-fighting ranks, he’s-he’s…”
“Oh. I, uh, didn’t really know all that when we met. He seemed nice.”
For once, words seemed to fail Bluestreak.
For a while, at least. “…Have you met Bumblebee? What’s he like? Is he really serious? That’s what I’ve always imagined him as, after I heard about him and the Battle at Tyger Pax, but I don’t really know anyone who’s ever met him-well, except for you, of course-”
“I can’t answer the question unless you give me a chance to speak,” Keats said, sounding amused.
“Sorry, I’m trying not to talk so much, but-”
“No, it’s fine.” Keats thought for a second before he answered the question. “Bumblebee’s… Well, I didn’t get to know him all that way, but he was really, really protective when it came to the two kids with him, Sam and Mikaela. And he really, really didn’t like Nimbus because of it, from what I can recall.” Bluestreak brightened considerably-at least someone was keeping some sense to balance out the over-hopeful, unrealistic and dangerous optimism. “And not serious at all. Kind of a joker, actually, really pretty funny. A lot of personality.”
“…Oh. I hadn’t thought-I’d just heard the stories and assumed-”
oOo
The clearing didn’t have Optimus Prime in it, but it did have Nimbus and Bumblebee, both in vehicle mode, with Sam, Mikaela and a boy about their age whom Keats didn’t recognize sitting on a couple of nearby rocks. Bluestreak slid to a halt, a door sliding open, and Keats got out, happy for the chance to stretch. Behind him, Irene did the same, allowing the two Autobots to transform. Bumblebee followed suit, nudging at Nimbus with one foot when he hesitated for a second, before he followed their example.
Bluestreak had reacted before Nimbus had even transformed fully, a mean-looking gun of some type or another-Keats couldn’t say he was able to tell much more than that-sliding (transforming?) into place along his arm, pointed straight-on dead-center at the utterly still ex-Decepticon.
“Jesus,” muttered the kid Keats didn’t recognize.
There was a another soft flurry of noises behind him, and Keats snuck a quick glance over his shoulder: Coldfront had drawn his weapons as well, although presumably to keep Bluestreak in line, not Nimbus, if the new ’bot tried anything. Irene looked the way he felt, and thought he probably looked: surprised and a little (maybe more than a little) frightened. There were some things he didn’t want to experience, and a shootout between two over-powered giant robots was one of them.
“Don’t even think of attacking one of your fellow soldiers on my watch,” said Bumblebee, striding forward aggressively, wings stiff. He was the shortest one there, but he made up for it with sheer presence and attitude.
“What the hell’s going on?” said Mikaela quietly-her tone said it was a rhetorical question, but Keats really did want to know…
“He’s a Decepticon,” said Bluestreak, sounding almost bewildered but mostly nervous, and maybe a little belligerent.
“I can go if things will be easier that way,” said Nimbus softly. Bumblebee didn’t reply immediately, and Nimbus subsided into his vehicle form and left. A second later, Mikaela jogged away after him.
“Bumblebee?” said Sam. “You didn’t have to make him go.”
“He wanted to leave,” Bumblebee pointed out. “And hopefully, it will make things easier.” Motioning slightly with a shoulder and wing for emphasis, he turned his full attention back to Bluestreak. “Who are you?”
“Bluestreak,” said Bluestreak automatically. “But… You’re Bumblebee? The hero of Tyger Pax?”
“Sam-your car is a hero, too?” Miles said, sounding slightly envious, turning a little to look at his friend.
“Miles, I saved the world,” Sam said patiently. “It’s really not that big of a stretch…”
“Should I be insulted?” Bumblebee said brightly, although he didn’t look away from Bluestreak.
After a few seconds more tense waiting, Bluestreak relaxed, lowering his weapon-although he didn’t un-transform it, Keats noticed-and straightened slightly.
“Alright,” said Bumblebee. “Nimbus was a Decepticon: he had a change of heart and defaulted. If it’s good enough for Prime and the rest of us, that should be good enough for you. He’s off probation, and personally responsible for saving the life of a human closely connected to the Autobot cause on at least one situation. Whatever grudges you have from the war, let them go.”
oOo
“Sir!” said Bluestreak promptly, straightening completely and standing stiffly to attention as Optimus Prime transformed.
“At ease,” said Optimus, tone fairly light. Bluestreak relaxed-somewhat. Prowl had made an impression on him. “Bluestreak, right?”
“Yes, sir.” He really wanted to add more, but stopped himself. Bit his tongue-that was the human saying. It was kind of graphic, really, a lot of their sayings seemed to be, and Transformers didn’t have tongues or mouths but he did kind of like the phrase, it made a lot of sense…
Primus above he was nervous.
“Nice to see you again, Keats, Coldfront, Irene. I’m sorry for the trouble.”
“Wasn’t a problem,” said Keats, only lying a little. “I needed a break, anyways.”
“I think it worked out.” Irene’s eyes were hooded, tone inscrutable, and Keats shot her a questioning look, which she ignored.
“What’s the full situation, then, Bluestreak?” Optimus asked, turning towards the young Autobot. He tried to keep his tone somewhat comforting-the newcomer was clearly somewhat anxious.
“My team-well, Prowl-and another were attacked by Decepticons-I was separated from them and then followed on my way here after I got your message and I think I might have lost them but I’m not… Sure.”
Before anyone else could speak, there was a strange, almost shimmery sound that made Keats feel as if his ears, sensitive internal parts included, were trying to turn themselves inside-out and crawl out of his head; when it passed, he looked around: there was a jet circling overhead, and all of the (apparently unaffected) Autobots had produced weapons.
Surprisingly gracefully, the plane transformed, dropping to the ground to face them; he wasn’t obviously armed, but looked unnervingly… spiky to Keats. Kind of like Nimbus.
“Hold fire,” said Optimus Prime quietly, and the other three Autobots obeyed, although Bluestreak looked unnervingly-strained, to Keats-not that he was an expert. “What do you want from us?”
“Not getting shot at would be nice,” rumbled the Decepticon-he looked remarkably like he was smirking. Maybe that was just all the extraneous protrusions around his mouth-and the rest of his body-though. His voice was deep, lower than the others-and he was big, too, maybe the size of Prime.
At least he wasn’t a big airplane, Keats thought, masking a horrified shiver. Autobot or Decepticon, but especially with the latter, he never wanted to see, say, a jumbo jet Transformer, just by virtue of how big it would be.
“Why come here, then?” Bumblebee shot back.
“Well, you know, we’d rather not be hunted down and shot when we’re not expecting it.”
“We?”
“-And we’ve got this injured Autobot. We don’t know what else to do with him.”
Bluestreak stiffened noticeably, and Keats took the time to spare a nervous glance in his direction.
“Which Autobot?” said Bumblebee.
“Oh, I don’t know-he wasn’t conscious when we found him. Kind of short, maybe 20 feet tall, pretty high-ranking, I think a sub-commander but Thundercracker’s the one who studies that stuff, and I don’t know if I’m remembering right-”
“Black and white,” said Bluestreak urgently. “Is he black and white?”
“What? Yeah-”
“Prowl! Oh (Primus) what have you done-”
“Bluestreak,” said Prime, voice commanding. Keats jumped; it was something of a surprise. Optimus was usually pretty easy-going and… Well, not unobtrusive, but not demanding attention. “Calm down.”
Bluestreak didn’t calm down at all, from what Keats could tell.
We’ll get your commander back. Calm down. Now, Bluestreak, I need you to leave; you’re not calm enough for a negotiation, Optimus Prime repeated, sending a private message this time. He continued out loud: “Take the humans with you.”
Keats, Irene, Sam and the other teenager-Keats still didn’t recognize him-followed the unspoken order silently, hurrying around the edge of the glade because the Decepticon was still standing in the middle of it, climbing into a transformed Bluestreak and heading off down the rough road.
They found Mikaela and Nimbus in his vehicle mode around the first curve. Bluestreak didn’t bother trying to hide his absolute loathing as he transformed, glaring at the other Autobot with clearly transformed guns, although he didn’t shoot; he clearly thought of him as a Decepticon and nothing else.
Nimbus followed Bluestreak, transforming to his bipedal mode to stand facing him. He was, Keats realized, braced protectively over Mikaela, quite possibly subconsciously.
“Watch Mikaela for me,” he said simply, turning to walk back down the road. “I have orders to join the main group.”
Bluestreak twitched slightly, which made Keats jump; giant robots with grudges and an apparently itchy trigger finger made him nervous.
He didn’t do anything else, though. After a minute, Irene spoke up. “I think he’s communicating using his internal communications systems-see how the eyes are a little dimmed?”
That explained something, Keats thought.
After a minute he started pacing.
“What’s going on?” asked the unnamed teenager after a minute.
“I don’t know,” said Bluestreak, voice sounding tense, strained. “They can’t risk the loss of concentration to tell me what’s happening. Oh-who are you? What’s your name? And yours-”
“Oh, I’m Miles,” he said. “I got wrapped up in all this because of Sam-we’ve been friends for a long time-since kindergarten, I think-and a few months ago he introduced me to his car.”
“Bee’s not ‘my car,’” said Sam, sounding mildly irritated. “He’s not my anything-except ‘my friend,’ I guess.”
“Whatever. Man, this is so crazy-Decepticons appearing out of nowhere complete with weird brain-melting sound effects and hostages-damn, this is so cool!”
“Keep in mind that the hostage is Bluestreak’s commanding officer,” pointed out Irene from a little ways away-she’d wandered over to investigate some sort of white flower. “Hey, Keats, come look at this, I found some Cornus canadensis!”
“You know weird people,” said Miles to Sam and Mikaela.
“So, you’re Sam?” Bluestreak asked, looking at him.
“They’re scientists,” Mikaela explained in an aside to him. “Irene’s a botanist. We met them in Brazil…”
“Yeah, I’m Sam. And Bee’s my… Partner, I guess. We’ve known each other since before Mission City.”
“And I’m Mikaela. I guess I’m partnered with Nimbus-he was under Bee’s watch while he was on probation, so I lent him my driveway, and he drove me around, and then once he finished his probationary period he kind of just stayed…”
“That happens,” Irene said, standing up and wiping, somewhat uselessly, at the mud on her knees. “Coldfront offered me a ride back up from the Amazon, along with some chauffeuring before I left, and he’s been at my house since then.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Sam, turning to look at her, surprised. “Coldfront? Really? He always seemed kind of-removed, a little too professional-”
“I think it’s like the yin and yang of personalities,” said Keats reflectively. “They balance each other out. Both go a little too far, but in opposite directions…”
“Hey,” said Irene mildly. “What do you mean, ‘go too far?’”
“Irene, I-Actually, that’s so shameless I don’t know where to start. How about almost all the interaction you’ve ever had with Evan?”
“Oh, like your relationship with Kristine is any different-”
“Kristine at least knows when to rein it in and is somewhat helpful-and I’m not as jumpy as Evan and you know it!”
“Negotiations are over,” said Bluestreak suddenly. “We can all head back.”
“What happened?” Mikaela asked.
“I don’t know,” he said distractedly. The girl felt a twinge of sympathy-he sounded deeply worried. Apparently Prowl was more than just his commanding officer-she knew that the original Autobots certainly saw themselves as something more like family than a military unit, at least by human standards. On the other hand, Coldfront clearly had not had that sort of relationship with his commander.
“We’ll catch up,” said Keats. “You should go find out what happened.”
“Thank you,” Bluestreak said, striding forward.
“Come on,” said Irene. “I’m curious, too.”
The Decepticon was still there when the humans walked into the clearing, and was still clearly under guard-he was being flanked by Bumblebee and Coldfront. On the other hand, the other three Autobots-Nimbus, Optimus Prime and Bluestreak-no longer had weapons pointed at him; only Bluestreak had his guns out at all.
“What happened?” Sam asked.
“Skywarp,” Optimus said, nodding at the Decepticon, “And another Decepticon-”
“Thundercracker,” interrupted the Decepticon, making Bluestreak half twitch around, guns rising a little.
Optimus nodded in recognition of the correction. “Skywarp and Thundercracker found Prowl injured in the aftermath of a battle-the one that separated Bluestreak from the rest of his team. This was after they’d received my message. Neither wants to continue fighting, and they brought along Prowl as a gesture of goodwill-although neither is a medic. Prowl was injured, and entered stasis; they’ve kept him stable, but haven’t been able to start repairs. Ratchet and Thundercracker, who has Prowl, are both en route here, and I’ve sent out a message informing the other Autobots of the situation-Landslide is unhappy, and I haven’t heard back from the other three, although I doubt Ironhide will be any more satisfied with the situation.”
“So what are the conditions of the agreement?” Sam asked. He’d started studying politics and diplomacy-things he figured he’d need, if Keller had been serious when he’d told him that the Autobots were going to need liaisons to human governments, and he had the potential to be a prime candidate.
“They’ll be figured out once Thundercracker’s here-apparently he’s the one who’s going to carry out the negotiations. It will probably be some sort of mutual nonaggression pact.”
Irene had wandered over to the small pile of luggage-belonging to, variously, her, the teenagers and Keats-and was digging through one of her bags.
“What are you looking for?” Keats asked.
“I packed a native plants guide,” she explained, still rummaging through it. “And I figured I’d take the chance to get some sight-seeing in. I mean, where we are isn’t the Olympic National Park, but it’s still National Forest-and I’m used to the stuff I get down in Oregon, I’m hoping I’ll see something new. You want to come?”
“Sure,” said Keats. Regardless of whatever else you could say about the Autobots, they seemed to end up in biologically interesting areas. “And other guides?”
“Uh, two birding guides and a guide to ‘Insects of the Pacific Northwest.’”
“Ooo, insect guide! I’ll take that one.”
“We can take the bird ones along for the hell of it, then,” said Irene, grinning at him. And then, louder, “Hey, Coldfront, I’m going to go on a walk with Keats-I’ll tell you if I find anything really interesting! And take pictures. Okay?”
Coldfront nodded stiffly in her direction, which was apparently enough for her. “Okay, then, let’s go. Think the teenagers will want to come? Hey, Sam, Mikaela and Miles, any of you want to go investigate local biodiversity?”
“No,” said Sam and Mikaela, simultaneously.
“You know weird people,” said Miles reflectively, although he knew he was repeating himself, looking up at the towering forms around them.
oOo
Ratchet was working on an injured Autobot-presumably Prowl-and there was a toweringly huge Decepticon in the clearing when the two scientists returned. It was twilight, verging into full night: it was hard to see, with the trees deepening the gloom.
“We got lost,” announced Irene cheerily, rubbing at a patch of mud smeared on her face. “In a swamp. But we found saprophytes!”
“I am never listening to any of your suggestions ever again,” announced Keats, dropping wearily to sit on a comfortable-looking rock. “I am covered in mud.”
“You really are,” said Bumblebee, unhelpfully. Keats shot him a look.
Irene snickered. “You know, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen Kristine use that exact same glare. Like U.S. Government Emergency Team Member Sponsor, like sponsoree?”
“More organics?” said the larger Decepticon-Thundercracker.
“Keats got Bluestreak in touch with us,” said Nimbus, who seemed the calmest in the group.
“I need to look you over, too,” snarled Ratchet to Bluestreak, from where he was half-buried in Prowl. “And you, Decepticon-the smaller one. Something’s wrong with your engine.”
“Whoa,” said Irene, eyes comically wide.
“Nice to see you again, Ratchet,” said Keats, ignoring the Decepticons. He didn’t appreciate being referred to as ‘organic.’ A lot of things fit that description, and a lot of them weren’t particularly complimentary things to be grouped in with.
“Hi, Keats, Irene,” greeted the medic, looking up momentarily.
“You sure can be foul-tempered for someone who’s not a snapping turtle,” said Irene happily.
“What?” said Miles.
“Is that supposed to make sense?” asked the big Decepticon-Thundercracker, Keats though. Thunder-something, certainly.
“Only to Irene,” he said, with a slight sigh. “I think that translates to, more or less, pointing out the fact that Ratchet seems unusually grumpy for someone who’s seemed pretty easy-going in the past-Ow!”
Irene stepped smoothly away from Keats before he could elbow her in the ribs in return, explaining herself. “A snapping turtle is, of course, a type of terrapin known for its foul temper and extraordinarily strong jaws, giving rise to several idiomatic sayings. It’s really not much of a jump to simply translate ‘somebody with a foul temper’ to ‘snapping turtle,’ considering the circumstances. And then my sentence makes perfect sense.”
There was a dumbfounded pause.
“Really weird people,” said Miles.
“So what’s going on?” Irene asked, walking over to sit on Coldfront’s foot as people returned to what they’d been doing before the scientists had interrupted them. He seemed to have been removed from guard duty, although he was still sitting there stiffly, clearly on edge-although not so badly as Bluestreak was. Keats was surprised he wasn’t babbling a mile a minute. Talking a blue streak, so to speak. How did they come up with their names?
“There’s been some discussion about the terms of the ceasefire,” said Coldfront, glaring at the closest Decepticon-Skywarp-who was eying the two of them with a certain amount of interest. “So far, nothing definite has been decided. I think Optimus Prime is currently …discussing something to do with the situation with Ironhide. Did you see anything interesting?”
“Saprophytes!” said Irene happily. “Candystick, to be exact-so named for the resemblance it has to peppermint stick candy-see, here’s the picture I got- Oh! And there were reign orchids as well, once we got into the swamp, where it opened up a little-”
“So, who’re you, squ-organic?” asked the smaller Decepticon, leaning down to eye Keats. The biologist swallowed nervously: he looked distinctly… predatory. Or maybe it was all the spikes.
Or maybe it was how he’d started to say ‘squishy’ and then ended on ‘organic’-which was an improvement, albeit a word that wasn’t a particular favorite of his, at least when it came to how he was referred to. At least Landslide hadn’t been too likely to actually follow through with his threats-and he’d also given Keats a distinct feeling that he had been unnervingly like that, in some ways, at ages fourteen and fifteen. Thankfully, it seemed to be one of the things that he’d grown out of.
“Watch yourself,” snapped Bumblebee, stepping forward a little. Keats did some fast mental calculations about how potentially insulting it would be if he started backing up.
“You know,” said Thundercracker, looking over, “You’re adamant that we need to get along with the natives, but apparently you don’t want us actually interacting with them.” His voice was deceptively lazy.
“I don’t trust them,” said Bluestreak abruptly, standing suddenly and pacing again. “If they’re lying-and they’re Decepticons, I’m slagging sure they are-then any humans are at risk. They’re so fragile-”
Keats thought about protesting but, really, by comparison, they kind of were.
“-and we can’t just let them go free, that would be crazy!”
“I can make decisions for myself, you know,” Keats said, slightly reproachful. “Maybe you should be asking those humans you’re talking about what they think about the potential risk.”
“…Oh,” said Bluestreak, momentarily flummoxed. He really hadn’t thought about that.
Skywarp snickered. His apparent personality getting slightly obnoxious, Keats thought, but he also knew that his own mood was headed straight downhill-not enough sleep, getting lost, now he was kind of hungry, missing work, going off on adventures, and he had a headache sneaking up on him on top of everything else-which wouldn’t help his reaction to the Decepticon’s baiting.
Patience, he told himself.
Thankfully, Irene spoke up at this point. “I’ll talk to you,” she said brightly, looking at the two Decepticons. “I don’t know how interested you’ll be in what I have to say-sadly, not everybody appreciates ‘Hey, I think I found some Solomon’s-seal, want to check it out?’ as a conversation starter-but I’ll do it.”
“Irene!” Coldfront snapped out, sounding horrified. Keats had never heard that much emotion in his voice before. “What are you thinking-”
“If I die, at least I’ll be some kind of extend-the-hand-of-friendship-to-your-enemies martyr-No wait, if I die, I’ll probably only discourage people-”
It was Keats’ turn this time. “Irene!”
“Seriously, Coldfront, it’s a conversation. I have them-okay, not really on a regular basis, unless you count the garden or you-but fairly regularly. Nothing’s going to happen, you’re right here.” More quietly, she added, “I trust you.”
Coldfront didn’t respond, but Irene seemed to get something out of the blank silence. She smiled up at the ’bot.
“Well, that’s decided,” she said. “I’m Irene Grey, it’s nice to meet you. What are your thoughts on the natural sciences?”
“Boring,” said Skywarp promptly, flopping backward so he was staring up at the sky. “Even most organics think that’s boring. And you’re made of carbon.”
“I’m actually in the middle of negotiations,” said Thundercracker, sounding almost sheepish. “Uh…”
“Oh. Well, then,” said Irene, one eyebrow raised. “I don’t suppose somebody would agree to go with me to get food? I don’t think there are any actual cars here.”
oOo
“So,” Thundercracker said. “You’re willing to let us go free-sort of.”
“You’re a risk,” Optimus said calmly. “But I’m willing to give you the benefit of doubt. On the other hand, I’d like to be at least slightly informed about your general location and actions.”
“Skywarp is a teleporter. He doesn’t have a general location.”
“You’re not, though. Are you likely to be separated on a regular basis?”
“No,” admitted Thundercracker. “We’re not. How often would the check-ins be?”
“Six months.”
“Every year.”
“You’re fliers-it won’t take you long, no matter where you are, and with your current alt forms, it will be hard for you to pass unnoticed outside of the United States. Six months, and Ratchet will run basic maintenance or larger repairs whenever you need them.”
“Good enough. What’s your line on interaction with organics?”
“I’d like you to avoid it,” Optimus said coldly, voice chilly.
Thundercracker snorted. “I’ll try. What about the humans who already know about you? …And you realize that you’re about as subtle as a bag of hammers, collectively, and you’re all going to end up revealed to the public eye soon? What should I do then?”
“I doubt any of the people currently connected to the Autobots would be interested in getting to know either of you,” said Ratchet coldly from where he had his hands buried in Prowl’s internals.
“We’ll cross the latter bridge when we come to it,” Optimus said. “The humans already acquainted with Cybertronian life are all free to make their own decisions when it comes to meeting with you, of course, but I’d like you to respect them once they’re made. Why do you ask?”
“Because it’s better safe than sorry, and because Skywarp’s a mediocre conversationalist at best. -Irene seemed happy to talk.”
“I’ll warn you that Coldfront might object even if Irene didn’t, and that Irene is often… difficult to fully follow. She’s also highly eccentric, by human or Cybertronian standards.”
Thundercracker shrugged. “Whatever. But you have to respect a species as determined to fly as humans are, no matter how much their biology sucks for it. Me and ’Warp will try and stay out of the way. It’s not like he really wants to get to know any of them-the opposite, in fact.” He switched topics again, just as suddenly, something Optimus was starting to identify as normal for him. “What happens if one or both of us are attacked by Decepticon forces when an Autobot’s nearby?”
“If it’s a mutually beneficial situation, that Autobot would join in.”
“What? That’s all? Look-No. Okay, how ’bout this: any of your guys in trouble around me and Skywarp, we’ll help, if you’ll do the same for us. You don’t have air support, and we don’t have numbers.”
Optimus regarded him thoughtfully for a minute. “Fair enough. I’ll agree to that. You won’t have any problems fighting against your faction?”
Thundercracker snorted. “No.”
“But you refuse to become Autobots.”
“No.” His tone was absolute: Thundercracker was and always would be a Decepticon.
“I could work on drafting something that would, in essence, give you ties to the Autobot army that convey most of the rights of a full Autobot-on a probationary basis, clearly-while allowing you to remain a Decepticon. It will take time, of course, but there’s a precedent-I know of at least one incident where something similar was used for a neutral.”
“Skywarp?” asked Thundercracker, looking away, towards his partner.
“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. If it means we got back-up if we need it, and energy sources? Yeah.
“Alright,” said Thundercracker firmly, turning back to look Optimus squarely in the face. “But I get time to read the fine print before anything gets signed.”
The Prime sighed. “Of course.”
oOo
On to Part 2