When Wise Mechs are Banished -- Cosmos
Title: When Wise Mechs are Banished -- Cosmos
Rating: T
Continuity: AU G1/Movieverse mixup
COSMOS
Cosmos was sick of space. He was built for it, yes, but... He was sick of it. Always sent out to the most obscure places, to do the most inane things. He was...
It was lonely out here. He was used to it, yes, but... Sometimes, it got to be too much. And he grew to loathe the stars, the darkness, that kept him from company. Not friends; he had none. He had too little time on planet to make friends. But that didn't mean he didn't like talking to people.
It was about then that he registered the comm signal.
He wasn't a communications mech, but he did have upgraded sensors and scanners. You needed them when you were all alone in space.
And this transmission... it was from somewhere close by.
But... why way out here? The solar system it was coming from was registered as one that was marked as relatively worthless by both factions. What...
Then what the signal was transmitting registered.
It wasn't an emergency beacon. It wasn't a signal that would come from a Command ship. It wasn't the signal a little ship would emit.
It was a stationary signal. Coming from a stationary base. Somewhere permanent.
And it wasn't any sort of military signal.
It was music.
Old, Cybertronian stuff, from the beginning of the Golden Age. For a long time, Cosmos simply drifted, listening to something he hadn't heard in ages.
Then, at the end of the song... the music faded out, and a voice took its place.
“An' that was th' Twenty Ninth Symphony, by Cantus, from th' Silver Age, r'quested by our very own Prowler.”
“But now it's time for something a little more modern,” another voice broke in. “We, your hosts,”
“That's Jazz 'n' Blaster, mah mechs,” the first voice interrupted.
“Yes, they know that, Jazz. But we decided that it was about time we played our own requests. Then we realized that it's been a while since we've done any composing of our own, and...”
“Well, things got int'restin',” the first mech, Jazz, said, and Cosmos could hear the grin in the faintly staticky voice. “But we did manage t' put somethin' t'gether. We hope ya enjoy!”
“And here's our new hit single, Respite from War.”
“Respite from War”? Who were these people?
Then the song started playing, and Cosmos paused. It was strange. Haunting, but peaceful. Sad, but hopeful. Then the song turned up. Happy, joyful, bouncy, interspersed with moments of slow, calm, peace...
Unconsciously, the little shuttle began drifting toward the origination point of the signal, letting the music filter through his internal speakers and audios.
The song drew to an end and was seamlessly brought into the next. Cosmos kept listening, drifting ever closer to the origination point.
A small moon came into view. It orbited the fifth planet of the system. Cosmos didn't really notice. He was too busy listening to the music; he hadn't heard any in vorns and vorns, and he yearned for it. And so, he drifted ever closer, not noticing the edges of the gravity well tickling around his sensors before it was too late.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“Prowl! We've got incoming! Small, probably a single mech... not even a shuttle, so a space-capable flier... Getting no ident, no faction... Nothing, really, other than the fact that there's something. And...”
“What is it, Skydive?”
“It's... He's... falling.”
“Falling?”
“Falling.”
“There an echo in here?” Ratchet grumbled from where he was leaning against the doorframe. “I need to get the Med Bay ready?”
“Perhaps. It is a small shuttle, so hopefully none of ours will need it, but, if it is as you say, Skydive, and he is falling, then... perhaps our... guest will need your help, Ratchet.”
“Hmph. Alright, then.”
Prowl's doorwings twitched as he watched the medic turn and walk away. Then he turned back to Skydive. “Is he still falling?”
“Yes, Sir. No sign of slowing. Should I attempt radio contact?”
“Yes.”
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
There was a signal pinging on the edge of his consciousness, but he ignored it. Primus, the music! It was... electrifying. All-consuming. After so long in silence, it was a blessing, a respite.
Then, another ping, more insistent this time, and he turned his frustrated attention to the sender. It was coming from the same place the music was.
Which was... getting alarmingly close.
“Oh, slag,” the little shuttle muttered as he finally realized how deep in the moon's gravity well he was. No way to pull out now. He was too deep and going to fast. Only thing to do would be to try to slow his descent and land somewhat softly.
Venting heavily, Cosmos turned on his thrusters.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“Sir, he's slowing down, but he hasn't answered my hails.”
Prowl nodded, glaring at the screen. “Very well. I will put together a team to... meet him. Skydive, keep me updated.”
“Yes, Sir.”
With another nod, Prowl whirled and left the room, doorwings flared wide, comm link activated.
::Jazz, Hound, Trailbreaker. We have incoming. Small shuttle, was falling, now is in a mostly controlled descent. Unidentified, not answering hails. The four of us are going out to meet him.::
::Alrighty. Ah'll be right there.::
::Same here. Trailbreaker and I’ll meet you at the front gate in half a breem.::
::Very well. I will see you there.::
As promised, Jazz was all ready waiting when Prowl arrived, and Hound and Trailbreaker arrived shortly after. They waited only as long as it took to open the wide doors to set off.
Driving on a small moon was not something Prowl or Jazz were suited for. Hound and Trailbreaker, however, as scouts, were used to rough terrain, and easily made their way over the surface. Prowl and Jazz trailed behind, the dust kicked up in their wake drifting slowly back to the ground.
::Prowl. I have his landing coordinates. Transmitting now.::
::Thank you, Skydive,:: Prowl said, opening the small file. After a moment, he commed Trailbreaker, who was in the lead. ::Trailbreaker, please adjust our course three degrees to the west.::
::Understood.::
A few breems later, they could see the small dot that was the shuttle entering the thin atmosphere. The four wheeled mechs spun to a halt and transformed, watching as the small dot grew bigger, until it was clearly visible as a circular shuttle of some sort.
The landing was rather awkward, the shuttle skating to a halt in the dust of the moon's surface. A moment later, the sound of a transformation could be heard, and a small, green and yellow mech stood up a short distance away from the four Autobots.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
Cosmos blinked as he stood up, then vented heavily as he saw the four mechs standing in front of him. Figured. He just hoped they were at least nice, if they weren't Autobot.
“Unidentified mech, please state your name and alliance,” a smooth tenor called out, voice tiny in the thin atmosphere.
“Cosmos, Autobot.”
“Very well. Cosmos, this moon is home to an Autobot base. I am Base Commander Prowl. May I ask your purpose here?”
Hesitantly, Cosmos stepped closer. “I... don't really have one. Here, at least. I was out scouting, and I... I heard music?”
The smaller, silver mech next to Prowl started snickering. “Really?” he asked, and the green and yellow mech immediately recognized the voice.
“Um... Jazz?”
“Th' one'n only! Heh. Never guessed our li'l station would be, um, that popular.”
Cosmos smiled. “Well, one listener, save for those on your base.”
“What is your function, Cosmos?” Prowl asked after a klik of thought.
“Long-range scout, officially. In reality, I just float around space and let them know if I find any Decepticons.”
“And have you?”
The green mech shrugged. “Once or twice. Not in a long time. It... I’m not usually stationed in active areas...”
“As is evident by your presence in our sector,” the tactician surmised, tilting his helm to the side and regarding the shuttle with narrowed optics.
“What'cha schemin', Prowler?” Jazz cut in, a sly look on his face.
“Well, we could do with a space-capable mech on base, do you not agree? And Cosmos here seems to need a place to stay.” Prowl shrugged, twitching his doorwings thoughtfully.
“He's right, you know,” the shuttle muttered. “No one will miss me.”
“Aw. Well, ya ain't alone here, then. No one miss's us,” Jazz said with a grin. “We're th' outcasts. Yer welcome t' stay, if ya want.”
“I... I can?”
“Yes. If they ask after you, though I doubt anyone would ever think to ask here, we can claim you crash landed, already injured, and our medic pronounced you unfit for space flight for a... long time. Then, we just sort of... forgot,” Prowl announced, a faint gleam in his golden optics.
“I... You... Thank you. Thank you, so much!” Cosmos said, optics gleaming, smile widening into a grin. “Thank you.”
“It is no trouble at all. The services you can provide, should we need them, are invaluable. In turn, all we offer is a home.”
Laughing slightly, the green shuttle shook his helm. “It's more than anyone else has offered before.”
Hound, stepping forward for the first time, smiled. “Well, then, welcome home, Cosmos. Home to our little band of misfits. I’m sure you'll fit right in.”
“Ah ain't sure if that's a compliment 'r not, Hound.”
“It's supposed to be, Jazz.”
Chuckling, Prowl stepped up again and lifted a hand to rest on the almost-minibot's shoulder. “Welcome home, Cosmos.”
Rating: T
Continuity: AU G1/Movieverse mixup
COSMOS
Cosmos was sick of space. He was built for it, yes, but... He was sick of it. Always sent out to the most obscure places, to do the most inane things. He was...
It was lonely out here. He was used to it, yes, but... Sometimes, it got to be too much. And he grew to loathe the stars, the darkness, that kept him from company. Not friends; he had none. He had too little time on planet to make friends. But that didn't mean he didn't like talking to people.
It was about then that he registered the comm signal.
He wasn't a communications mech, but he did have upgraded sensors and scanners. You needed them when you were all alone in space.
And this transmission... it was from somewhere close by.
But... why way out here? The solar system it was coming from was registered as one that was marked as relatively worthless by both factions. What...
Then what the signal was transmitting registered.
It wasn't an emergency beacon. It wasn't a signal that would come from a Command ship. It wasn't the signal a little ship would emit.
It was a stationary signal. Coming from a stationary base. Somewhere permanent.
And it wasn't any sort of military signal.
It was music.
Old, Cybertronian stuff, from the beginning of the Golden Age. For a long time, Cosmos simply drifted, listening to something he hadn't heard in ages.
Then, at the end of the song... the music faded out, and a voice took its place.
“An' that was th' Twenty Ninth Symphony, by Cantus, from th' Silver Age, r'quested by our very own Prowler.”
“But now it's time for something a little more modern,” another voice broke in. “We, your hosts,”
“That's Jazz 'n' Blaster, mah mechs,” the first voice interrupted.
“Yes, they know that, Jazz. But we decided that it was about time we played our own requests. Then we realized that it's been a while since we've done any composing of our own, and...”
“Well, things got int'restin',” the first mech, Jazz, said, and Cosmos could hear the grin in the faintly staticky voice. “But we did manage t' put somethin' t'gether. We hope ya enjoy!”
“And here's our new hit single, Respite from War.”
“Respite from War”? Who were these people?
Then the song started playing, and Cosmos paused. It was strange. Haunting, but peaceful. Sad, but hopeful. Then the song turned up. Happy, joyful, bouncy, interspersed with moments of slow, calm, peace...
Unconsciously, the little shuttle began drifting toward the origination point of the signal, letting the music filter through his internal speakers and audios.
The song drew to an end and was seamlessly brought into the next. Cosmos kept listening, drifting ever closer to the origination point.
A small moon came into view. It orbited the fifth planet of the system. Cosmos didn't really notice. He was too busy listening to the music; he hadn't heard any in vorns and vorns, and he yearned for it. And so, he drifted ever closer, not noticing the edges of the gravity well tickling around his sensors before it was too late.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“Prowl! We've got incoming! Small, probably a single mech... not even a shuttle, so a space-capable flier... Getting no ident, no faction... Nothing, really, other than the fact that there's something. And...”
“What is it, Skydive?”
“It's... He's... falling.”
“Falling?”
“Falling.”
“There an echo in here?” Ratchet grumbled from where he was leaning against the doorframe. “I need to get the Med Bay ready?”
“Perhaps. It is a small shuttle, so hopefully none of ours will need it, but, if it is as you say, Skydive, and he is falling, then... perhaps our... guest will need your help, Ratchet.”
“Hmph. Alright, then.”
Prowl's doorwings twitched as he watched the medic turn and walk away. Then he turned back to Skydive. “Is he still falling?”
“Yes, Sir. No sign of slowing. Should I attempt radio contact?”
“Yes.”
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
There was a signal pinging on the edge of his consciousness, but he ignored it. Primus, the music! It was... electrifying. All-consuming. After so long in silence, it was a blessing, a respite.
Then, another ping, more insistent this time, and he turned his frustrated attention to the sender. It was coming from the same place the music was.
Which was... getting alarmingly close.
“Oh, slag,” the little shuttle muttered as he finally realized how deep in the moon's gravity well he was. No way to pull out now. He was too deep and going to fast. Only thing to do would be to try to slow his descent and land somewhat softly.
Venting heavily, Cosmos turned on his thrusters.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“Sir, he's slowing down, but he hasn't answered my hails.”
Prowl nodded, glaring at the screen. “Very well. I will put together a team to... meet him. Skydive, keep me updated.”
“Yes, Sir.”
With another nod, Prowl whirled and left the room, doorwings flared wide, comm link activated.
::Jazz, Hound, Trailbreaker. We have incoming. Small shuttle, was falling, now is in a mostly controlled descent. Unidentified, not answering hails. The four of us are going out to meet him.::
::Alrighty. Ah'll be right there.::
::Same here. Trailbreaker and I’ll meet you at the front gate in half a breem.::
::Very well. I will see you there.::
As promised, Jazz was all ready waiting when Prowl arrived, and Hound and Trailbreaker arrived shortly after. They waited only as long as it took to open the wide doors to set off.
Driving on a small moon was not something Prowl or Jazz were suited for. Hound and Trailbreaker, however, as scouts, were used to rough terrain, and easily made their way over the surface. Prowl and Jazz trailed behind, the dust kicked up in their wake drifting slowly back to the ground.
::Prowl. I have his landing coordinates. Transmitting now.::
::Thank you, Skydive,:: Prowl said, opening the small file. After a moment, he commed Trailbreaker, who was in the lead. ::Trailbreaker, please adjust our course three degrees to the west.::
::Understood.::
A few breems later, they could see the small dot that was the shuttle entering the thin atmosphere. The four wheeled mechs spun to a halt and transformed, watching as the small dot grew bigger, until it was clearly visible as a circular shuttle of some sort.
The landing was rather awkward, the shuttle skating to a halt in the dust of the moon's surface. A moment later, the sound of a transformation could be heard, and a small, green and yellow mech stood up a short distance away from the four Autobots.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
Cosmos blinked as he stood up, then vented heavily as he saw the four mechs standing in front of him. Figured. He just hoped they were at least nice, if they weren't Autobot.
“Unidentified mech, please state your name and alliance,” a smooth tenor called out, voice tiny in the thin atmosphere.
“Cosmos, Autobot.”
“Very well. Cosmos, this moon is home to an Autobot base. I am Base Commander Prowl. May I ask your purpose here?”
Hesitantly, Cosmos stepped closer. “I... don't really have one. Here, at least. I was out scouting, and I... I heard music?”
The smaller, silver mech next to Prowl started snickering. “Really?” he asked, and the green and yellow mech immediately recognized the voice.
“Um... Jazz?”
“Th' one'n only! Heh. Never guessed our li'l station would be, um, that popular.”
Cosmos smiled. “Well, one listener, save for those on your base.”
“What is your function, Cosmos?” Prowl asked after a klik of thought.
“Long-range scout, officially. In reality, I just float around space and let them know if I find any Decepticons.”
“And have you?”
The green mech shrugged. “Once or twice. Not in a long time. It... I’m not usually stationed in active areas...”
“As is evident by your presence in our sector,” the tactician surmised, tilting his helm to the side and regarding the shuttle with narrowed optics.
“What'cha schemin', Prowler?” Jazz cut in, a sly look on his face.
“Well, we could do with a space-capable mech on base, do you not agree? And Cosmos here seems to need a place to stay.” Prowl shrugged, twitching his doorwings thoughtfully.
“He's right, you know,” the shuttle muttered. “No one will miss me.”
“Aw. Well, ya ain't alone here, then. No one miss's us,” Jazz said with a grin. “We're th' outcasts. Yer welcome t' stay, if ya want.”
“I... I can?”
“Yes. If they ask after you, though I doubt anyone would ever think to ask here, we can claim you crash landed, already injured, and our medic pronounced you unfit for space flight for a... long time. Then, we just sort of... forgot,” Prowl announced, a faint gleam in his golden optics.
“I... You... Thank you. Thank you, so much!” Cosmos said, optics gleaming, smile widening into a grin. “Thank you.”
“It is no trouble at all. The services you can provide, should we need them, are invaluable. In turn, all we offer is a home.”
Laughing slightly, the green shuttle shook his helm. “It's more than anyone else has offered before.”
Hound, stepping forward for the first time, smiled. “Well, then, welcome home, Cosmos. Home to our little band of misfits. I’m sure you'll fit right in.”
“Ah ain't sure if that's a compliment 'r not, Hound.”
“It's supposed to be, Jazz.”
Chuckling, Prowl stepped up again and lifted a hand to rest on the almost-minibot's shoulder. “Welcome home, Cosmos.”