When Wise Mechs are Banished -- Wheeljack
Title: When Wise Mechs are Banished -- Wheeljack
Word Count: 1035
Summary: Prequel to Where Wise Mechs Fear to Tread. How and why Wheeljack was sentenced to base 84G1-07MVE-VR5E.
Rating: T
WHEELJACK
BOOOOOOOOM!!!
“WHEELJACK!”
Mechs everywhere on the little base cycled heavy gusts of air through their vents. The supposed engineer had been transferred to their base less than a groon ago, and these explosions, followed by their base commander's verbal explosions, had become rather commonplace. With barely a thought more than, “This got boring a long time ago,” they went back to whatever they had been doing before the loud boom.
Wheeljack sat up, shaking his helm, audial fins flashing a multitude of colors. “Well. That was interesting.”
“WHEELJACK!”
The inventor jumped. “What?” he yelped, and glanced toward the door. Which seemed to be welded shut. Oops. “Uh... Just a minute! I know I’ve got a welder around here somewhere...”
The base commander, a tiny blue mech, though not quite a minibot, snarled at the doors. “I don't care. Wheeljack, you infernal pit-spawn, I’m putting you on the next shuttle out of here!”
If the commander had been able to see the engineer, he might have retracted the comment, or maybe would have said it nicer. Wheeljack's audial fins were a swirling mixture of deep blue and black, and his expression, despite being masked, still managed to pull off a rather pathetic kicked bumblepuppy expression.
Unfortunately, the commander could not see the expression and went, huffing and grumbling, back to his office to organize the transport. Wheeljack stood up and went about cleaning up his lab - the lab, it was no longer his. He started stowing whatever he thought he would be able to get away with in his subspace, then had to pull half of the stuff out again to get to his welder so he could get out of the room.
Wheeljack knew the commander had been serious. He had threatened many things to the explosive engineer, but never this. This was real.
With a heavy vent, Wheeljack left his scorched lab and walked slowly back to his quarters to pack the few things he kept there, then sat down on his bare bunk and waited for the command.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
In his office, the commander fumed. No base would take Wheeljack. His reputation preceded him. No one wanted a mech on their base who was likely to cause more damage than the Decepticons did.
The commander was stuck. Then a ping came in over a long-distance comm.
“This is Redlight, commander of Base SE23-EW7.”
::Commander Redlight? My designation is Notecard. I’m Sentinel Prime's personal assistant.::
Redlight immediately straightened, even though this was an audio-only comm. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
::No pleasure talking to me, Redlight. I’m just a glorified secretary. However, it was brought to my attention that you're looking for a place to send a... troublesome mech.::
“I am. Wheeljack. Calls himself an engineer and inventor. Most of his... experiments end up as explosions. He costs more than he's worth, to be honest.”
::I see. I would like to offer a solution. Information on a base is being sent to your personal computer. Do you see it?::
Redlight turned and opened the inbox on his computer. A file popped up. “Yup. I do.”
::Send this Wheeljack fellow there. Sentinel has designated it the unofficial base of trouble mechs. We will not be bothered by him there.::
“Thank you. I appreciate this.” Redlight was grinning as he sat back in his chair.
::Of course. Sentinel Prime wishes to complete this war quickly, and our progress in completing that goal is hindered by mechs such as this. Or so Sentinel believes.:: There was a dry, humorless laugh. ::I believe he is right on most counts - though not all.::
Redlight nodded slowly. “Of course. When can I send him off?”
::Whenever you can get a shuttle ready.::
“Already have one.”
::Then say goodbye to Wheeljack.::
“Sounds good. Thank you, Notecard.”
::You are welcome, Redlight.::
The base commander smirked as the line was cut. Time to get rid of the engineer.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
Wheeljack stared out the viewscreen of the shuttle at the small moon they were approaching. The base was a tiny thing, barely more than a crater on the surface.
Or perhaps it was underground, and the “crater” was simply a shuttle landing pad?
This theory was confirmed when the shuttle touched down and Wheeljack walked out to see a medium sized, black and white, Praxian-framed mech waiting for him. The inventor flashed his helm fins in greeting as he ducked off the ship and strode forward.
“Hello!” he said cheerfully, the thin atmosphere making his voice sound strange.
“Hello. My name is Prowl, commander of this base. You are...?”
Wheeljack's optics widened. “They didn't tell you?”
Prowl's doorwings flicked. Annoyed. He was annoyed. “They tell me nothing other than I will soon have another soldier under my command. So. Designation and function, if you please.”
The engineer drooped slightly, bladed “wings” dipping. “Wheeljack, engineer and inventor. But I have to warn you. I... make things explode a lot.”
“Oh, no doubt. That is the reason you are here, isn't it? We all cause trouble here. Welcome to Moon Base 84G1-07MVE-VR5E.”
“Or ya can call 't th' Pit, like all'a us do!” a cheery voice practically sang. Prowl frowned slightly.
“Jazz. Aren't you supposed to be on patrol?”
“Finished the route,” a tiny silver mech said as he strutted up to the black and white. “Who's this?”
“Wheeljack. And before you ask, explosion-prone.”
Jazz cycled some air through his vocalizer in an appreciative whistle. “Nice. Heh. Prowler's here 'cause he didn' follow orders 'n saved a bunch 'a mechs. Ah'm here 'cause Ah went a tiny bit...”
“Crazy? Insane? You had a few screws loose?”
Jazz shot a cross look at the black and white, which quickly grew into a wide smile. “Yup. Certifiably bonkers. But don' worry. Ah'm better now.”
Wheeljack tilted his helm sideways, fins flashing happily. “Okay. Hi, Jazz. Glad you're better.”
Jazz snickered, and Prowl's lips twitched upwards in the smallest of smirks.
“Welcome to the Pit, Wheeljack.”
“Thanks for having me.”
Word Count: 1035
Summary: Prequel to Where Wise Mechs Fear to Tread. How and why Wheeljack was sentenced to base 84G1-07MVE-VR5E.
Rating: T
WHEELJACK
BOOOOOOOOM!!!
“WHEELJACK!”
Mechs everywhere on the little base cycled heavy gusts of air through their vents. The supposed engineer had been transferred to their base less than a groon ago, and these explosions, followed by their base commander's verbal explosions, had become rather commonplace. With barely a thought more than, “This got boring a long time ago,” they went back to whatever they had been doing before the loud boom.
Wheeljack sat up, shaking his helm, audial fins flashing a multitude of colors. “Well. That was interesting.”
“WHEELJACK!”
The inventor jumped. “What?” he yelped, and glanced toward the door. Which seemed to be welded shut. Oops. “Uh... Just a minute! I know I’ve got a welder around here somewhere...”
The base commander, a tiny blue mech, though not quite a minibot, snarled at the doors. “I don't care. Wheeljack, you infernal pit-spawn, I’m putting you on the next shuttle out of here!”
If the commander had been able to see the engineer, he might have retracted the comment, or maybe would have said it nicer. Wheeljack's audial fins were a swirling mixture of deep blue and black, and his expression, despite being masked, still managed to pull off a rather pathetic kicked bumblepuppy expression.
Unfortunately, the commander could not see the expression and went, huffing and grumbling, back to his office to organize the transport. Wheeljack stood up and went about cleaning up his lab - the lab, it was no longer his. He started stowing whatever he thought he would be able to get away with in his subspace, then had to pull half of the stuff out again to get to his welder so he could get out of the room.
Wheeljack knew the commander had been serious. He had threatened many things to the explosive engineer, but never this. This was real.
With a heavy vent, Wheeljack left his scorched lab and walked slowly back to his quarters to pack the few things he kept there, then sat down on his bare bunk and waited for the command.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
In his office, the commander fumed. No base would take Wheeljack. His reputation preceded him. No one wanted a mech on their base who was likely to cause more damage than the Decepticons did.
The commander was stuck. Then a ping came in over a long-distance comm.
“This is Redlight, commander of Base SE23-EW7.”
::Commander Redlight? My designation is Notecard. I’m Sentinel Prime's personal assistant.::
Redlight immediately straightened, even though this was an audio-only comm. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
::No pleasure talking to me, Redlight. I’m just a glorified secretary. However, it was brought to my attention that you're looking for a place to send a... troublesome mech.::
“I am. Wheeljack. Calls himself an engineer and inventor. Most of his... experiments end up as explosions. He costs more than he's worth, to be honest.”
::I see. I would like to offer a solution. Information on a base is being sent to your personal computer. Do you see it?::
Redlight turned and opened the inbox on his computer. A file popped up. “Yup. I do.”
::Send this Wheeljack fellow there. Sentinel has designated it the unofficial base of trouble mechs. We will not be bothered by him there.::
“Thank you. I appreciate this.” Redlight was grinning as he sat back in his chair.
::Of course. Sentinel Prime wishes to complete this war quickly, and our progress in completing that goal is hindered by mechs such as this. Or so Sentinel believes.:: There was a dry, humorless laugh. ::I believe he is right on most counts - though not all.::
Redlight nodded slowly. “Of course. When can I send him off?”
::Whenever you can get a shuttle ready.::
“Already have one.”
::Then say goodbye to Wheeljack.::
“Sounds good. Thank you, Notecard.”
::You are welcome, Redlight.::
The base commander smirked as the line was cut. Time to get rid of the engineer.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
Wheeljack stared out the viewscreen of the shuttle at the small moon they were approaching. The base was a tiny thing, barely more than a crater on the surface.
Or perhaps it was underground, and the “crater” was simply a shuttle landing pad?
This theory was confirmed when the shuttle touched down and Wheeljack walked out to see a medium sized, black and white, Praxian-framed mech waiting for him. The inventor flashed his helm fins in greeting as he ducked off the ship and strode forward.
“Hello!” he said cheerfully, the thin atmosphere making his voice sound strange.
“Hello. My name is Prowl, commander of this base. You are...?”
Wheeljack's optics widened. “They didn't tell you?”
Prowl's doorwings flicked. Annoyed. He was annoyed. “They tell me nothing other than I will soon have another soldier under my command. So. Designation and function, if you please.”
The engineer drooped slightly, bladed “wings” dipping. “Wheeljack, engineer and inventor. But I have to warn you. I... make things explode a lot.”
“Oh, no doubt. That is the reason you are here, isn't it? We all cause trouble here. Welcome to Moon Base 84G1-07MVE-VR5E.”
“Or ya can call 't th' Pit, like all'a us do!” a cheery voice practically sang. Prowl frowned slightly.
“Jazz. Aren't you supposed to be on patrol?”
“Finished the route,” a tiny silver mech said as he strutted up to the black and white. “Who's this?”
“Wheeljack. And before you ask, explosion-prone.”
Jazz cycled some air through his vocalizer in an appreciative whistle. “Nice. Heh. Prowler's here 'cause he didn' follow orders 'n saved a bunch 'a mechs. Ah'm here 'cause Ah went a tiny bit...”
“Crazy? Insane? You had a few screws loose?”
Jazz shot a cross look at the black and white, which quickly grew into a wide smile. “Yup. Certifiably bonkers. But don' worry. Ah'm better now.”
Wheeljack tilted his helm sideways, fins flashing happily. “Okay. Hi, Jazz. Glad you're better.”
Jazz snickered, and Prowl's lips twitched upwards in the smallest of smirks.
“Welcome to the Pit, Wheeljack.”
“Thanks for having me.”