[Fic] Echoes (The medic, 2)
Continuing Ratchet's SoaL backstory.
The chiming of an incoming comm message woke him out of his recharge cycle and he fumbled at the connection to his recharge plate clumsily, wondering why he had allowed himself to go so deeply offline if he was on call. Then his processor came fully online and he remembered that he was not on duty.
So why did he have a text message flashing on his HUD telling him to contact the infirmary admissions hall?
Logging in to the terminal, he retrieved a text message from the mech on duty telling him that a patient of his had turned up at the gate. The mech was refusing to be seen to by anyone else or say what was wrong, and would not even enter the building. He smiled, able to guess who it would be, and sent a quick response that he was on his way.
Dabble and Longsider. They were the most peculiar mechs he had ever met, but they were also utterly harmless and oddly charming; completely eccentric, they chose to live out in the dead zone between Ordan Helix and the nearest city of Vestros, and they almost never ventured into town. Both had survived the last war, surviving by staying in hiding, a habit that they could not break and had no desire to try.
It had taken a near fatal malfunction to force one of them to come looking for help, in spite of the fact that they lived in the shadow of the only medical training facility on the planet. That orn, when Dabble had overcome his fears enough to enter the city to beg piteously for help, Ratchet had been on duty as senior-on-shift for the emergency department. He had tried to convince the distraught mech to bring his injured sparkmate to the infirmary, and when he had realised that this was simply not going to work he had decided that the only solution was to go out himself.
It had been his first trip outside the city limits and he had found the silence and lack of power in the dead zone rather intimidating, but Dabble had been so desperate for help and it was more than he could do to turn away from that need. Arriving at a junkpile that he had difficulty believing was actually their home he had found Longsider nearly offline with pain and the need to work had distracted him from the surroundings.
In the end, the damage had been embarrassingly simple to resolve: neither of them had had any maintenance for megavorns, and some vital connections had begun to rust. A bit of gentle filing, some resoldering and a lecture on the importance of regular visits to their mechanic, and he was done.
Or so he thought.
The two were embarrassingly grateful for his help, turning up many times over the following vorns to bring him little treats or catch up with him on his time off. And they loved telling him stories of the things they had seen in their long lifetimes.
But they would not remain in the city limits for more than a few breems at a time, and the very concept of actually living there sent them into hysterics. Did he not understand how many of their friends they had lost in cities, they asked him. Did he not see how dangerous it was to congregate in large numbers in a single place?
In truth, he knew he did not really understand.
He had been activated long after the onset of peace, and most of the mechs from that time period had already died through degradation of their systems. That Dabble and Longsider had survived so long was a miracle given how little maintenance they had had in their long lifespans. He kept trying to convince them to come back to civilisation where they would have better access to amenities that mechs of their age should not be without, though with little more success than they had in trying to convince him to abandon Ordan Helix and move in with them.
Ordan Helix was his home, and their hole in the ground was theirs.
In recent centuries, death through deterioration had been almost completely eradicated. With proper maintenance and upgrading it was conceivable for a mech to function comfortably for millions of vorns, not just the few thousand limit known by earlier generations.
It bothered him more than he could articulate that his friends would not take advantage of the chance to extend their own lives, that they could choose to allow their systems to degrade to a point of eventual deactivation. They would not be charged for any basic level maintenance - that was a given right for any mech, courtesy of the High Council's benevolence - yet they refused any help, ever suspicious.
"Ratchet!"
He sighed to himself. Dabble was waiting impatiently out in the courtyard as always.
"Longsider again?" he asked, approaching. "What parts do I need?"
Dabble shook his head, grabbing his arm.
"No time, no time. Come - quickly."
"Wait, I haven't even got my tools with me!"
"No time, don't need them, come!"
Longsider was not injured.
The hasty trip - which had to be made in root mode since the dead zone had no proper roads - took him much further into the ruins than he had ever been before, to a desolate area that looked just the same as the rest of the wasteland around him. Longsider met them in the shadow of a tall spire and guided them over to a small depression where he was shown the broken remains of a newly crashed communications satellite.
Ratchet was not amused.
"You realise I have work to do, right?" he fumed, trying to keep his temper. "I can't just wander off for a couple of joors to look at ancient satellites that just happen to fall out of orbit in the middle of nowhere. I'm supposed to be on duty in less than a breem. There aren't even any carrier signals out here so I can't even get an excuse in before my supervisor hits the roof!"
"But if we'd been injured you would've come, right?" Longsider checked. "Even though you had a shift?"
"But you're not injured." Ratchet pointed out heatedly. "And if you ever do this again when you're not, I'll never come again. Ever. You'll just have to come into the city like everyone else. Like any sane mech. Primus! I mean it this time. Slag, I've got to get back to the infirmary.
He turned on his heel, but immediately the other two started to clamour on about the dangers of the city. He kept walking, but their piteously worried tones got through to him enough that he answered.
"I'm a medic - you know that. I need to be where my patients are."
"But something bad's happening." Dabble insisted. "We've seen hundreds of military flying overhead. Hundreds!"
"They're going for their checkups. They're expected there."
"But they'll blow everything up!" Longsider yelped.
Ratchet strode on, determined not to turn around.
"Look, I know things were bad in the war, but that was a long time ago now and anyway the mil-mechs were on our side, remember? They protected us. Anyway, Megatron is taking the Decepticons away so there won't be anymore fighting. The least we can do is check that his soldiers are in top condition before they leave. If you're so worried, shut yourselves in your little hole for a few orns until it's over. Then you won't have to worry about crashing satellites."
A hand grabbed at his arm and he turned to see Longsider looking at him anxiously.
"Can't you stay?"
"No. I slagging well can't just..."
He broke off, seeing the confused hurt on their faces, and groaned to himself.
Shouting at these two was like scolding a sparkling just after activation - they understood you were upset with them but mostly only the tone penetrated, not the message. Modulating his tone, and reminding himself that it was not their fault that they were so paranoid, he tried to find just a little more patience.
"Look, don't worry. I'll come back in a couple of orns and check on you. I'll bring you some real energon and tell you all about the military leaving without damaging anything."
"We won't be here." Dabble told him anxiously. "We've got to find somewhere safer. Somewhere further away."
Ratchet frowned, caught by surprise.
"Why? Neither of you are up to any long distance travel."
"We can't stay here. It's too close."
"Too close to what?"
"The war." Longsider shuddered.
That was it; he gave up.
"There is no war. It ended nearly twelve thousand vorns ago. You two have to accept that - we're not going to be attacked. The Decepticons are leaving the planet, and that'll mean practically all of the military mechs are gone. Now stop upsetting yourselves. Calm down, get yourselves home and let me go back to the infirmary where I can do my job. I'll come back after next shift and tell you everything's okay."
The older mechs looked at each other unhappily, then Dabble sighed.
"Alright. We'll wait for one orn. No longer. But if you see anything, anything - you promise you'll come and find us?"
"I promise." Ratchet swore, certain that he would not have to fulfil that vow. "Now go inside and stop worrying about the military. This is all nothing, I'm sure of it."