Fic
Title: Borealis 57/85: Thunderwing - Part III
Author: tainry
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money.
Rating: R
Characters/Pairing(s): ensemble, Ultra Magnus/Chromia, Vector Prime/Perceptor
Warnings: PnP/Spark smexing, lots of fluff, some wee angst.
Summary: Wherein the Bots recover from battle, TC makes a discovery, Optimus gets yelled at, UM and Chromia get frisky because Ironhide won't, Veccy and Safeguard wake up, Veccy and Perce get frisky old-school style, Prowl freaks Sam out, and mechs catch some rays.
Notes: Woo! Okay, after this my timeline gets a little wibbly-wobbly, so it may take me a while to figure out what's going on and how to talk about it because the next chapter on the ToC might not really be the next chapter. ^^;;;
~4500 words.
Part I
Part II
BOREALIS: Thunderwing - Part III
2031 - June
Bee started running. He quickly slowed to a walk. Ten meters away he crumpled to his knees and crawled, at last reaching his friend, curling his singed hands around Jazz’s helm. Jazz, Jazz, are you okay?
How much power did you feed Ironhide, Bee? Jazz asked, quirking half a smile.
Most of everything he had, Bluestreak said when Bee didn’t answer immediately. And Ironhide had used it all. He and Chromia lay in a heap, damaged but not critically, catching recharge whenever they could in the habit of old soldiers.
So did you! Bee said. Jazz?
Just dented, Jazz said. He kept his hand over Prowl’s, which hid the impact site across welds - scars - that had only recently healed completely. He felt cold and fragile, and stupid, for memories to overwhelm him like this. Only Prowl could feel him trembling. I’ll be fine, Bee. Recharge, why don’t you? Ratchet and his crew are going to be busy for a while, hey?
I will if you will, Bee said, curling up against Jazz, smiling in his own way as he noted how Prowl shifted his door-wings slightly to better watch over them both.
…
Borealis, turn around. Streetwise narrowed his right accessory optic at the big jet as she landed. On her feet.
Why? She edged around him, keeping her ventral side toward him and her optics on the battlefield, where the last of the injured mechs lay waiting for transport to the triage area. Skyfire had already been retrieved by Silverbolt so there was no one left whose size would prohibit her from carrying two or more at a time.
I’ve already scanned you, Streetwise said, smirking. He finished a line crimp inside Arcee’s left arm and started on another. You might as well show me. …My flat-assed sister.
Shouldn’t you be concentrating on what you’re doing?
Shouldn’t you try putting your thumb in your mouth and blowing? To see if that reinflates your aft?
I’ll reinflate you in a minute.
Hoist cut in, valiantly restraining his frustration. Borealis, can you transform? Skyfire was out of commission and getting him to the CR chambers on Earth was going to be tricky, though by the look on Silverbolt’s face the Aerialbot leader wasn’t going to let anyone else take him down that gravity well. If Borealis was stuck in robot mode, though, that meant Silverbolt would have to transport everyone who couldn’t assume cometary mode. It was doable, but things would go faster if Borealis could help. And speed was of the essence for some of their patients.
I, um, no. I can’t. The armor across her dorsal surface - arms, legs, torso, even the back of her helm - was smashed and fused from her close encounter with Deimos. She stuck her right leg out to the side because that knee couldn’t bend and scooped up Jury and Strake.
Very well. As soon as Grapple and I have finished with Thundercracker we’ll see if we can’t…reinflate you.
Terrific. Streets, I’m stepping on you later.
…
He came online battle-ready, acknowledging the alarms ringing through his systems and automatically shutting them down.
Strake is beside you, Prowl is with Jazz, Hoist said. It’s over. Thunderwing’s been destroyed.
Thundercracker sat up, running claws gently over Strake’s helm, wiping pebbles out of his lateral fins. The young Seeker was offline, power levels low, but in no danger of deactivation. How?
How do we ever do these things? Hoist said bitterly. Sacrifice.
The cloud mind was subdued, friends reassuring each other, updates sent to anxious watchers on Earth, but soon provided Thundercracker with a more specific answer to his question.
Bolo sat nearby, grieving. His major fuel lines and wire bundles had been capped though the gruesome hole in his side remained. Thundercracker stared. Something about the mech’s fields or posture or something was so familiar.
I know you.
Don’t, Bolo said. You don’t understand what it was like for us to come back like this.
Like what? Thundercracker pressed. No longer twins?
Thundercracker. Don’t, Prime murmured. But the cloud mind had already spiked with realization.
Thundercracker dropped to one knee. My Lord!
No! The tank lunged forward and dragged Thundercracker upright. No, slag you! Alpha Trion is DEAD! Murdered by his successor; though there is precedent for that… No. I am Bolo. Bolo.
My truest Commander, Thundercracker said. Megatron betrayed-
Bolo shook him. AND YOU FOLLOWED HIM! FOR THREE MILLION YEARS!
Yes, my Lord.
TC. Bolo released Thundercracker and pressed the heel of his hand against his forehelm. Seekers. Please leave me alone.
Yes, sir.
…
If I ask you, Bolo tight-beamed, will you send my spark back to the Allspark? She can at least speak to me there.
No, Prime said. Please don’t ask me that.
Prowl, then. He executed Impactor…
No! He’s come so far. It would be beyond cruel to ask him to do something like that now.
You’re quite fond of him and your Lieutenant, aren’t you.
Yes.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
Grapple removed Borealis’ armor piece by piece, reshaped and reattached it until her mechanisms were freed enough to transform.
What are we going to do with them? she asked, flicking an antenna at the bodies of the sixteen dead Sweeps Cyclonus had left behind. She hoped it didn’t include salvage. She wouldn’t want pieces of a Decepticon in her body. Ew! But maybe the older Cybertronians, the veterans, weren’t so finicky.
We’ve never had elaborate funerary rites, Grapple said. They were so rarely needed, before. He finished the last weld on the brace for Powerglide’s torn wing. And since the war, there often isn’t time…
Some of the Sweeps’ alloys are toxic, Prime said. Once the living have been transferred back to Earth, Borealis, please launch the bodies into the sun.
Yes, sir, she said. Erk!
…
General?
Prime! Optimus, bring your people home.
Will, that’s one of the kindest things you’ve ever said to me.
Yeah, well, Sarah and Anna and a bunch of other people are pretty worried down here. Rio sent us optical feeds. That was some stunt you pulled.
Ah.
And hurry up before every elementary school on the planet starts fuel cell donation drives.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
Buried in his brothers and reckless jets, Blades squirmed. Come on you guys, we have to help load the wounded. He squirmed harder and felt his right foot impact Slingshot’s someone’s helm. Purely by accident.
Hey!
He’s right, Hot Spot said, First Aid unhappily agreeing.
Silverbolt withdrew, silent, his face set, and crossed the canyon floor to stand next to Borealis and transform. He lowered his boarding ramp as the first group assigned to him approached. He would bear Skyfire - in stasis lock but stable for now - for his second load. Borealis took off with her first batch, carrying Trailbreaker, Springer, Ratchet, Perceptor and Arcee. Perceptor was conscious, but his spark chamber breach was leaking badly.
I could take a load too… Blades muttered on the gestalt channel.
Except for the whole helicopters not working in vacuum thing, Groove commiserated. Come on; I know Aid has to stay with the wounded, but we can make like meteorites and be at the embassy to meet him, right?
We can, Hot Spot said, lifting his head to watch the Earthrise.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
Sam rubbed some of the carbonization off Bee’s jaw with his thumb. He’d gotten used to how comfortable snuggling with a giant metal robot could be, but sometimes it still struck him as odd. “So,” he said - quietly, because Dani was almost asleep and Nathan was zonked - “Bolo is actually Megatron’s predecessor, Lord Protector Alpha Trion, and Evac was Volant Prime.”
“Yes,” said Bee.
“How did that work, though?” Mikaela asked. She shifted Nathan minutely, keeping the baby’s head on her shoulder rather than bumping Bee’s armor. “Prime’s made comments lots of times about Volant snarking at him from the Matrix.”
Bee made an ambiguous sound. “I don’t know if Prime understands it either. It seems that Volant left a copy of her pattern in the Matrix even as her spark was re-embodied.”
“If only Primes go to the Matrix,” Dani asked, less asleep than her father thought, “and everyone else returns to the Allspark, then…then the dead Primes are always separated from their people?”
“I think they can…speak with patterns in the Allspark. If those patterns are coherent enough.” Bee warbled comfortingly at Dani. “But they’re not…part of the same oneness as those within the Allspark. You’d have to ask Jazz.”
“That’s sad,” Dani said.
“What about the old Primes, like Vector, who predate the Matrix?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know,” Bee said. He didn’t want to think about it. They would never be one with Optimus in any case. Bee’s spark contracted for a single, miserable second.
“Cheerful conversation,” Sam said, grinning.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
“…And if I ever see you walk up a lance or anything like that again I am going to run so thorough a diagnostic on your processors you’ll think you’re a Roomba by the time I’m done.”
After three hours Ratchet was finally winding down. Prime watched him with great affection, tinged with sadness. Ratchet hadn’t yet touched on the thing that was actually bothering him.
“It looks like Skyfire was right, doesn’t it,” Prime said quietly.
Ratchet stopped pacing and leaned hard on the edge of the recharge table upon which Prime was sitting. Oh it’d take a very determined effort to kill you now, I agree. Maybe even if you were atomized, given enough time you’d coalesce again and you might even still be Optimus Prime afterwards. There are worse things.
“Oh?”
You do know that your body’s substance is being replaced by…whatever the Allspark is made of?
“My spark chamber…”
“Yes. But threads of it are infiltrating your protoform as well. About seven percent, as far as I can tell. And you’re almost two meters taller than you were when we first came here.” Ratchet leaned closer. “Looking forward to being a cube, are you? Because that’s where you’re headed.”
“How long?”
Ratchet spun away, stomping across the bay floor. “I don’t know! A few thousand years? A million? Less if this rate continues. Donating mass seems to help. Much as I hate to suggest it given your propensity to overdo it, you might want to get back into the habit.”
Prime nodded. “Agreed.” He turned his gaze toward the darkened alcove where Vector Prime and Safeguard’s CR chamber stood. Ratchet had felt it best to put them in together. Some time during the battle on Mars, Safeguard had wrapped himself around Vector’s left forearm, in one of the standard intermesh sites for bonded minicons. “How are they?”
“Improving. Vector’s regenerative powers are like nothing I’ve seen - outside of you. Good thing, given how badly he’d been mauled.”
“I took it as a good sign that he returned here.”
“Oh?”
“He obviously felt this to be a place of safety. If he knew we were going to lose on Mars he would have gone elsewhere.”
Ratchet thunked his forehelm against the side of the chamber. “Sllllaaaaaag.”
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
2031 - July
You and Ironhide have been arguing again.
All of Chromia’s pointy bits bristled at him. There were a lot of pointy bits. Ultra Magnus smiled.
Old slagger won’t even consider spark-merging, she growled. Says it’s “unnatural”. She kicked an imaginary boulder off the mesa top. And too risky, considering…
Considering what happened to the protoform when Evac died, and how the protoform’s reaction affected Blades. Yes, I see his point. Magnus stood close, despite the bristling, and slipped his fingertips into spaces in her back. She arched slightly into the contact. I agree with Optimus, though. I think it’s worth the consequences.
“Of course you agree with Optimus,” Chromia smirked.
“I don’t always.”
“Yeah, right.”
He bent to nibble on her left antenna. I’ll merge with you, if you want to.
Yes. I want to. It was more important now than he knew. Even if Elita instituted a lottery to decide who would be the recipient of the spark chamber modification, Chromia was determined to be the one to kill Shockwave. “You just want to make a cityformer of your own, don’t you.”
“Oh hush,” he said, and kissed her.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
Moonlight shone through the med-bay skylight, gently silvering the half-dozen mechs still wired into repair tables. Vector Prime stepped down from the CR chamber and went to each one, touching shoulders or chests, knowing there had been losses but grateful for how many more had survived.
“Kindly don’t bypass my alerts,” Ratchet said, leaning against the entry with his arms crossed.
“I do beg your pardon, Ratchet,” Vector said, bowing from the waist. “A reflex of some duration, I’m afraid. I did not wish to disturb your rest.”
“Vector!” Optimus ran in from his habitual patrol to embrace the elder Prime. Ratchet wasn’t certain if it was reassuring or disconcerting how the two melted into one another. Safeguard disentwined himself from Vector’s arm, purring and chirping, to give Optimus’ helm a hug. A number of other mechs rushed the med-bay, slowing abruptly at the doorway because they knew Ratchet would have their afts for getting unruly when there were wounded in there.
“We could have used your help on Mars,” Air Raid said, Strake beside him nodding in agreement and ignoring the glares they were getting from Silverbolt and Thundercracker.
“My apologies,” Vector said, accepting the rebuke. “A crisis of, hm, causality occurred, requiring the immediate attention of myself and several others.”
Safeguard detached from Optimus and hovered in front of Air Raid’s face. “We, like you, bought victory at a price,” he said.
“Sorry,” Air Raid said. He resisted the urge to bat the minicon away like a persistent bug. If half the things said about Safeguard were true, Raid would likely lose a hand trying it. Silverbolt praised him for his restraint over the gestalt channel.
“The timing seems kind of convenient,” Skydive pointed out. “Or, I mean inconvenient for us, maybe convenient for the Cons. Or someone else.”
“Indeed,” said Vector. “Possible. And troubling.” His optics unfocused - or focused in a way none of them could understand. Perceptor leaned toward him so sharply he would have tripped if Drift hadn’t caught and held him.
“Would you mind taking the discussion elsewhere?” Ratchet said testily. “I have patients to attend.”
Vector’s attention seemed to return to the here and now. “Optimus, why don’t you use the Allspark to restore everyone at once?”
Optimus gaped at him.
“Because,” growled Ratchet, “if he tried, he’d also turn every computer and mechanical device in the embassy into microbots and whatever else; including the staff cars parked on the shady side.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” said Cliffjumper.
Ratchet rounded on him. “We salvaged a lot of our equipment from our ships. We do not have the infrastructure to replace it! And if the energy wave reached Wheeljack’s tower?”
“Oh. Ack.”
“Exactly.” Ratchet said. “And if that happened Perceptor’s head would probably explode.” Perceptor squawked in protest. Ratchet ignored him. “Haven’t we had enough of what happens when the power of the Allspark is misused?”
Vector opened his mouth, then closed it. “Ah.”
“It’s a worthy idea, Ratchet,” Optimus said. “Frenzy-”
“Oh yes, let’s definitely follow in that little glitch’s footsteps. Get your hand off Springer’s foot, Optimus, or so help me…”
Optimus removed the offending appendage hastily.
“Springer would volunteer, you know,” said Chromia.
“You are Not Helping,” Ratchet grumbled.
“You just don’t want him to make you obsolete.”
“Out!”
“We still love you, Ratchet,” chorused the Lambo twins.
Ratchet spun up the big saw blades on his left arm and the med-bay swiftly emptied.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
2031 - August
“Hello, Vector Prime.”
“What gave me away?” Perceptor had seemed utterly immersed in his work, and Vector could move quite stealthily when he wanted to.
“The slight disturbance in the quarternary chronion field whenever you move,” Perceptor said, looking up and smiling. “That and your reflection in the gallium oxide film on the solar array next to me.”
Vector laughed. “I’ve come to distract you.”
“Mmm. I am, as I said before, at your disposal.”
“I am also here to fulfill my promise regarding the original methods of spark merging. Ratchet informs me your spark is recovered, but to be careful in the opening of the chamber as the patch won’t hold for strenuous… I believe ‘shenanigans’ was the term he used. For a merge the chamber merely needs to open to allow access to the spark. I foresee no difficulties.”
Perceptor shut down his current experiment and set other processes to standby, then left a message on Wheeljack’s system to inform him of a two or three day absence.
“Where would you like to go for the merge?” Vector asked, observing this with amusement. Perceptor cocked his head at him.
“We…do not need to be beside the growth tank?”
“No. I will carry the new spark the needed distance. Any place in this universe; I have never borne a new spark across universes. It might have unforeseeable consequences.”
“Any place…any time?”
“Hm. As long as we are careful. However, while it is possible - even necessary - for me to physically be in several places at the same time, it might complicate or even alter your lifestream if you were to appear concurrently with yourself. And Cybertron before the war was a busy world.”
“I see. And the future holds its own perils.”
“Indeed. There is still much to choose from.”
“Yes.” The fins and flanges on Perceptor’s head waved gently as he considered. He looked up at Vector, suddenly hesitant. “Have you been to the Ardensahelian Ring Garden?”
“I have heard of it, but never visited. It is said to be astonishingly beautiful.”
“I…I think it is, yes.” Perceptor let Vector draw him close, holding on tightly as Vector drew Rhysling from his shoulder. “According to the notes I left myself, I went there once, when Beachcomber and I were students at Xenon University. But…”
“But?”
“I erased my memories to make room for a portion of the University Archive that had been hidden in Uraya when the war broke out.”
“Oh, Perceptor.” Vector shuttered his optics and kissed Perceptor tenderly. Rhysling swung up-
-and across. Perceptor clung to Vector, every receptor wide open as Vector leapt into the rift, engaging his engines and sails smoothly as they tumbled into space on the other side. Above them a ringed planet superficially resembling Neptune hung like a sapphire, backlit by a planetary nebula. The rings were not composed of rock and dust and ices like those in the Solar system. They were a garden of deliberately arranged crystals and sculptures, and in the densest ring, which contained atmosphere of its own thanks to specially constructed force-fields, sessile life forms and water streams.
Originally constructed by the oldest civilization in Galaxy 584-6-24, the garden was now maintained by a hegemony of cultures led by the semi-robotic, silicon-based Iess.
Vector maneuvered them closer, contacting the local nets for an access permit, then scanning for a nice private space.
On the far side, Perceptor said. There’s an icosahedron delineated by large corundum crystals at the nodes. The tour groups seem to be avoiding it.
Hm. It’s on the night side. Perhaps that formation is preferred in sunlight for most species. Off we go, then. He took a polar orbit; the better to view a spectacular storm in the planet’s upper atmosphere. Swooping in and out of the rings, they caught wondrous glimpses of the different sections of the garden, Perceptor recording everything with childlike avidity.
A languorous curve in trajectory brought them within the icosahedron. The corundum crystals glimmered in nebula-light, loosely joined to each other by a web of delicate bismuth filigree that would never support itself in even a light planetary gravity. Nanomaterials embedded in the web caused it to resonate with the planet’s electromagnetic field. Perceptor extended a hand and touched it. Music washed through his frame, haunting and eerie perhaps if human ears could hear it, but spellbinding to Cybertronian senses.
A worthy eyrie, Vector thrummed, his transmitted voice in harmony with the lattice’s song. Thank you for suggesting this. He kissed Perceptor’s mouth, opening him with a tongue in place of an oral polyhedron, flexing their fields in subtle and grand ways, brushing fingertips over Perceptor’s sensory fins as they expanded and glowed, iridescent as his optics. Cables stroked Vector’s chest and he created ports, drawing them in, opening his side of the link through the skin of his arms and lips and hands, extending his sails slowly through the lattice.
No full body-link, now, Vector said, smiling. Perceptor was too clever by half. Incompatible systems, remember?
Th-then how…?
Mmmshow you. Vector opened his chest, the parts of him that moved aside to reveal his strange spark extended to stroke Perceptor’s body. Perceptor shivered, wrapping his legs around Vector’s hips. He parted his armor, pressing against Vector eagerly, but he opened his chamber centimeter by centimeter, wary of the temporary repairs. Teal light danced over the crystals around them.
Within the link, Vector guided him down to the fabric of the universe, not so different from how merges had gone before, though Vector’s ease and confidence altered the feel, allowing Perceptor to fully experience the pleasure, undistracted by fear.
A space opened between/around them, inside their sparks, full of potential and potency, deep blue and hovering. Galaxies of stars whirled - no, sparks, not stars, and Perceptor’s mind was too orderly, the sparks arranged themselves in an infinite, hexagonal matrix, mirroring themselves, mirroring their progenitors, across the geometries of spacetimelove. There were so many.
Good heavens, I feel like a fish spawning.
Now. Choose.
What? I want all of them…
Vector laughed, not unkindly. You have not tanks enough. Choose. This was the way: gaze upon the possibilities, then bring the desired spark to ignition.
Oh dear.
We are not mammals. This is not the Discovery Channel. Bringing forth new life is an intrinsically conscious endeavor, a matter of intention.
There are four empty tanks in Oregon. The new person he and Borealis had sparked would decant soon, which would empty a tank if someone else wanted to use it.
Laughing again, Vector acquiesced. Four then. Choose.
Don’t you want…?
I have done this before. Many times. You shall choose.
Bother. Very well… Once he looked at them properly, he could see how the threads of their two sparks had doubled themselves, combining in countless ways. Sparks that were, sparks that are, sparks that have not yet come to pass. Each one unique, haloed by the silvery haze of possibility.
Perceptor let go of his expectations and the needs of his people pressing on him, let go of his ambition, his requirements and conscious logic. For just a moment, he let himself be Beachcomber-like and allowed his intuition - a strange, quicksilver thing in Cybertronians - guide him. Four sparks glowed softly, singing perhaps brighter than the others, spinning joy and playfulness with uncountable other things; we will adapt and thrive, they seemed to say. You will have wings, Perceptor thought, astonished, as they whirled into ignition, into the universe, and were gathered tenderly into Vector Prime’s chest.
Bracing himself against the backlash, Perceptor nearly fell offline in surprise when there was none. Vector showed him the pathways, how the unleashed power was allowed to flow, but directed, around and back within, nourishing mechs and newsparks.
Well done!
That…would not have occurred to me, Perceptor gasped as their systems wound down, their consciousnesses rising to normal levels like sleepy fish in a pond at dawn.
It might have, given time, Vector said fondly, wrapping Perceptor tight in his arms. Recharge whilst I fly us home. This way is not entirely without cost, dear, lovely Perceptor.
Mmm, said Perceptor.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
Optics take a long time to regrow on their own. They are more complicated than they appear, requiring exquisitely formed complexes of unusual alloys and crystalline structures. Ratchet and the other medics had been too busy to fuss at Prowl, and Prowl refused to go in to have replacements installed when there were so many others far more seriously injured.
Eventually, Blades and Bluestreak would drag him into the med-bay, but until then Prowl navigated with perfect ease via his chevron and door-wings, and sometimes with the aid of optical feeds from Jazz or others.
…
The first thing Sam noticed as he climbed to the mezzanine for the meeting was that General Rutgens, an old Army warhorse, was a little white around the lips. It wasn’t the heat. The cooling units were going full bore, as they would all summer. Sam turned toward the hangar, wondering what had the General spooked.
Prowl, who would be giving the debriefing, stood close to the railing, speaking with the General’s aide. The aide looked pale, too.
"Dah!”
Prowl turned his head, homing on Sam’s voice. "What is it, Sam?"
"Okay, Prowl? I know you figured out humans like to make eye contact during a conversation, and that’s great. But, uh, not when you don't have any eyes! That's just creepy."
"Hang on a sec," Windcharger said, and dashed off down the stem corridor. He returned a moment later with a length of the ubiquitous blue plastic tarp. "Here." He passed it to Prowl, who tied it like a blindfold, hiding the jagged, half-melted sockets.
"Is that better?"
"Yeah, thanks." It was still freaky how Prowl could navigate so well with his other senses, but at least his face looked less skull-like.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
Everyone except Skyfire was finally out of CR or medically-induced stasis; and Ratchet and First Aid had nearly completed the massive repairs to Skyfire’s chassis. The big jet would be out and on the wing soon.
The forecast predicted record-breaking heat, so every Autobot who had or could manufacture an excuse was up on the mesa top, basking.
Smokescreen rolled over to warm his dorsal side, throwing a leg suggestively over Prowl’s midsection. “I wonder if Vector has ever gone through time just to shag all the Primes.”
Mirage gave a sputter of laughter. "I asked him that very thing."
Trailbreaker gaped at him. "You did not!"
"What did he say?" asked Hound. He slipped a hand up under Mirage’s chest armor.
"He said not all of them, because two of them - he wouldn't say which two - had peculiar notions regarding interface. And another three were, as he put it 'disagreeable gits.’”
Laughter rippled and rolled across the plateau, following the waves of arousal originating first from Hound and Mirage but rapidly taken up by the rest.
Is this going to be one of those gatherings? Red Alert inquired, sitting up as if to leave. Inferno pulled him down.
Yeah, Red. It surely is.
…
“Have you been half asleep/And have you heard voices?/I’ve heard them calling my name,” Borealis sang, just for a moment her voice transcending her basic singing program.
On the north end of the mesa top, Borealis was teaching Silverbolt to waltz, playing Kenny Loggins’ version of The Rainbow Connection over her speakers. There were no proprioceptive files on waltzing, so they were creating one. Then Silverbolt could teach Skyfire, when he recovered.
“Mmm,” said Beachcomber, from the edge of the mech-pile, with Tracks’ hands stroking his ankles and Tracks’ mouth on his neck cables. “Jets dancing.”
Table of Contents
.
Author: tainry
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money.
Rating: R
Characters/Pairing(s): ensemble, Ultra Magnus/Chromia, Vector Prime/Perceptor
Warnings: PnP/Spark smexing, lots of fluff, some wee angst.
Summary: Wherein the Bots recover from battle, TC makes a discovery, Optimus gets yelled at, UM and Chromia get frisky because Ironhide won't, Veccy and Safeguard wake up, Veccy and Perce get frisky old-school style, Prowl freaks Sam out, and mechs catch some rays.
Notes: Woo! Okay, after this my timeline gets a little wibbly-wobbly, so it may take me a while to figure out what's going on and how to talk about it because the next chapter on the ToC might not really be the next chapter. ^^;;;
~4500 words.
Part I
Part II
BOREALIS: Thunderwing - Part III
2031 - June
Bee started running. He quickly slowed to a walk. Ten meters away he crumpled to his knees and crawled, at last reaching his friend, curling his singed hands around Jazz’s helm. Jazz, Jazz, are you okay?
How much power did you feed Ironhide, Bee? Jazz asked, quirking half a smile.
Most of everything he had, Bluestreak said when Bee didn’t answer immediately. And Ironhide had used it all. He and Chromia lay in a heap, damaged but not critically, catching recharge whenever they could in the habit of old soldiers.
So did you! Bee said. Jazz?
Just dented, Jazz said. He kept his hand over Prowl’s, which hid the impact site across welds - scars - that had only recently healed completely. He felt cold and fragile, and stupid, for memories to overwhelm him like this. Only Prowl could feel him trembling. I’ll be fine, Bee. Recharge, why don’t you? Ratchet and his crew are going to be busy for a while, hey?
I will if you will, Bee said, curling up against Jazz, smiling in his own way as he noted how Prowl shifted his door-wings slightly to better watch over them both.
…
Borealis, turn around. Streetwise narrowed his right accessory optic at the big jet as she landed. On her feet.
Why? She edged around him, keeping her ventral side toward him and her optics on the battlefield, where the last of the injured mechs lay waiting for transport to the triage area. Skyfire had already been retrieved by Silverbolt so there was no one left whose size would prohibit her from carrying two or more at a time.
I’ve already scanned you, Streetwise said, smirking. He finished a line crimp inside Arcee’s left arm and started on another. You might as well show me. …My flat-assed sister.
Shouldn’t you be concentrating on what you’re doing?
Shouldn’t you try putting your thumb in your mouth and blowing? To see if that reinflates your aft?
I’ll reinflate you in a minute.
Hoist cut in, valiantly restraining his frustration. Borealis, can you transform? Skyfire was out of commission and getting him to the CR chambers on Earth was going to be tricky, though by the look on Silverbolt’s face the Aerialbot leader wasn’t going to let anyone else take him down that gravity well. If Borealis was stuck in robot mode, though, that meant Silverbolt would have to transport everyone who couldn’t assume cometary mode. It was doable, but things would go faster if Borealis could help. And speed was of the essence for some of their patients.
I, um, no. I can’t. The armor across her dorsal surface - arms, legs, torso, even the back of her helm - was smashed and fused from her close encounter with Deimos. She stuck her right leg out to the side because that knee couldn’t bend and scooped up Jury and Strake.
Very well. As soon as Grapple and I have finished with Thundercracker we’ll see if we can’t…reinflate you.
Terrific. Streets, I’m stepping on you later.
…
He came online battle-ready, acknowledging the alarms ringing through his systems and automatically shutting them down.
Strake is beside you, Prowl is with Jazz, Hoist said. It’s over. Thunderwing’s been destroyed.
Thundercracker sat up, running claws gently over Strake’s helm, wiping pebbles out of his lateral fins. The young Seeker was offline, power levels low, but in no danger of deactivation. How?
How do we ever do these things? Hoist said bitterly. Sacrifice.
The cloud mind was subdued, friends reassuring each other, updates sent to anxious watchers on Earth, but soon provided Thundercracker with a more specific answer to his question.
Bolo sat nearby, grieving. His major fuel lines and wire bundles had been capped though the gruesome hole in his side remained. Thundercracker stared. Something about the mech’s fields or posture or something was so familiar.
I know you.
Don’t, Bolo said. You don’t understand what it was like for us to come back like this.
Like what? Thundercracker pressed. No longer twins?
Thundercracker. Don’t, Prime murmured. But the cloud mind had already spiked with realization.
Thundercracker dropped to one knee. My Lord!
No! The tank lunged forward and dragged Thundercracker upright. No, slag you! Alpha Trion is DEAD! Murdered by his successor; though there is precedent for that… No. I am Bolo. Bolo.
My truest Commander, Thundercracker said. Megatron betrayed-
Bolo shook him. AND YOU FOLLOWED HIM! FOR THREE MILLION YEARS!
Yes, my Lord.
TC. Bolo released Thundercracker and pressed the heel of his hand against his forehelm. Seekers. Please leave me alone.
Yes, sir.
…
If I ask you, Bolo tight-beamed, will you send my spark back to the Allspark? She can at least speak to me there.
No, Prime said. Please don’t ask me that.
Prowl, then. He executed Impactor…
No! He’s come so far. It would be beyond cruel to ask him to do something like that now.
You’re quite fond of him and your Lieutenant, aren’t you.
Yes.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
Grapple removed Borealis’ armor piece by piece, reshaped and reattached it until her mechanisms were freed enough to transform.
What are we going to do with them? she asked, flicking an antenna at the bodies of the sixteen dead Sweeps Cyclonus had left behind. She hoped it didn’t include salvage. She wouldn’t want pieces of a Decepticon in her body. Ew! But maybe the older Cybertronians, the veterans, weren’t so finicky.
We’ve never had elaborate funerary rites, Grapple said. They were so rarely needed, before. He finished the last weld on the brace for Powerglide’s torn wing. And since the war, there often isn’t time…
Some of the Sweeps’ alloys are toxic, Prime said. Once the living have been transferred back to Earth, Borealis, please launch the bodies into the sun.
Yes, sir, she said. Erk!
…
General?
Prime! Optimus, bring your people home.
Will, that’s one of the kindest things you’ve ever said to me.
Yeah, well, Sarah and Anna and a bunch of other people are pretty worried down here. Rio sent us optical feeds. That was some stunt you pulled.
Ah.
And hurry up before every elementary school on the planet starts fuel cell donation drives.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
Buried in his brothers and reckless jets, Blades squirmed. Come on you guys, we have to help load the wounded. He squirmed harder and felt his right foot impact Slingshot’s someone’s helm. Purely by accident.
Hey!
He’s right, Hot Spot said, First Aid unhappily agreeing.
Silverbolt withdrew, silent, his face set, and crossed the canyon floor to stand next to Borealis and transform. He lowered his boarding ramp as the first group assigned to him approached. He would bear Skyfire - in stasis lock but stable for now - for his second load. Borealis took off with her first batch, carrying Trailbreaker, Springer, Ratchet, Perceptor and Arcee. Perceptor was conscious, but his spark chamber breach was leaking badly.
I could take a load too… Blades muttered on the gestalt channel.
Except for the whole helicopters not working in vacuum thing, Groove commiserated. Come on; I know Aid has to stay with the wounded, but we can make like meteorites and be at the embassy to meet him, right?
We can, Hot Spot said, lifting his head to watch the Earthrise.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
Sam rubbed some of the carbonization off Bee’s jaw with his thumb. He’d gotten used to how comfortable snuggling with a giant metal robot could be, but sometimes it still struck him as odd. “So,” he said - quietly, because Dani was almost asleep and Nathan was zonked - “Bolo is actually Megatron’s predecessor, Lord Protector Alpha Trion, and Evac was Volant Prime.”
“Yes,” said Bee.
“How did that work, though?” Mikaela asked. She shifted Nathan minutely, keeping the baby’s head on her shoulder rather than bumping Bee’s armor. “Prime’s made comments lots of times about Volant snarking at him from the Matrix.”
Bee made an ambiguous sound. “I don’t know if Prime understands it either. It seems that Volant left a copy of her pattern in the Matrix even as her spark was re-embodied.”
“If only Primes go to the Matrix,” Dani asked, less asleep than her father thought, “and everyone else returns to the Allspark, then…then the dead Primes are always separated from their people?”
“I think they can…speak with patterns in the Allspark. If those patterns are coherent enough.” Bee warbled comfortingly at Dani. “But they’re not…part of the same oneness as those within the Allspark. You’d have to ask Jazz.”
“That’s sad,” Dani said.
“What about the old Primes, like Vector, who predate the Matrix?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know,” Bee said. He didn’t want to think about it. They would never be one with Optimus in any case. Bee’s spark contracted for a single, miserable second.
“Cheerful conversation,” Sam said, grinning.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
“…And if I ever see you walk up a lance or anything like that again I am going to run so thorough a diagnostic on your processors you’ll think you’re a Roomba by the time I’m done.”
After three hours Ratchet was finally winding down. Prime watched him with great affection, tinged with sadness. Ratchet hadn’t yet touched on the thing that was actually bothering him.
“It looks like Skyfire was right, doesn’t it,” Prime said quietly.
Ratchet stopped pacing and leaned hard on the edge of the recharge table upon which Prime was sitting. Oh it’d take a very determined effort to kill you now, I agree. Maybe even if you were atomized, given enough time you’d coalesce again and you might even still be Optimus Prime afterwards. There are worse things.
“Oh?”
You do know that your body’s substance is being replaced by…whatever the Allspark is made of?
“My spark chamber…”
“Yes. But threads of it are infiltrating your protoform as well. About seven percent, as far as I can tell. And you’re almost two meters taller than you were when we first came here.” Ratchet leaned closer. “Looking forward to being a cube, are you? Because that’s where you’re headed.”
“How long?”
Ratchet spun away, stomping across the bay floor. “I don’t know! A few thousand years? A million? Less if this rate continues. Donating mass seems to help. Much as I hate to suggest it given your propensity to overdo it, you might want to get back into the habit.”
Prime nodded. “Agreed.” He turned his gaze toward the darkened alcove where Vector Prime and Safeguard’s CR chamber stood. Ratchet had felt it best to put them in together. Some time during the battle on Mars, Safeguard had wrapped himself around Vector’s left forearm, in one of the standard intermesh sites for bonded minicons. “How are they?”
“Improving. Vector’s regenerative powers are like nothing I’ve seen - outside of you. Good thing, given how badly he’d been mauled.”
“I took it as a good sign that he returned here.”
“Oh?”
“He obviously felt this to be a place of safety. If he knew we were going to lose on Mars he would have gone elsewhere.”
Ratchet thunked his forehelm against the side of the chamber. “Sllllaaaaaag.”
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
2031 - July
You and Ironhide have been arguing again.
All of Chromia’s pointy bits bristled at him. There were a lot of pointy bits. Ultra Magnus smiled.
Old slagger won’t even consider spark-merging, she growled. Says it’s “unnatural”. She kicked an imaginary boulder off the mesa top. And too risky, considering…
Considering what happened to the protoform when Evac died, and how the protoform’s reaction affected Blades. Yes, I see his point. Magnus stood close, despite the bristling, and slipped his fingertips into spaces in her back. She arched slightly into the contact. I agree with Optimus, though. I think it’s worth the consequences.
“Of course you agree with Optimus,” Chromia smirked.
“I don’t always.”
“Yeah, right.”
He bent to nibble on her left antenna. I’ll merge with you, if you want to.
Yes. I want to. It was more important now than he knew. Even if Elita instituted a lottery to decide who would be the recipient of the spark chamber modification, Chromia was determined to be the one to kill Shockwave. “You just want to make a cityformer of your own, don’t you.”
“Oh hush,” he said, and kissed her.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
Moonlight shone through the med-bay skylight, gently silvering the half-dozen mechs still wired into repair tables. Vector Prime stepped down from the CR chamber and went to each one, touching shoulders or chests, knowing there had been losses but grateful for how many more had survived.
“Kindly don’t bypass my alerts,” Ratchet said, leaning against the entry with his arms crossed.
“I do beg your pardon, Ratchet,” Vector said, bowing from the waist. “A reflex of some duration, I’m afraid. I did not wish to disturb your rest.”
“Vector!” Optimus ran in from his habitual patrol to embrace the elder Prime. Ratchet wasn’t certain if it was reassuring or disconcerting how the two melted into one another. Safeguard disentwined himself from Vector’s arm, purring and chirping, to give Optimus’ helm a hug. A number of other mechs rushed the med-bay, slowing abruptly at the doorway because they knew Ratchet would have their afts for getting unruly when there were wounded in there.
“We could have used your help on Mars,” Air Raid said, Strake beside him nodding in agreement and ignoring the glares they were getting from Silverbolt and Thundercracker.
“My apologies,” Vector said, accepting the rebuke. “A crisis of, hm, causality occurred, requiring the immediate attention of myself and several others.”
Safeguard detached from Optimus and hovered in front of Air Raid’s face. “We, like you, bought victory at a price,” he said.
“Sorry,” Air Raid said. He resisted the urge to bat the minicon away like a persistent bug. If half the things said about Safeguard were true, Raid would likely lose a hand trying it. Silverbolt praised him for his restraint over the gestalt channel.
“The timing seems kind of convenient,” Skydive pointed out. “Or, I mean inconvenient for us, maybe convenient for the Cons. Or someone else.”
“Indeed,” said Vector. “Possible. And troubling.” His optics unfocused - or focused in a way none of them could understand. Perceptor leaned toward him so sharply he would have tripped if Drift hadn’t caught and held him.
“Would you mind taking the discussion elsewhere?” Ratchet said testily. “I have patients to attend.”
Vector’s attention seemed to return to the here and now. “Optimus, why don’t you use the Allspark to restore everyone at once?”
Optimus gaped at him.
“Because,” growled Ratchet, “if he tried, he’d also turn every computer and mechanical device in the embassy into microbots and whatever else; including the staff cars parked on the shady side.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” said Cliffjumper.
Ratchet rounded on him. “We salvaged a lot of our equipment from our ships. We do not have the infrastructure to replace it! And if the energy wave reached Wheeljack’s tower?”
“Oh. Ack.”
“Exactly.” Ratchet said. “And if that happened Perceptor’s head would probably explode.” Perceptor squawked in protest. Ratchet ignored him. “Haven’t we had enough of what happens when the power of the Allspark is misused?”
Vector opened his mouth, then closed it. “Ah.”
“It’s a worthy idea, Ratchet,” Optimus said. “Frenzy-”
“Oh yes, let’s definitely follow in that little glitch’s footsteps. Get your hand off Springer’s foot, Optimus, or so help me…”
Optimus removed the offending appendage hastily.
“Springer would volunteer, you know,” said Chromia.
“You are Not Helping,” Ratchet grumbled.
“You just don’t want him to make you obsolete.”
“Out!”
“We still love you, Ratchet,” chorused the Lambo twins.
Ratchet spun up the big saw blades on his left arm and the med-bay swiftly emptied.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
2031 - August
“Hello, Vector Prime.”
“What gave me away?” Perceptor had seemed utterly immersed in his work, and Vector could move quite stealthily when he wanted to.
“The slight disturbance in the quarternary chronion field whenever you move,” Perceptor said, looking up and smiling. “That and your reflection in the gallium oxide film on the solar array next to me.”
Vector laughed. “I’ve come to distract you.”
“Mmm. I am, as I said before, at your disposal.”
“I am also here to fulfill my promise regarding the original methods of spark merging. Ratchet informs me your spark is recovered, but to be careful in the opening of the chamber as the patch won’t hold for strenuous… I believe ‘shenanigans’ was the term he used. For a merge the chamber merely needs to open to allow access to the spark. I foresee no difficulties.”
Perceptor shut down his current experiment and set other processes to standby, then left a message on Wheeljack’s system to inform him of a two or three day absence.
“Where would you like to go for the merge?” Vector asked, observing this with amusement. Perceptor cocked his head at him.
“We…do not need to be beside the growth tank?”
“No. I will carry the new spark the needed distance. Any place in this universe; I have never borne a new spark across universes. It might have unforeseeable consequences.”
“Any place…any time?”
“Hm. As long as we are careful. However, while it is possible - even necessary - for me to physically be in several places at the same time, it might complicate or even alter your lifestream if you were to appear concurrently with yourself. And Cybertron before the war was a busy world.”
“I see. And the future holds its own perils.”
“Indeed. There is still much to choose from.”
“Yes.” The fins and flanges on Perceptor’s head waved gently as he considered. He looked up at Vector, suddenly hesitant. “Have you been to the Ardensahelian Ring Garden?”
“I have heard of it, but never visited. It is said to be astonishingly beautiful.”
“I…I think it is, yes.” Perceptor let Vector draw him close, holding on tightly as Vector drew Rhysling from his shoulder. “According to the notes I left myself, I went there once, when Beachcomber and I were students at Xenon University. But…”
“But?”
“I erased my memories to make room for a portion of the University Archive that had been hidden in Uraya when the war broke out.”
“Oh, Perceptor.” Vector shuttered his optics and kissed Perceptor tenderly. Rhysling swung up-
-and across. Perceptor clung to Vector, every receptor wide open as Vector leapt into the rift, engaging his engines and sails smoothly as they tumbled into space on the other side. Above them a ringed planet superficially resembling Neptune hung like a sapphire, backlit by a planetary nebula. The rings were not composed of rock and dust and ices like those in the Solar system. They were a garden of deliberately arranged crystals and sculptures, and in the densest ring, which contained atmosphere of its own thanks to specially constructed force-fields, sessile life forms and water streams.
Originally constructed by the oldest civilization in Galaxy 584-6-24, the garden was now maintained by a hegemony of cultures led by the semi-robotic, silicon-based Iess.
Vector maneuvered them closer, contacting the local nets for an access permit, then scanning for a nice private space.
On the far side, Perceptor said. There’s an icosahedron delineated by large corundum crystals at the nodes. The tour groups seem to be avoiding it.
Hm. It’s on the night side. Perhaps that formation is preferred in sunlight for most species. Off we go, then. He took a polar orbit; the better to view a spectacular storm in the planet’s upper atmosphere. Swooping in and out of the rings, they caught wondrous glimpses of the different sections of the garden, Perceptor recording everything with childlike avidity.
A languorous curve in trajectory brought them within the icosahedron. The corundum crystals glimmered in nebula-light, loosely joined to each other by a web of delicate bismuth filigree that would never support itself in even a light planetary gravity. Nanomaterials embedded in the web caused it to resonate with the planet’s electromagnetic field. Perceptor extended a hand and touched it. Music washed through his frame, haunting and eerie perhaps if human ears could hear it, but spellbinding to Cybertronian senses.
A worthy eyrie, Vector thrummed, his transmitted voice in harmony with the lattice’s song. Thank you for suggesting this. He kissed Perceptor’s mouth, opening him with a tongue in place of an oral polyhedron, flexing their fields in subtle and grand ways, brushing fingertips over Perceptor’s sensory fins as they expanded and glowed, iridescent as his optics. Cables stroked Vector’s chest and he created ports, drawing them in, opening his side of the link through the skin of his arms and lips and hands, extending his sails slowly through the lattice.
No full body-link, now, Vector said, smiling. Perceptor was too clever by half. Incompatible systems, remember?
Th-then how…?
Mmmshow you. Vector opened his chest, the parts of him that moved aside to reveal his strange spark extended to stroke Perceptor’s body. Perceptor shivered, wrapping his legs around Vector’s hips. He parted his armor, pressing against Vector eagerly, but he opened his chamber centimeter by centimeter, wary of the temporary repairs. Teal light danced over the crystals around them.
Within the link, Vector guided him down to the fabric of the universe, not so different from how merges had gone before, though Vector’s ease and confidence altered the feel, allowing Perceptor to fully experience the pleasure, undistracted by fear.
A space opened between/around them, inside their sparks, full of potential and potency, deep blue and hovering. Galaxies of stars whirled - no, sparks, not stars, and Perceptor’s mind was too orderly, the sparks arranged themselves in an infinite, hexagonal matrix, mirroring themselves, mirroring their progenitors, across the geometries of spacetimelove. There were so many.
Good heavens, I feel like a fish spawning.
Now. Choose.
What? I want all of them…
Vector laughed, not unkindly. You have not tanks enough. Choose. This was the way: gaze upon the possibilities, then bring the desired spark to ignition.
Oh dear.
We are not mammals. This is not the Discovery Channel. Bringing forth new life is an intrinsically conscious endeavor, a matter of intention.
There are four empty tanks in Oregon. The new person he and Borealis had sparked would decant soon, which would empty a tank if someone else wanted to use it.
Laughing again, Vector acquiesced. Four then. Choose.
Don’t you want…?
I have done this before. Many times. You shall choose.
Bother. Very well… Once he looked at them properly, he could see how the threads of their two sparks had doubled themselves, combining in countless ways. Sparks that were, sparks that are, sparks that have not yet come to pass. Each one unique, haloed by the silvery haze of possibility.
Perceptor let go of his expectations and the needs of his people pressing on him, let go of his ambition, his requirements and conscious logic. For just a moment, he let himself be Beachcomber-like and allowed his intuition - a strange, quicksilver thing in Cybertronians - guide him. Four sparks glowed softly, singing perhaps brighter than the others, spinning joy and playfulness with uncountable other things; we will adapt and thrive, they seemed to say. You will have wings, Perceptor thought, astonished, as they whirled into ignition, into the universe, and were gathered tenderly into Vector Prime’s chest.
Bracing himself against the backlash, Perceptor nearly fell offline in surprise when there was none. Vector showed him the pathways, how the unleashed power was allowed to flow, but directed, around and back within, nourishing mechs and newsparks.
Well done!
That…would not have occurred to me, Perceptor gasped as their systems wound down, their consciousnesses rising to normal levels like sleepy fish in a pond at dawn.
It might have, given time, Vector said fondly, wrapping Perceptor tight in his arms. Recharge whilst I fly us home. This way is not entirely without cost, dear, lovely Perceptor.
Mmm, said Perceptor.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
Optics take a long time to regrow on their own. They are more complicated than they appear, requiring exquisitely formed complexes of unusual alloys and crystalline structures. Ratchet and the other medics had been too busy to fuss at Prowl, and Prowl refused to go in to have replacements installed when there were so many others far more seriously injured.
Eventually, Blades and Bluestreak would drag him into the med-bay, but until then Prowl navigated with perfect ease via his chevron and door-wings, and sometimes with the aid of optical feeds from Jazz or others.
…
The first thing Sam noticed as he climbed to the mezzanine for the meeting was that General Rutgens, an old Army warhorse, was a little white around the lips. It wasn’t the heat. The cooling units were going full bore, as they would all summer. Sam turned toward the hangar, wondering what had the General spooked.
Prowl, who would be giving the debriefing, stood close to the railing, speaking with the General’s aide. The aide looked pale, too.
"Dah!”
Prowl turned his head, homing on Sam’s voice. "What is it, Sam?"
"Okay, Prowl? I know you figured out humans like to make eye contact during a conversation, and that’s great. But, uh, not when you don't have any eyes! That's just creepy."
"Hang on a sec," Windcharger said, and dashed off down the stem corridor. He returned a moment later with a length of the ubiquitous blue plastic tarp. "Here." He passed it to Prowl, who tied it like a blindfold, hiding the jagged, half-melted sockets.
"Is that better?"
"Yeah, thanks." It was still freaky how Prowl could navigate so well with his other senses, but at least his face looked less skull-like.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
Everyone except Skyfire was finally out of CR or medically-induced stasis; and Ratchet and First Aid had nearly completed the massive repairs to Skyfire’s chassis. The big jet would be out and on the wing soon.
The forecast predicted record-breaking heat, so every Autobot who had or could manufacture an excuse was up on the mesa top, basking.
Smokescreen rolled over to warm his dorsal side, throwing a leg suggestively over Prowl’s midsection. “I wonder if Vector has ever gone through time just to shag all the Primes.”
Mirage gave a sputter of laughter. "I asked him that very thing."
Trailbreaker gaped at him. "You did not!"
"What did he say?" asked Hound. He slipped a hand up under Mirage’s chest armor.
"He said not all of them, because two of them - he wouldn't say which two - had peculiar notions regarding interface. And another three were, as he put it 'disagreeable gits.’”
Laughter rippled and rolled across the plateau, following the waves of arousal originating first from Hound and Mirage but rapidly taken up by the rest.
Is this going to be one of those gatherings? Red Alert inquired, sitting up as if to leave. Inferno pulled him down.
Yeah, Red. It surely is.
…
“Have you been half asleep/And have you heard voices?/I’ve heard them calling my name,” Borealis sang, just for a moment her voice transcending her basic singing program.
On the north end of the mesa top, Borealis was teaching Silverbolt to waltz, playing Kenny Loggins’ version of The Rainbow Connection over her speakers. There were no proprioceptive files on waltzing, so they were creating one. Then Silverbolt could teach Skyfire, when he recovered.
“Mmm,” said Beachcomber, from the edge of the mech-pile, with Tracks’ hands stroking his ankles and Tracks’ mouth on his neck cables. “Jets dancing.”
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