Fic: Amalgamation 2/2
TITLE: Amalgamation, part 2
SERIES: Imperfection Deviation
VERSE: movie
CHARACTERS: Will Lennox, Ironhide, Rodimus Prime, Beachcomber, Seaspray (Seaspray/Beachcomber)
AUTHOR: Macx
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me, sadly. They are owned by people with a lot more money :)
FEEDBACK: Loved
SUMMARY: New-arrivals on Earth. Nothing new, except one's not happy to be here, one's actually something very old and rare, and one might be called a loose canon...
WARNING: Genderbending!
Beachcomber hadn’t felt good about leaving Wheeljack back at the ship, but he hadn’t really been looking forward to meeting Optimus Prime or any of the warriors. He wasn’t a soldier, he would never be a soldier, and he didn’t want to have anything to do with the war - or echoes of it on any other world. Wheeljack was different; he was more open-minded. While he had tried to stay uninvolved and only lightly favor one side, he had, in the end, been pulled to the Autobots. His genius had been of interest to both factions, but the Prime had won his loyalty.
Beachcomber had made a run for it and Seaspray had followed. For some unknown and unexplainable reason the sentry seemed to be very much attached to him. A being so much older, so much more powerful, of such high standing, followed a lowly, young scientist across alien and hostile landscape to the sea.
Seaspray hadn’t asked; she had simply followed. She had also answered Optimus Prime’s call and told him where they were going. Beachcomber didn’t feel betrayed or angry; he wasn’t a fugitive. But he also didn’t want to be involved.
Never again.
Prime had acknowledged their presence and someone was currently following them, relaying the request for a brief meeting. Beachcomber had no wish to talk, but Seaspray had agreed and so they were now waiting in some remote bay. Water lapped against the sharp-edged boulders, spraying onto their armor. Seaspray felt very much at home, moving through the water like it was the fluid-network of Cybertron. She seemed rather relaxed.
A signal came in and Beachcomber tensed. He watched two vehicles plough through the snow, a massive truck and a much sleeker silver sports car. The truck stopped and the door opened. Much to Beachcomber’s surprise a human slid out.
Seaspray froze, optics brightening, and she made a soft, humming noise.
::What is it?:: Beachcomber asked.
She gave no answer, just slid out of the water like a gigantic sea snake, staring at the human.
The two vehicles transformed and the silver one stepped forward.
“My name is Rodimus Prime,” he identified himself. “These are Ironhide and Will Lennox.”
Seaspray hummed again. She moved even closer, optics on the human introduced as Will Lennox, and Beachcomber saw Ironhide shift, bringing up his cannons slightly. There was a warning whine of charging weapons.
::Prime:: Seaspray whispered.
Beachcomber looked at her with a flare of surprise in his optics.
Prime?
*
Will had never seen a mech like the one currently looking at him as if he was the most fascinating of bugs under a microscope. From Wheeljack’s brief explanations he knew this had to be Seaspray, but it was such an alien appearance, he had felt more than a little bit of apprehension.
Seaspray apparently had the same gender pronoun as Arcee, ‘she’, but she wasn’t a troubleshooter. Wheeljack had called her a sentry and from Ironhide’s reaction his partner knew at least a little bit what that meant. He hadn’t elaborated on it though. Seaspray looked like a mix between an alien sea serpent and someone’s horror fantasy about aquatic creatures. She had a long, strong looking, body that was covered in dark gray plating. It appeared as if someone had cobbled together a skeleton made of metal, all vertebrae and dorsal protrusions, then slapped plating onto the new form. The front section sported eight multi-segmented legs. Tentacle-like protrusions, mimicking legs, were at the end of her body as well. Around her head were longer spines. Chinese dragons had them, too, Will recalled faintly.
The optics were a milky opaque. No blue or red in them. They were guarded by heavy brows and bulged slightly to give her a better field of vision. The head as such was wedge-shaped, had no mouth, no nostrils, but on the front were numerous indentions that were probably sensor nodes.
She looked more alien than any of the mechs he had met ever since Qatar. And she would make a great Alien for any kind of movie sequel.
Beachcomber was almost non-descript next to the sentry. About Bumblebee’s size, dark blue and yellow in color, he appeared wary of them. Will had no information on him other than that he had been a scientist on Cybertron. He didn’t seem to be armed, but that was usually not always apparent at first glance.
“Prime,” Seaspray hummed, gazing at him, then she raised her head and met Rodimus’ optics. “I greet you.”
“Seaspray,” Rodimus replied, stepping forward, hands open to show he was unarmed. “Wheeljack told us you came with him. Optimus asked me to talk to you.”
“We’re not going to any military base,” Beachcomber spoke up, sounding defensive, almost aggressive.
Will frowned, but he kept his mouth shut.
“We’re not asking you to. We just wanted to talk.”
“That usually ends in a recruiting speech,” the smaller mech said, anger bleeding into his voice. “I heard them all. I either change to a side or end up off-lined. No thanks. We left Cybertron to leave the war behind us, not fight it somewhere else.”
Rodimus studied the other mech for a moment, then nodded. “We accept your decision, Beachcomber. Earth is a refuge for our people. We have to hide, but we can hide peacefully.”
“Until the Decepticons come and you start all of this once more?”
“Should Decepticons come and threaten this world, we’ll defend it. We won’t let them turn it into another Cybertron.”
“The Autobots weren’t all that innocent in the war either!”
Ironhide grunted angrily and stepped forward. “Now listen here, you little punk…”
Rodimus held out a hand without looking, touching Ironhide’s shoulder, and holding him back from stepping any further. Lennox was amazed at the strength in that gesture, the command. And Ironhide heeded it.
“No one is innocent in this war, Beachcomber,” the young Prime said calmly. “We all bear a burden of guilt and shame. What we do now is survive. We have found allies and friends and even more on this planet.” He nodded at Lennox. “You’re free to choose what to do, as long as you keep our presence hidden.”
Beachcomber glared, but Seaspray nodded, still looking at Will.
“We will stay within the fluid networks,” she said. “They were my home on Cybertron. This world is different, but the network is much the same.”
Rodimus smiled and nodded. “Thank you.”
“I never needed to choose a new form, but I will keep my presence hidden,” the sentry went on, sounding thoughtful, optics on the rough sea. “I do not need to surface. I respect the Dynasty, Prime. I will follow your suggestions.”
“You knew the Dynasty?” Lennox blurted.
She chuckled, optics flaring with amusement. “No. I am old, young Prime, but not that old. The last one disappeared before I was created. I have called Cybertron my home for longer than any of the others, but even I never knew it from the beginnings of time.”
The serpentine body curled a little and Seaspray lowered her head, meeting Will’s eyes with her opaque optics. Ironhide shifted uneasily.
“I concur with my companion’s sentiment that we will not be part of any fights. I will however accept your power of command.”
Lennox frowned. “Optimus Prime is the commander of the Autobots.”
“But you and him,” Seaspray glanced at Rodimus, “are part of that command structure, Prime.”
Will felt a slight pressure behind his eyes, like something was asking without words. He resisted briefly, then sighed.
“Avatar Prime,” he told her with a shrug.
Seaspray nodded her acceptance and raised her head once more.
Beachcomber had watched it all with an almost similar unease to Ironhide’s posture. He regarded Will warily, but he didn’t comment.
“Stay in touch,” Rodimus only said and Lennox had the distinct impression that a lot more was transmitted outside his realm of perception.
Seaspray glided into the water, still a huge serpent, and Beachcomber transformed into what looked like a Cybertronian version of a submarine. A very small one. Both would adapt to whatever they chose, whatever kept them anonymous.
“I got a bad feeling about this, letting them run around like that,” Ironhide rumbled.
“We can’t force anyone to go with us,” Rodimus replied calmly. “We can’t force them to swear loyalty to the Autobots. I believe the best we can hope for is that they remain neutral and won’t side with the Decepticons either.”
Ironhide growled softly. Will placed a calming hand on the massive leg, watching the runes frolic around the point of contact.
“I doubt it,” he simply said.
The other Prime nodded. “I’m just glad they survived.”
Both Autobots transformed and Ironhide waited for Will to get inside, then they drove back along the way they had come. Fresh snow was already covering the old tracks and it would take a few hours until they reached the pick-up point. Will stared out of the window, still replaying the brief meeting in his mind.
“Ever met a sentry, Hide?” he asked softly.
“No. Didn’t know they still existed. The underground of Cybertron was kinda… off limits and the stuff of urban legends and scary tales.”
“Yeah?”
It got him an amused snort. “To scare the young.”
“Still you never explored?”
“Personally, no. There were expeditions. Some failed spectacularly.”
Will nodded. “It’s like saying we have monsters in the depth of the Earth… the stuff of books and B-movies. In Earth’s case… it’s highly unlikely we’ll find anything because of the heat. Cybertron’s a metal world and something had to be taking care of the inner workings.”
Something big and more alien than the Cybertronians themselves were, the surface dwellers. Will would have loved to talk to Seaspray some more, about her world, the inner world of Cybertron, but he respected her wishes to remain neutral. Maybe one day they could sit down and talk anyway.
Six months later Optimus Prime contacted both Seaspray and Beachcomber once more. A third launch pad for the space ships Ghost-2, Ghost-3 and Spook would be built on Jan Mayen, a volcanic island of Norwegian dominion, located in the North Atlantic ocean, 950 kilometers west of Norway, 600 kilometers north of Iceland.
It was uninhabited and there were no commercial flights going in or out. A crew of eighteen was running the Loran-C navigation station, the meteorological station and maintaining the infrastructure -- buildings, roads, airstrip, power station and so on. Dominated by an active volcano that had last erupted in 1985, Jan Mayen was perfect.
Beachcomber was wary to actively cooperate with anything remotely Autobot or connected to the war, but Seaspray’s enthusiasm to lend a hand overruled all his arguments. She would stay around the island, help the crew, be a sentry as much as she could be. Beachcomber grudgingly moved to Jan Mayen, but he kept out of everyone’s way. It was hard to ignore that Seaspray felt good and wanted this. The strange connection between them allowed a certain degree of empathy that went both ways.
Still, he fought it.
Every step of the way.
Three months into the reconfiguration of the Jan Mayen station Beachcomber took on the guise of an ATV and sat silently near the vehicle shed, scanning the humans around him. Seaspray chided him for his uncooperative state, but she didn’t push him any further.
An additional three months later he allowed the humans to ‘drive’ him into the more inhospitable regions to refit installations there, or close to the sea to meet with Seaspray, who usually patrolled the area diligently.
He still refused to be called an Autobot, to wear any kind of sigil, report to anyone - unless it was Optimus Prime and even then only reluctantly - and be seen cooperating more openly.
Seaspray watched it all with a kind of amused tolerance that was even more pronounced when both were together throughout the harsh winter nights.
::While older is not wiser:: she told her partner, ::it helps to see matters in a more relaxed way::
Blue optics glared at her and she pushed her head against his chest with gentle force.
::They asked us, Beachcomber, not ordered us. I talked to Optimus Prime and he gave us the freedom of choice. He recognizes us as his kind, but far from the Autobot command structure. I want to help this planet.::
::It’s in your programming:: the other mech groused.
She pushed again, making him stumble. ::No. Neither is it in yours to be such a pain in the diodes::
He glared again. She hummed softly. One of her tendrils wrapped around his waist and pulled him against her smooth plating. Beachcomber sighed and ran caressing digits over the seams.
::I hated the war, the pain it brought, the destruction::
::We all did and do. I can feel their pain, but I can also feel their determination not to let it happen again. I lost Cybertron. I won’t lose another planet if I can help it. The Allspark is gone, but the Primes are here. There’s hope::
::Feeble hope::
The wind blew loudly around the hangar they were in and rattled against the walls. Beachcomber was momentarily distracted, then sank onto the ground with a rattling sigh.
::Hope runs eternal in the foolish. I’m no longer foolish::
::You never were. Just young. And you can always leave here::
::And leave you behind? No.::
::I can take care of myself. I’m the sentry of Jan Mayen base. It’s a duty I have only to myself. I take it seriously::
Beachcomber nodded. He knew she was serious about her duties; very serious.
::I know:: he finally said softly. ::I also know we do good here. The people of this planet don’t deserve to suffer for the mistakes of another race::
She nodded.
A vicious rattle made Seaspray look up, her optics narrowing. She scanned the area and found the building secure enough. Beachcomber transformed into his vehicular mode, dislodging the tendril of his partner briefly, then he was surrounded by thickly armored serpentine curls. He powered down, but he didn’t fall into recharge.
Seaspray was awake, listening to the forces of nature around them. She was happy in this place, surrounded by life instead of death, and she thrived in her duty as a sentry once more.
The morning brought with it the pristine whiteness of fresh snow that covered everything. The base crew was already preparing to clear the landing strip and roads. Seaspray greeted Ole Madsen, the base commander, then slid off toward the shore. Snow crackled and crunched under her massive form and when she broke through the ice covering the bay, the waves closing over her like a blanket, she hummed with pleasure.
She kept transmitting to Beachcomber and he sighed heavily, maybe a bit theatrically. It was getting harder and harder to ignore Seaspray’s influence. She was chipping away at his armor with every day.
She knew it.
She kept doing it.
And Beachcomber knew he would fail miserably one day.
Now he drove to the outlook and transformed, watching the massive form of his partner break through the surface of the ocean like an alien whale. She had reconfigured her body just a little bit and the researchers had commented on her looking like a prehistoric sea snake.
Seaspray had been amused at the comparison.
She disappeared again underneath the waves, the water swirling in her wake.
Happiness radiate over their connection. Little eddies of joy remained.
No, Beachcomber had no chance to stay at the fringe, trying to push away those around him. But he would go down fighting.
With the completion of the new base four weeks later, Beachcomber expected more Autobots or human crew to arrive, but nothing of the like happened.
“We are the crew, Beachcomber,” Seaspray told him as they sat together at a snow-covered beach, watching ice drift across the ocean’s surface.
“I’m not doing shifts and running operations!” the scientist immediately protested.
She gave him a little nudge. “No, we won’t. But you are a scientist and this is a fascinating planet. The ocean is vast, filled with life, and I want to explore it, just like the humans here do. This is our world now.”
He rumbled to himself.
Seaspray curled her larger body around him, humming softly. ::Why do you fight this still?::
::Cooperate now, end up an Autobot by default later::
::The Primes accepted us as neutrals. We aren’t the first either. I trust in their word.::
Beachcomber sighed. He liked this planet, too. It was… different and so alive. He liked the humans manning the research station.
::You already have a plan:: he only said, looking into the opaque optics hovering at his side.
::Of course. Swim with me?::
He didn’t hesitate. Following the sentry into the water Beachcomber held on to one of her back protrusions and was pulled underwater with Seaspray. As the waters closed over him, he simply enjoyed the feel of the smooth liquid of this planet.
fin
SERIES: Imperfection Deviation
VERSE: movie
CHARACTERS: Will Lennox, Ironhide, Rodimus Prime, Beachcomber, Seaspray (Seaspray/Beachcomber)
AUTHOR: Macx
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me, sadly. They are owned by people with a lot more money :)
FEEDBACK: Loved
SUMMARY: New-arrivals on Earth. Nothing new, except one's not happy to be here, one's actually something very old and rare, and one might be called a loose canon...
WARNING: Genderbending!
Beachcomber hadn’t felt good about leaving Wheeljack back at the ship, but he hadn’t really been looking forward to meeting Optimus Prime or any of the warriors. He wasn’t a soldier, he would never be a soldier, and he didn’t want to have anything to do with the war - or echoes of it on any other world. Wheeljack was different; he was more open-minded. While he had tried to stay uninvolved and only lightly favor one side, he had, in the end, been pulled to the Autobots. His genius had been of interest to both factions, but the Prime had won his loyalty.
Beachcomber had made a run for it and Seaspray had followed. For some unknown and unexplainable reason the sentry seemed to be very much attached to him. A being so much older, so much more powerful, of such high standing, followed a lowly, young scientist across alien and hostile landscape to the sea.
Seaspray hadn’t asked; she had simply followed. She had also answered Optimus Prime’s call and told him where they were going. Beachcomber didn’t feel betrayed or angry; he wasn’t a fugitive. But he also didn’t want to be involved.
Never again.
Prime had acknowledged their presence and someone was currently following them, relaying the request for a brief meeting. Beachcomber had no wish to talk, but Seaspray had agreed and so they were now waiting in some remote bay. Water lapped against the sharp-edged boulders, spraying onto their armor. Seaspray felt very much at home, moving through the water like it was the fluid-network of Cybertron. She seemed rather relaxed.
A signal came in and Beachcomber tensed. He watched two vehicles plough through the snow, a massive truck and a much sleeker silver sports car. The truck stopped and the door opened. Much to Beachcomber’s surprise a human slid out.
Seaspray froze, optics brightening, and she made a soft, humming noise.
::What is it?:: Beachcomber asked.
She gave no answer, just slid out of the water like a gigantic sea snake, staring at the human.
The two vehicles transformed and the silver one stepped forward.
“My name is Rodimus Prime,” he identified himself. “These are Ironhide and Will Lennox.”
Seaspray hummed again. She moved even closer, optics on the human introduced as Will Lennox, and Beachcomber saw Ironhide shift, bringing up his cannons slightly. There was a warning whine of charging weapons.
::Prime:: Seaspray whispered.
Beachcomber looked at her with a flare of surprise in his optics.
Prime?
*
Will had never seen a mech like the one currently looking at him as if he was the most fascinating of bugs under a microscope. From Wheeljack’s brief explanations he knew this had to be Seaspray, but it was such an alien appearance, he had felt more than a little bit of apprehension.
Seaspray apparently had the same gender pronoun as Arcee, ‘she’, but she wasn’t a troubleshooter. Wheeljack had called her a sentry and from Ironhide’s reaction his partner knew at least a little bit what that meant. He hadn’t elaborated on it though. Seaspray looked like a mix between an alien sea serpent and someone’s horror fantasy about aquatic creatures. She had a long, strong looking, body that was covered in dark gray plating. It appeared as if someone had cobbled together a skeleton made of metal, all vertebrae and dorsal protrusions, then slapped plating onto the new form. The front section sported eight multi-segmented legs. Tentacle-like protrusions, mimicking legs, were at the end of her body as well. Around her head were longer spines. Chinese dragons had them, too, Will recalled faintly.
The optics were a milky opaque. No blue or red in them. They were guarded by heavy brows and bulged slightly to give her a better field of vision. The head as such was wedge-shaped, had no mouth, no nostrils, but on the front were numerous indentions that were probably sensor nodes.
She looked more alien than any of the mechs he had met ever since Qatar. And she would make a great Alien for any kind of movie sequel.
Beachcomber was almost non-descript next to the sentry. About Bumblebee’s size, dark blue and yellow in color, he appeared wary of them. Will had no information on him other than that he had been a scientist on Cybertron. He didn’t seem to be armed, but that was usually not always apparent at first glance.
“Prime,” Seaspray hummed, gazing at him, then she raised her head and met Rodimus’ optics. “I greet you.”
“Seaspray,” Rodimus replied, stepping forward, hands open to show he was unarmed. “Wheeljack told us you came with him. Optimus asked me to talk to you.”
“We’re not going to any military base,” Beachcomber spoke up, sounding defensive, almost aggressive.
Will frowned, but he kept his mouth shut.
“We’re not asking you to. We just wanted to talk.”
“That usually ends in a recruiting speech,” the smaller mech said, anger bleeding into his voice. “I heard them all. I either change to a side or end up off-lined. No thanks. We left Cybertron to leave the war behind us, not fight it somewhere else.”
Rodimus studied the other mech for a moment, then nodded. “We accept your decision, Beachcomber. Earth is a refuge for our people. We have to hide, but we can hide peacefully.”
“Until the Decepticons come and you start all of this once more?”
“Should Decepticons come and threaten this world, we’ll defend it. We won’t let them turn it into another Cybertron.”
“The Autobots weren’t all that innocent in the war either!”
Ironhide grunted angrily and stepped forward. “Now listen here, you little punk…”
Rodimus held out a hand without looking, touching Ironhide’s shoulder, and holding him back from stepping any further. Lennox was amazed at the strength in that gesture, the command. And Ironhide heeded it.
“No one is innocent in this war, Beachcomber,” the young Prime said calmly. “We all bear a burden of guilt and shame. What we do now is survive. We have found allies and friends and even more on this planet.” He nodded at Lennox. “You’re free to choose what to do, as long as you keep our presence hidden.”
Beachcomber glared, but Seaspray nodded, still looking at Will.
“We will stay within the fluid networks,” she said. “They were my home on Cybertron. This world is different, but the network is much the same.”
Rodimus smiled and nodded. “Thank you.”
“I never needed to choose a new form, but I will keep my presence hidden,” the sentry went on, sounding thoughtful, optics on the rough sea. “I do not need to surface. I respect the Dynasty, Prime. I will follow your suggestions.”
“You knew the Dynasty?” Lennox blurted.
She chuckled, optics flaring with amusement. “No. I am old, young Prime, but not that old. The last one disappeared before I was created. I have called Cybertron my home for longer than any of the others, but even I never knew it from the beginnings of time.”
The serpentine body curled a little and Seaspray lowered her head, meeting Will’s eyes with her opaque optics. Ironhide shifted uneasily.
“I concur with my companion’s sentiment that we will not be part of any fights. I will however accept your power of command.”
Lennox frowned. “Optimus Prime is the commander of the Autobots.”
“But you and him,” Seaspray glanced at Rodimus, “are part of that command structure, Prime.”
Will felt a slight pressure behind his eyes, like something was asking without words. He resisted briefly, then sighed.
“Avatar Prime,” he told her with a shrug.
Seaspray nodded her acceptance and raised her head once more.
Beachcomber had watched it all with an almost similar unease to Ironhide’s posture. He regarded Will warily, but he didn’t comment.
“Stay in touch,” Rodimus only said and Lennox had the distinct impression that a lot more was transmitted outside his realm of perception.
Seaspray glided into the water, still a huge serpent, and Beachcomber transformed into what looked like a Cybertronian version of a submarine. A very small one. Both would adapt to whatever they chose, whatever kept them anonymous.
“I got a bad feeling about this, letting them run around like that,” Ironhide rumbled.
“We can’t force anyone to go with us,” Rodimus replied calmly. “We can’t force them to swear loyalty to the Autobots. I believe the best we can hope for is that they remain neutral and won’t side with the Decepticons either.”
Ironhide growled softly. Will placed a calming hand on the massive leg, watching the runes frolic around the point of contact.
“I doubt it,” he simply said.
The other Prime nodded. “I’m just glad they survived.”
Both Autobots transformed and Ironhide waited for Will to get inside, then they drove back along the way they had come. Fresh snow was already covering the old tracks and it would take a few hours until they reached the pick-up point. Will stared out of the window, still replaying the brief meeting in his mind.
“Ever met a sentry, Hide?” he asked softly.
“No. Didn’t know they still existed. The underground of Cybertron was kinda… off limits and the stuff of urban legends and scary tales.”
“Yeah?”
It got him an amused snort. “To scare the young.”
“Still you never explored?”
“Personally, no. There were expeditions. Some failed spectacularly.”
Will nodded. “It’s like saying we have monsters in the depth of the Earth… the stuff of books and B-movies. In Earth’s case… it’s highly unlikely we’ll find anything because of the heat. Cybertron’s a metal world and something had to be taking care of the inner workings.”
Something big and more alien than the Cybertronians themselves were, the surface dwellers. Will would have loved to talk to Seaspray some more, about her world, the inner world of Cybertron, but he respected her wishes to remain neutral. Maybe one day they could sit down and talk anyway.
Six months later Optimus Prime contacted both Seaspray and Beachcomber once more. A third launch pad for the space ships Ghost-2, Ghost-3 and Spook would be built on Jan Mayen, a volcanic island of Norwegian dominion, located in the North Atlantic ocean, 950 kilometers west of Norway, 600 kilometers north of Iceland.
It was uninhabited and there were no commercial flights going in or out. A crew of eighteen was running the Loran-C navigation station, the meteorological station and maintaining the infrastructure -- buildings, roads, airstrip, power station and so on. Dominated by an active volcano that had last erupted in 1985, Jan Mayen was perfect.
Beachcomber was wary to actively cooperate with anything remotely Autobot or connected to the war, but Seaspray’s enthusiasm to lend a hand overruled all his arguments. She would stay around the island, help the crew, be a sentry as much as she could be. Beachcomber grudgingly moved to Jan Mayen, but he kept out of everyone’s way. It was hard to ignore that Seaspray felt good and wanted this. The strange connection between them allowed a certain degree of empathy that went both ways.
Still, he fought it.
Every step of the way.
Three months into the reconfiguration of the Jan Mayen station Beachcomber took on the guise of an ATV and sat silently near the vehicle shed, scanning the humans around him. Seaspray chided him for his uncooperative state, but she didn’t push him any further.
An additional three months later he allowed the humans to ‘drive’ him into the more inhospitable regions to refit installations there, or close to the sea to meet with Seaspray, who usually patrolled the area diligently.
He still refused to be called an Autobot, to wear any kind of sigil, report to anyone - unless it was Optimus Prime and even then only reluctantly - and be seen cooperating more openly.
Seaspray watched it all with a kind of amused tolerance that was even more pronounced when both were together throughout the harsh winter nights.
::While older is not wiser:: she told her partner, ::it helps to see matters in a more relaxed way::
Blue optics glared at her and she pushed her head against his chest with gentle force.
::They asked us, Beachcomber, not ordered us. I talked to Optimus Prime and he gave us the freedom of choice. He recognizes us as his kind, but far from the Autobot command structure. I want to help this planet.::
::It’s in your programming:: the other mech groused.
She pushed again, making him stumble. ::No. Neither is it in yours to be such a pain in the diodes::
He glared again. She hummed softly. One of her tendrils wrapped around his waist and pulled him against her smooth plating. Beachcomber sighed and ran caressing digits over the seams.
::I hated the war, the pain it brought, the destruction::
::We all did and do. I can feel their pain, but I can also feel their determination not to let it happen again. I lost Cybertron. I won’t lose another planet if I can help it. The Allspark is gone, but the Primes are here. There’s hope::
::Feeble hope::
The wind blew loudly around the hangar they were in and rattled against the walls. Beachcomber was momentarily distracted, then sank onto the ground with a rattling sigh.
::Hope runs eternal in the foolish. I’m no longer foolish::
::You never were. Just young. And you can always leave here::
::And leave you behind? No.::
::I can take care of myself. I’m the sentry of Jan Mayen base. It’s a duty I have only to myself. I take it seriously::
Beachcomber nodded. He knew she was serious about her duties; very serious.
::I know:: he finally said softly. ::I also know we do good here. The people of this planet don’t deserve to suffer for the mistakes of another race::
She nodded.
A vicious rattle made Seaspray look up, her optics narrowing. She scanned the area and found the building secure enough. Beachcomber transformed into his vehicular mode, dislodging the tendril of his partner briefly, then he was surrounded by thickly armored serpentine curls. He powered down, but he didn’t fall into recharge.
Seaspray was awake, listening to the forces of nature around them. She was happy in this place, surrounded by life instead of death, and she thrived in her duty as a sentry once more.
The morning brought with it the pristine whiteness of fresh snow that covered everything. The base crew was already preparing to clear the landing strip and roads. Seaspray greeted Ole Madsen, the base commander, then slid off toward the shore. Snow crackled and crunched under her massive form and when she broke through the ice covering the bay, the waves closing over her like a blanket, she hummed with pleasure.
She kept transmitting to Beachcomber and he sighed heavily, maybe a bit theatrically. It was getting harder and harder to ignore Seaspray’s influence. She was chipping away at his armor with every day.
She knew it.
She kept doing it.
And Beachcomber knew he would fail miserably one day.
Now he drove to the outlook and transformed, watching the massive form of his partner break through the surface of the ocean like an alien whale. She had reconfigured her body just a little bit and the researchers had commented on her looking like a prehistoric sea snake.
Seaspray had been amused at the comparison.
She disappeared again underneath the waves, the water swirling in her wake.
Happiness radiate over their connection. Little eddies of joy remained.
No, Beachcomber had no chance to stay at the fringe, trying to push away those around him. But he would go down fighting.
With the completion of the new base four weeks later, Beachcomber expected more Autobots or human crew to arrive, but nothing of the like happened.
“We are the crew, Beachcomber,” Seaspray told him as they sat together at a snow-covered beach, watching ice drift across the ocean’s surface.
“I’m not doing shifts and running operations!” the scientist immediately protested.
She gave him a little nudge. “No, we won’t. But you are a scientist and this is a fascinating planet. The ocean is vast, filled with life, and I want to explore it, just like the humans here do. This is our world now.”
He rumbled to himself.
Seaspray curled her larger body around him, humming softly. ::Why do you fight this still?::
::Cooperate now, end up an Autobot by default later::
::The Primes accepted us as neutrals. We aren’t the first either. I trust in their word.::
Beachcomber sighed. He liked this planet, too. It was… different and so alive. He liked the humans manning the research station.
::You already have a plan:: he only said, looking into the opaque optics hovering at his side.
::Of course. Swim with me?::
He didn’t hesitate. Following the sentry into the water Beachcomber held on to one of her back protrusions and was pulled underwater with Seaspray. As the waters closed over him, he simply enjoyed the feel of the smooth liquid of this planet.
fin