[rd][fic][Transformers Bayverse] Deus Ex Machina 3/?
November 26th, 2011. Arizona.
He hated the desert in winter. Actually, scratch that. Sam hated the winter, period, whether he was experiencing it in the biting cold of Arizona or the slushy cold of New Jersey. Two more years of winters at Princeton loomed before him, and the instant he graduated he was moving to someplace warm.
Currently, probably Diego Garcia.
Huddling in his jacket and wishing he could feel his fingers in his gloves, he looked around at NEST and the Autobots examining the newest crash-landing site. A huge deep furrow gouged up the cold ground, ending in a deep crater big enough to hold Optimus. He remembered watching the Autobot leader's arrival on Earth, remembered the friction heat setting trees and dry grass on fire.
Here there was no heat. The impact had come hours ago and it was all dissipated. He scuffed a foot at the edge of the trench, his boot toe turning up a dirty piece of silicate slag. The landing had fused the sand into a cloudy, glassy channel, like a horizontal fulgurite.
"They're long gone," Arcee reported, appearing out of the bowl of the crater. "No way to tell who it was."
"Wind's smoothed all sand tracks," Hound concurred, returning from the east. "I could try to follow them from their ion trail, but they've got at least eight hours' head start."
"Great. So we're assuming a Decepticon, then?" Lennox asked.
Optimus nodded. "For now, we must. An Autobot should have stayed nearby."
Lennox turned to look around. Scrubby bushes, low sandy hills. "Not much in the way of cover," he observed.
"No," Ironhide agreed.
Lennox sighed. "Well, looks like we're not going to find him today."
"He'll turn up," Ironhide said. "They always do."
Bumblebee nodded and wordlessly folded himself down into his Camaro disguise. "Let's blow this popsicle stand!"
Sam rolled his eyes and walked over to his car as the other Autobots transformed as well. He stopped just by Bumblebee's trunk and looked at the fine layer of dust on the normally immaculate golden shell.
A slow grin stole across his face.
Unable to resist, he reached out and wrote a single Cybertronian glyph on the car's back windshield.
Lennox and Epps and Casey, nearby, watched. When Sam was done, they looked at each other, then at him. "That mean what I think it means?" Epps asked.
Sam just smirked.
The three military men looked at each other once more, then broke into identical grins of mischief and went to the other vehicles idling around.
***
When the "away team," as Bumblebee cheekily insisted on referring to the field teams, rolled into the hangar, Ratchet half-turned, then turned fully and raised an optical ridge.
"Do I want to know?" he asked as humans piled out of the vehicles.
"Blame Sam," Lennox advised, grinning unrepentantly. "He started it."
"And you no doubt perpetuated it," Ratchet replied. He looked at his brethren and sighed.
The immaturity of humans writing "wash me" on vehicles was completely incomprehensible to him.
Deus Ex Machina: Simple Gifts
by K. Stonham
first released 2nd July, 2011
December 7th, 2011. Princeton, New Jersey.
His parents wanted him home for Christmas. Sam kind of wanted to spend it on the island.
"We never see you anymore!" his mother wailed across the Skype line.
"Mom, I'm in New Jersey. I call you twice a week."
"Don't give me that!" she warned. "Not with that brother of yours teleporting you all around the globe. Don't think I don't know about that, mister!"
"Judy, this is an unsecured line," his father reminded her from the comfort of their living room in Pasadena. "Don't talk about certain things."
"I'll talk about whatever I want to talk about!" she told him, smacking her husband on the arm. "It's not like they," and she gave a gesture ceilingwards, presumably indicating the entire Decepticon army, "don't already know about it!"
"Actually," Sam broke in, "we're not sure they do."
That caught her out. "Oh." She deflated, looking worried for a minute.
"Look," Sam told her, "it's a Monday, right? How about I spend the weekend on the island, do Christmas there with my friends, and then we'll come home in time for Christmas morning with you and Dad."
"Well, all right," Judy allowed. "But I need to know who you're bringing!"
"Me and Mikaela," Sam said, murdering grammar, "Bee, probably Hound, Mirage, and Trailbreaker. Hopefully Optimus."
"Four of us who eat, then," she summed up. "Maybe six." Sam nodded. "Well, let me know on all your maybes," she told him. "I need to figure out what to get alien robots for Christmas presents."
Sam rolled his eyes. "You're not the only one," he told her.
***
December 17th, 2011. Diego Garcia.
The first batch of the energy collectors were ready. Half of NEST was in the hangar, all of them having sneaked a look at the golf ball sized spheroids that would hopefully enable their alien allies to manufacture energon for themselves. The small machines were matte silver with faint swirls. They glimmered if you held them in the light, and almost seemed to glow if you played catch with them. Which a few humans had, testing the weight and density of the spheres.
There were thousands of them, held in half a dozen wooden packing crates.
"Here goes nothing," Wheeljack said, and sent a command to the small control computer.
One by one the collectors awoke, small flat silver planes folding out from their middles. Roughly leaf-shaped, two extended from either side of their equator. Shivering them like hummingbird wings, they rose.
"Like silver Snitches," someone said. Wheeljack looked up the reference and found it appropriate.
Another command sent the collectors streaming forth from the hangar, spreading out across the island and into the ocean up to a half-mile offshore. They nestled in treetops, atop buildings, in the sand, glowing in the sun. Some of the ones in the water bobbed merrily atop its surface; others sank deeper, collecting the energy of the currents.
"Deployment successful. Readings good," Wheeljack reported. "Now we wait."
***
December 20th, 2011. Diego Garcia.
It had become habit to sit and contemplate in the silence of the medical facility room where Ratchet kept the inert forms of their stasis-locked brethren. Optimus knew each of their names, their histories. In some cases, their dreams. In some cases, his own.
He let his fingers rest on the molten silver shell, imagining for just a moment that the other was merely sleeping, dreaming.
If the solar collectors really worked and they could synthesize energon here on Earth....
"I'm not interrupting, am I?" Sam asked from the doorway.
Optimus shook his head, letting his hand drop. "Not at all. I was just thinking."
"Heavy thoughts?" Sam asked.
"Perhaps," Optimus allowed. He looked at his human brother. "Sam, we do appreciate you spending so much time here, but you don't need to feel you have to. You should have a normal human life beyond us."
Walking in, Sam shrugged. "I go to college. How much more normal can you get? Besides," he added, "not like there's any movies I want to see right now or anything. They're all threequels and those suck."
"Toy Story 3 did not," Optimus reminded his brother. NEST had regular movie nights, and many of the Autobots, himself included, rather enjoyed human entertainment.
"Toy Story 3 had years more development than most threequels," Sam told him. "Besides, it's Pixar." As though that was enough to end an argument. And in a way it was. "So, who's this?" Sam asked, standing beside the protoform, looking up at it. "Every time I've seen you in here, you've been by this one."
Optimus sighed. "A femme. Her name is Elita One."
"You know her."
"She is... special to me."
Sam's eyes widened. "You have a girlfriend?"
"Not so much."
"Okay, so you have a girl you'd like to be your girlfriend."
Optimus remembered the first time he'd ever encountered Elita and how he'd been inexplicably been struck dumb in her presence. He'd finally managed to blurt out a compliment on her shine. It had been incredibly clumsy. Ironhide, who had been present, still snickered every time he was reminded of it.
He sighed. "That would be nice," he admitted.
Sam blinked at him. "Okay, what's the deal?"
"She's... I believe you would say 'out of my league'."
Sam's expression dropped into flat disbelief. "You're kidding me, right? You're Optimus Prime. Leader of the Autobots, defender of the rights of sentient beings everywhere, descendant of the Dynasty of the Primes, and the all around generally coolest mech anyone knows. How can anyone be out of your league?"
"I wasn't always a leader," Optimus reminded him, "or known to be a Prime. I first met her long ago, while I was just a dock worker. She was... untouchable by someone like me."
Sam hesitated, then nodded. "Okay, yeah, I can understand that," he said, clearly thinking of his own early relationship with Mikaela. "Still, you're not just a dock worker now. When she's revived, you should give it a shot."
"I hope to," Optimus told him. "It has been a long time. Much has changed, for both of us."
Sam nodded again. "While I have you here and alone, though, something I've been wondering." He cast a look back at the open door, as if checking for any eavesdroppers. Seeing none, he looked back at Optimus. "How come you guys are lying to everyone, even NEST, about subspace technology?"
Optimus started. How did--? Of course. The Allspark's knowledge. He sighed, leaning against the wall behind him. "You know humans aren't ready for some of our technology," he started.
Sam nodded. "Hell, I'm not sure we're ready for some of the technology we do have."
"Perhaps." It was not Optimus' place to play judge or jury on the young species' self-destructive tendencies. "Subspace technology, however, is particularly volatile. If your people found out about it and started experimenting with it at this stage of your development--" and humans were so very prone to experiments and innovation, even more so than Wheeljack, "--well, let us just say planets have been destroyed by one individual playing around with something they didn't fully understand."
Sam looked a little pale, but nodded. "Right. Subspace tech absolutely off limits to humans for a couple centuries at least." He mimed a zipper across his mouth. "My lips? Sealed."
"Thank you."
***
December 25th, 2011. Diego Garcia.
Christmas in the tropics was possibly the wildest and wierdest thing Sam had participated in to date. NEST arranged short shifts that day so everyone got a chance to attend the party for at least a little bit. The carved ham was traditional; the fact that it was a whole pig spit-roasted luau style wasn't. Epps wore a red Santa hat with pride. It matched his red Hawaiian shirt. And then there were the coolers and coolers of various frosty beverages eagerly set on by the military men and women.
NEST did assigned gift-swapping for the most part, saving everyone from having to go into debt. Sam had gotten Figueroa's name in the draw and spent weeks wandering in and out of funky shops in downtown Princeton looking for something. Out of desperation, he'd finally settled on a fancy-looking Tarot set. Fig's expression of delight when he opened the gift was a relief. For his own part, Sam got a set of Sears socket wrenches from Doctor Michelson. He blinked at her. She smiled. "There's no way Ratchet's going to let you out of his lessons," she told him. "Trust me, they'll end up handy."
Sam groaned, knowing she was right. With a wave, she wandered off.
The Autobots wandered in and out of the party zone as they saw fit. As the day was winding down toward the golden hour before sunset, though, Sam noticed most of them coming back. They hung around as the sun fell and the bonfires lit up. The stars above the island seemed to stretch on forever, Sam thought, lying on the sand and looking up.
Then his ears caught a sudden hush, and a pair of robotic feet coming across the sand. Even the twins had shut up. Sam pushed himself to his elbows and turned to look.
Ratchet walked toward the party, Wheeljack and Perceptor behind him. In the medic's hands was a large glowing cube.
"Optimus," Ratchet said, as the leader stood.
Optimus looked at the cube for a long moment. "So it works," he said, and in his voice were relief and happiness and a bittersweet hope that tangled up into a peculiar feeling in Sam's chest.
"Most of it should go to reviving those in stasis," Ratchet said. "I thought this might be for all of us, though. For the celebration."
Optimus looked into the medic's optics for a long minute before nodding, a small smile on his face. "Yes," he said simply.
Wheeljack and Perceptor turned out to be carrying empty cubes of varying sizes. Ratchet carefully doled out the energon into each; less for the smaller bots, more for the larger. More for Trailbreaker because "You're still damaged. You need this more than the rest of us."
Almost reverently, each Autobot held their own cube of the glowing plasma-like substance for a long moment, then sipped at it.
Sam watched Bumblebee twitch and shudder as if tickled from within, his optics glowing bright. He watched Mirage close her eyes, turning her face to the heavens, savoring it. He watched all the Autobots, holding the precious cubes like they held a taste of home.
"Looks like a gel," Glen said, leaning close to look at Wheelie's cube. "Too thick for a liquid."
"Burns going down," the small mech reported, "in the best way."
"I'd forgotten what it was like," Arcee murmured, looking down into her cube. Given the loss of one-third of her memory, Sam wasn't sure if her statement was factual or facetious.
"Can I?" Mikaela asked Bumblebee. He nodded and she placed her palm against the outside of his cube. The energon light glowed through her hand. "It's warm," she reported, "but not hot."
"The plasteel is an inferior vessel, as it does not contain all the energy but lets some escape via radiant heat," Perceptor said. "However, we are unable to manufacture the traditional containers here so these will have to suffice."
Sam fiddled with his Coke and wished he could think of a suitable toast. There had to be something they could all drink to together, NEST and Autobots alike, right?
Across the way, Lennox rose to his feet. "If I may?" he asked Optimus.
Who inclined his head. "By all means, Major."
Lennox raised his bottle high. "Until all are one," he said. Sam's eyes flew wide. How's that for a culturally loaded toast? he thought.
Along with everyone else, he raised his drink high. "Until all are one," he murmured, and drank.
***
December 25th, 2011. Pasadena, California.
Sam opened the front door and led his party in. Hound and Mirage had opted to stay on the island. Sam had a feeling he knew why; while the pair of them could enter his parents' home easily, and Optimus and Bumblebee could do it with holograms, Trailbreaker's internals were so out of whack and still healing that using his holoform projector was still completely out of the question. So he would have been left out on the doorstep all alone while everyone else celebrated.
Inside, the Witwicky family tree was set up, brightly wrapped presents piled high beneath it, exactly where it had been every year since they'd moved into this house when Sam was seven. For the last ten it had been the same large artificial tree because his mom had finally gotten fed up with watering the tree each year and having to vacuum up pine needles for weeks on end regardless. He knew every ornament on the tree and could tell stories about them. "Mom, Dad, we're here!" he called.
"Oh, Sammy!" His mother came out of the kitchen, wooden spoon in one hand, wearing an apron that declared "I've been an awful good girl" and had "Santa Baby" embroidered on the pocket. His dad, wearing no such apparel but garbed in a horrible mostly green holiday sweater, was right behind her. Both stopped short. "Sam, Mikaela," his mother said. Her eyes lingered on the pair behind them. "And these are?"
"We felt that participating in the celebrations this way would be more appropriate," Optimus replied. His trucker holoform had thankfully dropped the plaid and Stetson for a more subdued mostly red sweater, though he still clung to his holographic blue jeans and tooled leather boots. Sam had rolled his eyes and not fought further.
"Optimus?" Ron asked, recognizing his voice. His eyes darted to the short, muscular blond who stood behind Sam. "So you must be--"
Bumblebee waggled his fingers in greeting, giving a small burst of triumphant music.
"Oh, how wonderful!" Judy crowed delightedly, moving forward to embrace them all. "Come in, come in. Mikaela, you look so tan! How has the island been?"
Ron stepped to the side as his wife escorted Mikaela and Optimus into the living room. "So," he asked, glancing at Bumblebee, "how long has this been going on?"
Sam exchanged a look with his guardian. "Pretty recently," he admitted. Less than twelve hours, he thought, since it was only the infusion of new energon that had enabled Optimus to use his hologram outside his own cab, and for Bumblebee to use his projector at all.
"Huh." His dad's eyes wandered up and down Bumblebee's holoform. The Autobot held his peace, waiting, head cocked to one side, for Ron's verdict.
"Not bad," Ron decided, and slapped Bumblebee casually on the shoulder. "Come on, Judy's got it all set up."
***
Much later, at the end of a very long Christmas Day spread across multiple time zones, Sam and Optimus sat in the living room. Sam's parents had trundled off to bed half an hour before, and Bumblebee was long gone, having taken Mikaela to visit her father and aunt earlier that afternoon and opting to stay with her.
Optimus' eyes were on the twinkling colored lights of the Christmas tree, a small smile on his mouth. "Thank you for inviting me to share in your family's holiday traditions, Sam," he said quietly.
"Hey," Sam said, "brother Primes and all that, right? You are family, at least how the Witwickies define it."
"Thank you," Optimus repeated. "This has been... well, by far the best Christmas since we came to this planet."
Sam looked at his brother. "Stay here," he said, and went upstairs, to his room. He pulled a red and gold gift bag he'd stuffed into his closet earlier, unsure what he really wanted to do with it. A puff of white tissue paper on the top hid its contents from view.
Going back downstairs, he went to Optimus. "I know we said we weren't doing the gift exchange or anything, but this is for you." He held it out.
Holographic hands accepted the bag, blue eyes surprised, wondering. Optimus removed the tissue paper, revealing nearly twenty black and white speckled notebooks. He looked up at Sam in shock.
"They're your history," Sam told him, knowing that research and lore had always been an interest of his brother's, long before he'd ever come to Earth and started rediscovering the history here of his species. "I shouldn't be the only one who knows it."
"Sam, I...." Optimus' voice failed him for a moment. "Thank you," he said.
Sam smiled, sitting down next to him. "Merry Christmas."