Pilot
Lennon embraced the familiar prickles as he appeared in the store room. For a jump to cause any discomfort at all meant he would soon be hungry if he wasn't already. Which, seeing as it was only six a.m. in Earth time, he was. If someone swiped his food while he was in here he would kill them.
There you are. The youth thought triumphantly, selecting a new ipad from a shelf containing dozens of them. The robots went through them like they were made out of paper. Maybe it was because their fingers were too hard? They were made of metal...but Daryl was too, partly, and if he could figure out how to use the interface then so could they. Super advanced alien robots my ass.
He turned away from the shelved electronics and started to sit down on nothing, and his butt landed on his seat as he materialized back in the lounge.
"Thanks." Gravel said, swiping the device out of Lennon's hands. "I hope the calculations I was working on when your technology powered down weren't lost."
"Pfft, when my technology 'powered down'? You're the one tapping holes in the screen."
"I wouldn't be if you people didn't make everything out of such flimsy materials."
"We can't all live on a metal planet."
Gravel took a sip of his energon. "That's your problem."
A comfortable silence lapsed between the human and mech, the former finishing his breakfast and the latter messing with the ipad. Eventually Lennon had to ask, "What are you working on?"
"A synthetic energon formula." The brown mech replied. "Not that there's anything wrong with yours, but I thought it would be nice if we could simply produce our own fuel the way you organics can just "grow" yours."
"But I thought you guys mined
energon that crystallizes on your planet. That's sort of like "growing" your own food."
Gravel glanced away from his new ipad to look at Lennon when he spoke. "For energon to form and crystallize there needs to be specific circumstances, not to mention the right terrain. For whatever reason, from what you humans tell me the crust on Earth is particularly good for it. Our planet's magnetic field and core create good conditions too, but it isn't good enough to supply a rapidly exploding population. Besides, even if such a way to make more energon was found - and it might already exist - the Senate would never allow it to become common knowledge and lose power." Then the green mech smirked. "We can't all live on an organic planet."
"And we certainly don't want to." Quickstep added, at that moment arriving at the table beside theirs and dumping a bunch of stuff on it with a CLANG. Lennon glanced around the otherwise unoccupied room and then back at the tinkering newcomer, wondering why he chose to literally set up shop right next to them instead of at any of the other vacant tables. It was like when people parked next to your car in an empty parking lot. Just, why?
The mech unsubspaced a robotic arm and started taking it apart, causing the young man to briefly wonder if it previously belonged to anyone he knew.
"Dude, you do know people eat on that." Lennon pointed out.
"Thanks for reminding me," Quickstep replied cheerfully, unsubspacing a can off aerosol disinfectant and hosing down his newfound workspace. Ok, hint obviously lost. Gravel smothered his chuckle, like everyone else amused by the medic's attempt to avoid everything "contaminated" by the humans.
"Um, why are you doing that in here? You could be fixing that in the lab."
"And miss out on all this socializing?" Quickstep gestured grandly to the empty room, then took on a more forlorn expression. "Drivetrain and Tilt are working with the science human on some kind of forcefield/bridge generator in there, kinda like what you do but fixed, and from the way they put it it doesn't sound that stable to me. So I was forced to come here."
Gravel and Lennon shared a look, and Lennon made the world's-smallest-violin hand motion and quietly sang the tune, which made both of them crack up and Quickstep to beep questioningly.
What was so funny? He didn't know what that stupid noise the human just made coupled with that hand gesture meant, but Gravel saw humor in it so it had to be a joke.
-"Lemon, do you know where Gravel is?"-
Both mechs focused on Lennon at the hated nickname, Gravel shaking his head pleadingly while putting a finger to his lips, and Lennon slapped the communicator he kept hung around his neck on before lazily answering, "Yes."
Gravel stopped the theatrics to give him a "really?" look.
-"I mean where is he?"- The unknown person on the other end - it sounded like Brett - sighed.
"Oh, he's with me."
-"...Tell him to respond to his hails and maybe get to tactical while he's at it."- Brett said, not about to get sucked into one of Lennon's word games. The guy could teleport to the brig and back but couldn't give a straight answer if his life depended on it.
Lennon made a face while Quickstep refocused his attention on Gravel. Rude.
"Something wrong with your comm?" Quickstep asked.
Gravel smiled. "Not a thing." The ad hoc ambassador rose slowly, annoyed at losing the rest of his break.
"What now?" Gravel asked, stalking into tactical (and technically the Command Center). Brett, The human comms officer, was busily typing at a terminal that used Earth tech, and his own chief communications officer turned to fill him in. "Sir, we are being hailed. The frequency is Cybertronian, but we would have to lower the base shields to get more detailed information without answering."
Gravel frowned. That meant the Cybertronian ship had its shields up. For an attack? Then again, maybe their sensors had picked up the human ships currently docked here and they were curious. Speaking of humans….
Michael strode into tactical like he owned the place, even though everything had originally been built by Cybertronians. The humans had of course added a few new structures and buildings of their own, but the settlement was a far cry from being an even mix architecture-wise. Yet. He and Gravel were second in command of their respective peoples here, and since both of their COs were currently away on a "trade arrangement" on Earth (I.E trading for materials and smuggling energon off the planet), they had to deal with any issues.
"What's this about?"
"It appears we have visitors." Gravel informed him.
Michael raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
"Don't know yet; haven't answered the hails."
"Something you seem good at," Gravel's ensign muttered in Cybertronian from his terminal.
Michael's eyes flicked to the mech but then refocused on Gravel. "you want the honors or shall I?"
"Considering we've determined they are of Cybertronian origin, it would probably be better if I were the one to answer."
"Right."
Gravel nodded at his mech, who established a hailing frequency with the unknown vessel. For a few seconds nothing happened, then the main viewing screen (Cybertronian tech) flickered to life and they were observing the small bridge of the unknown ship, whose occupants could now also observe them through the two way connection. There were three mechs in total on screen, and Michael was amused to see the double takes and jaw drops when each of the three noticed him and Brett in turn.
For a minute nobody spoke.
"This is the Shadower. State your designations, class, and standing orders." A red and black mech issued sternly after everyone got the chance to size everyone else up. He gave no comment on the humans.
"This is Lakos 63-2. We are under no orders. State your business." Gravel replied rather forcefully.
The large mech who had spoken before seemed affronted at the tone, and answered. "I am Commander Bladerunner, class Delta, commissioned by the District Seven Senator Ratbat himself to survey this planet, which is an abandoned site from the Age of Exploration. If you are under no orders, you are tresspassing."
Gravel scowled, so not in the mood for this - as the humans say - bullshit. "We were unaware this site is of historical significance. But as your optics and scanners can see for themselves, it is no longer 'abandoned'. You cannot possibly claim an entire planet this far from Cybertron. Who is this Senator Ratbat?"
Bladerunner (obviously the small vessel's commander) seemed taken aback.
"You...don't know of the Senator?" He stuttered. "What class are you? I demand to know who gave you authorization to leave Cybertron."
"No one, we are here because we choose to be. We are our own colony, and we live alongside the humans as we see fit." Gravel stated calmly, gesturing to Michael. Michael's Cybertronian wasn't quite as good as some of the others', but he got the gist of what was being said and made sure to look Bladerunner in the optics when Gravel mentioned him.
"You dare allow organics to defile a site of Cybertronian heritage?" Bladerunner practically screeched, furious. His subordinates likewise looked unamused. Organic races to most Cybertronians were ugly, inferior, and dangerous. In that order. The thought of living near such creatures, let alone coexisting, was enough to make some mechs' tanks churn.
Gravel started, "We-"
But Bladerunner cut him off. "We will land and inspect your organic friendly "colony". Do not try to give us any troub-"
Gravel interrupted with, "You will do no such thing and if you attempt it, you will be taken into custody." He felt oddly satisfied at getting to cut the rude mech off mid sentence. One good turn deserves another, right?
"I am a Delta, I outrank you!" Bladerunner spat. His two helms mechs seemed amused now, almost like they thought Gravel's declaration was funny. They were on orders from a Senator, as mundane as a mission as this was supposed to be; what could this guy do about that?
"But you don't outnumber us."
"I order you to let us land and -"
"Denied." Gravel snapped. "We are a sovereign colony of sovereign citizens. You have thus far shown an attitude that suggests you would be a danger to those citizens if you were allowed to disembark."
Really, there were a shitload of other reasons he didn't want them coming down here, but that one seemed the most plausible.
For a second Bladerunner looked fit to explode, but he calmed himself down. Eerily, he seemed suddenly pleased, no doubt having just thought of something. "Very well." He purred. "If that is how it is….-"
And the image of their bridge disappeared abruptly, their end of the transmission having been disconnected.
"They hung up." Michael said disbelievingly into the silence. "The hell was that about?"
Gravel pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensor. "Brett, have Conna and James meet Michael and I at the Old Hall. Flash, send the Commanders a warning." He turned to Michael, and in answer to his question, said,
"I have a feeling we're going to find out."
Connie yawned. It felt...not satisfying, for she was incapable of feeling satisfaction, nor was she tired. Her last power down had been three days ago, so she was still set for another eight before needing it again.
What was the word? Fulfilling, perhaps. Functional. After all, she was built to simulate people. Perhaps this was her programming telling her she was bored? She knew the kind of circumstance in which one might be bored - take now, for instance - but not the feeling itself.
Now she was waiting for Gravel and Michael. Across from her sat James, typing something on his laptop at a speed only she could rival. He seemed to be taking the interruption from his work well. Drivetrain and Tilt certainly didn't mind his absence, as through the camera in a corner of the lab Conna watched them set up the experiment again like she was in the room with them. In a way, she was. She was the "eyes and ears" of Lakos, at once capable of watching through every camera in the still developing network while at the same time participating in this silly meeting. Not that she didn't allow people their privacy; nonessential areas, private homes, and of course bathrooms had no cameras. She only monitored the important things, and even then could miss something if she was distracted.
With nothing better to do Conna started swiveling in her rolly chair, curious as to how much force it took to spin herself in a complete circle. James briefly looked up at the minute squeaks the action produced before dismissing the android's behavior as another one of its quirks.
The meeting room door opened - unfurling into the wall as all Cybertronian doors did - to allow Gravel, Michael, and Skeet entry. Conna stopped her haphazard spinning, though not before Skeet could give her a critical glance as she went to claim a seat near Gravel.
James closed his laptop.
"Okay, so from the top." Michael said, directing his words at Gravel as he sat down. "Who was that guy? And why are you so concerned - he didn't look that tough."
What guy? Conna wondered.
"It's not the mech himself I'm worried about." Gravel began. "But who he'll go crying back to. I never thought...well, you know how we both found this place. The atmospheric conditions are almost perfect for you, and having some Cybertronian tech - even if outdated - is useful."
At James' confused look, Gravel got more to the point. "The Cybertronian ship that came here," he started for Conna and James' benefit. "They claim this is a historical sight. And they now know dissenters live here. When they report their findings to the Senate or the Council or whoever is in charge now, I don't really give a damn, someone'll come back, get a good scan, and realize there's no records of quite this many mecha leaving Cybertron."
"So?" Michael asked, not meaning to be rude but still clueless as to where Gravel was going with this. What was the big deal? Beside him, Conna must have realized what he didn't because she reiterated, chin resting on her hands,
"Ohhhhh. They'll figure out you guys are having sparklings here." For an android she sounded a lot more intrigued by the conclusion than she was capable of.
Gravel nodded, but it was Skeet who spoke up, the green and silver femme clarifying: "We...femmes have always been rare. There were roughly one for every 200 mechs sparked, and after the Great War the numbers got even more skewed. It isn't every day a request for a sparkling is approved - the continuation of our race is taken quite seriously and slowly, given our lifespan - so you can imagine the stir news of a femme being sparked creates. We're given to a wealthy, and of course upper caste family to be raised, and lack for nothing. It's considered to be a great honor to raise a femme."
"Femmes can create a small spark with a partner that can eventually be moved to its own frame, but to make sparklings this way is...well, more than a little frowned upon." Her optics took on a dark glint.
Sensing a pause, Conna interrupted, "Rare? But almost half the sparklings bor-sparkedhere are femmes. Gravel, you yourself have two daughters."
Skeet seemed surprised at the outburst, but Gravel replied, "Yes, but they are split-spark Twins. That phenomenon in and of itself is in a completely different "ballpark" as you humans say. Hardly anyone ever creates sparklings this way on Cybertron, so the femme to mech ratio of the normal femme-born sparklings could be the same here as it would be anywhere else."
"You lost me." James admitted. Gravel realized they might have gotten a little off track, so he summarized,
"Yes, well, basically, the reason I've gathered you is this: being against the caste system is something you simply don't admit to on Cybertron. We wanted lives and children of our own, so, we left the planet. Which is illegal depending on your status. Add to that the nearly sacrilegious act of creating sparklings without the Allspark or approval of the Prime and Priests, which we're doing in abundance," Gravel winked at Skeet, "and you've got a colony full of criminals."
"Who are apparently trespassing." Skeet snarked, as if to say 'can you believe it?'
"So..you think they're going to send reinforcements. Come after us." Michael surmised, the seriousness of the situation that started with that dumb Bladerunner guy dawning on him.
"Maybe not the first time they come back," Gravel guessed. "But at some point they will figure out what's really going on here, that we are and have the potential to be something so much more than a simple camp of renegades."
"And what's that?" James asked, smirking. Gravel just shrugged.
"I was hoping we would find out together."
"What, Cybertron doesn't have other colonies besides this one?" James asked. Gravel shook his head.
"Hardly. In the sense of outposts located on non-inhabited planets for resources, yes, we do have those. But they're not their own 'societies'. Castes are still strictly adhered to, and they consist mostly of miners and laborers with a few overseers and the visiting Elite until the resources have been used up. No one really lives off of Cybertron, not like your kind's expansion."
"Oh."
"So what can we do?" Conna asked.
"We ain't leaving, that's for sure." Michael said, thumping the table top for good measure. "We've put too much work into this place as is, and besides, Lakos - sorry, Lakos 63-2 - is our home. We'll defend it." James looked like he agreed, and Conna nodded, her synthetic hair swaying slightly with the motion.
Gravel smiled. "That's what I thought you'd say."
"Wrist." Susan droned, holding out her hand. Daryl put his right hand in hers, and Susan immediately dropped it upon contact with the cool metal, stating flatly, "Your other wrist."
Obligingly the man gave her his non robotic one, and didn't even flinch when she jabbed it, injecting his morning ration of Oxygenalint. The atmosphere on Lako 63-2 was so close to being perfect for humans. Literally this close. The oxygen gradient wasn't good enough though, so most everyone took an injection in the morning or evening that released oxygen into the bloodstream as it circulated throughout the day. It was a substitute developed in the early 28th century for astronauts and the first pioneers, whose primitive space suits had the nasty tendency to lose oxygen quickly.
Cleaning off the blood produced by the shot, the nurse then applied a bandaid. Wait a second-
The man squinted. "Really? A Scooby doo bandaid?"
Susan smirked. "I got some Hello Kitty ones in the back that might be more to your liking."
"Nooo thanks." Daryl immediately rejected, standing up. He went to shake Susan's hand in his customary show of gratitude, but they both paused, fingers outstretched, as one of the unused Oxygenalint doses floated off the table and out the open door.
"You just saw that too, right?" Daryl questioned.
Susan nodded. "Magnet?"
Looking at the cracked open door, Daryl shook his head. "Nah, I bet it's Sam."
"I don't think he's capable of that."
"The kid can move shit with his mind."
"Not very well he can't. And so can Magnet when it's metal."
"Bet." Daryl said, quietly moving over to the door and then suddenly flinging it open with a loud BANG to scare whoever it was.
"I can see you two." The amused cyborg said in the silence that followed. The air he was looking at shimmered, and a second later a blonde girl leaning against the wall and a dark headed boy became visible.
"Sam, what did I say about giving yourself the medication." Susan called, slipping a dollar into Daryl's metal palm as she slid past him. She stopped in front of them, holding out a hand. "Here. I'll do it."
But the boy said, "It's not for me. 'Zeke wants to try something."
"Honey, I already told you Ezekiel's powers make it impossible for him to use these." Susan sighed. "That's why he and Jacob wear the masks."
"But-"
"No buts. Give me that, you'll mess up my inventory."
Reluctantly the boy handed it over, and
he and Laura were told to scram unless they were otherwise injured. When they got outside the 'hospital' - one of the abandoned Cybertronian buildings now being used by anyone who had medical training for their respective species- a brown haired boy and two Cybertronian younglings were waiting.
"Did you get it?" Ezekiel asked around his grey breathing mask, which covered the lower half of his face up to the bridge of his nose.
"No. Daryl caught us." Laura laughed.
"Aww."
"Told you they would." The blue youngling said. Ezekiel pretended to punch him as they walked off.
Jacob grinned though no one could see it behind his mask, some of the sand that flew past stinging his eyes. He couldn't help himself. Of all the ideas Wheelie often came up with, this was turning out to be on the fun side of stupid. Speaking of the mechling….
"Woohooo!" An orange blur shot past him, so close that Jacob could feel the wave of wind his friend generated, and Wheelie was now ahead. Oh no he didn't!
Jacob hunkered down, the ten year old making himself more aerodynamic. This served to speed him up a little and almost catch up to Wheelie, and the metal panels turned makeshift sleds made indented trails in the sand as they slid over its smooth surface.
Alas, being Cybertronian, Wheelie was heavier, which gave him an advantage when it came to sand sledding. He reached the bottom first and jumped off with a triumphant "Beat ya!" when his tray lost momentum.
"Again?" Jacob laughed as he spun in circles past the tiny Cybertronian, who was already marching in the opposite direction in an attempt to waddle back up the dune.
"Duh!" Wheelie said, not even looking back.
Wheelie's weight may have made it easy going down the dune, but the opposite was definitely an uphill battle. He kept sinking into the sand a little with each step. Jacob picked up his tray and quickly caught up to him.
"You're going to track so much sand in your tent when you get home." He gloated.
Wheelie grumbled, "I can hose off when we get to back to town."
By "back to town" he meant a mile behind them. If they looked when they got to the top of the dune they would be able to make out the Hanger and the Old Hall, the Cybertronian building that supposedly once housed records, though what those records might have been was a mystery. It had been empty when their parents first settled here. Or so they had been told.
Jacob pressed, "Does it hurt? Having to clean sand out from inside your legs?"
"Not really," Wheelie said. "We usually don't have many pain receptors built into our pe-feet, and even then we can turn them off. My creator says if we don't clean it out the gears will get rusty."
"Oh."
The pair slid down the hill a few more times, but eventually got tired (physically; this was fun and Wheelie fully intended to find an even bigger dune next time). Luckily they didn't also get hurt. Jacob didn't heal quite like his brother or dad, though his healing factor made it such that he had to wear the oxygen mask like them when outside regardless.
Soon they made it back to the familiar and perpetually-in-the-process-of-construction town. The colony, originally comprised of the 100 something exiled Mutants and their families and the 102 Cybertronian expatriates, was rapidly expanding. New and in-the-process-of-being-built buildings a mix of Cybertronian and Earth architecture lined what would become "Main Street". Most were or would be two stories and narrow, with a family or roommates living on each floor.
That was the idea anyway. But hardly the practice. Given they needed the supplies from Earth before moving forward with any actual construction, it was more like two families per completed apartment (of which there were only seven) with everyone else duking it out at the Hanger until further notice.
The Hanger, another of the five original, deserted Cybertronian buildings, was the largest, 18 stories high by three miles in length on all three sides. The fourth wall was nonexistent; while a roof over their heads, the Hanger was open to the outside air, like a big metal barn. What it might have once housed was a mystery as well. Metal and other large construction materials were expensive and hard to ship from Earth, but tents could be packed and bought cheaply. Rows of tents back to back or set up in circles and other such geometric patterns (you could tell which were the Cybertronians'; for some reason they liked to set up theirs in a hexagonal pattern) filled ⅔ of the open space. It was definitely a sight to behold at night - when lamps, flashlights, headlights, phone lights, and Cassie (a girl who's inherited Mutant genes made her skin glow in the dark) illuminated the encampment.
It was late in the afternoon. Kids and sparklings younger than them could be seen playing around the Hanger under a caretaker's watchful eye, and audible as they approached was the constant murmur of softly spoken conversations drifting through linen walls. Accidental eavesdropping couldn't be avoided in the city of tents that was the current living situation. They didn't realize, but the Lakans' idea of using your "inside voice" was quite different compared to their home worlds, where the walls were made of far superior (and more soundproof) materials. Most people kept it quiet at night, so it was only really bad in the mornings as everyone got up and ready to leave for the day while others yelled at them to shut up they were fucking sleepin' here.
In other words, it was just another normal day on Lakos 63-2.
This was a brain child I decided to write down. Not sure if i should continue it or not - let me know what you think! I love to get reviews and feedback!