Disclaimer: do not own Transformers; do not own Golden Compass, from which some concepts came.
Summary: G1 chars, Dystopian AU. As an act of defiance, the North American human resistance took on names of the Autobots, the 'mythical' enemies of the Decepticons. They were less than impressed when their namesakes finally arrived, more than one hundred years later. Tensions and suspicions are high as both Primes consider an alliance.
Acknowledgements: original bunny adopted from silvane91 at tfbunnyfarm.
Author note: There is a good reason why it took the bulk of the Autobot forces more than one hundred years to reach earth. It'll come out, but if you're curious, then feel free to PM me.
Other Side of the Mirror
1
In an underground human resistance camp, two children waited uneasily in a stretch of underground tunnel, close to the tents and the rooms of their heroes. They finally saw one, coming out of the hastily put up medical tent and striding down the long stretch of concrete and metal. They waved to her, calling, caught up with and finally surrounded her.
"Ratchet!" called Lisa.
"Ratchet!" echoed Shirley.
"Tell us a story, Ratchet!" Lisa said, tugging on a plate of the woman's armour.
"Yes, do!" insisted Shirley.
"Please! Please!" they begged, surrounding her. The woman called "Ratchet" looked down at them, futilely trying to look severe—she had just learned that not only had "Prime" defied her medical orders and had gotten out of bed, but had actually gone to see them. Heads were going to roll, and she was looking for one belonging to "Jazz" in particular. She didn't have enough time to weave tales for children.
But then a small voice in her head said, "Indulge them. They are not going to remain children forever. Let them have the now."
She sighed. "Very well," she said to the children, going down on her knees. The children sat in a circle, cross-legged, leaning forward eagerly. "What story shall I tell you?"
"Tell us about the Autobots," Lisa said.
The woman called "Ratchet" felt her heart skip a beat. "Well what about them?" she said, voice still light and level.
"Anything. Tell us anything!"
"Well, there were many legendary warriors," the woman began. "One was Perceptor, a great scientist, fascinated by anything and everything." The children listened, wide-eyed, as the image of their own Perceptor came into their thoughts. "Another scientist was Wheeljack. But, ingenious though he was, he had an uncanny ability to make almost all his projects explode."
"At least our Wheeljack explodes things on purpose," Shirley said. Lisa hushed her.
"Then there were the Autobot twins, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, often the bane of Autobots and Decepticons alike, because of their love of pranks. They were vain beings, but magnificent warriors."
"I'm not scared of 'em!" Lisa said stoutly. She was, of course, referring to their twins.
"Yes you are!" Shirley challenged.
"No I en't!"
"Then why'd you run from 'em yesterday?"
"I was running 'cuz I stole their mirror, that's why!" Her companion gasped in horror. They knew that, though Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were kind in their own peculiar way, the one thing that they must never, ever touch was the twins' mirror. The little thief looked smug.
"I'm telling!"
"You wouldn't!"
The woman laughed, and the children blushed, returning their gazes to her. "And then," the woman continued, "there was Jazz, the saboteur. A very cool, stylish 'bot."
"I bet he liked dance moves!" Shirley said. "Our Jazz does!"
The woman smiled, but her thoughts were bittersweet. "Then there was Ironhide, a weapons expert. 'Shoot first, ask later,' that was his favourite line."
"Our Ironhide is like 'Ask what needs to be asked, then shoot to your little heart's content.'" Lisa said. "She's so cool. I want to be just like her when I grow up and get implants!"
"And then there was Ratchet," the woman continued, ruffling the child's hair. "A very efficient mech, but made even great Autobot leaders wonder which was worse: the injury or the cure." The children snickered, elbowing each other in what they thought was a discreet manner. Many of the resistance children had already suffered under the wrath of their Ratchet.
"Then there was Prowl. A great tactician and strategist. He did have the unfortunate fate of having very, very sensitive logic processors, though."
"So maybe that's why our Prowl looks at us funny sometimes!" Shirley said. "Her logic processors are freezing!"
"But she does funny stuff anyway, especially when Jazz is around." There was a pause, and then Lisa said coyly, "That's 'cuz she's in love. Jazz and Prowl-y sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G."
The woman was smiling very broadly now. "And then," she said, voice lowering to her best storyteller voice, "there was their leader, whose very name made even Megatron quake in fear and dread." The children gasped in fear and hatred at the Decepticon's name. The woman knew that they loved this part best.
"His name was Optimus Prime."
The children stared at her, wide-eyed and smiling. They had heard these tales before; heard tales even of more mechs, but even generations after Decepticon documents were recovered, Optimus Prime continued to be their favourite hero. The woman felt something cold settle in her heart.
"If only Optimus was real, then the 'cons would be gone just like that!" Lisa said, snapping her fingers.
"Well, we have Prime, and he's twice as good as Optimus," Shirley said loyally. "A bazillion times better!"
"Then what? Then what?" Lisa demanded, wanting to hear the story.
"And then…that's the end of the tale. Run along, now," the woman said, trying to sound cheerful.
"But you didn't even get to the story yet!" Shirley protested.
"I'm sorry, kids, but I have to find Jazz," she said apologetically.
"Really? Can you tell us why?"
"Nope," she said playfully. "Can't tell you. Autobot business and all." That seemed to impress something on the children, for they echoed the words "Autobot business," and jumped to their feet. Amidst shrieks and laughter, they ran to the arms of their guardians.
"Impressive, Ratchet," a voice said coolly from behind her. "That tale gets better and better each time you tell it."
The woman turned around. A long stretch of concrete and metal surrounded her.
"Do you want to be the one to tell them the truth?"
"Nah. I'll leave that to their parents."
"Come on out, Jazz," the woman snapped, stressing his title as he had stressed hers. "I need to talk to you."
"Come and find me then," he said in a sing-song tone.
"Times like these, I wonder why he didn't get the codename 'Sunstreaker,'" she muttered to herself as she marched angrily in the direction of the voice.
He was sitting to one side of a darkened hallway, his back against the metal wall. One legged was propped up, the other stretched out in front of him. In ebony-plated armour, he looked more shadow than man. His helm was placed beside him. His eyes were closed. He smiled thinly at her approach, and that only served to fuel her anger.
"Jazz, there you are. How dare you switch places with Prime? Do you have any idea—"
"Oh, come on Ratch," he said, not opening his eyes. "Our Red Alert is already beating my brow—"
"Why did you do it?" she demanded.
"He asked me to," he said quietly. On his knee, his fingers drummed to some beat that only he could hear.
"Well if he asked you to jump off a waterfall, would you do it?"
"Yes." The woman shook her head sharply, restraining herself from picking him up and just shaking some sense into him.
"Well if he asked you to push him off a waterfall, would you do it?"
"I'd die first."
"Then why the hell did you—"
"Do you know what I see when I look at Optimus Prime?" he asked suddenly.
"I don't see what this has to do with the topic. The fact is that you and Prowl let our leader wander into a den of monsters by himself—"
"Humour me, please Ratch?" he asked. He opened his eyes, and gazed at her. His eyes were bright crimson, just the way that they had designed him.
Black hair and red eyes for the boys. Blonde hair and blue eyes for the girls. Designer pets.
Her shoulders slumped in resignation.
"Fine. What then? What do you see when you look at the great Autobot leader?" Though she was surprised by the bitterness in her tone, the black-clad youth nodded understandingly.
"I see what you see," he said in that sing-song voice he relied on when he was too angry or too desperate to use any other tone of voice. "That Optimus Prime and his motley crew are actually inept piles of junk unable to save their own planet, let alone those of others." He placed a hand on top of his eyes. His obsidian technorganic claws rested on top of vulnerable flesh. "To think," he added bitterly, "to think that we actually used to…to look up to those things."
"That was when we thought they were myths," she told him. "Mythical beings. Pure. Infallible. We needed heroes, Jazz," she added, adopting a rare gentle tone. "We still do."
"I don't see anything worthy in him," he continued after a pause. "But…but…" His eyes narrowed in anger blunted by confusion. "But I think that…I don't know. My view of him is clouded, or something. Prime would know what to do with him. Prime will know what to do with him."
"Optimus Prime offered us sanctuary again, didn't he?" the woman asked. The young man did not answer, but by the way he glanced to one side uncomfortably, she assumed that she guessed correctly. "How long will we continue lying to them?" she asked, gesturing back at the hastily made camp.
"Well, we show truth through lies, eh Ratch?" he said, smiling now and leaping up with dancer's grace.
The woman sighed, knowing that it was no use talking to him when he got like this. "At least inform me when he gets back so that I can ream him properly?"
"Oh, you'll know," he said. He was smiling impishly now, and twirled his helm in his hands playfully. "You'll be the first one he goes to, after all."
The woman turned away, hoping that he didn't see her blush. "Well, if he popped open his stitches or cracked his armour, he can go whine to someone else," she snapped. The light chuckle of the youth followed her through the tunnel.
X x X
In the recently established North American Autobot base, a couple of minibots waited uneasily around in the med-bay. They looked at each other, both of them wanting to get out of there. Ratchet was in a bad mood. The mech finally strode into the med-bay, irritated and angry, digging into his toolkit before turning to face them.
"Something wrong, Ratchet?" Backspace asked nervously.
"Nothing out of the ordinary," Ratchet replied shortly, bending to reattach Capslock's leg. There was a pause.
"Is Optimus seeing one of his ghosts again?" Capslock asked boldly. Ratchet nearly dropped one of his tools.
"He is entertaining a guest," Ratchet said at length.
"Ghosts?" Backspace asked Capslock in a small voice.
"Yeah. You heard about them," Capslock said, turning to Backspace. "Ghosts of the humans who were here before we were. Ghosts of the Decepticons' victims."
"So…why are they here?" Backspace asked, his voice pitched an octave higher. "Why aren't they haunting the Decepticons?"
"Could be that they can't find 'em," Capslock said stoutly.
"You don't think that they think we're Decepticons, do you?" Backspace asked. If Ratchet weren't so highly trained, his hand would have trembled noticeably.
"Of course not," Ratchet snapped, making the two minibots turn to face him again. "And they are not ghosts, Capslock. They are quite alive." He turned around, fetched some more tools from subspace, and started working on Backspace's severed arm.
"Have you seen one, Ratchet?" Capslock asked.
"Yes, I have. Several, in fact. And I assure you two that they are not ghosts."
"Tell us about them," Capslock said. Upon the medic's glare, he added "Please," meekly.
Ratchet looked at the two young 'bots, weighing his options. He was against spreading gossip, but when Optimus' visitors first started arriving, most of the base thought that he was, indeed, talking to ghosts. There were even whispers that Optimus had a processor malfunction. Some of the 'bots were growing afraid and wary of the humans, which really didn't help the current situation.
Besides, if it kept these two hooligans still enough for him to finish working, then so be it. Surely a little bit of information couldn't hurt.
"Very well," he said. "There are many humans still out there," he began, soldering Backspace's now-fixed arm back into the shoulder socket. "There are some which are highly regarded by their peers. We do not know their names; they have given us none."
"Who are the human warriors? What do they do?" Capslock asked impatiently. Ratchet fixed him with a steely glare.
"Don't interrupt me," he said, continuing with, "Among them there is a great scientist, who cultivates technorganic plants to make the humans' armour. His brother is an equally talented engineer, an explosives expert."
"Sounds like Wheeljack," Capslock snickered. "Only better, because he actually explodes stuff on purpose." Deep down, Ratchet had to agree.
"Then there are twin sisters, bodyguards of their CMO. Their most prized possession is their mirror, and they swore to destroy anyone who dared to touch it." Ratchet finished soldering back Backspace's arm. The minibot swivelled it, giving Ratchet a look of appreciation.
"Thanks, Ratchet. Hey, is vanity common to all twins, do you think?" Backspace asked.
"Probably just a coincidence," Ratchet answered, turning now to stitching together some of Capslock's armour.
"Who else is there?" Capslock asked.
"Another hero to the humans is a dance master. Graceful on all stages, especially that of the battlefield," Ratchet said.
"I bet he'd get along well with Jazz," Backspace said. Ratchet turned away so that they would not see him roll his optics. He doubted that the human could get along with anyone.
"The humans also have a weapons expert, the one who equips and trains the other humans to work with charge weaponry." The two minibots looked at him in shock. To the Autobots, the charge weapons were legendary. They could kill drones in one blow, and leave mechs anywhere between the states of great pain and sheer agony for many days.
"Their CMO," Ratchet said, finishing up the stitches on Capslock's armour, "is a hot-headed woman, the kind of medic who would first hit you for your stupidity and afterwards heal you of your stupidity's consequences."
"Doesn't that sound oddly familiar to you, Ratchet?" Backspace asked sweetly. Ratchet gave the minibot a good thwack on the head.
"I have no idea what you are talking about," he said shortly. "Their tactician," he continued, "a secretive woman, but kind," he said. "She is the human resistance's second-in-command."
"Who's the leader?" Capslock asked.
"A man who has earned the respect of many," Ratchet said, finishing his work.
"Is that who Optimus is talking to right now?" Backspace asked. But Ratchet shooed the both of them away, telling them to tell Jazz to drag his aft in the med-bay.
Ratchet leaned against his desk, thinking. Optimus Prime was currently locked in his office with an…informant, for lack of better word. They also knew from experience that, should they try to force the door, the informant would slip quietly away, like a ghost.
Though the humans were not in plain sight, the Autobots knew that they were around. They would find bodies of Decepticon drones, torn, salvaged, and occasionally mutilated. They would hear explosions that weren't Wheeljack's. They would see shadows in the corner of their optic screens and feel something cold seep in their sparks.
Of all the races that the Decepticons had razed, only the human race had pride and fire that matched the Autobots. For that reason, the Decepticons were so intent on caging them.
"You wanted to see me, Ratch?" the saboteur asked, breaking Ratchet's musings. He reluctantly stepped into the med-bay. Having just been reamed by Red Alert, he had no desire to be on the wrong end of a wrench.
"Jazz," Ratchet said, deliberately and carefully putting tools away. Jazz marginally relaxed. "When our guest appeared while Optimus was giving you an audience, why did you leave his office?"
Jazz leaned carefully against the wall. "'Cause he asked me to," he said simply. Ratchet threw his hands up in the air.
"If he asked you to take down Megatron with a stun gun, would you do it?" he demanded.
"Yes." Ratchet resisted the urge to grab the saboteur's head and bash it into the table. If it didn't cure his stubbornness, it would at least free Ratchet from another idiot in the world.
"Well if he asked you to hit him with a stun gun, would you do it?"
"I'd offline first."
"Then why the Pit did you—"
"Do you know who's with him right now?" Jazz asked.
"I don't see what this has to do with the topic. The fact is that you let our leader lock himself in the office with nothing but a questionable human for company—"
"Humour me, please Ratch?" Ratchet glared at him.
"Fine. Who then?"
"The human they call 'Prime," Jazz said. He shook his head sadly. "Another scared kid. The leader of a people who once looked up at the stars, wonderin' what great things lay there. And what so happens to pop out of the sky? Giants who stick 'em in cages."
"The Decepticons were here generations before we were, Jazz," Ratchet said gently. He had caught on to Jazz's self-condemning tone. "The Council...well, there was nothing we could do."
"He is a difficult human," Jazz said finally. "Makes Prowl look like an easy-going 'bot and Red Alert look calm. But Optimus will know what to do."
"He offered them sanctuary again, didn't he?"
"Howd'ya know?"
"He always does."
"Do you think they'll take it?"
Ratchet looked at the far side of the med-bay. Ever since the humans had started revealing their existence, had started revealing that they were not eradicated from North America, Optimus had asked his team if they could gather human equipment to reconstruct human medical technology. That section lay incomplete and unused.
"No," Ratchet answered. "No, I do not think they will. Not now. Perhaps not ever."
"Well, you make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside," Jazz said, regaining some of his good-humour. "You gotta remember there's always tomorrow."
Ratchet was still looking at the other end of the med-bay. "Yes, I suppose so," he finally said.