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KarmaChapter 2
The Non-Transforming Transformers
"Well, if they're not here, where did they go?" I asked Buzzsaw. My golden companion shrugged.
"I don't know. Maybe they just traveled more slowly than we did, and they just aren't here yet," he suggested. I could tell from his tone of voice and slightly disappointed posture that he didn't really believe his own words, though. Something tugged at the back of my mind – something else Caryn had told me t some point.
"I doubt they will ever return to the old Techonobot base; it's way too close to where the Decepticon base was. They probably would not return to the Ark, either, because their enemies know where that is."
"But if they couldn't go back, where could they go?"
"Well, they would have to go back to the Ark kin Oregon at least a few times, if not to stay, then to retrieve their equipment. Then, if they felt that base was not secure, they would try somewhere else, I guess."
"But wouldn't they have to be someplace where regular people would not be able to find them, and get hurt?"
"Oh, yes, Carma. That is why the volcano that hid the Ark was best for them, you see. No one wanted to get too close, even when the volcano was dormant."
"A volcano was bet…" I murmured. "It would have to be close to the original base, so they could get all of their tools and supplies from the Ark. And they would send out scouts to see about a location for a permanent headquarters."
"All right, I admit it, you lost me," Buzzsaw confessed, staring openly at me in confusion. "What are you talking about, Carma?" I waved his questions aside absently.
"I'm thinking. Hush," I ordered. Buzzsaw bristled, but fell silent. "Are there any other semi-active volcanoes in the area?"
"Um…I don't know. I am not a travel guide, and I do NOT have Google Maps programmed in my processor!" Buzzsaw snapped.
"We will need to check a town – one with a good library, or maybe just a public computer. A hotel with a lot of local attractions brochures would work, too. Oh, and we'll probably need to fly to Oregon in the very near future," I added as an afterthought. Buzzsaw did his eye-roll thing.
"Is there anything else my lady would like to put on my shopping list?" the golden bird grumbled. I couldn't tell if he was joking or not. I smiled anyway, choosing to take it as a joke.
"Naw, just make sure that you use those eco-friendly cloth bags," I joked back. In response, Buzzsaw heaved a long-suffering sigh. Then he turned serious.
"Really, though, Carma, why in the name of Primus Oregon of all places? And what was all that babble about volcanoes?" he asked tiredly. I shrugged uncomfortably.
"It was just something Caryn told me a while back," I told him vaguely. Suddenly, it seemed weird to tell a strange (in more ways than one) golden bird about Caryn and the stories she used to tell. Besides, he was hiding something, and two could play at the 'hide stuff for no reason whatsoever' game. Unfortunately for me, that game doesn't work out too well when the other player (namely, Buzzsaw) already knows just about everything.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, comprehension dawning on his sharp-beaked face. "Yeah, I remember now. She didn't think they would ever go back to any of their old bases, except maybe the Ark, which is in Oregon," he stated, seeming very proud of himself. I scowled though.
"Just get flying, feather brain," I ordered sharply. I distinctly heard Buzzsaw mutter something not complementary about 'bossy human' and 'just like the Cytoplasm isn't she?' I didn't get that part at all.
Still, we made it to Oregon with both of us alive – somehow. And somehow, none of the possible places for the Autobots to have set up a base, even just a temporary one (and there were a LOT) seemed right. This was mostly because all of the likely places were empty of life – Cybertronian or otherwise – when we got there.
"We," Buzzsaw announced at last, "are on a wild goose chase." I sighed and nodded in reluctant agreement.
"And who would the goose be, Decepticon?" a sneaky someone who had snuck up behind us without us realizing snapped. I whirled around to face…a curly-haired teenager. He was perched on the rock outcropping behind us.
"Why, you are of course, meat bag!" I swear, the Transformer who dove at the kid could have been Buzzsaw's red and black twin. He looked to exactly the same model (did I say that right?) as my golden companion, with the black accents even in the exact same places on his shiny red chassis. The boy screamed as the bird dove at him, talons out. Something thumped into the ground at my feet – my tool bag. I didn't question its sudden appearance, I didn't think. I just grabbed it, twirled it by the shoulder strap like some bizarre weighted lasso, and then let it go.
"What in the Inferno – slag!" the other bird squawked. My bag, which was incredibly heavy with metal tools and scraps and a few other odds and ends that had accumulated over the years, smashed into his left wing, crushing one of the major supports.
"Scram, you filthy metal turkey!"I yelled fiercely. The metal hawk's glowing crimson eyes fixed on me and blazed with fiery hate.
"You. You are the girl the Cytoplasm raised for spite! You are the one she meant to be our jailer!" it snarled (wow. Most birds can't do that. Regular beaks just don't do 'snarl' very well).
"She is the heir, Laserbeak. Caryn transferred all our debts to Carma here. You can not harm Carma. I will not let you. Besides, you know what would happen if you hurt the heir to Caryn's debts." The red one seemed to shrink in on itself, because obviously he DID know what would happen, and it wasn't very pleasant.
"But…which side is she on? Whose debt is she going to pursue?" he demanded. The demand had very little force behind it – it was more like a plea for help than a demand for answers. Buzzsaw sighed.
"It is not up to us which side she chooses. It is her choice and her choice alone. This was Caryn's command. No one will pressure or influence Carma's decision – especially you," Buzzsaw spat. The red one – Laserbeak – seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. Then he got control of himself again.
"Very well. I will inform the others of what you have relayed. We will, of course, obey Caryn. No sane Decepticon wants to cross the Cytoplasm's heir," he added, almost to himself, before leaping into the air and limping away. I retrieved my bag, thinking saying 'sane Decepticon' is like saying 'jumbo shrimp', then turned my attention to the teen.
"Hello. I am Carma. What is your name?" I asked gently. The boy stared after Laserbeak for a moment, then shivered.
"I'm Daniel," he told me, not looking at me. "Most people call me Danny." He still refused to meet my eyes. "Are you really the Cytoplasm's heir?" I couldn't help it; I gaped openly at him.
"WHAT? Caryn took me in, but I've never even met any Cytoplasm!" I nearly shouted.
"Yes, she is," Buzzsaw corrected me. Daniel – Danny – did not even try to hold back his scowl as he glared at Buzzsaw.
"Why don't you just slag off and mind your own Primus-forsaken business, Decepticreep?" he growled.
"Hey! Watch it, squishy, or you'll be slagged right off this cliff!" the bird snapped.
"Buzzsaw, stop it. We will talk about this later. Right now, it looks like Danny boy here can lead us straight to the Autobots," I pointed out reasonably. Buzzsaw gave an annoyed harrumph and looked away.
"After what the Cytoplasm did? No slagging way!" the boy shouted. Yes, he actually shouted at us. That's not a very Autobot behavior. I almost told him so, but then I realized what he'd actually said. Oh, Primus, this was SO not going to be easy, especially if they thought I was the Cytoplasm's heir. I mean, the Cytoplasm did horrible things to some of the Autobots, and even more horrible things to the others. In fact, I was willing to bet at least fifty bucks that this kid had been hearing the awful stories of Cytoplasm as a Decepticon, but not the ones where she helped the Autobots. How very biased of the Autobots.
"The Cytoplasm wasn't all bad, though, was she?" I reminded him softly. I didn't want him to know how frustrated I was. "Please, Daniel, could you take us to the Autobots? I swear by Primus I don't mean any of you any harm."
He was not convinced by so feeble an argument – if in fact you could call it that – and I didn't blame him for that in the least. I searched my memory frantically for something that would convince him, and found nothing. Luckily for me, Buzzsaw stepped up to the plate.
"Maybe she never formally allied herself with the Autobots, but the Cytoplasm did leave the Decepticons," my companion pointed out. Daniel scowled at him. Obviously, he was trying very hard not to be swayed – and succeeding.
"If you think that will work, you should think again. Rogue Decepticons are even worse than the regular ones under Megatron's control!" he argued. I sighed and let them at it. I could tell they were going to be arguing for a long, long while. I took my bag and moved a little way off, to avoid being dragged back in. I decided to work on some defensive measures. I mean, if I was going to be hanging out with huge alien robots in the middle of a slagging war, I was going to be slagging prepared! I needed weapons!
Suddenly, I felt like someone was watching me. I glanced around, then again. Slag! Was that really…slag. There was a convoy of cars headed toward us at top speed. I had a feeling they weren't friendly. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was the guns mounted on the two Lamborghinis I could barely make out through the dust cloud they were raising. In case you don't know already, guns are usually not indicators of peace.
"Buzzsaw!" I called, letting some of my fear bleed into my voice – no pun intended. (Yes, I admit it: a dozen or more Autobots hurtling toward me made me just a little bit afraid) He glided over, and I pointed out the approaching vehicles.
"Well, it looks like Danny boy was not all by his lonesome out here," he commented.
"Of course he wasn't alone!" a voice behind us (not Daniel's) snapped. The speaker (who had also somehow managed to sneak up on us) seemed to be seriously offended. Again, I turned around to face off against an unknown intruder. I scowled at the invading Transformer's metal boot. I tilted my head back, turning my face (and displeasure) upward, and the mostly-gray-and-white Autobot shrank back when he saw my expression.
"And who in the name of the fragging Inferno would you be?" I asked him calmly. No, really! I was really, incredibly calm…considering the position and situation I was in right then. Oh, all right! Fine! I said it angrily! Are you happy now?
"I'm hurt – deeply, truly hurt! I would have thought you knew those Cytoplasm stories you were going on about. Or maybe you do, and she just never mentioned me…" I was totally taken aback by this. I scrutinized him, noting a few small yet telltale details. The fin-like projections on either side of his head lit up blue every time he talked…hmmm…glowed blue…oh, yeah!
"Slag off, Wheeljack," I told him in a fairly convincingly bored voice. I saw he was startled not only that I'd known his name, let alone the Cybertronian cusses. "My throat is SO not big enough for a kiloton like you to jump down!"
"Oh. So you DO know who we are," he muttered, sullen now that his jibe had proven inefficient. I'm not entirely sure what I had been planning to say next, but whatever it was, it never got off my tongue. I got cut off by an explosion down where the Autobots had been. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Buzzsaw leap skyward, then dive. Somehow, I knew. Maybe it was all those stories going to my head…. Anyway, I ran over to the edge of the cliff we were all on and jumped right off. Crazy, I know. Still, I did land neatly on Buzzsaw's back, feet apart to keep my balance.
"I hope you don't mind, but I made some additions to your arsenal," he called back. He really had to raise his voice in order to be heard over the wind of our speed. His words made me curious, so I pulled the flap back on my bag and began rummaging through it. It did not take long at all to find what he meant: a medium-sized, extra-sturdy, anti-heat-and-friction bag tucked into one corner of my tool bag.
Inside this smaller bag was a mind-boggling assortment of…(wait for it)…weapons. Apparently, Buzzsaw had been thinking along the same lines as I had earlier; he thought I should have some means of defending myself, too. Anyway, there was a wicked-looking knife with a special sheath that kept the jell stuff that completely coated the blade wet and away from my other weapons and tools.
There was also a cool mechanical crossbow that was exactly the right size for yours truly. This was exciting and all, but it was the bolts that went with the crossbow that really made me eager for a good Decepticon (not Buzzsaw) to try them out on. They were each labeled "Danger! Use only in case of emergency! Keep out of reach of Cybertronians!" It was kind of like those "Keep out of reach of small children" warnings on sharp objects and certain medications. I had to laugh. I couldn't tell if the person who had labeled the crossbow bolts had meant the warning to be taken seriously, or if he or she had meant to be funny. There were also a lot of other explosives to keep the knife and crossbow company.
"For large groups of enemy Transformers," I read out loud. Well, what do you know? The grenades were labeled, too! "Decepticon-seeking, Autobot-seeking, localized devastation. Wow, Buzzsaw!" I exclaimed happily. "Where did you get this?"
"What, the bombs? Those are Caryn's special recipes. That was her tool bag, and she got it from the Cytoplasm," he told me. I stared at the worn bag in my hands. Was this what he had meant when he said I was the Cytoplasm's heir? That I would inherit her tools from Caryn? Apparently, Buzzsaw was trying to tell me something, because he was definitely trying to get my attention. To do that, the dumb bird folded one wing, half-falling through the air. I yelped in surprise and seized one of the grooves in his armor.
"What the slagging, fragging, Inferno do you want, scrapheap?" I yelled. Buzzsaw was gliding now, clam and distant. We were not so distant, however, from the vehicles that were the Autobots in their alternate modes. They had been tossed all over the slagging place by the explosion, the exact location of which was readily visible: a smoking crater in the otherwise flat area. "Oh, slag it all." They were also surrounded by hulking, humanoid robots, each about thirty feet tall – some more, none less. I knew then, without a doubt, that these were Decepticons.
"Choose, Carma, quickly!" Buzzsaw urged me. There was no choice, not really. I snatched a handful of the tiny, high-powered, Decepticon-seeking grenades.
"All right, Buzzsaw, we're going in," I said nervously. Would the grenades really only hurt the Decepticons, as I thought they would (I mean, how much more crystal clear can you possibly get?)? I could not think about it anymore, though, because right then Buzzsaw let out a very hawk like screech. He pulled up, back winging fiercely, and then pointed his beak earthward and plunged. I gripped the grooves in his armor tightly with one hand and the grenades with the other.
"Now!" he called voice shrill with anticipation. I tossed my handful of portable Decepticon-Away explosives. An instant later, Buzzsaw was wheeling away and angling into the sky once more. Distantly, I heard the distinct whine of mechanisms working furiously, the several painful sounding thumps. This was followed by quite a few miniature explosions – more of them than I had expected, actually. Shouts of pain (and several cuss words) told me I had hit someone down there. Buzzsaw came around easily in the air and hovered for a moment to give me a good look at the effect of the Decepticon seeking grenades.
Well. I have to say, the sight was really very gratifying. Every last Decepticon was running away, screaming their metal-coated heads off. Wait, no, make that every last Decepticon who hadn't been knocked off line by the explosions was running away, screaming their metal-coated heads off as they went. I bared my teeth in a fierce grin.
"Come on, Buzzsaw, let's get closer," I suggested, my wild grin still in place. As we neared the site of the original explosion, I saw that none of the Autobots had Transformed out of vehicle mode. Buzzsaw eased us lower, and then landed next to what appeared to be some sort of incredibly beat up ambulance.
"Sheesh. They really brought him. I thought they would leave the old slagger at home," he whistled. "Carma, meet Ratchet, the Autobot chief medic."
"Um, I think Ratchet has a slight problem," I told my golden companion uncertainly. "He has some sort of field around him." I racked my brain, trying to figure this out. Obviously the field – whatever it was – was preventing him from going back to root mode.
"I think there might be some Cybertronian diagnostic equipment in your tool bag," the bird chirped helpfully. I flipped open the flap of my bag and rummaged through until I found a tool I didn't know. It looked kind of like a battery tester.
"Is this it?"
"Yep, that would be it!" Buzzsaw confirmed. I eyed the thing suspiciously, then took the prongs and carefully touched them to the ambulance's side. A screen on the meter part sprang to life as I did so. Anti-Transformation Ray scrolled across it. Jump pulse will reverse.
"Jump Pulse?" I repeated.
"Oh, that's just where another Cybertronian – a Transforming one – would connect his processor and give the old guy a jump start," Buzzsaw explained dismissively. "Is that what the solution is?" He peered over my shoulder to see for himself.
"Yep. That's what it says. Good thing Wheeljack's still up on the cliff; we can use him," I reminded my avian companion. He nodded his bird like head vigorously. I guess he wasn't happy about the other option: we merge HIS processor with an Autobot's. He didn't need to know that if we hadn't had a functioning Autobot on hand, I would definitely have used him to cure these guys. "Well, Buzzsaw, would you go and invite Wheeljack down here?"
"All right," he agreed uneasily.
"Oh, relax! Wheeljack's not going to shoot you out of the sky!" I pointed out. Buzzsaw muttered something like, "In theory," then took off toward the cliff.
Lynn Jones
