Nano-klik = 1.273 seconds
Klik = 1.2 minutes
Breem= 8.3 minutes
Joor/Groon = hour
Cycle = 1 hour 15 minutes
Orbital Cycle =1 day
Mega-cycle = 93 hours
Orn = 13 days
Deca-cycle = 3 weeks
Stellar cycle= 7.3 months
Meta-cycle = 13 months
Solar cycle = 11 years
Vorn = 83 years (3 Vorn= 2 years... basically)
~Never before did I expect to get so many reviews on the first day of posting my story.~
::Wheeljack, this is Ratchet, I need you to prepare the medbay for wounded, and tell Perceptor to meet us at the entrance to the Ark. ETA two breems.::
The Autobot head Engineer jumped slightly at the unexpected hail, thus cuting the red wire instead of the blue.
"Oh Slag."
Ratchet could hear the boom over the Private comm.
::Wheeljack? Wheeljack, answere frag it!::
Said mech groaned before sitting up and blearily looking around. Sighing sadly about the destuction of his latest invention, a basketball that would actually survive a game with players their size, a sparkingday presant for Optimus, he activated his internal microphone.
"Roger that, Ratch on my way. And tell Optimus that I picked up more of the wierd radiation readings thanks to that device you guys planted at the beging of the battle, and they spiked way higher than originaly anticapated."
::... How much higher?::
"Um, about 3000 Rads."
::That makes 4000!:: Ratchet sputtered over the comm. Sure, 4000 Rads wasn't enough to do anything to their circuites, they were too advanced for that, but there had been a small human residance nearby, and if death was imminent at 1000 rads... he didn't want to think about it.
Wheeljack stood up and started making his way to the med-bay, also pinging Perceptor to meet Prime upon arrival. Though he wasn't sure what Optimus would want Percy for, maybe they were bringing back whatever it was the Decepti-creeps were after.
"So, did you guys find out what the Decepticons were out and about for?" He asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
::No. He handed it off to one of the Seekers, no one saw which, though. I gotta go, 'Jack, one of my patience is deciding he can drive back to base on his own, oh, and 'Jack?::
Wheeljack froze. He knew that tone of voice. It was the tone Ratchet only ever used when one of their team mates was hurt near beyond repear.
"What happened, who's hurt?" He asked, unable to keep the panic out of his voice.
::Well, everyones hurt to one degree or another, but Bumblebee... you, Percy and Firstaid are just gonna have to see for yourselfs.:: With that Ratchet cut the comm. Leaving a undeniably panicked engineer standing alone in the halls of the Ark.
Pulling himself together, Wheeljack finished making his way to the med-bay, where a grim masked Fistaid met him at the door, no doubt having heard the full report of Bumblebee's condition so they could be prepared, in case of the worst possible out come.
Walking past him, Wheeljack started pulling out the basic tools, unable to think of anything other than the small scout and what shape he'd be in when he got here...
~/~/~/~/\~\~\~\~
It had been Vorns since Ironhide had seen a youngling, the last one being Bumblebee, after he found him in the ruins of the main youngling seeker care center in Iacon at the beggining of the war. Every couple had decided that having a youngling then would have just been too dangerous, and thus no more protoforms were sparked. So to suddenly have to put up with not only another youngling after hundreds of vorn, but to have to put up with youngling Bumblebee again was not something he had expected or even wanted.
Because despite what some may believe, Bumblebee was not a tame youngling even when only three Vorn old. And for whatever reason that only Primus knew of, all his previous injuries had been healed in the crash landing. Thus making for one very happy and bouncy sparkling and one very irratated and worn out Ironhide.
Of couse, Bumlebee would never ride in any bot else, because (oh joy) while he knew and trusted them all well enough when he was older, it seemed all memory of ever being older had been wiped from the younglings prosseser. Which meant he only knew those he knew then, and didn't know those who he knew now.
The same went for the youngling Startscream.
Ironhide still had no idea what possessed his leader to let the Decepticon sparkling ride in his cab, his trailer would have been better at least, but no. He was letting the Decepticon Second in Command ride in his cabbie.
Never mind he was a sparkling, it was still a blatent disregard for protocal and a mager risk to the Prime's saftey.
'He's only a sparkling, Ironhide.' Right. Only a sparkling. Prime seemed to have forgotten he was also a seeker sparkling, one of the most energetic, loud, destructive, annoying breeds of sparklings to ever exist. And minibot spakling could be horrible, too.
Speaking of said pit spawn.
A sudden jerk left on his steering wheel had Ironhide franticaly swerving to avoid raming his leader in the side, as well as his pulling his attention back to the small mechling in his cab. Tiny black hands grasped the round device as their owner giggled, horned head bobbing up and down with each turn.
"Bumblebee, what have I told you about turning Sub-Sire's steering wheel?" He demanded, internally scowling.
"DA *bzzzz* SRRR *click* RAN TOK *click*." Came the younglings reply, followed by an enthusiastic laugh and clapping servos.
With a sigh, Ironhide turned on his radio. Bumblebee had always liked music from his native city of Simfur, and Ironhide, being the rather sentimental fool he was, had kept many of the younglings favorite albums even after he had gotten his adult frame.
As the song started the mechling quieted, stareing at the sorce of the sound as an instrament similar to an Earthern violin played from the speakers, soon acompanied by several others, all blending to make a soft sparklings lullaby.
In klicks the yellow menace with in recharge, soft ex-vent hiccups accompanying each intake.
Had Ironhide been in his bipedal mode, he would have sagged to the ground in relief. Give him Decepticon invasions any time, any where, but when it came to sparlklings, one Bumblebee was all he needed, thanks.
"Ironhide, how is your charge?" The red mechs spark pulse faultered slightly as the Prime's voice blared through his radio, interupting the soft sound of the Simfur Orchestra and making his passenger shift sligtly, nearly woken.
::FRAGGIT PRIME! Keep your vocalizer on mute, would ya?:: He growled over the private comm. link, spark still fluctuating dangerously.
::Forgive me, Ironhide, I had forgotten how much of a servoful Bumblebee was-is- as a youngling.::
::You and me both.:: He grumbled. ::And he's fine, out like a light, as the humans say. How's the prisoner doing?::
::Starscream is not our prisoner, Ironhide. He has no memory of any wrong he has done and will thus be treated accordingly, we discussed this.::
Ironhide sighed, his leader was too noble for his own good. ::Yessir:: He rumbled, disspleasure undoubtably obvious, but leaving the subject alone nonetheless.
Optimus Prime sighed as his body guard terminated the link, making him wonder if he would ever warm up to the seekerlet in his cab, but then again, would he have too?
Maybe this transformation was only temorary, or permanant on its own but not without a cure? Afterall, he did have cybertrons best medical officer, two top scientist, and an engineer that when not blowing himself up could build anything.
He may not have to worry about how Starscream would be treated, or Bumblebee, but he doubted his men would do anything to the mechling, they were far too attached to the older one. Starscream on the other servo...
A small blue hand on his dashboard had the Prime turning his sensors inward, to where the seekerlet was quietly sitting, surprisingly comfortably, in his cab.
"Yes, Starscream?" His voice was strong, but quiet, and gental. It had been many years since the Prime had had to use that tone of voice, and never before had it even occurd to him in his wildest rechard flux's that he would use it with Starscream.
The seekerlet didn't say anything, he just pointed out the window, where trees native to Earth were zipping by in a blur of green, brown, and, beyond the trees, blue.
That was another thing that bothered him. He had heard stories since he was just a youngling of seekerlets, how they were twice as tall as a groundling youth and three times more visious, with horrible screams and screechy voices. Older Starscream had been some form of proof to those tales, he supposed. Yet, even if there was some kind of truth to the tales, Starscream seemed to be one of the few that would change their point of view, as odly as it sounded.
"You mean the trees?" He asked, a nod was his answere. "Yes, thery're quite differant from what we had on Cybertron, but they are beautiful in their own way. Perhaps I could get one of the others mechs to show you and Bumblebee around." he had already figured Starscream and Bumblebee would discover they weren't on their home planet, of course, it was kind of a give away.
At the mention of the other youngling Starscream seemed to perk up a bit.
Shifting slightly, the seekerlet moved so he was stareing out the passenger side window, where he could see the recharging youngling through Ironhide's driver window. Optimus felt him drop his helm to the window, warm ex-vents ghosting across the cool glass, sending a tingly sensation through the Prime.
It was strange, without a doubt, how quickly the seekerlet had become attached to the ex-scout.
When he had gone down into the crater to retrive the Mechs-turned-sparklings, Starscream had automatically wrapped his small arms around the shivering Bumblebee and pulled him closely to his cockpit. A scowl that would have put Ratchet to shame placed on the younglings face, optics clearly saying, 'Touch him and deactivate', and had Bumblebee not spotted Irohide above them, he had no doubt that's what the seekerlet would have done.
His musings were cut short as a ping from Prowl alerted him of their arrival at the Ark. And- oh Primus, was that Perceptor?! Well frag. He had hoped to at least get Bumblebee and Starcream inside before a Q&A session was started.
