Wow, I've managed to garner some positive feedback for chapter 1, onwards and upwards as they say. In case any of you were wondering what warm stimu-grade, extra foamy with crystal frosting is, well it's a latte of sorts. Presenting for your delight and delectation chapter 2!
Cheers,
HTGT
++!++!++!++!++!++
Transformers Prime: Chimera 02
Everything hurt, limbs, internal sub-systems to the jackhammer pounding in his central processor. Cautiously he opened one optic and it felt as though the wrath of Primus had exploded in the back of his head. He decided to let the humans think that he was temporarily offline for now, once back to full strength he could better contemplate his options. He barely registered the passing wash of the landing C-130 as he battled to get as many primary systems online as possible.
Unseen by all, the hijacked shuttle circled overhead, its damaged cloak finally restored. "Frag it, get up soldier!" Elita cursed out loud, hoping somehow to fix whatever had happened to Sideswipe by sheer force of will alone. She watched in dismay as the C-130 disgorged two unmarked HumVees and three squads of sinister, masked infantry. Realising that she should also be relaying the information back to base, she opened the secure channel.
"Sideswipe's down for the count, last aircraft hit him with some sort of pulse weapon. There's one transport aircraft, two ground vehicles and two dozen infantry. They're securing him to some form of palette, looks like they're prepping him for removal." She reported briskly, "All vehicles and infantry are unmarked; operatives appear to be highly trained. This leaves me with one burning question, how in the Pit did they manage to have a snatch team so close at hand?"
++!++!++!++!++!++
That question hung in the air back at the silo, Agent Fowler was back on the phone desperately trying to ascertain where the Groom Lake interceptors were.
"They know you're in the area." Jack's simple statement of fact caused everyone to pause, "Think about it, a lot of Autobot activity has been in and around the Jasper area for years now. Hell they even started bombing our goddamned schools looking for us! Stands to reason they'd move a unit in and wait for an opportunity." He finished, suddenly sounding older than his teenage years.
Optimus smiled sadly at this, "I concur with your observation Jack, being tied to this base has made it possible for our enemies to approximate our location. However, that is something that we will have to address once our immediate issue has been resolved."
"Prime! Groom Lake reports that they have AWACS and F-22's inbound but they're looking for a big needle in a super-sized haystack." Fowler leant against the gantry railing suddenly looking very weary, "Do you have any idea how big the debris field is going to be after Little Miss Prissy Britches finishes?" He asked rhetorically.
"Somewhat substantial?" Optimus deadpanned either innocently taking Fowler's question at face value, or indulging in a rare opportunity to get one over the bullish agent.
"Quite the charmer isn't he?" Elita observed dryly over the comm. link, "Although to be fair I'm just flying this 'Con crate, Sideswipe was in charge of fire-control. I apologise on behalf of my gunner Agent Fowler, sadly he doesn't quite understand the concepts of 'subtlety' or 'restraint' yet. On the bright side, he is housebroken and has stopped chewing the furniture if that helps."
Bulkhead and Miko sniggered openly at Fowler, who for once was at a loss for words. Arcee was forced to turn her back to the agent for a moment to help preserve her stern demeanour, which was becoming dangerously close to cracking. It helped that she could then share a private smile with Jack and June before recomposing herself. Having been mostly silent for the duration, a series of interrogative bleeps and whistles from Bumblebee brought the room back to the matter at hand.
"A fair question Bumblebee, M.E.C.H. may indeed take drastic action if they perceive themselves to be under threat. Agent Fowler, it would be wise for your forces to keep their distance." Optimus couched his request carefully, "Elita is in a position to track the transport aircraft undetected by their sensors. Once at its destination, we will then be better placed to mount a rescue attempt."
Fowler nodded in agreement to Optimus as he headed for elevator, "I'll call the flyboys off, got enough mess to clean up for one weekend. By the way, when you get him back, tell him he'd better damn well learn 'subtlety' and 'restraint', or I'll be using his bearings as paperweights!"
There was a palpable air of relief as the human liaison headed topside, although Fowler had proved himself as a stalwart ally, his confrontational nature could be something of a liability at times.
"Elita as discussed, follow the M.E.C.H. transport and report back as soon as you have discovered its destination. Everyone else should get some rest for now and be ready to roll-out once we learn where they are taking Sideswipe." Optimus ordered, it had been a long night for all concerned and there was the prospect of an early morning assault looming on the horizon.
"That goes for you too Optimus." Elita replied crisply, "With all due respect, I refuse to be 'debriefed' by a commanding officer who's half-offline from recharge deprivation."
"Primus-speed colonel, I look forward to seeing you soon." Optimus closed down the comm. link a rare smile on a face, mirrored by the smug expression worn by his chief medical officer. He watched the assembled Autobots leave for their respective quarters, ushering their human charges in the direction of the guest dormitory created for such scenarios. Bumblebee carrying a gently snoring Raf, who had finally succumbed to fatigue a few minutes earlier. Miko was perched precariously on Bulkhead's broad shoulders, chattering away ten to the dozen, occasionally punctuated by a yawn. Arcee brought up the rear, hand on Jack's back, the pair of them deep in private conversation.
Finally only Optimus, Ratchet and June remained in the main silo. "She knows you too well." Ratchet commented, "So, when was the last time you had a full recharge cycle Optimus?"
"Far too long ago old friend," Optimus admitted ruefully, "a bad habit I intend to break as of now." Bidding June and Ratchet goodnight he headed for his own quarters.
"Good! You know full well that as Chief Medical Officer, I would get the blame if you were in anything but the best of health." Ratchet heckled after him.
"I take it their relationship is a little more than professional then." June stated as she started inflating the air-mattress in the communal area, "I can't imagine just an officer would be able to get away with telling Optimus to 'shush'."
"The colonel has special dispensation June." Ratchet replied with an air of relish, looking at the nurse he had come to respect, "The sort of dispensation that is only granted to someone extremely close."
June turned to face the medibot, realization hitting her like a cement truck. "Are you seriously trying to tell me that she's Optimus' significant other?" Her voice just about climbed an octave with incredulity, "Jesus, I can't believe I had a crush on a married 'Bot! You could've told me!"
Ratchet laughed, though not unkindly at the utterly mortified expression on June's face. "Optimus was never a great one for expressing his feelings or discussing his private life for that matter, even when he was Orion Pax."
"Speaking of which," June desperately tried to change the subject, "when do you think my son and Arcee are going to stop tip-toeing around the subject?"
Ratchet glanced back at the retreating femme and her charge, "I believe the two of them care for each other very deeply." He sighed, "As you know the commander has good reason to keep her feelings buried, for the sake of her sanity if nothing else."
June switched off the small air-pump, "I know Ratchet, it's just that when Jack was little I had the usual silly fantasies of him marrying a beautiful girl who'd look after him. By the time he got to high-school, I just hoped whoever he brought back didn't have too many piercings, their tattoos were at least spelt correctly and wasn't a walking S.T.D. clinic. The crazy thing is, after everything that's happened to us, I can't think of anyone else I'd rather see him with."
"Although if they were to acknowledge their feelings, S.T.D.'s would be the least of Jack's problems." Ratchet countered with a faint snicker. "Quite frankly a wanton Arcee would be terrifying, cracked ribs could be a distinct possibility."
June gave him a wicked smile, knowing he was just trying to provoke her, "That's the least of it, potential asphyxia if she forgets that organics need to breath."
Ratchet's brow ridge quirked as he realised he needed to up the ante. "Then there is a whole plethora of issues if they decided to interface, friction burns and penile contusions amongst them."
"I agree Doctor; certain positions would be highly dangerous." June concurred with mock severity, refusing to be outdone. "Missionary only, cowgirl is completely out of the question. I wouldn't want to explain to a consultant exactly how he managed to fracture his pelvis"
"Not to mention the resultant soft-tissue injuries or internal haemorrhaging." Ratchet fired back.
"Plus potential spinal trauma. My poor little boy in traction, with Arcee having to feed him grapes." She retorted with patently fake pathos.
"We would of course have to find a nurse's uniform big enough and persuade her to wear it." Ratchet wiggled his brow ridges in a mocking dirty old man approximation.
"Absolutely." June concluded with a giggle.
++!++!++!++!++!++
Dr. Amber McLaren now had a new paradigm for having a bad day. It had started with masked intruders who'd resembled armed extras from a dodgy European bondage film, breaking into her modest house at stupid o'clock. She'd then been bundled unceremoniously into an anonymous waiting S.U.V. despite threats of dire retribution, before being driven to what she surmised was the middle of Bumphuq, Nevada. She had barely a chance to get her wits together, before she was frog-marched into a waiting unmarked helicopter.
"Can I say how ravishing you look this morning?" A cultured voice inquired as the modified two-tone Bell 222 lifted off. Amber groaned; this was the rancid icing on the super-sized, maggot – infested, triple shit layer cake that her morning had been thus far.
"Dr. West how lovely to see you." Her reply was thick with sarcasm, as she leaned her head against the window. The two were a study in contrasts, Dr. Herbert West looked like always as though he had stepped out of GQ magazine, designer labels, rugged looks, immaculate hair and a jaw almost perfectly geometric in proportion.
The poster child for All-American douchebags, she thought sardonically eyeing up her reflected scowl. She'd just about managed to throw on some clean clothing that was in a pile in the bedroom. Amber knew she looked a mess, attired in what could be charitably described as geek-chic, except at some point the chic had been brutally stabbed and left to die in a ditch. She was just thankful that her glasses somewhat hid the panda rings brought on by overdosing on caffeine and far too many late nights.
Dr. West examined her critically, on the few occasions where she had to make an effort for formal functions; he had to admit she was quite striking. "We're about to meet our benefactors Amber, you might've at least scrubbed up for the meeting."
She fixed him with a drop-dead look, glowering from under a brunette mane restrained only by a well-worn knit-hat. "Dr. West, when armed gimps break into my apartment at the ass-crack of dawn, I guarantee you the last thing on my mind is whether my undies match or I've bikini waxed that day!"
Perhaps it was due to the company but the flight seemed to take forever for her, finally the helicopter slowed to a hover over an abandoned mining facility, the downdraft stirring up the loose earth reducing visibility to near zero. The pair were escorted from the helicopter amongst billowing clouds of dust towards a backlit figure, flanked by two more masked operatives.
As the helicopter lifted off once more and the dust settled, Amber gawked in disbelief at the man standing before her. "Director Bishop, that's a different look." She eventually managed to splutter at the armour and fatigue clad giant in front of her.
"Doctors, I apologise for the rude awakening," Silas stated with a thin smile, "but we're on a very tight schedule."
++!++!++!++!++!++
As he crawled back towards consciousness again, the more rational part of Jack's mind knew he wasn't in one of the ex-military bunks. What was beneath him was far too comfortable and his face was pressed against something that was composite but surprisingly warm. Even so he wished he could hold onto the dream a bit longer, involving a lush boudoir, a sultry, raven-haired beauty and what he swore was an Isaac Hayes' soundtrack.
He blinked a couple of times as his eyes swam into focus in the half-light, with growing panic he realised that there was a double arcing expanse of cerulean armour filling his vision. Tensing, his eyes darted from left to right hoping that he might've been mistaken. The last thing he remembered was sitting on Arcee's berth, as they were discussing what might happen later on that day.
"It's just her fairing." He thought beginning to panic, praying that she wasn't awake. "Just pull away and don't think about it Jack. It's just her fairing, a perfectly proportioned, beautiful piece of engineering that I've buffed on several…oh Jesus. Okay, think about something, anything else. Math homework! What are the standard equations for the geometry of a curve? No! Don't go there! What else? That National Geographic documentary I watched with Mom and Raf, yeah, the Galapagos Islands, open skies, crashing surf, turtles, frigate birds, marine iguanas, blue-footed boo…..fuck!"
"Comfortable there Jack?" Arcee's wry question finally triggered his atavistic instincts. With a yelp he shot backwards away from her, narrowly avoiding the second painful face to floor interface that morning as she grabbed his bedclothes with preternatural reflexes.
Jack forced himself to look up, despite his embarrassing predicament, Arcee had neatly stopped his retreat with one arm whilst propping her head with the other. "Didn't realise my dermal plating was that pleasant." She quipped mischievously. By now the femme was repressing the urge to break into hysterics as Jack appeared to be having the human equivalent of a stack overflow.
"I'msosorryArceeIdidn'tmeantooffendyou!" he gabbled, face lit up like a warning beacon and desperately trying to focus on something other than her. She blinked, looking at him quizzically. Pulling him back into the safety of her berth, an elegant alloy digit gently coerced him to make to eye contact.
"Jack, really? Do I look like I'm offended?" She chuckled, patting the space next to her, "Besides we've been closer than that more often than you think." As he cautiously shuffled back towards her, she could see the evident confusion on his face.
"I'm not a motorcycle Jack; my alt-mode only resembles one superficially." She explained softly, "I was never made to carry passengers or cargo the same way the others were." Jack swallowed nervously, mouth suddenly dry; the implication of what she was saying dawning on him finally.
"Jeez well that puts a whole new spin on things." Jack admitted contritely, "I'm sorry if I ever made you feel uncomfortable, I just didn't think…." He trailed off, not knowing what to say.
"I did resent Optimus ordering me to be your guardian, for a while." Arcee admitted with a sigh, "But something changed and I can't even place when. When we first met you were baggage stopping me from kicking 'Con tailpipe. Now, I get pissed at the 'Cons for ruining our quality time together."
"No wonder you got steamed when I tried to offer Sierra a ride." Jack winced inwardly at the memories.
"Now you're catching on partner. Oh and Jack, you still haven't answered my question." Arcee raised a brow ridge as she could practically hear the cogs turning in Jack's head.
"Yes?" Jack scratched the back of his head, praying to any divinity that would listen, that he wasn't in for at best a verbal curb-stomping.
"Good, now get back here, get your head down and rest." Arcee ordered, pointing to the pillow.
"Yes ma'am." Jack replied, scooting closer once more.
"Smart-aft."
++!++!++!++!++!++
Author's note: If you think June and Ratchet's conversation is out of character then you've never heard what medical professionals can be like outside of work (especially if they work in A&E).
