Trailbreaker waited by the boat ramp, scanning his surroundings and monitoring the interactions between Colonel Lennox and the two Department of Energy representatives. Most of the conversation took place between Lennox and the female representative. Both were leaning against the gunmetal grey Ford Superduty's bumper on either side of his adaptive extension that was normally compressed within his camper shell along with his other shield emitters. It was currently configured as a boat trailer for Seaspray. The male stood somewhat awkwardly next to the trailer's fender.
::Ahoy the shore!:: came Beachcomber's comm just as Trailbreaker located the two aquatic mechs on his short range sensors and pinged them with his location. ::How goes it, Trailbreaker?::
::Just getting a read on the new liaisons. One is a nuclear engineer, and will be very helpful. She was an American representative at the Fukushima clean-up and will advocate for our involvement there as well if this goes well. The other is a political appointee, and is extremely paranoid. Lennox's heart rate goes up every time he says a word.::
::More red tape?:: Seaspray asked, disappointed modifiers lacing his glyphs. Aside from the solid and liquid radionuclide waste they would be processing, there was a veritable Distiller feast of hexavalent chromium, carbon tetrachloride, lead, mercury, and thousands of other chemicals on the site. If they ever got to the site.
::He seems to be most concerned about us selling weapons grade plutonium or chemical compounds to terrorist organizations and rogue states,:: Trailbreaker responded flatly.
::By the time we're done, there won't even be plutonium, or any compound humans would recognize. But I suppose his type is paid to be paranoid,:: Beachcomber said almost fondly. ::Seaspray will win him over. He always does.::
::And Hound will help,:: Trailbreaker added. ::Speaking of which, he sends his apologies. He is meeting with Hanford's community advisory committee.::
::And probably having far more fun with them than should be legal,:: Beachcomber said. Hound's relaxed disposition and adopted country drawl seemed to instantly endear him to the humans he interacted with, much as Seaspray's natural playfulness and fascination with alien species of all kinds did.
"Here they come," Lennox suddenly announced, rapping his fist against Trailbreaker's thick armor, likely for the benefit of the other humans. He'd lived and fought alongside the mechs long enough to have a feeling for their sensor ranges. The DOE representatives quickly moved away, perhaps expecting Trailbreaker to back the trailer down the ramp and into the water.
"I'm sure they won't mind taking a stretch first," Trailbreaker commented, not making any move to engage his engine, noting the way the male representative flinched (yet again) when he spoke. He knew intimidation would be a constant issue with many of the humans, one he would need to work hard to overcome. By their standards, he was one of the more intimidating appearing mechs, and his naturally quiet demeanor at times made him seem even more alien and threatening to them. Fortunately, Hound's charm helped smooth the way for both of them.
Turning his sensors to the water, he observed with fascination as the two aquatic mechs transformed when they reached the shallows. True hydroformers like Seaspray, and even amphibious mechs like Beachcomber, were extremely rare, and they were the first Trailbreaker had met in the metal.
The two small mechs gave the humans friendly waves. Water drained from their frames and into the sandy riverbank, and a vibrating shiver ran through their armor plates to shake off the rest.
"Beachcomber, Seaspray, this is Dr. Kyoko Tanaka and Mr. Sean Weaver," Lennox said.
"The new DOE liaisons," Beachcomber said with a smile. The nine foot tall minibots needed to stoop very little to be closer to their level.
Trailbreaker continued to remain silent, observing as the two smaller mechs interacted so easily with the humans. While all Cybertronians were highly adaptive, colonial mechs like the two from Aqueous made assimilation an art form. Even on worlds without a dominant sapient species, their ability to make other lifeforms feel at ease was an asset.
"Nice to meet you both," Seaspray was saying as he held out his spindly six-digit hand. Weaver awkwardly stepped back while Dr. Tanaka's eyes widened as she took the oddly delicate looking appendage.
"And you as well," she said in a slightly breathless tone. "You're Seaspray, right?"
"Yes, and this is Beachcomber."
"I understood that Cybertron was a completely honeycombed metal world. I was surprised to find out that you had water-going forms, or did you adopt those for earth?" she asked, reluctantly letting go of Seaspray's complex hand, but not backing away.
"Neither of us were actually ever online on Cybertron," Beachcomber explained.
"We were designed for an organic planet where eighty-five percent of the surface was covered in ocean, and were transported there in stasis on a colony seed ship. Earth is very home-like to us," Seaspray added.
"You colonized earth-like worlds?" Weaver asked sharply, his arms crossed and his posture stiff.
"We colonized nearly every type of world," Beachcomber said, "but we were very careful not to colonize worlds where more advanced lifeforms such as yourselves were in the process of emerging or had emerged, or where our models indicated that our presence might interfere with such life evolving in the future."
"Until you decided to invade this one," Weaver challenged back.
"Earth was never a colony," Seaspray said in a gentle tone. Trailbreaker noted that he very deliberately did not get into the more defensive human's personal space, but lowered himself subtly, to appear even less threatening. "It was placed on the interdiction list the first time it was surveyed. I know that seems hard to believe, with a history of repeated contacts. And considering what your world has gone through, I cannot say I blame you. But we are here only as long as the welcome remains."
The representative glared, and then muttered about needing to get back to the cleanup headquarters, at which Lennox sighed and Trailbreaker opened his doors. Dr. Tanaka gave the two standing mechs an apologetic look over her shoulder, to which Beachcomber mouthed 'don't worry about it," and winked an optic.
Seaspray scanned the protometal-threaded trailer before getting into position. As he transformed, he almost seemed to spill himself into it. His docking cables locked on to keep him secure, and Trailbreaker could feel the touch of the hydroformer's unusually powerful field, relaxing and widening, vibrating comfortably within the sphere of his own rather than held tightly compressed.
It was an oddly pleasant and comfortable feeling he was familiar with because of Beachcomber. While the Distiller did not accept overtures to interface, Beachcomber seemed to want to share field space in an extremely familiar manner. The sensation was pleasant, in both Beachcomber's and now Seaspray's case, even if highly unusual from mechs he hardly knew and hadn't even crossed cables with.
"All ready," Seaspray called out as Beachcomber transformed into his terrestrial mode. ::Thanks for the lift, Trailbreaker,:: the hydroformer added, gratitude and affection brightening the edges of his glyphs.
::It is my pleasure,:: Trailbreaker responded, slightly surprised at the level of affection, but equally warm. ::You were very patient with that human. He has been testing my composure all day, and I've hardly spoken a word with him.::
::They have every right to be suspicious of us. When I remember that, it helps,:: Seaspray explained. ::And when he sees what your shield generators are capable of, he'll come around.::
Trailbreaker couldn't help but notice the shiver that passed through Seaspray's frame and field when the little Distiller mentioned his shield generators. It was... fascinating.
"If I collect another micron, I won't have room for what is coming in today!" Beachcomber complained with good humor as Hound pointed out yet another pocket he'd detected with his olfactory sensors. The amphibious mech's mineral storage blocks were at three quarters capacity, just from casually collecting the stray materials scattered everywhere on the site. On top of that, today they were going to be processing the entire contents of one of the largest carbon steel storage tanks - hopefully their final demonstration prior to increased free rein in the cleanup.
The four mechs were making their way on pedes toward the small rise concealing area 200, where capped and buried storage tanks held the majority of the United States' high level nuclear waste. There they would meet with a group of scientists, officials, and a small number of the press.
They had some time to spare before the demonstration was due to start, so they were making no effort to hurry. All of the mechs usually liked humans, genuinely enjoyed their company, but being in close contact with that much organic curiosity (and paranoia) for so long wore on the equilibrium of even the most patient of their kind.
"Can I tempt ya with some Fermium-257?" Hound asked, his tone playfully suggestive.
"Oh Primus, Buddha and Mother Mary!" Beachcomber threw up his hands and detoured to the spot where Hound had indicated the few molecules of the extremely rare isotope. ::I'm going to burst after today,:: he privately sent to Seaspray.
::We could make a trip to base to unload,:: Seaspray suggested innocently, as playful as Hound. That was last way either of them wanted to make more room. As long as the two larger mechs agreed to the courting protocols when he and Beachcomber proposed them, (and didn't take too long deciding to do so), it wouldn't be necessary.
Beachcomber did not have a comeback. His attention was riveted to Hound as the scout humorously related the tale of Trailbreaker's latest round of shield testing at the hands of the nervous scientists. As had been happening with increased frequency over the past lunar cycle, Seaspray found himself walking close to the shielding specialist, who gave him a friendly 'Primus have mercy,' shrug as Hound's story reached its crescendo.
The Distillers had opted to spend the demonstration phase of the project getting to know the two larger mechs better, discerning which they were most drawn to and whether preliminary binary attractions would form. These most certainly had, at least on Seaspray and Beachcomber's part. Hound and Trailbreaker, as was typical of their build, seemed to have an 'all of the above' approach in matters of attraction. As Maggie Madsen had once joked, the majority of the Autobots seemed to favor the 'all you can eat buffet'.
The two Distillers had been too busy with the humans to make any sort of formal courting proposal, though. There had been plenty of flirting from all the parties, but diplomacy, highly monitored testing, and demonstrations had taken up the bulk of their time over the first month. Hound and Trailbreaker both needed more time in recharge than their more efficient colleagues as well. Now that they were (hopefully) entering the second phase of the project, there would be more time to broach the topic.
The two Distillers wanted far more than the topic broached. Their own interfacing had become far more intense and physical than their normally gentle exchanges of memory and pleasure. A charge ran through Seaspray's protoform, centering in his tanks as he recalled the previous night. Beachcomber had audaciously stroked open Seaspray's dorsal channel aperture. He'd let his talons ghost there, swirling and teasing the sensitive protometal within while sharing searing memories of the first time he'd opened to Sandstone's siphon.
Seaspray stumbled over nothing, trying desperately to focus on what Trailbreaker had just said to him. At least, he thought Trailbreaker had said something. The big mech was looking down at him expectantly, having supported him with a burst of his shield when he'd stumbled.
"Are you sure you are up to this?" Trailbreaker asked gently again. Seaspray realized they had just crested the hill and come within line of sight of the partially unearthed tank number seven. The haz-mat suited humans gathered there were looking at them expectantly. "You seem really distracted. Maybe we should take a break, go back to base and have Ratchet take a look at your systems."
"I'm fine," Seaspray assured him hastily. "There are just so many resources here. I'll be better when I can actually start processing them. My coding is going a bit wonky with all the delays."
"You're sure?" Trailbreaker asked, with all the gruff concern of a mech who was a guardian in both coding and spark.
"I am, but thank you for looking out for me," Seaspray said, drawing his field far tighter than he wanted to. He just wasn't sure his systems were capable of walking and mingling fields with Trailbreaker at the same time any longer. Even the most casual brush from the large mech had him needing to actively block his dorsal and sternal channels from irising open beneath his armor.
"Of course. Promise you'll tell me if something... changes, okay?" Trailbreaker said softly as they approached the humans.
Yes, 'distracted' was pretty much the norm now. The whole site was a distiller paradise, and he was in the company of a powerful, companionable, and protective Aegismech. The end products of the feast of resources surrounding them would do amazing things for Trailbreaker's systems and efficiency, and the coded need to share that bounty sent surges through Seaspray's systems. He found himself constantly scanning the large mech, making tiny adjustments to his tank processing protocols in anticipation of Trailbreaker's needs.
As far as Seaspray's systems and code were concerned, he was already courting, and there was no reason to hold back any longer. But there was the small matter of, oh, actually communicating that fact, and finding out if his intended Aegis wanted to explore a partnership once he understood the full implications of Distiller courting and bonding protocols.
Seaspray had never courted before, had never needed to. He and Oceanus had been built for one another, bond coding already in place as was often the case for mechs bound for new colonies. In human terms, they had onlined as family, and sharing sparks had been as natural as sharing what was in his tanks. With Trailbreaker, there were so many unknowns. But what he did know was that he truly enjoyed the quiet mech's company, and that Trailbreaker seemed to have all the right impulses to be an outstanding Aegis. Despite a year of avoiding the issue, Seaspray wanted and needed a partner, desperately.
….
Hound was in his best, most charming form as he explained to the gathered humans what they would be doing in simplified (and Prowl-approved) terms. When he finished, Trailbreaker activated his shield generators to encompass the four mechs and the partially buried tank within a bubble that would protect the gathered humans from the high level waste within. The humans shifted nervously as the two larger mechs began unsealing the lid.
"Hold it, how do we really know the grey one's shield things will work?" Weaver asked sharply, edging away from the shield.
"Trailbreaker was able to shield against a neutrino beam," Dr. Tanaka explained, yet again, with no small amount of exasperation.
"I don't care if he can shield against laser beams; how do we really know?" Weaver countered. "And besides, didn't he say his shielding had a time limit? What if it fails before they're done?"
"The shielding required for this is rather simple," Trailbreaker paused to patiently explain (yet again). "It requires far less output than, say, shielding against a nuclear detonation. At my current levels, I can maintain this shield for a little more than seven hours."
"Will they be done by then?" Weaver asked shrilly, as though Hound had not just given a time estimate in his explanation.
"It should take us a little less than an hour to collect the problematic materials," Seaspray said.
"But you can observe from farther away, if it make you feel more comfortable," one of the other scientists suggested, gesturing at Hound and Trailbreaker to resume.
"Speaking of which, how will we even see what is going on in there?" Weaver complained as Trailbreaker pushed back the lid. The bubble that encompassed the four mechs and the tanks did not allow the humans to get close enough to see inside, not that the sludge would reveal much once Seaspray and Beachcomber entered it.
"Like this!" Hound said enthusiastically as he activated his hologenerator, rendering a perfect three dimensional image of the inside of the tank. He then filtered the image so the humans would actually be able to see what was happening within the thick, salt encrusted radioactive sludge.
The gathered scientists, officials and press corps watched in awe as first Seaspray then Beachcomber climbed directly into the tank, immersing themselves. Both of the distillers raised their armor scales as if in a luxurious stretch, but instead of smooth protoform and internal components, the motion revealed thousands upon thousands of tiny apertures from which their long, feathery collection fronds unfurled, like delicate metallic versions of salamander gills or barnacle cirri.
The actual number of toxic or dangerously radioactive particles in the pool was relatively small. The issue was separating them from their surrounding matrix. But most of those particles had been suspended in solution the previous week, when the mechs treated this tank with nanite scavengers. The tiny devices were coded to isolate the desired compounds and break covalent bonds as needed.
Now, collection was a simple matter of Beachcomber and Seaspray sieving out the fine particulate and breaking the substances down in their tanks. Even the rust on the inside of the tank was nearly gone. The entire process left behind nothing but an inert sludge, full of iron, phosphorus, and other elements too common to be worth collecting. Seaspray imagined it would make a handy fertilizer for the humans' crops.
Fortunately, the collection process did not require a great deal of concentration on Seaspray's part as he slowly walked through the tank, the movement of the thick and buoyant fluid over his fronds sending pleasurable shivers of charge through his protoform that only increased with the swirl of rich materials filtering into his tanks. He was keenly aware of Trailbreaker monitoring him from above, the bigger mech watching with avid fascination.
Seaspray indulged himself in several scans of Trailbreaker's forceshield. Trailbreaker was a mech engineered for protection and consumption, a siren song for an unbonded distiller. Those shields were impressive to be sure, but he could tell that Trailbreaker was running low on Iridium 191, and this pool was just full of that isotope.
Thoroughly absorbed with calculating just how much he'd be able to improve just this one aspect of Trailbreaker's power and efficiency, Seaspray nearly walked straight into Beachcomber. The two distillers straightened themselves out in a manner that hopefully looked graceful and purposeful to the watching humans. The reassuring comms they sent the two big mechs anxiously watching them were slightly more awkward.
Distractions aside, within an hour of the distillers initiating collection, Hound announced that his sensors could no longer detect toxic or radionuclide materials within the tank. In short, the four mechs had managed to fully process a tank of waste in less than a week from when they had treated it with the nanites.
"Amazing!" Dr. Tanaka proclaimed as the two distillers climbed out and stood within the shielding bubble while Hound and Trailbreaker sprayed solvent over them.
"Can you explain just why this is so amazing?" asked a member of the press corps. "Other than it being alien robots, of course."
"What they just accomplished would have taken us years, and the end result would have been vitrified substances - that means substances turned into glass - that, while not dangerous in terms of leaking, still would be highly radioactive and require long term storage. Seaspray and Beachcomber will be reprocessing those same materials for use in their own and others' systems, if I understand correctly, but without all of the dangerous waste that comes with our own reprocessing procedures. They reuse and recycle everything," she noted with obvious pride.
"Shouldn't the reprocessed plutonium be made available for our own reactors? I mean... it is our waste," another reporter asked.
To the surprise of all, it was actually Weaver who answered that question. "The Autobots are saving the United States taxpayers an estimated seventy-five billion dollars in this clean up. Part of the agreement was that they would be able to use the materials in exchange. You can be sure we will be monitoring them closely to ensure that the materials are used appropriately, for exactly what they have promised."
"But won't they be... leaking radiation when they come out from the shield?" one of the other reporters asked.
"Why don't y'all scan them with your geiger counters and see!" Hound happily announced, walking toward the humans as Trailbreaker brought down the shield.
The human scientists, after a collective gasp, did exactly that. Trust (or in some cases suspicion), but verify was the motto they seemed to live by as they descended on Beachcomber and Seaspray with their scanning equipment and unnecessary but comforting biohazard suits.
Hound and Trailbreaker exchanged a flash of emotions through their bond. The small Distillers had relatively thin armor, and nothing in the way of defensive weapons or energy shielding. It felt unacceptable to leave them undefended, knowing that a single human with a vendetta and the proper weapon could quickly do major damage.
Trailbreaker quietly placed himself behind the small mechs, forming small shielding bubbles that protected their vital systems without interfering with the humans poking and prodding. It was, frankly, a far more complicated and energy-taxing process than the earlier shielding efforts had been. Hound, just as quietly, extended a thick cable from his chest that linked him to his cadre mate's, shutting down several of his own systems so his spark could support some Trailbreaker's minor but necessary ones in a highly controlled manner.
….
It was late at night before they were finally cleared to return to the cleanup headquarters. The extremely efficient distillers, storage tanks filled to the brim with highly refined fuel, were jittery and wired. Hound and Trailbreaker were a different matter. Both had depleted themselves with the day's activities. When the scientists insisted on running the tests yet again at their main lab to assure themselves that Seaspray and Beachcomber's honeycombed tanks were still not leaking, the two large mechs actually growled in irritation - at a low enough register that it was only audible to the distillers.
::Go recharge,:: Beachcomber insisted. ::You are halfway there on your pedes already. We will be fine.::
Trailbreaker and Hound had other ideas, sending terse negative glyphs.
"We understand your concerns, but you will need to wait until we've recharged," Trailbreaker told the humans in a tone that was soft but firm.
"But they are both still running at full capacity," one of the scientists objected. "The two of you can go."
Dr. Tanaka casually cleaned her glasses in a prearranged signal. She had been a solid ally when it came to reminding the other scientists that they were dealing with living beings, not robots.
"Their systems need time to process all that good stuff, and that requires recharge," Hound explained. It was a stretch of the truth, but he was not going to leave the lab without the two smaller mechs.
"Can't they recharge while we continue to test them?" the pushiest of the scientists persisted.
"How would you like someone prodding you while you sleep, Terry?" Dr. Tanaka asked sharply. "We'll run the tests one more time in the morning. You four go get some rest. Nine hundred hours tomorrow be okay?"
"Perfect, we'll report back then," Seaspray assured her, pleased that their human friend knew the larger mechs' recharge needs well enough to have calculated an appropriate length of time.
::What would you two have done if they'd insisted?:: Beachcomber asked as they walked toward the quonset hut where they were being housed.
::Have Hound throw up a hologram around you that looked like one of my shields. My generators are depleted. I'd never hurt one of them, unless one of you was in danger, but they need to know that we have limits.:: Trailbreaker said firmly. ::They know too much about your systems now to be left alone with you,:: he added, his lack of recharge making him terse and grumpy.
Seaspray, his spark surging at the protective behavior directed toward him, just couldn't help himself and ran another scan. He pointedly ignored Beachcomber's cheeky comm asking him if it was his own version of a good night kiss.
They sat side by side as the bigger mechs recharged. Their oversized distiller sparks - large enough to power mechs three times their size - harmonizing their fields, meshing together as though they were one rather than two mechanisms.
They had been the other's primary companion for so long now.
They had never joined sparks, and yet were as close as any cadre-bonded mechs. Before Sandstone and Oceanus had extinguished, Seaspray and Beachcomber had always felt an echo of one another through their Aegis partners' bond. They had been cadre, in the distiller manner, since practically the time they had onlined.
Seaspray's long, spindly fingers reached out to interlace with Beachcomber's own; he leaned over and tilted his helm to rest it against their cojoined hands.
They did not need words. Without one another, both might have faded and extinguished long ago. They should not have been able to last even this long, in any kind of sane state, without the completion that came from an Aegis partner. It was their primary function, their reason for having a spark in the first place.
Tomorrow, they would take the next steps to initiate courting. They would not interface with one another again once they took that step, unless bonding failed to follow.
By Cybertronian standards, their coding was extreme to say the least.
They could not imagine being any different.
Non-Distillers in a similar situation might have spent the night in frantic merges or a grief-filled crossing of cables. For Seaspray and Beachcomber, it was enough to sit side by side, warmly content. If courting did lead where they hoped, they would once again know the echo of one another through the bond their Aegismechs shared. They would be cadre again, in spark and code as well as memory.
Beachcomber's free hand caressed Seaspray's helm, and then brushed along his back until he reached the tightly sealed channel, just below spark level between fins that shifted outward to provide better access. "Soon," he said, smiling, pinging his sonar to scan the tanks below Seaspray's oversized spark chamber. The acoustic vibrations were simultaneously soothing and stimulating for the full tanks.
Seaspray sat up, kneeling over Beachcomber's slender lap, his arms circling his fellow Distiller as their forehelms helms came together in a wash of electromagnetic affection. They could feel the excess energy swelling from within them, from synthagon so highly concentrated and pure that it was little different from AllSpark-sourced energon, now long gone.
It was strange. Once they were bonded again, or even had begun to formally court and actively tend their intended Aegis mechs, it was unlikely they would yearn for one another as they now did. It has always been more of a shared yearning for what they lacked. Much of their interfacing had been the deep sharing of memories.
They held the other's memories like precious isotopes or the rarest of elements. They shared them when most needed, striving to convince the each other for a brief moment that they were not alone.
As cables slipped easily into ports and consciousness past firewalls, they found themselves sharing memories of a different sort. This last time they interfaced, the memories shared would not be of massive mechs and armor blossoming open for the measured, welcome suction. They instead shared memories of one another, and the vorns upon vorns each had spent keeping the other whole.
Overload, when it came many hours later, was sweet and gentle, an expression, yet again, of hope.