III
My fifth day online was the day I got my first crush, and the day I ran away from home.
Sunstreaker had taken me with him to the local commerce hub. While he haggled with an energon vendor for a tank of the custom-refined mixture they fed me for my first week, I took the opportunity to look around. I was getting better at controlling my perception (i.e. not looking too deeply into other people's sparks), but I hadn't had much practice in the real world. Sunstreaker and Thundercracker kept me pretty secluded. So this trip into a busy market was an exciting adventure for me.
I turned slowly to take in the rest of the arched bazaar-court. It was a full circle of small, fascinating-looking shops. I practiced reading the bright signs: "Needlenose's Needed Notions: Everything a Bot Needs to Be Chic." "Fixit's Repairs: One Hour, or it's Free." "All-State Transport: Load-Carriers Wanted. We Pay For Your Time & Travel." "Tracks's Trinkets." On almost every door there was a little sign with, side-by-side, the angry purple badge on Thundercracker's chest, and Sunstreaker's sad red one. Some of these signs had letters underneath proclaiming, "Bots & Cons Both Welcomed Here!" The first time I had seen these, I had thought my makers must be rulers of the entire planet. But when I'd asked if that were true, Thundercracker about blew a gasket laughing. I still hadn't gotten a full answer. But it seemed that every mech I saw wore either the red or the purple face. The store we were in now was one of the few who did not have the "Welcome" sign. Instead, it had a crossed-out purple face displayed prominently on the door. I wondered suddenly if this was why Thundercracker had stayed home, rather than come with us to the market. Uneasy now, I inched away from Sunstreaker. I did not want to look like I might be doing business with a trader who would not allow one of my makers in his shop.
At the materials shop next door ("The Ironmongery, Rumble & Frenzy, Proprietors"), two little bots began unloading metal sheets from a flatbed trailer-truck. I practiced observing without being overwhelmed. It was only when I caught an accidental glimpse of spark that I realized the truck was a mech, too. But I wasn't the only one staring. The working mechs kept turning to stare back at me. One of the two short bots came over, looked me up and down approvingly, congratulated me on being forged, and offered me a sweet energon treat. But I obeyed the strict instructions I'd been given before we left home, and politely refused.
Sunstreaker's deal was taking forever. The vendor kept on saying angry things about "partnering with a Decepticon!" while Sunstreaker, never the mildest of mechs, kept grimly reassuring him about whatever-the-problem-was. Any second, one or the other of them was going to blow his top. I tried to find something else to distract me.
A crowd of twenty or so mechs was gathering now on the central island of the bazaar's traffic circle. They were holding up homemade signs and chanting things that made no sense to me. "Bring Back Our Femmes"? "Death to Kidnappers"? "Conspiracy of Shame"? "Call Out The Cover-Up"? I didn't know what any of it meant. But I could tell that they were angry.
A contingent of vehicles drove in from one of the many spoke-roads which radiated from this commerce hub. As they arrived, the mechs holding the signs poured off the traffic-circle, and surrounded the newcomers as they transformed. The volume of their clamor rose as they began shouting for the attention of a silver-gray mech whose height set him apart from all the others in his retinue. I looked at him, and my jaw dropped. He was magnificent.
It wasn't that his form was all that different from the many others I had seen, though it was obviously much more powerful than most. It was his bearing. He moved like a mech who knew down to his boot-soles who he was and what he was made for. I watched him giving directions to a few bots in the crowd, and saw them scurry to obey. As they did so, the silver mech's headcrest unfurled proudly to become four splayed-back fins, all inlaid with gold that sparkled in the sunlight.
I'd never seen his like anywhere. My makers had said I was different. I was special, built from rare materials. This crowned mech who moved through the crowd as if he were their king – I was sure he was also someone rare and special. Perhaps even another custom-crafted newling. Like myself! And if he really was a newling like me, and had found such self-command and purpose... well then, maybe there was hope that I could do the same?
I went inside and tugged Sunstreaker's arm. "Who's that?" I pointed out across the market.
"Gimme a minute, Rainbow." (He was still dealing with the testy vendor.)
But the mystery mech and all his entourage were streaming out now through one of the exit archways. I tugged again, harder. "Please, Dad! I don't have a minute!"
"Newlings, eh?" The energon vendor sniffed. "They always think the world revolves around them. You gotta show her otherwise. Firm hand, and all that, eh?"
The mystery mech was disappearing through the arch now. I tugged frantically.
Sunstreaker scowled and shook his head at the vendor. Then he accompanied me outside. "Who do you need to know so desperately?"
I looked around. But the crowned silver mech was gone. And because like an idiot I'd not paid enough attention, I could not be sure from this distance which spoke-road he'd gone down.
I hung my head. "We're too late. I just thought maybe I saw my brother. But he's gone now."
"Brother? You don't have a brother. What made you think-?"
"He had this... this fancy..." I gave up. It had not been just his height or looks that I admired, that set him above the rest. It had been his sense of self.
Sunstreaker huffed a huge, frustrated sigh. He forced his voice to sound reasonable. "No one's made any newling mechs, Rainbow. Just femmes. You don't have a brother, and thanks to Prowl being a Smelter-loving- well, being himself, you're not getting any new sisters either. Now please. Sit right here where I can see you, and let me get back in there before Jackpot decides to sell your filtered energon to some other Autobot."
That was the end of it. At least, as far as Sunstreaker was concerned. But I was certain he was wrong. I kept thinking about that unknown mech, replaying the recorded memory over and over, watching how the sun had glinted off his mirror-bright, unpainted finish. Unpainted polished metal like my own. By evening, I'd driven myself crazy. So I sneaked out back, transformed, and ran away. I had to find out who this mystery mech was for myself.
I drove toward the high towers of Tessarus proper, filled with the certainty of my omnipotence. To this day, I'm not sure what I thought I would find. A roadside screen that printed out the answer to my question as I passed? A mind-reading dataport I could plug into and download his name from? The mystery mech himself? I admit, that was my most secret hope. I tried to make my way along the same route I'd taken with Sunstreaker that morning. But it was hopeless. After an hour's fruitless driving, my only discovery was that a five-day-old newling was about as capable on her own as a dropped wingnut. The towers were no closer, and the sun was sinking fast.
"I'm absolutely not lost," I muttered over and over. As if saying it would make it true. Would make these creepy, empty lanes and tunnels less creepy. (I'd seen no other bots at all for several minutes.) Sometimes above the walls that hemmed me in, I caught a glimpse of what I hoped was the tip of one of the central towers. I had no idea which way home was, and tried not to think about it. I ground my gears (driving is much more complicated than the older mechs let on), rounded another dim, deserted street-corner, and swore I would spend the night in a doorway before I'd admit defeat. Before I'd call for a rescue. The only rescue I'd accept was if my mystery mech rounded the corner, recognized me as long-lost kin, and taught me how to be just as amazing as he was. All before the sun set, of course.
The streetlights started humming into life, but they only made the shadows seem darker. Ahead of me in one such dark shadow, I heard a gate creak open and slam shut. A hunchbacked, ugly mech skulked out into the dim orange glow. His every awkward movement signaled a wish to remain unnoticed. But I needed some directions. So I slowed to a stop and transformed as gracefully as I could.
"Excuse me," I called after him.
He jumped, and scuttled away faster.
"Stop! Please!" (I may have shrieked. I was desperate.)
He flinched like he was expecting a blow. I kept my distance so as not to scare him off. "Please, sir. I only need directions. Please. Can you tell me how to reach the city center from here?"
With great reluctance, the strange bot finally turned around to face me. When he did, his mouth flew open, and he stared like he'd been hit with a stun gun. Then he fell onto his stumpy knees right there in the middle of the road. I was flustered (and a tiny bit amused). But then the misshapen, grease-streaked bot covered his face in his hands, and started sobbing.
"I can't believe you came to me," he blubbered. "Me! " He flapped a grimy little arm. "Don't look at me. I'm hideous."
I had no idea what was wrong with him. But I had to try and help. I mean, I still needed directions; and he was the only bot around! But as I inched toward him, this seemed like a worse and worse idea. For one thing, he was really, really ugly. We're talking massive screw-ups in the planning and construction phase, here. But what's worse, he smelled. I realized to my horror that he oozed some foul black substance from his every joint. It drooled out of the corner of his mouth, and even from his optics. I froze, and fought back a gag reflex.
Still he knelt there, snuffling wetly, unable to take his eyes from me.
Confused, concerned, and (I'll admit it) frightened as the sun's last light winked out from the unreachable tower above, I did the one thing I could always resort to in an emergency. I opened the part of myself that I'd kept tightly closed since my disastrous birth. I looked into the blubbering bot's spark. I read his soul. I meant to only look for the way out of here. But what I saw was much, much more than I had bargained for. Even today, that spark is still the most desolate, lonely thing I've ever seen. I forgot all about my being lost.
He was the arm of a much larger robot, the sum of himself and four other outcasts. He could read their thoughts and share in their emotions. And every single thought of theirs was hatred and resentment of himself. Every emotion he shared was revulsion at having to link with such a disgusting thing as him. "Hideous thing." "Abomination." "Thing." Blot howled and swung the fist his body had become. Abominus, the five-bot combiner everyone always wished was somewhere else, crashed through another battle. Blot swung himself at anything that moved: a fist that smashed everything in his path, not caring if it was Autobot or Decepticon – they all hated him anyway.
There was a flash of light, a stab of pain, and the scene cut to some time later.
"Get out!" Hun-Gurr's cold eyes stared pitilessly at him.
Blot backed away from his team leader, and slipped in his own glistening viscera. "I only came for the medkit. Please, Hun-Gurr. I'm- I'm sick." Blot tried to hold his gutted side together, but since his whole arm was hanging by a string, it was a lost cause. Something warm and wet and sticky oozed out of the massive wound.
Hun-Gurr looked utterly disgusted. It was how everyone always looked, when they caught accidental sight of him. "Sick, Blot? I'm the one who's sick. Sick of looking at you! Sick of smelling your foul stench. Sick of cleaning up whatever filth you're always leaking. Why don't you die already? Stop making more of whatever that goop is, and let yourself bleed out! Think how much nicer this whole Primus-damned planet would be, if you were no longer on it!"
Hun-Gurr slammed down the makeshift door between them. "Go find some kind-hearted Autobot with a gun, who'll put us all out of your misery. I'm going to bed!"
Blot hid until Hun-Gurr slid into recharge. He could see the medkit. It had fallen on its side behind the locked door's wire mesh. He stretched his fingers hopelessly, but could not reach it. He stared at his sleeping teammates a while longer. Then he turned and shuffled off into the frontline wilderness. He lay down and tried to follow Hun-Grr's last advice. Tried to bleed out. To die.
But as with everything else in his life, Blot failed.
Sobbing, I wrenched myself free from this poor bot's spark. I gasped in a ragged breath of the repugnant air around him. Then I threw my arms around him, heedless of the stinking discharge. The slime he oozed felt awful on my pristine finish. And I wasn't sure I liked throwing my arms around a stranger. But I had seen his spark. It pulled at me. What else could I have done?
The hunchbacked mech - Blot of Ultrex - clung to me like he thought I was a dream. Like he thought that I could save him. Like he thought he'd finally died and gone to heaven. And I let him. I let him cry that nasty sticky gunk onto my shoulder. I like to think that, if you'd seen what I saw in his poor spark, you would have let him blubber on your shoulder too.
"You're so beautiful!" he slobbered. "So beautiful! And yet you came to me! To me!" He gave a high, desolate laugh, and made a vain attempt to scrape the muck off me. (It only smeared.) "I'm so, so sorry!"
"It's all right," I said. (It wasn't; I was gagging.)
"Will you please be my friend? Please!" he begged. "You won't have to tell anybody. You won't have to be seen in public with me. You won't have to acknowledge me on the street. But please, will you be my friend?"
I'd seen his spark. "Sure," I choked. "Sure, I'll be your friend. Come on now-" I stood back, and offered him my hand. "Let's get up…" (I was hoping I had not scraped up my knees. Hoping this stuff would wash off without staining, or corroding, or...)
A rough shout tore through the night air. "Get your filthy hands off her, Blot! How dare you?"
Blot yelped, and lurched away from me, hands raised in instant surrender. An audial-shattering jet engine boomed only a few meters above me. Thundercracker's turbines whined as he banked hard to come around.
Blot dropped into a weird bipedal beast-mode, and tore off in sudden panic. But his short-legged, waddling run was far too slow. A horn blared, and Sunstreaker roared around the nearest corner in a bright flash of yellow. He slewed sideways across the alley, penning Blot in.
I sighed in both humiliation and relief. My makers had come to retrieve me.
"Hi, Dad." I waved a sticky hand at him.
Blot backpedaled and almost fell. Then Thundercracker hit us with one of his famous sonic booms, and the entire world dissolved to dizzy ringing in our audials.
Thundercracker transformed and slammed down at the alley's other end. Blot was caught between Sunstreaker's rumbling fury, and the outraged blue wall of metal that was Thundercracker.
So was I.
"Get away from our newling, you disgusting vermin!" Sunstreaker lunged at the cringing Blot, but grimaced and stopped short of touching him. Thundercracker was not so fastidious. He walked up and gave the hunchback mech a shove that sent him flying. "If you ever come near her again, you piece of filth," he growled, "I will end you."
"Wait!" I shouted, confused and shaken. "He's yucky, but he wasn't hurting me!"
"Not yet," said Thundercracker darkly.
Sunstreaker made a face and pointed to the new smears on my armor. "You call this not hurting?" he demanded. "You're going to need at least three hours in the wash to get that out! Not to mention diseases. I'm sure he's carrying several of them."
Blot threw me a haunted, beaten look from underneath his heavy brow. "I didn't hurt her," he whimpered. "I'd never, ever hurt her!"
Thundercracker pointed a finger back down the alley. "Get out. Now."
Blot sidled fearfully past him, limped off, and disappeared.
Now Thundercracker whirled on me. "What in Unicron's name were you thinking? Smelt it, 'Bow, you could have been-" He stopped, and looked wildly around, his arm-guns buzzing with pent-up charge. I didn't know what he was so afraid of; it wasn't as if the buildings were planning to attack us. "Are you all right?" he asked me finally.
"Of course I'm all right!" I snapped. "I was just- just driving!" I tried to wipe some of the mucus off me. "What right do you have to treat Blot like that?" I was trying for righteous indignation, mostly to cover up my own antipathy toward the leaking mech. But no one noticed. I was confused by my makers' reaction. This seemed like more concern than was warranted by a bit of slime. I considered trying to find the answer in their sparks.
"Yo 'Bow. Optics up here." Sunstreaker barked. "That spark voodoo of yours gives me the creeps."
"I wasn't peeking!" I protested hotly. Because I hadn't been peeking. Not yet.
"Leave her alone," Thundercracker said wearily. "She's already seen your glorious Autobot spark, and knows to stay out of it. Here." He held out a grimy rag to me. "Get yourself cleaned up, Rainbow."
Sunstreaker scowled at Thundercracker. Then he shook his finger at me. "You are headed straight for the washracks when we get home, young lady."
Thundercracker lifted one of my arms, sighted along its plating, and began scrutinizing my arm and shoulder joints with a sub-pocket magnifier. "Are you sure he didn't hurt you?"
"Didn't hurt me," I sighed. "Only slimed."
"Did you talk with anyone else tonight?" Sunstreaker tilted my chin up, and shone a finger-light into my optics, looking for who-knows-what.
"What? No! Look, nothing happened, all right? I didn't even scratch my plating, see?"
"Scratched plating is the least of our concerns," Sunstreaker muttered darkly (and this floored me). He gave a dissatisfied grunt, and folded the tiny light back into his finger. My makers turned aside for one of their whispered conferences.
"I wasn't in danger!" I called to their backs. "You know I can find out instantly if some bot's not trustworthy-"
"Your 'magic powers' wouldn't matter," Sunstreaker snapped over his shoulder. "You'd have no chance against a trained soldier."
"But-!"
"No need to terrorize her," Thundercracker warned.
"No." Sunstreaker shoved the taller jetformer aside. "She needs to know. I'm not going to lose one like your Constructicon pals did!"
Thundercracker grabbed Sunstreaker's arm roughly, and leaned right down into his face. Sunstreaker flinched. "Sorry!" he squeaked. "I didn't mean-"
Thundercracker looked over at me. I backed up a step. I'd never been afraid of him before. He shuddered – I heard his armor rattle. Then he seemed to shrink into himself. "You're right" he said. "It could as easily have been us." He waved a hand dully at Sunstreaker. "Tell her. But don't scare her more than you have to."
Scowling, Sunstreaker shook off Thundercracker's hand. He put his hands on my shoulders, bent close, and spoke soberly. "You're special, Rainbow. But you're not safe. Some bots aren't above stealing a femme newling if they find one wandering alone."
"Oh." I said. "I see." But I didn't. All this stuff was clear as crude oil to me. I glanced quickly into the shivering sparks of my creators, and fresh guilt sloshed into my confusion. I might not understand their fear, but I could see that it was real. "I get it," I said (though I didn't). "Running off: bad idea. Sticking with you: good idea."
I threaded my arms through theirs – more to comfort them than because I needed it – and we formed a family huddle. Sunstreaker winced at the remnants of Blot's effluence, but still held onto me tightly. I was just as trapped by their need to care for me as I'd been by Blot's pathetic cries. It was all in their sparks, plainly to be read.
I folded down into my alt-mode with a sigh of defeat. "Show me the way home, please."
