-Creative Wheeljack
"It is magnificent," Hoist declared. His vocalizer positively resonated with awe.
"I quite agree," Grapple said, nodding to drive home his point. "A true master work. I've never seen anything like it." He gestured with his energon cube, as if toasting his subject, before taking a sip.
Mirage had just entered the Autobots', ah, 'canteen', if you will, although it was known by many names, 'recreation room' being the most popular. Before the Ark crash-landed into Mt. St. Hilary, many of the rooms had served different functions. Then gradually, as they acclimatized to Earth, the Ark went from 'ship' to 'base camp', and the Ark's interior had to adjust accordingly. Yet Mirage was one robot who felt he would never accept the Ark as his home, however temporary it may be. His usual habit was to unobtrusively grab his ration of energon, take it to a remote table, and then sip it in solitude. The others, for the most part, made no effort to include him, and in return, he made no effort to join them.
This was before Mirage passed by Hoist and Grapple's table. Being aloof did not mean becoming unobservant. In spite of himself, their conversation caught his interest. Besides, in Mirage's opinion, Hoist and Grapple were among the few civilized Autobots around. It would not hurt to pause a moment and gather some information.
"One of your projects, I presume," Mirage interjected smoothly. The key to obtaining knowledge was to insert oneself seamlessly, as if one had always been there.
"Well, yes and no. We merely provided the exoskeleton," Hoist explained, somewhat cryptically.
"And while we attempted to pay fitting tribute to wonders inside, we could not hope to rival them," Grapple added.
"Though we did quite fine work, considering our time and material constraints," Hoist remarked.
"Yes indeed, as always," Grapple agreed with a smile.
Mirage kept his confusion carefully hidden under an expressionless exterior. One did not become a successful spy by revealing too much. "Surely you gentle mechs are being modest," he chided.
"Not at all. We purposefully held ourselves back in planning and executing our design. It would not do for the inner brilliance to be outshined by the mere outer casing which was but a simple necessity," declared Grapple, solemnly placing a palm over his front grill.
What was this? The great architect Grapple, regarded as a genius in his field, opting for a basic design in order to allow another's creation to shine brighter? Mirage's curiosity was definitely piqued. "I believe a little clarification is in order. Are you saying that the pair of you constructed a plain building to house some glorious interior decorating? I had no idea there was an Autobot among us that specialized in such things."
The two stared at him with something akin to incredulous horror. "Oh, my word!" Hoist exclaimed. "Can it be? He truly has no idea. To reduce such an amazing achievement to…to mere decorating! Absurd, really."
"But as you said yourself, my dear Hoist, he must surely be ignorant of its existence. What a terrible thing, for him especially of all mechs, not to know of this outstanding feat!" stated Grapple.
"The subject matter, the beauty which pierces the spark, it would hold a very special significance for you, Mirage. Of that I am certain. You simply must see it," Hoist said with conviction.
"Yes, you need to see it. We won't take no for an answer!" Grapple insisted.
Mirage was now curious and amused. As a big patron of the arts on Cybertron, he was well acquainted with how artists tended to take themselves very seriously, and how temperamental they could be. He was sure that Hoist and Grapple were blowing this entire thing out of proportion. Still, it was interesting that they should think that he in particular would be strongly moved by…whatever it was.
The other question was the identity of their mystery artist. Upon further consideration, Mirage realized that it had to be Sunstreaker. There was no one else currently located at the Ark who it could be. Although Mirage had never seen his work, the spy knew that Sunstreaker fancied himself an artist. Perhaps Grapple and Hoist had constructed a museum of sorts to display Sunstreaker's art.
With a sharp pang of nostalgia Mirage recalled the lovely museums of old on Cybertron. How he would often spend a spare orn wandering through the galleries. But of course, all that was before the war. Many of the museums were burned out husks now. His lip components thinned into a bitter line at the thought.
If Grapple and Hoist had found a way to bring some of Cybertron's culture to this organic world, then Mirage could certainly take a moment to visit it. The rest of his shift was free, at least. "Very well, let us go and see what Sunstreaker has wrought," Mirage said.
"Sunstreaker? Why have you mentioned him?" Hoist questioned, puzzled.
"It is his work we are going to see, is it not?" Mirage answered.
Hoist chuckled. "Not at all. It's Wheeljack's craftsmanship that we are taking you to see."
Mirage wondered if his audios were still functioning properly. "Wheeljack? Ah, it's a joke. Of course."
Grapple and Hoist glanced at one another. "We're perfectly serious, Mirage."
"But you can't be…Wheeljack? He's no artist," Mirage protested.
"Any act of creation can be said to contain a touch of artistry. Wheeljack is, above all, a creator," Hoist informed him.
"Yes, I understand what you are saying. Yet a quantum flux capacitor or a gigametamorphasing molecular shield inducer array, while incredibly useful, are hardly what I would consider a thing of beauty," Mirage said.
"The best examples of art demonstrate great skill and daring. They are enduring, evoke powerful emotions in the observer—need I go on? To combine something eternal with something useful, that is the finest expression of creativity I can think of. I would marvel at its form and function any time," Grapple explained. "Also, there is no other here that has achieved that ultimate act of creation, unaided by outside forces, as Wheeljack has—the giving of life to another Transformer."
"Ah yes, the Dinobots," Mirage conceded. They certainly evoked strong feelings in the observer, however negative those feelings tended to be. Unlike many other Autobots, Mirage understood that the Dinobots were a valuable part of the team, if a somewhat unpredictable one. They had undoubtedly saved the rest of the Autobots on numerous occasions. "Their Terran forms seem more clunky than graceful to my optics; however the flame-throwing certainly shows a certain flare for the dramatic. I'll give Wheeljack a few points for his somewhat unusual sense of style." Mirage flashed a brief smile.
Grapple smiled in return. "You are not taking this seriously," he gently admonished.
"In this case," Hoist added, "seeing really is believing."
"Perhaps I just don't understand Wheeljack. He seems a nice enough fellow. We certainly get along quite well. I've joined him in group card games often enough, which were fun. Jazz has organized several races for the race car formatted Autobots among us, and I've enjoyed a friendly rivalry with him on the track.
"But I don't see how he can keep working on something for orn after orn, even as it continually fails, until that final moment when it doesn't. And then to put his creation to work, after all the effort involved, only to have the Decepticons steal and/or destroy it. Actually, the past several times it has been our own side which has destroyed Wheeljack's inventions, just to keep them out of the enemies' hands. Frankly, sometimes I don't know why he doesn't just give up," Mirage stated.
Grapple made a small sound of distress, and Hoist put an arm around him comfortingly. "That has been a terrible burden for me to bear. I constantly have to watch as buildings of mine, that I put so much into, are destroyed. It's this miserable war!" Grapple exclaimed.
"Wheeljack has thought of that, remember? He took every precaution this time to ensure that our building and his creation inside of it are safe," Hoist reassured him.
"If only there was some way to guarantee it. Never mind, this won't get you any closer to witnessing it for yourself, Mirage. Come with us," Grapple offered.
They traveled quite some distance into the Oregon wilderness in order to see this so-called 'magnificent creation' of Wheeljack's. Mirage did not appreciate the rough terrain they were forced to travel on. His low-slung formula 1 racer alt mode was not built for it. Hoist as a tow truck and Grapple as a crane had far less problems, and they transformed excitedly as they reached their destination.
"Do you see this?" Grapple pointed at the structure in front of them. "We constructed this with a clever mixture of materials carefully chosen to blend in with the surroundings, while still retaining exceptional strength."
"Then Wheeljack provided an additional safeguard to keep this place from enemy detection by coating it in one of his own inventions. It is a kind of flexible polymer which absorbs any attempts at visual or audio scans. It's really quite an ingenious little compound—" Hoist was building up a rather enthusiastic head of steam.
Mirage decided to stop him before the pair started to compose an aria over every nut and bolt in the place. "Let's just go inside, shall we?" he quickly said.
In all of his existence, never had he been so happy to be proven wrong. Hoist and Grapple had not been exaggerating when they praised Wheeljack's work. In Mirage's opinion, they had not gone far enough. Words failed him. It truly was like nothing he had ever experienced before, and yet…so spark-shatteringly familiar.
The interior suggested a vastness not thought possible going by the exterior dimensions. The entire place was pitch black, while still filled with an amazing variety of vivid color. His surroundings were not static, either. The landscape before him was ever changing, consumed with dips, swirls, and bursts of light that shone brilliantly against the darkness.
Mirage stepped slowly into what he guessed was the center of the room. The feeling of enormous open space was increased as he moved forward. It was as if he inhabited but a small corner of the great universe, and the rest spread out before him, challenging him to explore. He could hardly imagine that all of this had been accomplished within the confines of the small structure.
Distant stars glowed fiercely against the inky backdrop of outer space. Nebula cast a panorama of intense color over his optics. To his surprise, an actual comet streaked by as he stared at the phenomena around him. But the most poignant sight to greet his optical sensors was the two gibbous moons reflecting their pale borrowed light across the cityscape of Iacon.
Home. He would never tire of the vision of his beloved Cybertron. Observing the incredible wonders around him, he felt it resonate deep within his spark. The instant recognition and sense of belonging… Goodness, he was becoming positively maudlin!
As Mirage turned in a circle in an attempt to take everything in, he realized something else. This wasn't merely visual stimuli; it was a complete sensory experience. He felt the cool metal of the city street vibrating beneath his foot plates. The faint metallic tang of the towers hit his olfactory sensors like a jolt to the laser core. He could hear the hum of traffic somewhere in the depths below, as he stood on the highest level of Iacon.
Mirage reached out to touch the native foliage growing along the side of the walkway. The light from the moons absolutely gleamed across their delicate metal surfaces. Burnished orange, cool gray, deep blue—all recalled fondly by his processor—here for him to experience once more. He even delighted in the sharp prick to his digits as his hands touched the plant's spines.
"This is…astounding," Mirage whispered, overcome.
"He understands now," someone said behind him—Hoist or Grapple, he no longer cared.
For he had spotted Wheeljack in that moment, standing farther off, seemingly floating unsupported in outer space. Wheeljack's back was to Mirage, his hands clasped behind him. The inventor's helm was tilted up toward the endless stars. But not a flicker of acknowledgement glowed from Wheeljack's vocal indicators; he was utterly silent.
Mirage approached him. "Wheeljack…how?"
The voice right beside him finally roused Wheeljack from his thoughts. "Oh, hey Mirage," Wheeljack greeted him. "Guess you guys decided to bring someone else along this time?" This last was addressed to the two mechs in the distance. But they did not respond, both lost in contemplation of their surroundings.
Wheeljack didn't seem to mind their silence. His helm fins projected a joyful blue light. "So, now you've seen my little side project. I've been working on it for a while now—whenever I could get a spare moment. How do you like it?" Wheeljack's vocalization held boyish enthusiasm and pride, but his question seemed genuine.
Mirage was surprised that Wheeljack would have to ask. "Like it, how could I not? I love it! It is home, it's the most extraordinary thing I have ever seen, it's... I can't do it justice, Wheeljack. However, it is just a little surreal to be standing over what appears to be open space. It even feels different from the path behind us."
Wheeljack looked down at their feet, looking as if they were hovering over the yawning depths of the universe. He made a soft sound of amusement, helm fins flickering dimly, before he fell silent again. Wheeljack seemed to be considering something.
"I suppose I could explain it all to ya, how it's done I mean. But in my experience, most mechs don't wanna hear me go on about the technical aspects of my work. And in this instance, I think it's a case of too much explanation ruinin' the effect, if ya get me," Wheeljack said.
"But then why did you do it? Would you at least tell me that?" Mirage asked.
"Why?" Wheeljack became pensive once more. "To see if I could, I guess. I love a challenge. But what it mostly was, well, I guess I was a little homesick, and I wanted to recreate something of my past. My creator lived in one of the towers, and we had an observatory at the top. We used ta go up an' sit there, talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes we'd be there for a long time, not sayin' anything at all. That's where some of my first ideas for inventions were formed. I missed having a place like that ta think."
"It's no secret that I'm homesick, Wheeljack. I think this is a fantastic help. A bit of a real home on this lousy planet," Mirage commented.
"Heh. But I don't dislike Earth; I think it's just fine. My alt mode on Cybertron was great, but I can do some real fun stuff with my new Earth alt mode. And I've made some friends here, too. But I guess some of the rest of the guys would appreciate this place also, eh? I wasn't quite finished with it before, but I am now," Wheeljack informed him.
"I think 'appreciation' is a vast understatement," Mirage said with a huge smile.
-END-
Note: I wanted to show that Wheeljack is more than just 'kaboom'. I hope I was at least slightly successful. Not that I don't love a good explosion. I once spent an entire afternoon waiting for a dry ice-and-plastic-bottle bomb to go off (great fun). And I once helped construct a bomb out of an MRE heater (very effective). I'm sure the fictional Wheeljack enjoys a good explosion too. But that's not all there is to him. Hee. Oh, and 'flux capacitor'? I bet Wheeljack and Doc Brown would be great friends.
