Well, you chose Perceptor, so here he is. And all of you hoping for information on Storage Room Beta-13? Well, here it is!
Enjoy!
PERCEPTOR
He was a scientist, first and foremost. Even after vorns of war, after training and modifications, he was a scientist. Always inquisitive, always wondering and exploring and thinking. He never let an opportunity to learn pass him by without snatching at it.
Which was why, when he saw the strange, organic being while on patrol, he didn't immediately start shooting, as most mechs would have done. Instead, he tilted his helm to the side and stared.
It was a strange creature. Dark, gray-green skin. A flat face, wide mouth filled with fangs. Seven digits on each limb, with sharp black claws tipping each digit. Ten long tentacles trailed down its back from its shoulders and spine.
It hissed at the sniper, and Perceptor blinked. This creature... it looked familiar. He started his extensive databanks running, because he knew he had seen one of these, or at least an image capture, at least once before. In the meantime, though, he could at least try to calm it down.
"Shh... Easy. I will not harm you in any way. I do not wish to cause trouble..."
Which was when his databanks popped up an answer.
"Species: Quintesson. Last official siting: when fleeing the planet after the Revolution. Unconfirmed sitings have been reported through the galaxy."
Perceptor jerked backwards. Quintesson? Quintesson? Here? On Cybertron?
… But it was very obviously alone. There were no other organic life forms nearby. This one stood out like a convoy class mech among a crowd of minibots.
Perceptor knelt down and beckoned to the comparatively small being. It hissed, and he held up his hands. The scientist held still. After a moment, the Quintesson slowly started forward. Perceptor smiled, and initiated a transformation. It was one any carrier mech or femme had, as well as a few sires; a chamber for carrying a sparkling while it was still small and young. The Quintesson hissed, and Perceptor hid a frown. How to get it to understand?
After a moment, the scientist mimed covering his optics, then pointed into his chassis. His hands covered the opening, then gestured around. Hidden. No one can see you in here.
The Quintesson watched the Autobot warily for a long moment. Then it nodded slowly and crept forward. Perceptor held as still as possible as the tentacled being climbed nimbly up his leg and chest and peeked into the chamber. After a moment, he climbed in. Perceptor closed it, and heard a squeak from inside. Nothing to do about it now, though.
He slowly rose to his pedes, then started off with an even stride, knowing he would have to complete his patrol route before he could even think about heading back to base and searching for a Quintesson language module.
Oh, this was going to be wonderful! He could hardly wait!
. . .oOo.
The module was actually very easy to find and instal. Easier, actually, than throwing off those he had to ask along the way. He knew he couldn't reveal the Quintesson; everyone would immediately have it killed, no matter the fact that the Quintessons hadn't been seen for millions of vorns.
Knowing this, he had quickly come up with a cover story: mere curiosity. With his reputation as a rather scatter-processored, quirky scientist, it wasn't hard for him to get away with it.
He integrated it quickly, doing so as he walked to his lab, and activated it as he entered the room and opened his chassis plates. The Quintesson leapt out as though burned, hissing and spitting as it went.
Perceptor could understand it now, though.
"Thrice cursed, stullus of a mech!" it hissed, barring black fangs at the scientist. Perceptor drew back.
"My goodness! A little politeness is, perhaps, in order for the mech by whom you were saved!"
The Quintesson froze, staring with wide, dark eyes at the mech. "What?"
"I did save your life, organic. The least you can do is be polite about it."
"No, no... You speak Quintessua?"
Perceptor blinked. "Yes. I aquired and integrated the language module while proceeding here. I am a Cybertronian. We are quite capable of downloading such a file."
"Oh," the Quintesson hummed as it sat back slightly. Then it hissed again. "Why am I here?"
"Because I did not want you to be eliminated. I wished to learn about you."
The creature crouched lower and stepped back on the table, hissing all the while. Perceptor looked at it curiously before realizing that he could have possibly phrased his last sentence more tactfully.
"Ah, I mean I wish to learn from you. I do not wish to cause you any harm."
The Quintesson just hissed again. Perceptor vented and frowned, but nodded slowly. "I understand you will not trust me implicitly right away. I do ask that you give me a chance. I vow I will not harm you."
With that, he turned away and sat down at his terminal, allowing the creature to explore his quarters as he wished.
. . .oOo.
"So you were here to study us in secret, and see how we have been progressing over the vorns?"
The Quintesson nodded. "Yes," it said from its perch on top of one of Perceptor's lab cabinets. "We have been sending scouts for... 'vorns'... now. Ever since we left. Our kind never held a grudge at you winning your freedom. We anticipated it, to be honest. However, I did not expect to land in the middle of a war..."
Perceptor let out a rumble of his engine, the equivalent of a snort. "You haven't been here in a while, then, have you?"
Tavar'ka nodded. "There was an epidemic some time ago. We were busy fighting it off. Then I was sent, and my ship was destroyed. I had been wandering for days.. ah, what do you call them... orns? before you found me."
Perceptor nodded. "Understandable. Now, we were talking earlier about the caste system?"
The gray-green creature nodded. "Right. Well, like I said, there are ten castes..."
. . .oOo.
The sensors bleeped noisily, sounding out the beat of the Quintesson's two three-chambered hearts. Another sensor, this one displayed visually on a screen, showed the intake of the atmosphere through the creature's mouth and nose and out the flared gill-like structures on its sides. Another scanner took readings of its internal workings, creating a detailed digital model of the Quintesson.
After a moment, Perceptor nodded, and Tavar'ka started pulling the sensors off its thick skin.
"Fascinating," the Autobot mused as he examined the readings. "I had no idea a Quintesson's lungs were as efficient as that."
Tavar'ka glanced at the readings as he scrambled up Perceptor's frame, the months he had spent here showing in how easily he maneuvered his way up. "Are they?" he asked as he settled himself on the shoulder not carrying the wide cylinder Perceptor used as both a part of his alt mode and a scope for when he was shooting.
"They are. Very few organics are able to live on Cybertron, because of its thin atmosphere. You, however, seem to be engineered with a thin atmosphere in processor. Do you know on what planet your species originated?"
The Quintesson shook his head, his tentacles waving slightly to counterbalance the movement. "No. We left it aeons ago. There are only rumors. Nothing more."
Perceptor nodded. "I see. Well, let us keep on. It is your turn. What do you wish to know about a Cybertronian frame?"
. . .oOo.
The orns passed quickly. When Perceptor was on patrol, Tavar'ka stayed in his lab or room. When Perceptor was on base, the Quintesson would often stay in the scientist's chassis compartment, hidden from view but able to listen. Plus, it was one of the few places he felt safe enough to sleep.
Which, when Perceptor thought about it, was somewhat ironic. The Quintessons lived in infamy among the Cybertronians. Their former slavers and masters. The monsters creators used to scare their creations into good behavior. Be good or the Quintessons will come and get you!
Yet, this Quintesson was not a monster. He was as much a person as Perceptor. A scientist and scholar, he had said, and proved repeatedly when he was able to keep up with the Autobot scientist (as long as Perceptor spoke in Quintessua. While he was slowly teaching Tavar'ka to understand Cybertronian, it was a difficult language, and the creature by no means knew enough to understand Perceptor's scientific ramblings.
They got along well, the organic and Cybertronian. They had similar interests, similar tastes, and could offer each other so much. Perceptor learned all he could about the Quintessons, and Tavar'ka learned about the Cybertronians. Every tidbit of information was freely given and always returned.
Three groons passed without incident. Tavar'ka managed to stay hidden, and Perceptor was able to pretend he was sticking to a normal schedule.
But things always went wrong eventually.
. . .oOo.
"Perceptor, Roadsign needs those- What is that!"
Perceptor and Tavar'ka jerked up, optics and eyes widened in surprise. The mech who had just walked in, a gray courier, stared back, jaw hanging.
"Slag," Perceptor muttered, and the courier's optics widened even more. Perceptor didn't swear.
The courier took a deep vent and looked over the scene again. Perceptor was sitting at a table, and the gray-green creature was sitting cross legged on the table in front of the red and turquoise scientist. Then he did a double-take as his processors pulled up old image files.
"Quintesson! That's a Quintesson!"
"Yes, it is. Now do please be quiet!" Perceptor begged, standing up and holding his hands out. "It means no harm! It... He crashed here, and his ship was destroyed..."
But he was speaking to no one. The courier had run off, presumably to tell his superiors Perceptor was hiding a Quintesson in his lab.
The scientist vented and glanced at the creature on his desk.
Tavar'ka was sitting dejectedly, head down, tentacles limp. "Let them take me," he finally said, looking up at his friend. "I don't want you to be in trouble."
Perceptor scowled. "No. You are my friend, Tavar'ka. I have few enough of those that I need to protect every one I have. Come here," he said, and opened his chest plates. "Get in. You're staying there until it's safe to come out."
The Quintesson took a step back. "No! Perceptor, I can't! They'll hurt you!"
"I do not care," the scientist said, voice heavy with conviction. When Tavar'ka still seemed reluctant, he reached down and picked the creature up. "I am keeping you safe," he said, and gently, though forcefully, placed the Quintesson in his chassis compartment, closed the panels, and locked them shut.
It was then that the guards burst into his lab.
. . .oOo.
Perceptor stood by his word. He would not open his chest plates. He defended his friend.
His commanders were at a loss. They couldn't execute him – he was needed, his work produced very valuable results, and there really wasn't anything in the rules and regulations that forbid associating with Quintessons. But he wouldn't let them get rid of the organic, and so he couldn't exactly be allowed to stay. He had to be removed from the base.
So they searched, and found a base where his presence – or, more accurately, the Quintesson's presence – would make little difference.
And so, Perceptor was shipped out.
. . .oOo.
"Welcome to Moon Base 84G1-07MVE-VR5E, Autobot...?"
"My designation is Perceptor," the scientist said as he walked slowly up to the black and white Praxian greeting him.
"Perceptor. My name is Prowl. I am the Commander here."
The scientist nodded. "I see..." he trailed off, looking at the Base Commander expectantly. Prowl's doorwings twitched slightly.
"They do not send me information about new arrivals. They only alert me when someone is coming. Transferring the files over such a long distance is considered wasteful, when they can just be transmitted from the shuttle when it gets here."
Perceptor nodded. "I understand. You should know, however, why I have been sent here."
"Very well. Please explain."
Perceptor took a deep vent. "Perhaps in a more... secure environment?"
"If you wish. This way, please."
. . .oOo.
"So you are saying that this Quintesson is not violent or vengeful in any means? And that the Quintessons anticipated us to rebel?"
"Yes, sir."
Prowl mused on this for a moment, helm cocked to the side, gold optics dimming slightly. "I see. May I meet him?"
"Ah... Yes. Just a moment," Perceptor said, then focused inward, working through the locks he had placed on his chassis compartment. After a few kliks, the plates clicked and slid apart. Tavar'ka climbed out, hissing slightly at the scientist.
"Do you know how cramped it gets in there?" he grumbled before noticing the Praxian, who was watching him intently. He cowered back slightly against Perceptor's plating, watching the black and white mech with gleaming eyes. "Who is that?"
"Tavar'ka, this is Prowl, my new Base Commander," the scientist said in Quintessua, then switched back to Cybertronian. "Prowl, this is Tavar'ka, the Quintesson scientist and researcher."
Prowl nodded slowly. "I see. Tell him it is a pleasure to meet him."
Perceptor did so, and Prowl smiled when Tavar'ka returned the greeting through the scientist.
The tactician gazed at the two for a moment before he wove his fingers together and rested his elbows on the desk. "Perceptor, you are a scientist, and are accustomed to having your own lab, correct?"
"Yes, sir."
"And, as most mechs will not be as understanding as some can be, you will want a room where you will not be disturbed."
Perceptor blinked, surprised. "If at all possible. Tavar'ka will live for some time yet, or at least be unable to leave, and I would appreciate being able to continue working with him until then."
Prowl nodded, a tiny sparkle in his optic. "Then follow me."
Their walk was relatively short. The base was smaller than any Perceptor had been stationed at in the past, so it wouldn't ever take too long to get from one side to another.
The stopped in the Storage Decks, on Level C. Prowl stood in front of an unmarked door.
"This is Storage Room Beta-13. Jazz has been using it as a storage room for his Special Operations supplies. To be quite honest, I have no idea why he needs them out here, or even how he got them, but that is inconsequential. He recently decided that it was unwise to keep everything in one place, and so has moved most of it out. As we now have an empty room that, until now, has been forbidden entrance to any but myself and Jazz... I believe it prudent to put it to use. You had a reputation as a very dedicated scientist before, no?"
"Correct."
"Perhaps we can benefit off that... Say you have a penchant for toxic chemicals, as we already have someone who enjoys explosions..."
Perceptor raised an optic ridge as he examined the door critically, mentally reviewing Prowl's statement. Another scientist who enjoyed explosives? He would have to look into that. "To tell the truth, I do enjoy experimenting with chemicals regarded by most as poisonous."
"Dear Primus, not another one," Prowl muttered, and Perceptor barely held back a laugh. "Well, that will work well, then," the tactician said at a more regular volume. "Welcome to Base, Perceptor, and your new lab."
Perceptor eyed the door again before turning to the tactician with a small smile. "Thank you."
... Yeah, I did that. -.- Perceptor has a pet/friend Quintesson. And a penchant for toxic chemicals. Looks like he'll fit right in!
And it looks like the Twins are coming next! I'll reset the poll, and you can all vote again! ^.^
Also, review! I love reviews. They make me happy. :D