Disclaimer: Transformers and all connected blessings belong to Hasbro. The story is for entertainment purposes only.
Chapter 25: Hound and Beachcomber
Many Transformers had a natural repulsion to organic life, or life forms made of flesh, blood, bone, and cartilage. Perhaps it was the smell, or their process of waste removal, or their many disgusting, yet necessary habits for survival. Maybe it was the mess many organics made when killed violently, with their biological fluids spilling out and all, and how the body just became more and more gross as it decayed. The point being is that a majority of Transformers were disgusted with organic life and were more than happy enough to stay on well-sanitized Cybertron and its accompanying planets.
But there was a faction of Transformers who could look past these awkward facts and see their beauty: The colorful feathers, the soft fur, the beautiful eyes and how they often glowed in the dark. They could also admire the way organic species survived in spite of having several obstacles in life, such as starvation, dehydration, sickness, territorial violence, natural disasters, and predators. Such mechs often became biologists and naturists, such as the green and grey mech sitting in the bushes now, looking out into a field to watch a herd of organic creatures.
These organic creatures had four long, dainty legs carrying their bodies well over ten feet off the ground. Their necks were long and thick, topped with a canine-like head with four tall, straight horns crowning their brows with two horns in front and two longer ones in the back. Their tails were long and thin, ending in a brush that was partially long, hard spikes and partially soft downy-like hairs. The six-eyed creatures grazed on the yellow grass that blended in with their golden fur perfectly, ignoring the strange metal giant near by. He had never given them reason to fear him, and hence he was just a natural part of their life.
The Transformer watching the herd spotted a baby one of the creatures; stumbling over its long legs and tossing its head about as if to threaten someone with its tiny, soft horns. It frequently jumped and bleated in pain when it accidentally struck itself with its spiky tail end. Smiling, the Transformer adjusted a small, gun-like device on his shoulder to aim at the colt. After a moment, the image of a multiple-winged, rainbow-colored insect appeared in the air over the colt's head. The colt bleated happily and gave chase to the insect, bounding and dancing about after it. When the mother crowed for the colt, the insect faded and disappeared from the air. The colt, obeying its mother with the entertainment gone, trotted on back to her.
"Hey, mech, that was some swell trick you did there."
The green Transformer gave a small start and turned to see a blue and white mech coming out of the woods. The new mech had a strange round structure at the back of his head and a visor covering his optics, but his monotone, easy-going voice said that he was friendly.
"Easy; just a little hologram," the green mech replied quietly, not wishing to spook the herd. "I didn't know that other mechs beside my self came to this planet."
"Same here, dude, same here," the other mech said, sitting beside the green one. "Name's Beachcomber. What's your name, brother?"
"Hound," the green mech replied, shaking hands. "So, what brings you here?"
"I'm just chilling and watching the life live and the critters be the sitters and just being one with nature."
Okay, partially creepy, but Hound shook it off.
"You like organic life, too?" he asked.
"Yeah, mech. And you?" Beachcomber asked.
"I love it!" Hound said, leaning forward to peer at the herd, "Transformers gotta put their Sparks in pre-made body shells, but organics do everything with completely nothing! How do they do that? And how does it feel? What's it like feeling things as a fleshling? Do they experience pain and pleasure like we do, or feel full like we do? Do they feel different with different emotions? And how do they see, anyhow? You'd think that having globs of goo for optics would make it impossible to see stuff because dirt and stuff would get in them!"
"Yeah, mech, yeah," Beachcomber agreed, sitting back on his hands, "And they're so quiet, too. You don't hear a thing about their internals working, or hear anything in 'em jack up when they're mad or upset. It's wild, man, like-like they so cool, you're not even gonna hear 'em workin'."
"Well, there are exceptions," Hound said, pointing. "Look."
Two of the male organic creatures were having a dispute of some sort. They were tossing their heads about as they jumped up and down, stomping the ground with a rapid one-two motion of their front hooves while their long tails snapped about unhappily. From deep with in their chests and stomachs the mechs could hear a low rumbling. Suddenly, the two herbivores charged and locked antlers, beginning a dramatic wrestling match back and forth across an expanse of field. The other herd creatures moved away and occasionally looked up at them, but other wise appeared to be apathetic to the conflict.
"Yeah, man, yeah, I see," Beachcomber confirmed. "But that's wild ya know? I mean, how do they make those noises?"
"Well, I'm a tracker and a land surveyor," Hound sighed. "When someone or something wanders off and needs to be found, I follow their tracks. When mechs want to know what they need to clear out of an area so that they can build on it, I go in and see what's there. I'm no biologist, which is a pity because I've always been fascinated with the organic body. I just couldn't pass science class. How about you; what do you do?"
"I'm a studier. I roam the galaxy, just looking and watching and admiring the beauty of the organic worlds."
. . .
"You're a moocher, aren't you?"
"It ain't like that, man! People invite me in and I just chill until they get heated."
"Why don't you have a job and your own place?"
"I, eh, got a little problematic in school, but it's all cool now—"
"You got your circuits fried on energon, didn't you?"
"I can learn how to speak creature's languages, and I learn stuff from 'em, too."
As if to demonstrate, he suddenly made a series of crowing, hooting noises to the fighting males. What ever he said convinced the males to break up their fight, looking about as if embarrassed, and go back to grazing.
"Nice!" Hound whistled.
"It is," Beachcomber agreed. "But lately it's been harder and harder for me to find any peace with nature. The Decepticons keep popping up and hashing everything up by blowing and burning stuff down to get energon. It's a down right shame, I tell you."
"Oh, yeah, the Decepticons. They're why I'm here, actually. Darn Decepticons took out the city I worked in and I've been hiding out here, trying to figure out what to do next. My original war refugee plan was to Kyron 5, but, well, you know…"
An awkward pause followed; neither wanted to all-out vocalize the fate of Kyron 5. It seemed far too soon after such a tragedy to speak so openly about it without being rude.
"Anyway," Hound rushed on. "I decided to come here and have been pretty much squatting here, trying to figure out about what to do now. I could go to my aunt's, but she's always bugging me to settle down and get a Sparkling. I could go to my parent-units, but my father-unit is an army retiree and does not approve of my organic-studying hobbies. And my mother-unit wants me to settle down and get a Sparkling. I do have a good femme friend, but she wants me to…"
"Settle down and get a Sparkling," the two chimed together.
One had only to give these two cubes of energon and put them on a porch somewhere and they could be good friends already. They had scarcely met for half an hour, but already they were becoming close.
"Yeah, you get my point," Hound said.
"Man, that bites, brother," Beachcomber sighed. "I'm a just gonna keep wandering until everyone just mellows out. Just…" He made a smoothing-out gesture with his hands, "mellows out."
"I don't think that it'll work like that," Hound said. "I think these Decepticons are serious about taking over. They're destroying planets left and right to flush out their enemies, they're shanghaiing mechs into their army, and they're stealing and plundering where ever they can. They're not going to 'mellow out'." He mimicked Beachcomber's gesture. "Looks like all we can do is either fight or run."
"That bites, man," Beachcomber whined. Suddenly, "Hey, do ya see that? What's that?"
"That" was a new beast that came leaping from the forest, scattering the startled herd of organic herbivores. It was a large brute, even by Transformer standards, with long, spindly front arms ending in large claws and cricket-like back legs. The body was long and lithe with flexing spikes on its spine and a scaly head with a muzzle. The four-eyed beast was covered in dark blue and black skin and scales, screeching and yapping a war cry as it come on the hunt as it chased after one of the herbivores.
Hound remained sitting on the ground, used to this display, while Beachcomber, startled, scrambled to his feet. Before Beachcomber could act, the predator leaped on one of the herd grazers, wrapping its long arms twice around the herbivore's neck and biting into it. The herbivore reared up, bleating unhappily one last time, before falling hard on its side, dead. Two more predators rushed from the woods and joined in the feasting and Beachcomber could only watch in shock. The other herd creatures scattered into the forest around the meadow, escaping the predators.
Hound watched the display with a blank face, but he was actually repulsed and even a bit sad. He knew that organics eating organics was apart of their life style and that he couldn't intervene, but he still felt horribly guilty when he saw a beautiful herd-grazer suddenly be taken down by a predator so quickly and mercilessly.
He zoomed in on the gruesome feast in time to catch the full sight of the main predator. The predator, hunched over its prey's neck, looked up and glared at Hound, daring him to try and taking its meal. Looking between the main predator's head and the dead herbivore, whose eyes stared into the sky lifelessly, Hound realized something. The predator's eyes were red and the herbivore's eyes were blue.
Nah ah, Hound told himself. It's just coincidence. It couldn't—
Suddenly, a terrified bleat filled the air and everyone, predators and Transformers alike, turned to it. The same colt Hound had been playing with earlier was stumbling about clumsily, as newborns do, and was crying out for its mama. The predators, spotting an easy meal, got up from their meal, sinking low to the ground as they stalked to the colt.
"Dude, the baddie boys are gonna eat the little one!" Beachcomber said as Hound got to his feet. "That ain't right, Hound!"
"You're right," Hound agreed, aiming his hologram caster near the colt. "You distract the predators while I lead the colt away."
"Right!" Beachcomber said before he trotted off to intercept the predators.
With a little concentration, Hound managed to beam an extraordinarily real-looking image of a herd female in the air. Shorter and paler than a male, the female herd grazer's horns were small and soft-tipped and her tail end had no spikes. He made the fake female dance and stomp the ground near the colt, beckoning the babe to it. The colt, recognizing a mothering figure, bleated happily and stumbled towards the fake female.
Meanwhile, the predators snarled and reared up unhappily at Beachcomber.
"Chill, man, chill," Beachcomber told the predators softly. "Be cool, man, be cool."
The main predator snarled something in its own language like "I do not want to be cool!" and leaped up at Beachcomber. Beachcomber cried out as he fell back onto his back, letting the predator bite the arm he used as a shield. He actually yelled in pain when the predator's surprisingly strong bite splintered into the metal. The other two predators came to his sides, biting into his shoulder and leg and wrapping their long arms around their targets to gain a proper hold.
Hound led the colt towards the woods. Upon reaching the woods, the real mother of colt appeared, bleating and licking her colt gratefully. As the mother led her babe away, Hound dissipated the image of the fake mother and turned his sights on Beachcomber in time to be tackled from the back by yet another predator beast. Its mate followed suit, biting at his helmet.
"They're pack hunters!" Hound exclaimed, rolling over and over in an attempt to dislodge the beasts. "Transform!"
"I'm trying! I'm trying, but they're on to me too tight!" Beachcomber exclaimed, shaking and kicking.
He managed to kick one beast of his leg. The predator-beast yipped and rolled over and over in the grass before getting to its feet and running away. Hound reared an elbow back and was rewarded with the sound of ribs breaking when it hit the side of the predator-beast on his shoulder. Howling in pain, the creature fled. It was only when it was gone did Hound realize how heavy and strong the predator-beasts were. No wonder why three were holding Beachcomber down.
"Hound, lend me a hand!" Beachcomber yelled. He hollered in pain when the predator on his arm suddenly detached itself and snapped down on the armor dangerously close to his neck.
Hound threw his last opponent off of his back and raced to Beachcomber. Before he got there, though, he heard a wild bleating and stopped short. From the woods behind him, a band of strong male herd herbivores stampeded, rushing to Beachcomber and the predators. Hound threw himself out of the way of the stampede's path, turning back to watch the flood of golden fur and sharp horns rush by with a thunder of hooves. Seeing themselves outnumbered and out-muscled, the predators released Beachcomber, yipping unhappily as they fled. In moment, the animals had all re-entered the forest amidst their chase, leaving the bloodied and banged-up Hound and Beachcomber alone in the meadow.
"Well," Hound panted, holding a hand out to Beachcomber, "That was unexpected. I guess they're creatures with a social network, too."
"That's cool with me," Beachcomber squeaked, taking the hand and getting to his feet. "Think they saved us for distracting the predators?"
"I don't know," Hound replied, "I've never seen the organics at feeding time before."
Red eyes bad, blue eyes good, blue eyes saved us, Hound thought, this is too much to be a coincidence.
"Well, I think I know what I'm going to do now," Hound announced.
"Aww, man, don't go killing all the ugly predator organics in the forest. It's not their fault if they're full of blood lust and hate!"
"No," Hound exclaimed, appaled at the idea of needless slaughter, "I'm going to join the Autobots!"
"Really, how'd you reckon that out?"
"Listen, you and me have been talking and thinking about what we're gonna do to avoid the war and Decepticons when it's obvious that they're gonna show up in even peaceful places like these. Now, we can scatter and let ourselves get picked off, or we can rally together and defeat the Decepticons. I mean, we got to at least try, right?"
"Say, you're on to something there!" Beachcomber agreed. "But, uh, can't we just all sit in a circle and pass the energon around while we talk it out?"
"The Decepticons won't sit and pass energon unless they get to keep all the energon and the talk is about surrender issues. It's either flight and eventual fight, or fight. So, what'd ya say, Beachcomber? Want to give this war a go and see if we can chase back the Decepticons?"
"Sure, man. But, eh, can we take your spaceship to the army? I kind of forgot where I parked mine…"
"Energon fried."
"It's not like that!"
Author's Note: To the fans of Beachcomber: please don't kill me for making Beachcomber a hippie figure, because he's one and you know it.