Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews. This is the longest I have gone without a post and I apologize for that. My life has been crazy insane lately. Over the last couple of months, I have moved to a different area and got a new job. Instead of early morning and day, I start work in the evening and get home about 1 am. Nothing like applying for a job, changing hours, finding a new house, then packing and unpacking to find everything to zap your creative writing energy.
Worse, some of my clothes, story notes and things have gotten lost. We know they made it into a box out of the last house but not sure where they are now. Including my master list of all the rules in numerical order, hence the guess on the numbers for these rules. Never fear, I still have plot bunnies and creative writing ideas. Lots and lots of plot bunnies. I just lacked the time and energy and "in what boxes is all my writing stuff?" to continue until now. Onward to seeing the truth beyond our perceptions of reality.
TF TF TF TF TF TF TF TF TF TF
412. Do not let physical weaknesses of the human race influence our perception of their mental ability.
He alternated between freezing and blazing heat to peer through the dim window at the light in a dreamlike state. The loose fitting clothes barely covered him, providing little protection against the temperature changes. How long had he been a prisoner? It seemed a few days but Will Lennox couldn't be sure. Shifting yet again, his body racked with pain as he coughed.
"Ribs hurt, chest is tight, slag. What happened? Thought I had it," he mumbled, shifting on the rough surface again. The cramped area prevented him from standing and only by lying down could he stretch out fully. His stomach rumbled, wanting more and queasy at the same time. He licked his lips, trying not to think of the last meal. 'What type of meat was that?' he wondered, unable to identify it by taste. His mind shied away from his helplessness, forced to eat whatever was set before him, using only his hands.
Eyes opened again to look up through the glass, the stars shining brightly above. He gazed on them, grateful for their light in his darkness. "SERE," he quoted. "Survival, evasion, resistance and escape." Survival described the state he was in now. Evasion? There had been no chance from what hunted him. He knew the futility of it but still tried. Resistant, he had fought until the last second, literally dragged and thrown in on his face. Escape? Not possible. Designed for containment, nothing on his person at the time of capture could have broken through the metal walls surround him. Even the glass could have taken a mortar hit and not shattered, how useless his bare hands were.
A twin flash of light across the night sky answered his prayers. The human peered up, his emotions rising. 'Was it Optimus? Had rescue finally come?' A metal face peered through the glass and he bit back a gasp. The torturer had arrived. The door to his prison opened even as he tried to curl in on himself. "No, leave me alone. Torment someone else," he begged, too achy and tired to resist. Strong metal hands lifted him up, pulling him out into the cool night air.
Ratchet grumbled, scanning Will's entire body as he tenderly cradled the man in both his metal hands. "Ironhide! What the slag were you processing?" His optics never left his patient to glare at the vehicle parked at his feet.
"He was sick. I promised Annabelle to take care of him. Kept trying to do too much and got worse. Left me no choice." The black GMC Top kick vehicle rocked on his axles, transforming up into the Autobot weapons specialist. Fully in his bi pedal mode, he crossed both arms defiantly, the war cannons tilted outward. Turning to the side, he let the breeze swirl through his parts to clear out the smell of sickness.
"By locking him in your alt mode for three days? That is cruel even for you," he said. Cooling jets in his hands activated, blowing air across the man's flushed skin.
"I kept Will warm and fed. I got him double cheeseburgers and even waited for pizza the last time. Too sick to get out himself. He has his favorite pillow and is safer in me than anywhere else on this mud ball world," the weapons specialist grumbled.
"Fast food take outs are not nutrition for a sick man! I entrust him into your care and you do this!" the medic ranted.
"There ain't a cure for this condition and antibiotics don't work. This disease kills humans and we need him." Both mechs focused on the man as he stirred, uncurling to latch weakly onto one of the medic's armored fingers. "Rest easy Major. You have the flu and should be over the worst of it. You need rest and plenty of fluids. I am taking you back to medical bay and no arguments this time. You need professional care," Ratchet stated. He had barely made three steps when the man threw up everywhere across his armored palm.
"He never did that in me. That will need professional cleaning. Night medic," Ironhide teased, throwing an informal salute and heading for his quarters and a femme sparkmate who hadn't been in his arms for three earth days. She'd appreciate being held and hand fed.
#413. Earth designations should reflect our maturity, battle experience and wisdom. They cannot contain inappropriate references, improper language including swearwords or in any way mock any part of earth's inhabitants or their beliefs.
Arcee giggled, liking the sound of it playing through her vocal speakers. Any mech accusing the femme of softness got her rifle in his faceplates but she had to admit, the softer sound of feminine giggling fit. The only sound she liked better was Optimus deep rich chuckle, it made her want to swoon at his feet pads but would never happen. She did have a warrior side after all and Elita was his sparkmate, not her.
"You cannot choose that as your designation." The pink and white femme tried looking serious at the taller mech, newly arrived to earth. He chatted at her in Cybertronian. "Fine, but Ultra Magnus is your old commander and his word goes. Just because Prime lets us pick what we want doesn't mean you get to keep that name. After this, you will report to our Medical Officer Ratchet for a systems check then Prowl for duty assignments. And welcome, Leadfoot. Please continue our conversation in English unless it requires a need for privacy or stealth," Arcee ordered.
The red armored mech nodded, already adapting to human customs from the data uploads. His bristling weaponry everywhere might pose a problem for his transform but he would adjust. All the Autobots stationed on earth did or were sent packing back to Cybertron or a moon base by Prime himself. Leadfoot watched the human soldiers moving around the base airfield for a moment. "These beings seem simple. Are they capable of multi tasking?"
"Screaming and diving for cover mostly; swearing at other drivers while driving or talking while eating. The rest of what they can do fluctuates per individual's skill. Med bay is this direction." They passed several groups of soldiers busy with their duties until going out and around a group unloading supply trucks.
"We have to get this in order or all will be lost," the Sergeant exclaimed, gesturing at the pallets unloaded in random order.
:: Can we help? What does 'all' look like? What rank? Mech or femme?:: Leadfoot sent to Arcee over their internal comm frequency.
:: All is a term and not a person. Lost as in defeated not missing. Humans tend to be general in their meanings. They can lose their minds but not as often as they say it. It indicates they are feeling stressed or overwhelmed. That is not to be confused with lost all his marbles, losing it referring to mating activities, lost it all in Vegas or get lost. And switch to English please:: Arcee answered, sending brief data clips of each situation.
"That sounds confusing. Why not ask them to be precise?" He glanced down at her, expertly stepping between the orange traffic cones without needing to see them physically.
"They're hard headed," Ratchet's vocal answered first, the medic standing next to Ironhide as they worked on the communications array on top of the building. Feet pads on the cement, they merely reached up to the rooftop to balance the heavy metal shape. Several humans ran the cables as the mechs swiveled the silver dish relay into place.
"Is there such a thing as soft headed?" Leadfoot asked.
"Yup. Brain turns to mush from too much TV," Ironhide grunted. He didn't mind the human's TV but the musical cartoons Annabelle had watched and watched as a toddler still made his processors want to smoke.
"I disagree," the nearest soldier stated. " I watch TV all the time when not on duty." He smiled, taking a step forward and hooking his boot on the cable. Arms flailing, he fell forward, his weight pulling the cable out of the nearest holding clamps. Across the roof, the other soldiers yelled as the cable in their clamps pulled taunt.
:: Case in point:: Ironhide commented on their internal comm.
An hour later, Arcee rolled to a stop by Bumblebee, transforming up to sit on the cement sea wall next to him. The sound of the pounding ocean waves and the scout's bright, cherry attitude always made her feel better. "How did I get picked as the welcome to earth designator?" She grumbled.
:: Because Ratchet and Ironhide would scare them and they are too awed of Prime to listen to what he says?:: Bumblebee teased back, handing her a small cube of fresh energon. The yellow armored scout spend more time at the NEST base than with Sam during the college semester. Hiding in his alt mode in a parking lot on campus provided good human watching but got lonely as the days stretched into weeks and months.
"I doubt that is the reason I get stuck with it," she answered, pausing to see a human wearing a business suit talking earnestly to Ironhide. Too far or even her alien hearing to listen in, Arcee tried identifying the man and failed. The human dropped his large white box of papers on the edge of Ironhide's feet pad, gesturing for the box to be lifted up.
::New safety officer. Wants to make changes. He is upset he had to wait while Ironhide finished installing the new satellite array:: Bumblebee guessed her question.
"If it concerns safety, shouldn't he be talking to Red Alert or Prowl then?"
:: Weapons safety:: Bumblebee corrected. They both snapped their optics upward as a burning ball arched over their helms to slam into the ocean waves.
"Didn't Prowl have a rule about blasting human's paperwork?" Arcee asked, draining her energon cube then sub-spacing the empty container to prevent littering.
:: Blasting yes, not setting on fire. No using holograms to fool human drivers, no sugar to Annabelle and no reports limited to four words or three:: Bumblebee corrected then stopped as an idea formed in his processors. An evil mastermind chuckle sound played through his speakers, getting her instant attention.
"And what?" The femme prompted as he remained silent.
::Precisely:: He quipped back, sharing the idea. The next morning found them ready to go. Both waited by the main Autobot hangar, the last shipping crate opened and the contents waiting in the early morning sun.
::Phase one complete. Time to lay the trap:: Bumblebee sent before switching frequencies. Routing through the new communications array, he hid his alien signature, appearing as a base communication. "Prowl sir? Your shipment has arrived and is unpacked per your orders," a human man's voice stated.
"Shipment? I am unaware of any order," Prowl's crisp vocal sounded back. Arcee grinned overhearing it. She could imagine the black and white armored bot sitting in his office, a faint look of puzzlement on his faceplates as he searched all the shipping manifests. They had deliberately labeled this one as 'other items as required,' to keep the contents hidden.
Bumblebee continued in the human's voice. "I understand you had a busy morning sir but it is blocking the main door. Transfer to storage can occur the moment you confirm delivery."
"En route now," Prowl answered back as Bumblebee gave Arcee a human gesture of thumbs up.
"Phase two," she winked an optic before linking into the Autobot command frequency and changing her vocal. "SIC Prowl to twins, please meet me at the main Autobot Hangar for an assignment."
Ten minutes later Prowl knelt by the bookcases, trying to imagine why anyone would send him three wood crates of outdated reference books. His HUD flashed a signal, indicating a transmission marked high priority had arrived. "From the twins? Their latest post battle summation?" Prowl vented, debating whether to open the file after running it through every known virus program or simply ignore it. His sense of duty won out. It was possible they had updated previous report or more likely, been involved in an incident. Which meant they chose not to inform him until after the fact, and before the news broadcast at noon.
"In case you ever want our post battle summation reports in two words or one word, we saved you the effort of asking first. Nice of us hmm? Sideswipe the magnificent swordsman and Sunstreaker, the most magnificent alt mode on earth.
Two words
a. This vorn?
b. Try online.
c. Go away.
d. Being framed.
e. Uh oh.
f. Oh pit.
g. Not even.
h. Really? Wow.
i. But why?
j. Who? Me?
k. You're funny.
l. Imagine that.
m. Friday party
n. Femmes hot.
o. Mechs rule.
p. Come on!
q. No slag.
r. Recharging late.
s. Break time.
t. Lab blew.
u. Too early.
v. Blasted it.
w. Why not?
x. As if.
y. Got it
z. Dropped it.
aa. Good idea
ab. Bad idea
ac. Ask Prowl
ad. That's you?
ae. Never mind.
af. Twins prank.
One word:
a. All?
b. Epic.
c. Please
d. Yes
e. No
f. Maybe
g. Perhaps
h. Depends
i. Really?
j. Interesting.
k. And?
l. So?
m. But...
n. Rules
o. Lunchtime
p. Hah!
q. What?
r. Helpful?
p.s. We are gifting you these books to help find more words in your spare time.
The next building over, Major Lennox and Sergeant Epps completed their review of the new system, finishing off the necessary checklists. Both spun as voices erupted into shouting and heavy thumping sounds echoed. Transformers ran by, making them dive for cover more out of instinct than need as their large feet pads pounded dangerously close.
"Why is Prowl chasing the twins carrying a bookcase full of books under his arm?" Lennox asked, watching as the black and white mech reached with his free hand, grabbing books to throw with precision. Yellow and red helms rang with the metal hits.
"I'll one and two word you! Troublemakers! Brig inhabitants! Spare time? Spent chasing you slaggers!" Prowl's normal vocal ragged as more books went flying. Standing up, Epps brushed off his pants as Will picked up one of the tomes off the ground, flipping through it.
"Encyclopedias?" Will held the thick book out for the other man to see.
"I've heard of taking someone to school but this is ridiculous," Epps stated before glancing at his watch. "Hey. Commissary opened ten minutes ago. Cheese enchiladas and chips with salsa for lunch. Hungry?"
"Starving. Missed breakfast for a cross national conference call. Prime can comm me there if he needs me," Will shrugged, tucking the book back under his arm to read later. The page on moon landings by NASA seemed interesting.
Back at the main hanger, sounds of mechanical laughter could be heard. Arcee leaned against Bumblebee for support, replaying the exact astro second the twins had asked Prowl what was with all the books. They both laughed until a massive shadow covered them both. Going still while struggling for control, they looked up into the glowing blue optics of Optimus Prime.
"May I inquire why you find piles of books so enchanting?" The ancient mech looked at the upended crates before tracking the recent energy signatures. Neither answered him, both tucking their helms down and looking anywhere but at him. "Ah, I understand."
"You do?" Arcee recovered first, sharing a look with Bumblebee.
"While I believe in continued learning; wasting learning materials in pranks is not wise. However," he straightened full height, towering over them both. "Later." He strode away, leaving them awe struck.
"Did Prime just two and one word us?"Arcee puzzled.
::How much do you think he knows?:: Bumblebee wondered.
STORY ARC
TIME FOR A CHANGE (CONCLUSION PT 3)
Chromia's optics never left the shard piece as it balanced on the debris pile, tracking every vector it could possible fall. The dark blue armored warrior femme had seen cluster bombs in action. They took any object around them, pulling it inward into a spiral before spinning spinning them back out with dangerous velocities. The key disguised as a piece of metal was too valuable to risk moving and triggering the bomb.
"Prime," Ironhide said his name, their hardened battle experience time together needing no other words.
"Targeted, on the plates," Optimus said. A smooth grab behind his back and his ion rifle dropped into his hand, the safeties disengaging upon contact with his armored palm. ""One...two...three...four..."
Each number had the Autobots reacting. Bumblebee and Arcee shifting to protect Sam and Annabelle as Wheeljack brought up his shoulder launcher. Ratchet crouched, fingers morphing to energon line sealers as the others armed their weapons.
"Five...six...seven!" Prime finished, his rifle blasting the device and surrounding parts into oblivion. Chromia sprung forward, catching the shifting shard to hold it to her chest plates.
"Seven? What the #$^&$ happened to ten?" Agent Dave shouted, straightening out of his crouch.
"Why ten? Seven is the number for everything you do man," Jazz quipped, his circular arm shield retracting back into subspace.
"Count your fingers and toes!" The agent said, missing Ironhide hugging Chromia.
"Still right. One, two, three, four," Jazz grinned, flexing his four clawed prongs on each hand before pointing at his feet pads. "Five," left back brace, "Six," right back brace then pointed at the oblong main front part of his footpad. "Seven and me. Get with it man."
"He's right. As humans," Sam began explaining, grateful for the need to focus on anything but the surrounding parts and glyphs flashing across his vision. "We base everything on ten. Ten fingers, ten toes and count to ten. Cybertron bases on seven and one. I know, you are going to ask why that does not equal eight. And the answer is it doesn't. Everything is plus one with them for the individual. Even the Allspark."
"Their metal cube? It had six sides. Four around with a top and bottom makes six. How does that equal seven plus one?" he challenged. In fifteen minutes he had to report to the President on their status while he would need days to explain the last half hour let alone understand it.
"True, as we humans think. Except the power and knowledge inside it existed in subspace meaning a seventh part and the one holding it. Seven and one. Anything that exists is held or seen by another for recognition. It's a historical, alien thing," Sam stated, as though giving the time of day off his wristwatch.
"Historical will be my job if I don't make this call. If you will excuse me, I need a secure phone and aspirin. Lots and lots of aspirin." Dave muttered, threading his way towards the nearest building.
"Who puts bad stuff in with parts?" Annabelle asked, keeping close to Arcee.
"A bad mech who takes parts in the first place," the pink and white femme commented back.
"It's not all parts taken from victims," Ratchet said, opening his fist to show half a dozen colorful round shaped rocks. They warmed in the sunlight to sparkle in different colors.
"Nebula swamp gems," Jazz identified, adding a whistling sound.
"Lockdown must have posed as a trader. Hid everything in massive subspace fields from circuit chips to these. The spikes on his armor weren't for weapons use, they were signal prongs to maintain the subspace fields. This debris are items to trade as an excuse to move around and gather information. Odd credits here and there to hide his actions," Wheeljack theorized, his side head bars still flashing nearly nova with the array of colors.
"Posed as a trader myself at the beginning of the war to hide my scouting," Hound admitted. He continued holographically scanning the area, the quickest way to inventory it.
"I still don't understand. Why would Megatron offline him?" Sam asked.
"When you starve with a tiger, the tiger starves last," Will quoted.
"Might even consider thanking Starscream for delivering that piece of slag," Ironhide rumbled, his optics shuttering at their startled looks. "He's a coward. Wouldn't stay long enough to hear it."
"Hmm," Jazz smiled. "Cannon blast, parts fall off, high pitched scream, more cannon blasts, seeker crashes hard, parts everywhere and Ironhide saying 'thanks.' I've heard and seen it all."
"Not yet," Agent Dave interrupted, his return noted on their sensors but otherwise ignored. The human gestured for all of them to listen. "Everything is ready. Secret Service is in place and the roads cleared. Let's hope this goes as planned."
"It is our hope that revealing our existence will increase those we call friends. Autobots, transform and roll for the White House," Optimus commanded.
Two hours later Elita waited, hiding in her alt mode among human vehicles near the Lincoln Memorial. She had scanned the words engraved at the statue's base and appreciated the universal idea of freedom expressed therein. ::I wish Optimus could see this:: Elita sent.
::In time he may. Humans may be short lived but they take a slag time to reach a decision. We will be back often for meetings. Take the grand tour then:: Ratchet
::Speaking of which, we need to roll. Optimus called. The awards presentation is done. Fallback to the warehouse on the east side to regroup then return to the base and the mess:: Elita
::That's another thing:: he complained. ::How many large open warehouses do they need?::
::We use them:: Elita reminded.
::For what? Half a joor? Waste space the rest of time. Especially their ceiling heights. Their tallest human is shorter than a mini bot and they build for our size? Do they realize how much energy is wasted lighting and heating those spaces?:: Ratchet continued the now familiar discussion.
Elita regulated the conversation to a lower holding queue, confirming Arcee and Bumblebee status. Both answered back they were staying to guard Sam and Will and would rendezvous later. She understood, they were having fun and didn't want to leave. The traffic moved around Elita and for a second she felt homesickness swell in her spark. The noise of conversations, the hum of powerful engines and activity in the sunlight reminded her of Iacon before the war. Belatedly she realized Ratchet had stopped talking. A quick access of the lower holding queue let her know he had finished his ranting and they were turning off to the warehouse. Inside the deserted building, he shifted to his bi pedal mode, reviewing Hound's cataloging.
Transforming up, she stretched her arms over her helm, reaching and still a ways from touching the arched roof. "All we need is an energon candy store and I'd be happy."
"I'll take one less surprise. Dropping Decepticons and chatty Autobots," he grimaced.
"Chatty? Ah, Ultra Magnus. Least he can't claim Arcee's creation was the Matrix like Optimus. Might do him good to remember a femme is more than a trusted soldier on the battlefield." Silence met her comment as Ratchet faced away from her, his energy signature fluctuating briefly. "Ratchet, tell me the truth," Elita's calm vocal held the steel of command.
Ratchet answered with his own strength. "As Chief Medical Officer, I will not be questioned Femme Commander on an issue that is between you and your sparkmate. Ask him."
"My sparkmate trusts too easily. He believes what others tell him, seeing the lies too late. He trusts you Ratchet."
"And you don't?" his head turned to allow him to look over his shoulder plate at her.
"I do. I also know there was an untold incident between the medical board and yourself at Iacon. Afterwards, none of them were ever allowed near Prime again for medical treatment except to assist you. What don't I know?"
Ratchet vented deeply, the secret weighing on his processors in that moment as heavy the astro second he had discovered it. "The procedure was done without consulting me. They sent me half the planet away to assist with the last evacuees of Praxus because the Conductor knew I would never have allowed it. Bumblebee was not made with the Matrix and Optimus spark."
"What! A femme..." Elita's surprise and fury colored her vocal.
"Was never involved."
"Was there..." she began.
"No. Only Optimus and no other. The deception involves the how. The Conductor of the Medical Board lied to us all. I found the truth is his records when closing out his office. Got himself offlined being in the wrong place at the wrong time, dumping a mess on me."
"The truth being?"
The ancient medic vented, wondering how he had morphed into being a Cybertronian historian. "It was not the Matrix that combined and pulled power from Optimus spark but a cube piece of the Allspark. Remember Bumblebee's description of the Allspark compacting itself under the dam?"
"Vaguely," Elita admitted, searching for the file in her memory core even as she wondered at the turn in the conversation.
"On Cybertron there was an incident involving the Allspark cube early in our history. Only the legend of it remains, no physical records showing event itself. When the temple was built, the designers made the grand doorway too small for the cube to fit through. Short of tearing out walls or roof layers, it would never fit in the center vestibule. "
"I know the story. There was a flash of light and the cube magically appeared inside the main chamber, signifying its acceptance of our race. The attendants were knocked senseless for half a joor. When they awoke, it was inside the room without any of them having touched it. The Allspark must have compacted down then expanded back," she realized.
"It's my belief that a portion of the cube's energy was released planet wide during that flash of light. Following that, first femmes began having sparklings on their own. What is not in the legend is that two mini cubes remained on the floor outside the main door once the attending bots regained consciousness. Both cube pieces passed into the hands of the medical board for study. A single touch and their energy could undo the worse damage."
"Why hide that?" Elita asked.
"Shame and the fear of losing our image as the one profession any bot could trust. Instead of using the cubes to heal they became a science project. Did you never wonder how our race discovered transforming? The complete rotating sequence of our physical form? It was an experiment gone wrong that the first mini cube healed. Intrigued, the Medical Board used it to create a battalion of transforming fighters until they depleted the mini cube's energy. I believe their misuse of its power created flaws in those sparks it touched. The mechs experimented on became the first flying transformers who became the first Decepticon seekers."
"Optimus told me of the drones the humans created in their experiments. And the creations in Mission City when the boy dropped the cube. I processed those were side effects from Megatron's one attempt to alter and control the cube to breed an army," Elita theorized.
"We may never know. Sam may contain the cube's knowledge in his form but I am not asking him. Any attempts to access the stored information could overload him further," Ratchet warned.
"What happened to the second cube?"
"Held in reserve for the Prime and world leaders should they fall in battle. The reasoning was it could revive them when our medical skills could not. And yes, the Conductor and Medical Board members were on the 'to be healed' first list."
"Optimus would never have allowed that had he known. He would have demanded its use on others badly injured irregardless of their rank or position," Elita said, knowing in her spark what her mate would have chosen. "Is that how they knew to create Bumblebee with the cube fragment? The experiments to create seekers?"
"Not exactly. They were fully formed sparks in final shells. They attempted to use the Allspark energy to wrap around an existing spark to bud into a separate spark, able to exist and mature on its own. Dangerous but not untried." Ratchet's optics narrowed as he glanced over to the side, his faceplates showing a mixture of shame and uneasiness for a astro second. Recognizable to any bot who had known him for a length of time.
"Wait! They tested it before Optimus didn't they. What happened?" Elita realized.
"Sentinel Prime tested it. Wanted to create the next Prime after an assassination attempt. He lived, the mech he had been training as the new Prime didn't. The experiment worked but the sparkling lacked the spark strength to be more than a mini bot. That mechling proved battle capable and strong of spark to fight as he aged but incapable of overcoming his own emotions to lead. They tried controlling him and resulted in making him paranoid and borderline hateful. The more they forced the worse the damage to his processors," Ratchet vented deeply.
"That gave them the right to try again with my sparkmate?"
"Sentinel Prime's expedition left Cybertron to never be heard from again. The Allspark sent away though a hole in space to remove it beyond the Decepticons reach. Our forces driven back to the last stronghold as our numbers dwindled. You led the femmes in raids while we saw the vorns of war beginning to take its toll on Optimus. When he began to lose hope, the Conductor of the Medical Board made a decision. He feared Prime failing and decided to replace him."
"They used him. Took his trust and betrayed it for an experiment that had already failed!" Elita snapped, irritated that those responsible were beyond her reach in a time long past.
"The procedure helped heal his degrading spark," Ratchet corrected. "By creating a sparkling who brought us all hope and joy. The cube fragment could barely power a room light let alone create another spark. During its transport to the Victor Sigma vault it was lost in a surprise attack. Good riddance I say."
"That's why the Allspark compacted under the dam. It sensed and knew Bumblebee," Elita commented, running the information over in her processors.
"He was a success. Unlike the trigger happy first attempt who is still a pain in the aft and incapable of leading. Lands in my med bay all the time with injuries from shoot now and consider why later," the medic grumped.
"Is Ironhide?" Elita guessed.
"He's too old to be the descendant of Sentinel Prime. Think of Optimus' result. A bot with great courage and strong spark but small. Nearly the duplicate of Bumblebee but temperamental. No matter how he disobeys orders or attacks he never gets thrown in the brig or removed from a field team."
"No slagging way," her optics spun wide as the pieces fell together.
"Yes. Cliffjumper."
To be continued...
Author's notes: When researching TF 3 it occurred to me the Matrix restored Optimus in the Bay movie verse but never created anything. Same in most of the other series, comics and G1 cartoon included. Only the Allspark did. Researching the Allspark showed it could create sparks separate of a mech and femme combo. Seeing the Allspark fold itself down in the first movie gave me the idea for the temple transfer and fragments of power in other forms. A more logical explanation of why Bumblebee and Cliffjumper are near twins physically yet different in personality. Full credit to fellow writer karategal for writing first on how Optimus was Bumblebee's dad in her fics "Sparkling" and "Youngling." She's a wonderful author willing to share ideas. And I do not own transformers, the concepts or trademarks therein. None of us here on fan fiction do. Paramount, Hasbro and whoever else their lawyers have signed into contracts do. We are only borrowing them for fun. Until all are one, Layra.