Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews. No, I have not seen the new TF movie. I live in a small coastal town and it is not on where I can go until next week. I did order the toys online including Sentinel Prime (before I knew he was the bad bot) and the Ark spaceship. Put them on the same shelf as my Matrix of Leadership and Allspark cube replica. Yes, I am a TF geek. I will be writing a fic on the DOTM events and expanding upon them then moving forward. Should have the first chapter up later this month for my DOTM series. While trying to keep my regulars ones posting too. And some of my writing stuff is still missing.
In this series, never fear, all of your favorite characters are alive and blasting as ever. In addition, the lighter, funnier side of two species existing on one planet including a flashback to Ironhide first dealing with Sarah Lennox. The phobias are based on Greek word roots in the tradition of naming them. Credit to fellow writer SapphireBee for her use of PTHD and its definition. Onward to thinking you know how to handle a situation.
TF TF TF TF TF TF TF TF TF TRANSFORMERS
291. Do not forget that what is a normal custom for our species may appear strange or lack cultural significance to another. In explaining both sides may learn.
"How did you pick your earth name?" Sam asked, realizing he didn't know. Resting against Bumblebee's armored leg he felt warm and safe after hours of swimming and playing on the lagoon beach. His skin bore the light trace of red from too much sun and a single scrape on his elbow from slipping on the rock jetty; the first getting him teasing about being a inside college bookworm and the second a lecture from Ratchet on infections.
Bright blue optics crinkled down, the shutters engaging as Bumblebee processed the answer. Reclining on the couch like structure, he kept Sam by his side, enjoying their time together away from school.
Ratchet looked over at them, the game controller in his hand forgotten as he sent an internal comm message. ::He needs to rest, not talk::
:: Yes sir. But this is the first time he asked. Is that really your score?:: Bumblebee distracted him.
The main screen blinked, the message warning the level needed repeating again. Swearing softly, the medic hit the reset button on the main controller pad but kept an audio tuned their way. His green and white armored frame hunching forward towards the screen to try again. :: Inferior human control pads. I'm too fast for it::
Bumblebee chuckled internally, wondering if he should tell Ratchet he was missing three upper levels of gold coins as the game character moved across the level then passed. Ratchet would figure it out or one of the others would tell him. He had more important matters to communicate. But with his vocalizer still glitching, he had only texts on Sam's phone to relay the information. No amount of sound clips or movie quotes could convey the feeling of a comet landing or the moment of stillness between the initial impact strike and coming online, fully functional. Words would have to do.
:: When I landed, it was in an unpopulated area to prevent discovery. Unpopulated by machine life as we Cybertronians know. It was a human farm and I plowed right through the middle of the cornfield and up to the back of the farmhouse. Scans revealed no humans. I learned later they were in town on a shopping trip. I didn't know Sector Seven had traced my comet path inbound with satellites and were on their way:: Bumblebee texted across Sam's phone.
The scout's memory core replayed the instant of consciousness, yellow light filtering into his optics. A bright light, almost too intense. Cybertron's skies darkened with weapon's fire and pollution but all the young scout had known. Sitting upright in the narrow trench, Bumblebee blinked as three thin layers of optical filters slid into place, easing the light down to a more recognizable level.
"Thank Primus Jazz showed me the medical override for temporary stasis. I do not want to feel the impact. Wish he'd shown me the codes to override the neuron ache from the online surge though." Gyros activated, stabilizing his protoform, as he stood upright. Blue optics looked down as his square metal feet pads sunk in brown granular soil. Lifting one footpad, he crooned as the particles fell off but not all. "Ewwww. Must have landed in the slag pit." Stepping gingerly, he crossed towards the larger structure, the barn. Music played from the radio on the shelf, forgotten by the farm's owner. The song ended, switching to a commercial about aspirin. The noises played in rapid succession, a baby crying, horns blaring and people yelling sounded from the speakers.
"How do they process with all that noise?" he rubbed his helm, the neuron ache threatening to increase. Then a square shape under the back hayloft caught his attention. Scanning, he waited for confirmation the size would match. Holding his hand out, the metal parts of his lower right arm split apart to shine the blue trans scan light across the old Camaro. Systems engaged, changing his own armor and body parts until two faded yellow black striped Camaro cars sat on their wheels. His engine roared to life, rolling him forward and out into the sunlight. Power systems blinked a warning. 'Need to rest then explore. Linking into the World Wide Web to download more of their language components. My lower processors can defrag the language while I recharge,' he realized, setting perimeter defenses. One movement and he would wake, battle systems engaging to blast the intruder.
Recharge lasted longer than he anticipated. The steady beeping of his defense warning alarm bringing him awake. Transforming, part by part slowly rotated, spun or twisted into shape as his bi pedal mode formed.
Unknown entities, not recognized. Insecticons? Negative. Micro drones? Negative. Classification: Organic
His optics focused on the stack of white boxes nearby and the myriad of small flying shapes moving in and out of them. B U M B L E B E E F A R M S H O N E Y printed bright across each box. Codes formed; transferring the letters into glyhps he understood and could relate concepts to.
"Bumblebee Farms Honey. These tiny creatures create a gel favorable to human tastes from...ewww. The bees spit up the ingested flower nectar? Honey is from their stomachs?" He tapped his forehead plate with his armored palm, as though jarring a loose part back into place. "I have to have that wrong. Slagging language makes no sense. Need to defrag more of it next recharge."
The buzzing increased as the tiny yellow black creatures swarmed out into the morning light, their flight a wonder to his sensors. Tiny and non-metal their existence baffled him. "Their wings are reverse rotor blades motion to achieve flight. The buzzing sound is not their wings but a band of tissue under the wings. It vibrates and creates the sound."
Researching them across the human's internet, he became even more intrigued. "Social creatures, normally not aggressive but will sting in defense or if attacked. They are necessary for the continuation of plant life on earth, small and important. I like it. My earth designation will be Bumblebee."
In the recreation room at Diego Garcia, texted sentences spelled out his memories for Sam to read. The lack of facial plates prevented him from displaying the smile he felt. ::We choose names based on what we like or have them given to us. Choosing designations is important in our culture and show our attempt to exist in your world::
"Arcee isn't a human word," Sam realized, yawning and shifting to ease tired muscles. The faint hum of the systems under him reminded him of his mother singing a lullaby, an indistinct melody without words yet comforting. His eyelids drooped further down as his breathing slowed.
:: She was a science teacher on Cybertron before the war and had a different name:: Bumblebee never moved, content to let Sam fall asleep against him. The recreation room was safe and the couch like structure was certainly more comfortable than the many nights traveling in space or on the metal ruins of Cybertron during scout missions.
"Were you one...of her students?" The yawn midway distorting the words.
:: She blinded me with science!:: Bumblebee played a crowd laughing sound after the song clip, shaking his helm. :: No, the schools on Cybertron were gone by the time I sparked. Arcee helped Optimus in the science division then adapted her skills when the war spread. She is a gunner and excellent sharpshooter. Chromia is a power hitter and Moonracer deadly precision but Arcee can train others to shoot by teaching the science of movement. She helped me once Ironhide installed my first ion cannon. He was happy the first times I blasted anything. She taught me to lower the blast power and hit a small object or multiple hits than always destroying the whole room::
"Is Arcee... Cybertronian?" Muffled, the words were clear to them even as Sam rested his head against his own sunburned arm, eyes closed.
"No, we all have our designations and clan numbers engraved on our spark spire base," Ratchet picked up the conversation, moving to stand by them. The crushed game controller sat on the floor, the bent plastic demonstrating the medic's hand strength. "During a field trip to an archeological site, the air transport crashed and she survived but barely. Unstable and in full stasis the first medics did not dare bring her remaining memory core or power couplers online. Her clan number is RC-687040, the only way they could identify her. Except she never updated the clan records once achieving a third shell and choosing an adult designation. There were no listings of living kin, where she moved to or where she worked. On a world of billions, finding out who she was would take time and they were more concerned with stabilizing her spark. Being a military craft, the pilot never filed the flight path, probably intending to keep it a secret. He offlined as did the rest of the shuttle crew. There were only two survivors and the other bot never recovered before offlining. Though you would process as a scientist she would know the importance of accurate record keeping," Ratchet explained, talking to Bumblebee as Sam slept.
::How did they find out who she was then? Wait until she was repaired?:: Bumblebee sent over their internal comm. One look at the crushed game controller reminded him any attempt to talk with his damaged vocalizer and Ratchet's wrath would descend.
"No. Her clan sisters went looking for her when she failed to appear at a party later that orn. The crash happened so quickly and half the planet away that they didn't realize the lack of contact. Even then, they nearly missed her in the critical ward. Only her upper shell survived the crash and that is how she became a split spark. She kept the name RC changing it to Arcee. She believed Primus had a plan for her life in sparing her and the name change reflected that survival."
:: She never told me that:: Bumblebee admitted, knowing a lot about the femme.
"Not surprising. Was a lifetime ago. And Primus willing, you will live long enough to tell your grand bots the story of how you chose your name," Ratchet answered.
293. Do not rely on science alone to explain the world around you. An infinite universe cannot be explained by finite processors and as living beings, we are not locked into any one time or space.
Will Lennox, now Colonel Lennox sighed, the walls of his office reflecting back the sound to mix with the steady tick tock of his wall clock. "I wanted this promotion. More power, more responsibility but seriously." His head rose, blue eyes seeing only the psychological request awaiting him. "What makes them think I can sign off on this? NEST needs another safety manual chapter for being around the Transformers like I need another government liaison meddling. Let's see what they came up with. Page one, new disorder addition."
PTHD (Post Traumatic Hologram Disorder) For a full description see below:
Symptoms Include: Patient will expect everything they come across to be a hologram or visual simulation. This can range from everyday items to people and machinery. They have unfortunately, an over dramatic fear of everything in this world. Not to be confused with Vicisvitaphobia.
Will thought then added his initials to the page. "Okay, point made. That has become an issue over time. Page two, a list of phobias? What, fear of brain spiders or some other nonsense?" He began reading through the list.
Newly recognized phobias:
1. Agicursomniphobia - Fear of being stepped on or trampled by a larger being.
2. Brevdictfractbluephobia – Fear of being cornered by Bluestreak. Alternatively, enduring a long lecture on responsibility from Prime or Prowl or another command officer.
3. Chromhomotensphobia – Fear of being the same color as human skin doesn't change when surrounded by multi color paint changing Transformers.
4. Duramortphobia – Fear of being short lived.
5. Fibrowavephobia – Fear of tentacles and intrusion.
6. Superacumedimandphobia - Fear of advanced alien technology used on your body. Alternatively, enduring another of Ratchet's medical exams when you injured yourself through stupidity or bad timing on the battlefield.
7. Impaconpathy - Fear of impacting comets.
8. Victalossphobia – Fear of the Decepticons winning.
9. Vicisvitaphobia - Fear of driving or operating machinery that turns out to be a Transformer.
10. Volcanizaphobia - Being caught in Wheeljack's lab explosions, in Ironhide's weapons fire or other alien weaponry.
11. Zillabestgotchaphobia - Fear of being caught in one of the twin's pranks. Like this one, have a good orn.
"Are they serious? Fine. Then I'll sign off on these and get to the real work," the officer grumbled, not really reading the exact wording of the last phobia. Tossing the request into the wood box labeled 'outgoing,' he grabbed the next file, slinging it through the air in front of him. Sketches fell out of the folder, scattering across the desk.
He picked up the first, recognizing the scene from Annabelle's storybooks. "Winnie the Pooh. Sam as Christopher Robin, Bumblebee as Pooh with the black stripes and honey pot, too perfect." Then the human burst out laughing as he realized the blue donkey had a red colored flame pattern across his hips. "I'm okay I guess, been better." Will mimicked in Prime's vocal as Eyore. The sketch slid back into the file, as his other hand picked up the next.
"Shhh, I'm hunting rabbit," he quoted, not sure whether to be flattered or insulted. His own likeness stared back as Elmer Fudd complete with a tan hunting flap hat and saggy round body shape holding an energon scanner. Starscream stood behind the sketched in trees, his normal faceplates distorted to a long black duck bill and webfeet below his seeker wings. Megaton stood alongside, his helm points raised into long rabbit ears, fluff tail and round feet added.
"Admiring Sarah's handiwork?" The booming deep voice startled Will, his eyes snapping up to look into Ironhide's deep blue ones. Staring down through the skylight, the ancient mech smirked, the motion distorting the scar over his eye plate as his shadow darkened the room. "Keeping ya active. What if I'd been a 'Con sneaking up?"
"I'd be filling out paperwork to repair the collateral damage you caused blowing them away," Will retorted, feeling the thudding of his heart easing. He grinned back, knowing the other's alien technology read his bio signs so why try to hide anything.
"Ain't doing my job otherwise," Ironhide grunted, straightening back up, the shadow disappearing.
"Sarah and I are grateful for that. Even when you make messes in her gardens."
"Rodents make messes, I leave reminders," Ironhide stated before moving around the building to meet Will at the human sized door. His spark warmed at the thought of Sarah, liking the human femme from their first encounter even as they tried working out cross species differences. His memory core flashed back to the first week after the attack at Mission City.
OPENING MEMORY FILE: 8281972
LOCATION: LENNOX DOMICILE, USA, EARTH
He vented deeply, testing the surrounding air as though sniffing. The family farm left Ironhide unsure of his surroundings. The larger human cities reminded him of Cybertron and the military bases of his own command but this? Dirt, plants, and non-warriors? He barely remembered dealing with non-combatants let alone a human femme and her sparkling daughter. Nevertheless, Will had been insistent. Part of the time would be at the farm with his family to get Sarah's approval. Personally, the mech processed it as a waste of time. The Decepticons would blast the planet if they could and retaliation on these weak fleshy humans a possibility. He had guarded a Prime for Primus sake and never lost him yet. Who was this femme to make him prove his abilities? "Maybe Ratchet is right. Humans are born naked, wet and hungry. Things go to pit from there. Been on the planet less than a orn and demoted to guarding nowheresville. Oh goodie," he grumbled.
The early morning sun cast shadows his thermal discerned through down to the smallest blade of grass. Pheasants exploded upward from the cornfield, energy trackers confirming normal flight and not enemy movement through the plowed rows. A single green and brown feather floated down before disappearing in laser flash. Then the mech stood still, laser sight retracting, systems online and active as he guarded. Air composition data began scrolling across his visuals as weapons returned to standby.
78.09% nitrogen, 20.95% oxygen, 0.93% argon, 0.039% carbon dioxide, and small amounts of other gases. Water vapor approximately 1% with micro gametophytes of seed plants common identifying reference as seeds and microbiological spores.
The sound of human humming reached his audios, turning him towards the farmhouse to watch the femme descend the front stairs.
Sarah Lennox, non-threat. Capabilities: Unknown. Protection: Priority
Ironhide's system automatically categorizing even as the smile formed on his lip plates. Unlike the soldiers who ran up and down the stairs or even fell down them, Sarah used the handrail to descend carefully. "A spill, a slip, a med bay trip," flowed across his processors. Protocols activated, approving of her cautious nature while filtering potential hazards on the property to his charges.
The human femme wore a red and yellow sundress, leaving her arms and legs bare. Her wicker sun hat and wooden flip-flop sandals completed her outdoor summer clothing. Her hands gracefully picked up a wood basket off of the deck, cutting shears, a hand spade and other gardening tools resting inside it.
"Your outer surface lacks adequate protection," he began, deliberately lowering his booming voice while staying where he was. A larger mech, he knew his size made him intimidating.
"Humans don't wear armor Ironhide, you know that. No amount of asking, begging or pleading will change that," she smiled up at the weapon's specialist, deciding the friendly approach would work best. "Not for me and especially not for Annabelle."
"I meant protection for dermal damage due to exposure of solar rays," he corrected. Armor would have been better but early discussions with Will had gotten him nowhere. The humans dressed as they chose on the battlefield and off. But he was long lived and patient. In time the human race would adapt to Cybertron standards. Or those under his care. They always did. Ask Prime. Look how may weapons he had installed, these humans would be no different.
"Don't worry. I'm not out here that long. Trimming, watering the grass and flower beds," she explained, kneeling by the first row of plants, snipping at the roses.
"Why are you cutting the plants? Are they a hazard? I can remove them quicker," his war cannons spun once as he smirked. Once she saw him in action, she would trust him more and he could return to the new base.
"No, I'm harvesting the roses only. See?" She pointed at the massive multi petal red and pink flowers. "Beautiful aren't they? Enough for a whole bouquet in the house."
"Does cutting not damage them?"
"They will wilt eventually but I add a mix to the water and they'll last at least a week," as another handful of the flowers joined the first in the basket.
"You grow them to sever them? Then display the remains on your table for beauty?" He asked, his deeper tone baring the smallest hesitation. This species was strange.
"Roses are to be displayed. Doesn't Cybertron have gardens? Growing things to bring inside for your home?"
"Nothing on Cybertron is similiar. Gardens there are sculptures and areas for couples to meet or play without walls around but no flowers to cut, as it is a metal world. To trim or remove we use the target ranges or the fighting arenas. Are they like a trophy?"
"Can be," she smiled. "Four years ago my pink English Shepfield Rose won the blue ribbon at the county fair. Finally beat out old lady Peterson and her Red Downsville Beauty. A little time, the right seeds and a ton of fertilizer and I won that battle."
"As Autobots we too take pride in our accomplishments but do not take trophies from our battles. Our medical staff treats a wounded enemy but an offlined Decepticon is another matter. Better their parts than ours when few slagging pieces match. Not that I haven't ripped apart a few shells. Prime would have quite a collection of face plates and fried spark chambers. Are you fully functional?" He focused on her, lightly running a medical scan.
Sarah breathed rapidly, a noticeable pale color to her face. "No talking of battles please. I get upset enough with Will in NEST without the reminder," she swallowed.
"But he is a warrior. What else would he do but battle and risk his life?"
"Be a husband and father. I knew what I was getting into being a military wife but it doesn't make it any easier. Though you being there relives some of my fears. You will protect him?" Her plea more a soft command.
"With all my spark. Same as you and your sparkling," he affirmed, more protective protocols forming in his processor. She nodded, her vital signs changing yet again. Rising to her feet, he watched as she spun a handle on the wall before spreading out a small green hose. It resembled the hose attachments of his world but in miniature. He frowned in distaste as water began flowing out of it.
"Watering the lawn, to keep it green," she offered, careful to keep it spraying the other direction. Will had reassured her Ironhide would not rust in the rain and even had crashed into a swimming pool but she had also heard about him bellowing when Mojo had peed on his foot. No use risking offending him or making him step backwards and knock a tree over accidentially.
"Why is it important to apply water?" He finally asked, unable to come up with any reasonable answer that made sense.
She pointed to a small sign at the edge of the driveway. "Lawn sprinklers save your grass."
"Is the grass sentient or of high value?"
"No, just a plant though sometimes it seems to have a mind of its own when it grows between the flagstone steps and not where it's suppose to. I put that sign there to remind Will to quit driving over the hose ends. Annabelle loves to crawl around outside now that she is learning to walk and scratchy dead grass is a no no."
He considered it but didn't truly understand. The sparkling needed room, that he understood from having raised other bots. But outside? In the air without armor or weaponry? He repressed a shudder at the damage that could occur, making a mental note to monitor the grass to ensure it remained safe for them. "Are you going to slice and remove parts for display inside?" There again, he could demonstrate his control using a micro thin energon blade. Cut most of the area in one fell swoop with micro precision.
"No, grass stays outside. Except when Annabelle and Will track it in or Will plays football with Epps or the others then it's everywhere," she muttered, shutting the water off and coiling the hose back by the house.
"Why do you save it then when you offline and eat animals that are far more intelligent and useful?"
"Uhm, it's a human thing. Ask Will to explain it. I'm going back inside," she stated, knowing Annabelle would wake soon and want breakfast. And be the perfect excuse to avoid talking to the big black armored alien standing in her driveway.
"Your core body temperature is raised and your facial complexion flushed," he noted, updating medical logs. "Prolonged sun exposure is apparently detrimental."
Will and his team arrived later they evening, reassuring Ironhide that Sarah would come around. 'Whatever that means,' Ironhide processed. 'Species has no transform or rotating parts. What would come around?' He monitored the couple in the backyard, keeping as many sensors trained on the toddler in her crib at the same time. Sarah and Will's voices began rising, enveloping more of his protocols. He listened as Will explained the flight into Mission City with the Allspark cube and the battle.
"Ironhide saved my life. They all did and Jazz died trying to protect us. I'm home because of them. They have nowhere else to go," Will emphasized.
"Will they stay here at the farm?"
"Probably. I don't know Sarah. But we owe them. The least I can do is trust them."
"I will try," she promised, hugging her husband. That night she celebrated her husband's return, not realizing Ironhide could hear and see the two of them in the bedroom. Ironhide couldn't shut off his sensors without risking a sneak attack though he moved as far away from the house as he dared. Will realized it later during the drive back to the military base for their airlift to Diego Garcia but avoided the subject all together. Ironhide never mentioned it, having seen and heard far worse from his own species over his long life. He was more concerned over the present he had left for her.
That morning, Sarah paused by the edge of the driveway, noting the little sign had a smaller board nailed to it. Bending down, she read the neatly printed English letters.
Lawn sprinklers save your grass, Ironhide saves your aft.
Laughing, she shook her head side to side. "Okay, this round goes to you big guy for helping Will. But if you ever mess up, I will deal with you myself."
To be continued...