Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews. Okay, I'm picking on Optimus again but he is good natured and handles too much responsibility too seriously. I don't believe in any prank or system that overrides total personal control but adding a little fun to the day's work is okay via another holographic rule. And cliffhanger for the story arc. Major battle sequence is next and I suck at descriptions plus time snags are holding it up. Will post soon.
Rule #187 Lydia DeMarco is borrowed from the wonderful fic "What Comes Around" by ladyofdarkstar here on fan fiction. Excellent long runing fic to read and enjoy. Link on my profile page. Lydia is only visiting by permission of author and will return unharmed, least by me. The Galloway sector seven quote is from tf wiki site.
Story arc warning: Prime Mechner is not an idiot; just a Prime that has never lost trusting in physical strength and that old tactics would handle a new enemy. If mistakes hadn't been made early in the war, it could have been stopped. Ten joors is about sixty hours. Onward to two genders, two different races and mixing them in one universe.
TR TR TR TR TR TR TR TR TRANSFORMERS
WL Rule# 8 Never prank Optimus Prime unless you know he will laugh at it. You do not anger the biggest, most war experienced, and intelligent bot and expect to use the excuse, 'we thought it would be funny,' and expect to remain online or intact.
164. Do not alter holographic drivers into random shapes based on keywords.
"I understand Major, have a good day," Optimus signed off then sagged his lip plates into a frown. Internal displays registered his own systems were projecting a hologram shape, keyed by the word 'understand.' Curious, he turned and saw his reflection in the picture glass on his office wall, a yellow glowing light bulb floating above his blue helm. "They didn't," he narrowed his optics in anger then tried another phrase. "I don't understand," keyed a second floating yellow light bulb hologram. "They did," he realized. Internal diagnostics ran, detecting no trace of any other keyed words or hologram emitter code patches. "Those two are inventive. In trouble but inventive," he acknowledged. Satisfied the prank was harmless, he continued working as the holograms faded.
The report was completed, electronically signed and forwarded. "Before I recharge and run internal resets, I will have to show her their prank," he said then twitched back in his chair. Large white fluffy feathers drifted down. "What the?" he looked up at the ceiling as the feathers moved up before continuing to fall. "Another hologram," he realized, shifting his vision side to side, the falling white feathers matching the directional changes. Key word, 'recharge.' The internal diagnostic detected no traces of tampering or changes.
"Why do I get the feeling there are more than two word triggers?" he murmured then made a decision. "I need help and I know the exact mech to ask."
::Ratchet, are you available?:: Optimus
::My schedule is full until evening with protoform designs:: Ratchet answered.
::I'm busy with reports myself:: He groaned, seeing the colorful juggling circus balls appearing around his hands keyed by the word 'busy.'
::The why the interruption?:: Ratchet's mental tone conveyed his grumpiness.
::Needed a systems adjustment:: Optimus
::Is it serious?:: Ratchet
::No, not serious. I have another matter to tie up first. Sorry to have disturbed you:: Optimus closed the signal. Golden coiled rope holograms appeared around his chest and arms, the ends tying and untying themselves. Four words and another diagnostic showed no alterations, changes or additions to his systems.
Optics closed, metal fingers tapping his desk top before deciding to take the holographic system offline. "Unable to locate specified system," flashed across his main processor. "Unable to locate?" he repeated then tapped metal fingers faster as the solar system hologram displayed, zeroing in on earth then Diego Garcia then his office at the word 'locate'. Five words and no responses to the diagnostic scans.
"I am going to seal my door with explosives when I recharge from now on. That will keep those slacking twins away." He blinked as two human girls appeared on a bicycle, circling him before riding away, chewing and blowing bubble gum bubbles, keyed by the word 'twins'. Six words and no diagnostic scan errors or changes detected.
KAWHAM!
His metal fist slammed into the desk, cracking the top of it. Optics snapped shut as he grabbed his anger and locked it down. 'I am not a youngling that can indulge in fits of temper. I am not injured nor any under my command threatened. It is only an inconvenience.' A shuffling sound had him looking up to see Ratchet standing in the doorway, his multi layered optics spinning in full scan mode.
"Do not move Prime," he ordered. "You never ask for help and run from me and med bay. So when you call and ask for a systems reset it is serious. I can confirm your spark is intact, all major and minor parts attached. Optics are lit and processors are functioning. However," his face took on a serious look before forming a smirk. "Your desk is critically injured. What needs resetting besides your temper?"
"They reset my holographic driver program. Words trigger images around me. Like understand, recharge, and busy," Optimus said. The medic watched the demonstration, his lip plates twitching.
"Original. Prowl will have fun crafting the wording on this rule," His yellow green body shifted as he approached. "Stand and raise your left arm. The access is under your side chest plates."
"I know that," he grumbled but did as instructed. Ratchet transformed his fingers into splayed prongs and clamps to begin removing the outer armor. Two layers were removed and sitting on the desk top when the office door opened again, a familiar black warrior mech standing there, report data pad in his hand.
"Am I interrupting?" Ironhide asked, the faintest tone of worry.
"No, I was expecting you," Optimus began as his entire shape shifted out and down, as though he was nine months pregnant like a human female.
"Optimus Prime? Or should I say Optimus Pudge? Optimus Pot Belly?" Ironhide chuckled, echoing the round shape with his hands.
"Maybe you should cut back on the energon snacks," Ratchet quipped.
"I intend to cut their creative processors out. Where are they?" Optimus growled, not detecting their energy signals anywhere on base.
"Twins volunteered for a long range scout mission today," Ironhide answered, watching the hologram of identical girls circle them before disappearing.
"Hold this," Ratchet said, handing out the matrix of leadership. More armor followed before he reached the transmitter. "Disabled. Try it now."
"Understand, recharge, busy." All three waited then relaxed as nothing happened.
"Thank you Ratchet. Elita can help replace HEY!" Optimus yelled as a mini image of his femme sparkmate appeared on his forearm, dancing and shucking armor. Embarrassed, he covered the image with his other hand. Keyword Elita.
::Wow. Wonder if she could teach Chromia those moves:: Ironhide
::Twins better move to the moon after that stunt:: Ratchet sent then focused on Optimus. "Forgot your reserve transmitter for the in cab holographic driver of your alt mode. My bad," Ratchet said, opening the wrist plating.
"Can you duplicate their work? I have the exact words for the twins to trigger. Say, after their next recharge when the femmes are around? Humiliate and embarrass them right down to their sparks?" The big bot asked mischievously. "Eli….the femme commander can help."
That night, Optimus explained the prank and asked for Elita's input on keywords in their private quarters. She did then demanded to see her image. He sighed and retriggered the program, "I love you Elita." And watched as her optics narrowed then widened. Her lip plates twitched before opening for a full laugh.
"Not bad. Was it like this?" she moved side to side, getting his complete focused attention. "I really do prefer motions more like this," she shifted movements as his jaw gears dropped. Her chest plates began to open as she moved forward, her spark calling to his. "Why dance off armor when it slides out of the way?"
WL Rule# 9 Never upset a budget liaison without being prepared for the consequences. They have no sense of humor and your budget can be cut down to cardboard boxes, two screwdrivers, crayons and a shoelace. MacGyver we are not. NEST needs weapons and replacement parts.
187. Do not assume human threats are a prelude to a true attack. They use words, threatening posturing and display weapons with no intention of violence while other humans will laugh, smile and stab you through your spark without hesitation.
Lieutenant Commander Lydia DeMarco watched the man climb out of the car, making a mental bet. He was a government liaison like her but his views would be worlds apart. She drove a bright red 1964 Porsche 911 with black tinted windows; he arrived in a silver Cadillac four door sedan with an assistant in tow. Her former military experience helped her maintain, a fit, athletic body even without the added speed and strength of her Cybertronian repair implants. He was another middle-aged, balding human with a paunch who probably lacked the spine to hold a weapon, nevertheless listen to an explanation about the costs of repairing one. She had once threatened any Autobot that made her life misery to return the favor fivefold. He looked the type to threaten a five-hour meeting to discuss budget adjustments.
"Let me guess, doesn't believe the Transformers are valuable and humans need the money more than them," she muttered. Her artificial eye glowed green, hidden behind sunglasses. "Welcome to Diego Garcia Mr. Johnson," and she smiled. "We have a lot to discuss. I have outdoor seating arranged with refreshments. This way please."
Three hours later she glared at him, wondering for the tenth time how he got assigned to review her work. "Look," she began, pinching her nose as the headache threatened to become worse. "Why don't I just beat my head on that flag pole ten times and we call it even? The pain could not be worse, and the end result would be as successful. Neither of us are willing to budge at this point." His assistant smiled then looked anywhere but at her as he stood behind his boss.
"Young woman, time with them has affected you. Be reasonable. Budgets means cuts. You are unwilling to bend. Like steel." He countered, wiping at his sweaty forehead. The sun beat down mercilessly and for once Lydia was grateful. Prowl and Ratchet monitored her office and her fluctuating life signs brought on by frustration and resisting the urge to show him how like the Autobots she was would have had the medic by her side instantly. "I am not young Mr. Johnson and I am reasonable. Our profits from the asteroid mining these three months more than covers the next five years budget." She tapped a bright red painted fingernail on the files.
"My point exactly. Cut now and the budget can reach ten or even twenty years and the excess money will be useful for the rest of humanity," he said, shifting in the wood chair, reaching for another glass of water after his assistant poured it, adding a lemon slice.
"Other budget wastes you mean," she realized, disgusted at his true intention. "You don't care for the Transformers or their needs, only how much money you can siphon off!" She shouted, snapping to full combat readiness out of habit. On her feet, body tense and hands clear to grab or throw.
He struggled out of his chair, trying to match her defiant stance even as his belly sagged over his pants. "You and your precious robots." He stepped forward, nose to nose with her. "No one can save you now DeMarco. We will slash this budget and you will stay exiled on this base forever."
"Back off before this goes where you don't want it to," she threatened, feeling the heat in her chest increasing. Her artificial green eye was shifting to red but remained hidden behind the sunglasses as the pounding headache increased.
"You are outnumbered. My staff can wring blood from a turnip or a transistor. You are no different," he snarled.
"I will offline before letting a sniveling weasel like you take their money. Do your worse," she snapped, forgetting how far reaching their alien hearing was. Or how protective her Autobot family really was. Dramatics were not her usual forte but her patience was at an end. And the middle of the far airfield should have been a safe, deserted area to argue. The Autobot command officers had their official duties and her budget meeting scheduled when Arcee and the others were in their own meetings. Unknown to Lydia, theirs had been rescheduled.
The liaison clenched his fists, face turning almost purple with anger as the ground begun vibrating, the water pitcher shaking as the thump thump thump sound increased. A red optic, snarling metal Tyrannosaurus Rex stomped into view, heading directly for them. The assistant squeaked before diving under the table.
Lydia yelled, her voice lost in his angry roar. The man began screaming as the massive metal tyrannosaurus Rex roared again, opening his jaw and grabbing for him.
CRUNCH
The screaming stopped as the man disappeared.
Lydia wiped her face with her hand, recognizing the other Autobot alt forms rapidly approaching from all directions. Optimus and Wheeljack were headed directly for Grimlock but their speed was nominal compared to the all too familiar yellow green rescue hummer aiming her way. Arcee, Ironhide and Chromia transformed on the runway edge, facing outward with weapons hot. Sideswipe, Sunstreaker and Jolt transformed, forming the next rank. Cliffjumper, Bumblebee and Jazz followed the pattern, battle masks engaged. The command officers slowed, transforming into their bi pedal modes as they faced Grimlock and her.
"Grimlock, release the man," Optimus quietly commanded. The Dinobot waved his short stubby arms as if to say why?
"His vitals show increasing distress and he will regurgitate or lubricate himself." Red optics went wide as he confirmed the readings. The Dinobot kneeled rapidly on one leg, opening his jaws and dropping the human out.
The man whimpered, shaking while curled in a fetal position. Grimlock tried to wipe the inside of his jaw with his claws.
"He's okay. Not a mark on him," the assistant assessed after crawling out from under the table.
"Why wouldn't he be?" Lydia asked, her tone heavy with sarcasm. "Transformers drink energon as in pour the acidy liquid energy down a tube not a throat. Did you even read the initial disclosures? From Optimus to Bumblebee they all have the same network of tubes and filters for a liquid fuel diet. Tubes that need replacing or patching and are in this budget."
"He's dry. Seems okay," the assistant continued tugging on his bosses tightly wrapped arms without getting a response.
"Think dumb aft! No tongue or taste buds for food, no muscles for chewing and no saliva. They do not have throats or stomachs and no intestines. Grimlock's jaws end in a solid metal hinge." Lydia pointed up at Grimlock. "That idiot safely panicked in a large metal box."
"And you wouldn't?"
"Haven't yet," Lydia smugly answered. "I've ridden there twice, not that it is any of your business."
"What were you doing?" Wheeljack asked, his sidebars clashing with curiosity colors.
"Grimlock has no interior cab in his alt mode. This is it," she pointed to the metal dinosaur. "Safest place at the time was under his armor," she answered, holding her breath as Ratchet frowned.
"Why under the armor? Any danger that severe would mean?" The medic glared at both of them, rapidly pulling base records and reports for the last orns.
"Grimlock go. Need cleaner in mouth."
"I'll help," Lydia quickly chimed in. "Use a scrub brush for you big guy." They both made less than a third of the way across the air strip when the first silver wrench sailed by and the cursing began.
Story Arc – "Finding who you are" (part four)
Review: Soundwave's sister was arranged to be bonded to Alpha Trion, a prominent scientist and politician who did not love her and never truly bonded with her. The Fallen, the first Decepticon began killing the Primes and their families as only a Prime could defeat him. A pair of Primes realized the danger and hid their mech sons, Orion Pax and Megatron during a city wide disaster. They were found and secretly adopted by Alpha Trion to help his public image. Soundwave hates Alpha and vowed to turn one or both orphans to the Fallen as they get older for revenge. Now in his fourth / adult frame, Megatron secretly leads the Decepticon forces, arriving on the first Cybertron moon base as Prime Mechner and his war ship closes in. Silverblade worked on the station and joined the Decepticons after being refused for her small size by the Autobots and Prime Mechner. Soundwave recognizes her clan sign as identical to his sister and sent her off station to save her from Megatron and Starscream.
In the Autobot med bay on Diego Garcia, Silverblade continued her narrative to Ratchet. "I came online in the shuttle over ten joors later. It followed the preprogrammed course to the distant mining colony. Once there, I learned what had happened," her optics dimmed with sorrow. "I should have been there. I could have stopped their deaths. I was one of them. A Decepticon," she murmured.
Ratchet pulled out of her leg repairs, reforming both extensions into his normal hands. He reached for her silver colored hands, holding them tightly. "No bot told you did they?" he asked, optics barely flickering as he linked into the comm system while facing her. "You need to talk to Prowl."
"Prowl? Why?" Her old wariness and fear reasserted itself. The second in command was the last mech she wanted to deal with. The Prime had warned her to keep her Decepticon past a secret and the medic wanted her to talk to the Autobot Chief Security Officer ? No way.
He followed her thought process and held still as she twitched, receiving a relay from Optimus instructing her to ask Prowl about the attack with his permission. Optimus himself would set up the meeting and her secret would remain hidden.
"I don't understand," she said glancing up at the medic.
"You will. Let me finish restringing your leg cables then recharge. Autobots watch over their own, regardless of clan or social position Silverblade. I was high family, politician in the Senate and now, I am the chief medical officer and serve the lug heads who think being a warrior means begin a target. You need the work through no fault of your own. Now rest," he laid one hand on her silver helm, triggering the recharge cycle.
The alert timer beeped, bringing her out of recharge. Optics opened to a white ceiling. 'Oh yah, med bay. I remember,' She processed, sitting up.
"Silverblade?" An unfamiliar mech voice asked, causing her to flinch, nearly sliding off the berth backwards. A tall black and white mech stood there, watching her without emotion.
"Prowl," she stated.
"Before you become concerned, I was the tactician and strategist to Prime Mechner on the first moon base assault. Those events were heavily suppressed and over time the records lost except for those few of us still online," he said, emotion flicking through his optics. His wrist plate slid back, extending cable connections out. "No amount of words will convince. You need to see to understand."
"Connect to me? You sure? I don't even know you," she stalled, wondering if she really needed to know that badly.
He waited until she accepted the cables, their firewalls and internal protections intact as he retrieved a heavily guarded memory file. It opened and they were one memory out of the past on the warship Infamy.
Prowl stood ramrod straight in the lift while reviewing the battle plans with irritation, his white wing doors straight up. "Prime or not, this mech cannot be serious." The lift doors opened, revealing the orderly chaos of the bridge. Prime Mechner stood dead center, his tall green frame crested by his bright red square helm and blazing optics. Large mechs moved among the command stations, monitoring the orbiting moon station filing the panoramic front view.
"Sir, all teams are activated and waiting," Prowl reported. "I do have concerns regarding the fail safe settings."
"Concerns?" His high pitched vocal tone made light of the word. "This is your first mission is it not?"
"First combat mission under you. I have combat experience, full academy training and an impeccable record sir," he reminded.
The tall mech waved his qualifications aside. "Speed and strength win. Processors cannot replace size and a good energon sword. Should I fall in battle, however unlikely, this war ship will fire on the station, removing the control room and the main propulsions systems. I will see it rendered helpless before allowing the Decepticons a victory. Take forever to rid those glitch mice out and I will not let an orbiting moon base become a launching platform for attacks."
Prowl frowned never hearing concern for the Transformers inhabiting and working on the station who were about to be caught in the cross fire. "Sir, let those settings remain but keyed to two command officers as a fail safe."
"Worried about me?" he grinned arrogantly, patting the smaller officer like a youngling. "Never happen Prowlzer."
"That's Prowl sir," he corrected stepping back. "Everything cannot rely on one mech."
"I'm not a mech, I'm a Prime," he tapped the traditional square lined engraving on his inner arm plate. "Means I am the one qualified to lead. And to a great victory I shall lead. You will see and this joor will be remembered as another in a line on unbroken victories."
Prowl hesitated, unsure how to reason with the Prime. Logic dictated leading the combat team level by level was folly as well as blowing up the station they were sent to defend if the battle turned. The end result was the same, destruction and offlining.
"Connect to the docking bay, blow the airlock then have all teams proceed to level four," Mechner ordered.
"Sir," Prowl interrupted. "The hallways on level four are small per schematics. Power plant is on that level. That many large mechs,"
"Will wipe the decks with any Decepticons. They need to shut down the power plant to control the station. We stop them there," he explained, gesturing for the bots to enter the lifts. "On we go." The next breems passed by in a blur. The docking, marching onto the station and descending to level four.
"Enemy detected ahead. Five mechs behind a temporary barricade. Jammers are all around. Area could be filled with Decepticons," the lead scout warned.
"I recommend caution. Setting is data pad perfect for an ambush," Prowl stated, looking around the two massive warrior mechs standing between him and Prime Mechner.
"Five? That is a scouting force. We can handle them," he stated. "Jammers are to hide their low numbers. I will handle this." He strode forward, his two assault mechs following.
"I AM PRIME MECHNER, IDENTIFY YOUR LEADER FOR NEGOTIATION OF TERMS OF SURRENDER" he broadcasted. Four small mechs and one large mech half hidden in the shadows barely moved into optic range.
Prowl's lip plates frowned, identifying Ravage, Rumble, Ratbat and Overkill. The tall mech remained behind the jammers, his image blurring and protected. "Where is Soundwave? Those are his cassettes. And why them? What are we missing?"
"I command here." A tall silver mech with heavily reinforced armor stated, moving into the light. His red optics remained steady as the sneer on his lip plates. The arm gun hummed with black crackling energy, contrasting with his straight pulled metal armoring.
"Megatron? Your mech creator Alpha Trion will not be amused. You are fourth frame and too trained for this foolishness," Mechner said, his tone disapproving. His battle mask slid back as he straightened, putting his weapons on standby.
"He is not my creator. Or didn't you know? I serve the Fallen," he tapped the Decepticon insignia. "Alpha Trion has many secrets. I know them all. Like his work on this moon base. The central computer holds his research on weapon transforms. He will be upset when he discovers the files missing. And when he realizes I led the attack, tsk tsk." The Decepticon leader enjoyed the nasty chuckling of his troops. His optics focused on a point behind the Prime. "You won't be there when he is told however."
Prowl swore as the jamming signal stopped, revealing Decepticons exploding out of hiding from all directions. Processors identified them as he turned back to back with a warrior shock trooper. "Shockwave, Starscream, Thundercracker, Skywarp, Scourge, Blackout, Barricade, Scrapper, Bonecrusher, Long Haul, Shrapnel, Barrage, Ransack…" he shut off the list. "If we remain online after this, I'll just add 'and others' to the report."
"Decepticons, destroy them!" Megatron commanded as he, Soundwave, and Starscream fired simultaneously into the Prime. Weapons fire erupted throughout the hallway as Cybertronian curses and screams rang out.
To be continued…
