The Diego Diaries: Project and PLAY BALL! (dd6 660)
Note: I broke my glasses last night and had to glue them -HA!-and it took this long for the glue to dry. Lordy, I hate glasses. LOL! ON WITH THE SHOW!
=0=On a hillside on Cybertron
They stood in a row, half a dozen powerful mechanisms that looked just like each other for the most part. Behind them were three mechanisms that didn't. The view beyond them beggared the imagination. A camp which was orderly and organized stretched out to the horizon and beyond, a dimly glowing prospect of 20,000,000 individuals living in the best housing and circumstances they'd encountered since The Fall.
Carver, Rockwell and Pico had nothing to say. This was so beyond the beyond they were speechless. The mechs who made it happen were discussing the building of two more just like it near major urban centers, thus consolidating a number of smaller ones that were now in the way of rebuilding and thus had to be dismantled and moved to other consolidation points.
It was progress of a kind.
The big mechs knew the three were there but they ignored them, giving them a small taste of what it meant to mean nothing to someone else. The three who were bound to this moment by the honor of their appa couldn't do a damned thing about it. They could by their actions and words make it a lot worse, however, and this they were smart enough to understand.
Ironhide glanced at the three, then sweep his arm wide to encompass the camp. "Behold, the fruits of your labors."
They didn't say a word.
"We're going to the north," Hard Drive said as he turned to the three. "We're going to be doing a number of things, some of it grunt work. We expect you to do your part. If you don't then my boys will be very unhappy. I'm too busy to be unhappy myself so they're delegated to do it for me."
Sun grinned. "I get the big one," he said of Rockwell. "He looks like a smart aft."
"I'll take the skinny one," Jack said of Pico.
"This one," Steiner said pointing to a pensive slightly fearful Carver, "is mine."
"I approve," Hardie said with a slight grin. He glanced at his son, grandson and great grandson, Raptor, Blackjack and Ironhide. "You snooze, you lose."
Everyone laughed but the three as the big mechs walked toward a shuttle. Security, kibitzers along for the day and aides who were lounging around began to enter. The rest of them did as well. The last ones to board were the three. They glanced around for a seat but every one was filled.
"Sit on the floor," Ironhide said. "Safety first."
The three sat awkwardly, then it was silent a moment. A big gnarly bot, Quell, who was a former Decepticon marauder glanced at Hardie. "Who are these slackers? They look allergic to dirt."
Rough laughter greeted that along with agreement as the crew stared at the three.
The three sat still as statues unwilling to make an issue of themselves. They were smarter than that. It was surprising and good intel at the same time as Hardie watched from the corner of his optic.
"That's Rockwell, that one is Pico and the last is Carver. They beat the slag out of Ratchet when he was shit faced," Sun said with a big grin. "Broke his arm. Among other things."
The temperature dropped immediately as they stared at the three. They were a study in stillness.
Quell leaned forward. "I had no truck with Ratchet in the past but I also saw him help Decepticons on the battlefield when he didn't have to. That wasn't nice what you did."
Grins and nods bloomed.
Another mech leaned slightly forward to look down the cabin at the three. "He's taking care of my appa. He had protoform wasting to the point he can't walk. Ratchet's using some techniques on him that have made it possible for him to sit up and be 's going to be okay if Ratchet keeps doing what he's doing now. You jeopardized that. What kind of fraggers are you?" he asked.
"From the looks of it they're a project, right, General?" another asked Hardie who nodded.
"That's right," Hardie said to general laughter.
Sandstorm who was staring at them with cold optics shook his helm. "You high tones have too many rules. Tell me again how this makes you better than me?" he asked.
None of the three answered. It would be barely tolerable, the ride to the north pole.
=0=At home
Ratchet finished folding his ensemble for the game that night, packing it into his carry hold. He grinned. Prowl would never understand the mentality of the working classes.
The Gothic wonder bunny.
Walking out of the berth room to the living room, he began to deep clean. He picked up a toy and put it into the corner box. Looking around, he marveled once again how living a military life had its dividends. The only things missing were glinting lights to show how sparkling everything was.
He walked to the console and found out where everyone was on Cybertron through their transponders. Being a doctor had its benefits. Then he walked to the door to head out and get lunch for everyone. It would take a little wagon to feed that many mechs but it would be worth it.
Ambling down the street towing his little wagon, he reached the Take Out Place, ground zero in the metro down town part of Autobot City for all the bachelors, lazy afts and the culinary impaired who lived there. He stood in line with a grin, marveling that he didn't know anyone in the room, then gave his order.
1. Fifteen Cybertronian 'calzones' stuffed with 'the good stuff, Ratchet' (IH)
2. Fifteen different desserts that could each feed three mechs apiece because he 'knew his boyz'
3. Fifteen different boxes of candy, 'the kind I/we like' (everyone)
4. A salad. Because.
5. Fifteen bottles of Praxus Black Label and a cream soda. Because.
6. Fifteen sandwiches of various kinds
7. Three dozen cookies of all manner including whoopee pies just because they were 'THAT AWESOME, RATCHET!' (IH)
The boxes were stuffed, then stacked on the little wagon that Ratchet was pulling, one that the little kids like to ride in and they liked to use when the fam was in a hurry.
That one.
Thanking everyone, Ratchet walked/rolled out as he headed toward The Fortress and a meet up on Cybertron with the family. They were going to rendezvous with him at the Crossroads, a place where all the main highways and train lines crisscrossed on world. He disappeared into the nearly noon time crowds.
=0=Ironhide and Company
They were gathering to leave when Ironhide got the word. He glanced at Hardie. "Ratchet is bringing lunch. We have to go to the Crossroads. He's going to be there."
Hardie nodded, then changed the order of flight. Even though it was actually early morning in the hemisphere where they were, Martian bots kept to the time schedule on Mars to keep their systems synced. Those who lived here temporarily for whatever reason or worked, then came home to Mars did the same. It was easier.
They lifted off with the three sitting on the floor once more. It had been a grim thing visiting the different places of destruction and death. They'd visited bombing sites where the bodies were still strewn. They'd also had to help gather them with the others. It'd been gut wrenching but they didn't complain.
They couldn't.
It was a silent group that flew south several thousand miles before they approached the vast industrial district of Crossroads. Syncing into Ratchet's transponder, they flew in to land gently nearby. Lights from the ship searched for him in the hit and miss light of the vast area.
Nearby the mournful sound of trains could be heard as they passed through or stopped at this, the biggest cargo transition point on world. Ships were everywhere and many were landing like they were or taking off to go who knew where. A big center here ran everything on world linked to transportation and distribution so this was highly guarded against slaggers.
The ramp fell and the crew began to deplane, walking down to the tarmac where Ratchet stood with his little red wagon. Slag was traded amongst the slaggers, then the three came down, slowed when they saw him, then walked stiffly to stand by themselves just outside of the group.
"What did you bring, Ratchet?" Twin Twist asked as he smirked at Ratchet, someone who knew his insides better than he did.
"All the good stuff. I brought enough so you can stuff yourselves. I didn't know if you're coming back or when you'd get another chance. Sub what you can't eat or drink. Okay?" Ratchet said as he began to unpack the boxes.
They agreed happily, then the big mechs took the several each and a beer. It was a short walk to a stack of cargo marked for Helex for them to park and nosh. Sitting, they watched the show as they began to open their boxes to eat. Aides, guards, mechs along for the ride, the family and the three were sharing the bounty here as Ratchet passed it out.
When he got to Pico, Carver and Rockwell, he stared at them evenly. "Come and get it, slaggers. You might not eat again for some time," he said as he held out the three boxes, one can and a beer toward Pico.
He walked up and took it silently. "Thanks," he said, then glanced around for a box to sit in.
Twin pushed a box off a stack. "Have a seat," he said as Pico walked over to sit.
Ratchet handed the same to Carver who joined Pico. Then he handed the same to Rockwell before taking his own. Staring around, he saw another box. "There's one. Join me." Ratchet walked to it to sit, then opened his boxes.
Rockwell stared at him, then awkwardly walked over to sit on the edge of the box. It was silent a moment as they ate and sipped beer.
"This is my kind of meal, Ratchet," Sandstorm said. "You read my processor."
"I have kids. I know what to get," Ratchet said with a chuckle.
Huge laughter and rude remarks greeted that as they dug in.
"What you gonna wear tonight at the game, Ratchet?" Solitaire asked. He was an aide to Hardie and a great youngling mech with a big family who supported him and his many brothers and sisters like they were golden.
"Its going to be epic," Ratchet said with a dazzling smile.
Huge laughter and raucous suggestions.
"Prowl doesn't get it about Iaconians and sports," Sun said. "It's almost better than the game to watch him come apart at the seams."
"Slagger is going to learn," Ratchet said with a chuckle. "I have plans for the whole season. By the way, we're going to win the championship. Tell me where I'm wrong."
No one could.
The three who were silently eating offered no opinion themselves.
=0=Prowl
He got the messages from Ratchet about the three. They were caught in a web they couldn't retrieve themselves from. Their appa, a revered member of their circle had staked his prestige on them to get them out of prison. Prowl was aware that Carbide was planning to put them into the prison itself, perhaps even in a barracks pen with Decepticons. There was no reason they should have other placements given their crime.
Their appa had been afraid for them and had put up his personal vow and character as down payment for them getting some other, better chance. Prowl knew enough about the way his caste worked to know it would take a HUGE pair of bearings to transgress upon that. The community they lived in would tear them apart if they made their appa, a mech they all loved look bad.
Right now, the whole bunch was going about Cybertron with the only mechs who could probably save them from themselves. He as a Praxian knew the power of The Code and the tenacity of the Elites who lived by it. Hardie would not give up no matter what.
Prowl grinned. He wondered if the three understood the depth and length of the power Hardie held over them. There was nothing he couldn't order that they had the power to decline.
Nothing.
It was going to be interesting, Prowl thought. Almost as interesting as the costume that he was sure Ratchet had prepared for the game that night. He suppressed a chuckle. He dared not encourage the lunatic. Then again, it was the greatest fun he had to watch Ratchet cavort. Some part of him was mightily jealous over his freedom of spirit, then the prim part of him hit that part with a hammer.
Prowl snickered, then glanced around to check. No one noticed. Good, he thought. I'll save my spontaneity for the game. That and his good right cross.
The afternoon would pass by sweetly for Prowl of Praxus and Ratchet of Iacon. The same couldn't be said for Pico, Carver and Rockwell.
Or their families.
=0=TB 5-14-19 5-18-19