This segment is a variant from my series 'The Space Between.' Previous plot: Megatron is trying to get Trypticon to earth via a giant space bridge. Setting: Oregon.
Optimus Prime was pinned down behind Trailbreaker's large forcefield while Tracks screamed in his face over the sound of blasters firing at them. His velvet voice made is hard to hear what he was saying, especially when the jets screeched by. Luckily, Prime was a lip reader.
"WINDCHARGER'S STUCK BEHIND ENEMY LINES!"
"WHO'S WITH HIM?"
"NOBODY!"
"WHERE'S PROWL?"
"SHOT!"
"IRONHIDE?"
"SHOT!"
"SUNSTREAKER?"
"RIGHT BEHIND YOU!" Tracks gestured to the twins, fifty feet farther up the mountain, both frantically repairing the weapons shot out of their hands earlier. Jazz sat with them, firing at the Seekers whenever they came near.
The shooting stopped the same time Prime hollered, "WHO HAS NOT BEEN PUT OUT OF COMMISSION?" Tracks paused. You could hear Sideswipe grunting as he struggled with his weapon. Bumblebee was somewhere out of sight, crying, "Ratchet! Help! It's Cliffjumper!" Trailbreaker lowered his defense shield to venture a scan down the mountain. No sign of the Decepticons. They didn't leave. They must be regrouping. Optimus could not make out anything through the smoke. Inferno was working overtime trying to get the fire under control, but he was shot, too. The fumes rolled in.
Megatron's raspy voice cut through all of the tension. "Optimus Prime! I know you're hiding back there!"
It was out before he could stop it. "I am not hiding!"
He heard the Decepticons cackle. "Pride is difficult to overcome. I am certain some human psychotherapist could render aid."
No response. Optimus was assessing his troops, while he allowed Megatron to babble about their willingness to negotiate, since he had a prisoner. Ratchet must have found Cliffjumper, because Bumblebee had ceased his howling. Optimus caught sight of Bluestreak climbing one of the giant pine trees, rifle strapped to his back. That tree better hold him. Optimus waved the twins, Jazz, Tracks, and Trailbreaker to get ready to attack.
"I do not enjoy delays, Prime. Make your decision!"
Optimus waited. Bluestreak readied his rifle to shoot the source of the voice.
"PRIME!" Optimus slunk down the hill, through the smoke, where he grabbed Bumblebee and Brawn. Brawn had been shot, but claimed it an exostructure wound. Ratchet was hastily working on Cliffjumper. He nodded to Optimus and the troops, murmuring he'd join them soon.
"Megatron! The space bridge has been activated!" The Decepticons were getting louder. Prime used this as an excuse to call the Dinobots out of hiding. Grimlock demanded Optimus Prime make up his mind, should they retreat or attack?
"Starscream! I gave no such order!"
"I pre-empted that order." Creeping over a fallen tree, Optimus could almost make out the faction below. The smoke thickened.
"You fool! I wanted to get them out in the open first!" Clunk. Optimus suppressed a chuckle. Soundwave's voice cut through the two's bickering, which did not end after Megatron's hit.
"Space bridge: opening."
The lightening and wind blew their cover, which would have meant something if the Decepticons were watching for them. All were staring at the space bridge. Optimus looked up the mountain, where the tendrils of smoke wavered enough in the wind to allow him notice of his sniper. He nodded to Bluestreak. Jazz led the others to creep up a little closer to their leader.
"Miss us, Megatron?" asked one the travelers. That was all the distraction Prime needed.
"Autobots! Attack!"
Megatron was doing well. The Autobots were all in hiding, those who weren't leaking fluids at his feet. Skywarp clutched a small Autobot to his chest as though he were the last energon cube in the galaxy. When the time was right, Soundwave sent the message to fall back and wait.
"Optimus Prime! I know you are hiding back there!"
He allowed a moment of his voice echoing off of the mountain before he heard a petulant whine returning. "I am not hiding!"
This cracked them all up. Skywarp laughed so hard he shook the Autobot he was holding. Megatron decided he had a sense of humor, too. He waited for his underlings to calm down.
"Pride is difficult to overcome. I am certain some human psychotherapist could render aid."
No response. The Decepticons all looked at each other, shrugging. "I don't think he wants to negotiate," muttered Astrotrain.
"They will negotiate or we lose a captive." Megatron raised his voice to address the obdurate leader. "I do not enjoy delay, Prime. Make your decision!" Still nothing. This was not to his liking. "Should he try an attack, kill that...thing. PRIME!"
Starscream ran up to his leader, glad to be doing something in the midst of this boring shouting match. "Megatron! The space bridge has been activated!"
"Starscream! I gave no such order!" This moron would never stop ignoring his commands. The second-in-command crossed his arms and grinned arrogantly.
"I pre-empted that order."
"You fool! I wanted to get them out in the open first!" He had not meant for Optimus to hear that. Wrathfully, he belted Starscream as hard as he could. It helped a little that his victim bounced at least once on the grassy hill. He chuckled at that, while Starscream spewed his rant.
"When were you planning to unleash our weapon, when the Autobots have us surrounded?"
"I call for the space bridge to be opened, not you!"
"You were taking too long!" Soundwave waved frantically for Megatron's attention.
"Space bridge: opening."
A flash of brilliant lightening. The sky opened, shooting a cylinder of light down to the earth. The dust cleared quickly.
"I don't believe it!" Starscream whispered. "It's impossible!"
Before them stood Autobots Megatron had not seen in four million years, Autobots who should be dead. A few youngsters, too. Ultra Magnus grinned at the gaping Decepticons.
"Miss us, Megatron?"
"Autobots! Attack!" From behind them came Optimus Prime and his army.
"Decepticons! To the air!" Megatron was furious at this turn. For once, he would not relinquish his position, at least not until he was sure Trypticon was not coming. They would not go down without a battle.
Ultra Magnus greeted Optimus Prime the minute he had a chance. They were blasting the recent addition of Devastator while he attempted to go after the Dinobots. Bluestreak was in the giant gestalt's hand, grabbed before he could shoot Megatron.
"Nice to see you, old friend." Ultra Magnus' voice was soft and warm, like Skyfire's or Prime's. It hearkened to the days they were first fighting together. "We would have come sooner, but Metroplex had a tougher time with Trypticon than we thought. You should give Mirage a big 'thanks' from us; if he hadn't infiltrated the Decepticon base to send us their files, you'd be in trouble."
"Mirage is good at that." Mirage was leaving the Decepticon base now.
"We've also been getting news from other planets who received that transmission and feel threatened enough to want to help. I think we finally got the lucky break we were looking for."
Optimus grinned under his faceplate. "Welcome to earth." He didn't have much time to utter anything else. Megatron was coming after them with the Seekers at his heels.
Tracks decided not to see who it was who came through when the space bridge smoke cleared. He took advantage of the confusion: while the Decepticons scrambled to the air to better situate themselves Tracks grabbed the Guardian by the claws and swooped in to take on Starscream and company. Unfortunately, the F-15's were better flyers, wounded or not.
"Get out of my way! The car wash is over THERE!" Thundercracker snarled, nicking Track's rear end with one of his shots. Skywarp came after him, laughing that dirty laugh he emitted in battle as they tried to chase him down. Tracks swerved in the sky to avoid their firepower but did a lousy job. How could he out-fly Decepticon jets? He couldn't. If he took out their leader maybe the Aerialbots would get out of Superion mode and come help him. Where was Starscream?
The low roar of his engines registered a second too late: before the telltale transforming noise interrupted the reverberations in his mind Tracks was rudely pushed down by an arrogant blue foot.
"Good boys play with toy jets, bad boys play with REAL jets!" sneered the Air Commander. "You've been naughty, pretty boy!" The Corvette plunged down below the clouds while being shot at. He could hear the jeering jet calling "You need to be punished!"
He had to bring out every trick in the book to realign himself in the air, using the diversion of the Seekers accusing Starscream of hitting on Tracks as his advantage. The second time attacked the red, gray and blue jet did not toy around. He gunned his engine and raced towards the Autobot.
Tracks pulled up to avoid a game of aerial 'chicken' in time to run into a distorting Skywarp's arrival. The Decepticon, with Thundercracker's aid, shot him hard enough to force him back into robot mode and fall. He radioed below in his usual calm demeanor for any Autobots under him to get out of the way. That task accomplished, Tracks covered his optics and braced himself for impact. He hoped that Sunstreaker wouldn't give him too much grief over the dents. He tumbled down quickly, left leg first.
Clunk.
"What the devil?" he asked, seeing red metal out of his peripheral vision.
Optimus Prime had caught him in his arms, breaking a wing off in the process but keeping him from hitting the ground. Tracks grinned in relief, uncovering his face to show his smile to someone he really didn't like that much.
"Prime, you really are divine," he purred, overdoing it in even HIS opinion. "Tha-" He stopped, voice halting in shock. It was not Optimus Prime. Tracks had heard of time stopping but had never experienced it until now. It couldn't be. "I know that grin," he murmured faintly, one arm sagging to his side and the other resting on his chestplate.
It loomed over him, an ivory face with two discs of optic as azure as the blue helmet that framed him. "You've really let yourself go, Tracks," Ultra Magnus spoke in the same dark teasing voice he used to occasionally thread into their nightly conversations. It made Tracks' solenoids quiver. "I used to see myself in you."
"Sub-standard earth polish," the blue mech replied after taking a moment to reconfigure his composure, trying to keep his cool in front of someone he'd tried to forget existed. "Have you brought anything from home for your dearest friend?"
He laughed as he placed the blue mech onto his feet.
"No," he snorted, handing his former lover the broken wing shorn off in the landing. The grin had a sardonic twist in one corner. "I've been busy."
"You and everybody else." Tracks needlessly ducked the incoming Decepticons as the giant mech leaned over him and blocked their pointless firing. Magnus' chest pressed against him, blue and red metal that felt cool to the touch next to Tracks' shoulder. Tracks' hand automatically reached up to caress the paneling; something he had never done when Ultra Magnus had been around.
The large mech jerked away from his stroke quickly. "Ratchet is coming around. He'll help you out of here." He stood for a moment, watching Tracks nod wearily, as though something else were expected. "I'm going back in."
"My hero," Tracks sneered under his breath, unheard. He watched his savior transform and roll towards Megatron and Optimus Prime's mano y mono combat admiringly. Ultra Magnus had gained a lot of confidence, no longer the reluctant leader who scratched on Tracks' door like a starving turbo-fox anymore. He'd recovered from their toxic love/hate consanguinity nicely. This was not the sniveling sycophant who burst into grateful tears the moment Tracks allowed him to smear a chemical compound on his hood. The sight of his grinning face brought an unexpected warmth...and experiencing his lack of whining deference awakened a different sensation altogether. Fourteen years was barely an asteroid flash in the sky of an Autobot's life, yet in such a short time Ultra Magnus had gained a sense of himself and confidence. And Tracks saw that it was good.
"Raul says it best: I gotta get me a piece of that," he leered, hugging the ragged wing Ultra Magnus had thrust upon him to his chest.
After the Autobot victory the Decepticons had scattered, abandoning their tools for anyone to pick up. A proposal to annex the space bridge for Autobot use was enthusiastically accepted. Fourteen astro-hours after coming out of recharge Ultra Magnus met with Optimus Prime and other officers to discuss details involving the assembly of a Cybertronian space bridge while construction for Autobot City continued. After four hours of contention a recess was called, to Ultra Magnus' relief. He was not used to others making the decisions, nor taking this long to do it. He especially did not expect Tracks to be waiting for him when he left the meeting room. The Corvette walked beside him silently, as though years of separation after a tumultuous relationship were not in their bygone days; like they were old friends who did not need conversation any more. It made Ultra Magnus recall Tracks landing in his arms during battle and the emotions it stirred. He told himself to say something boring.
"We're planning the team for building Autobot city," he awkwardly explained, referring to the spot in Oregon the humans bestowed upon them, and wondering why Tracks had waited for him to get out.
The smaller mech nodded sagely. "Sounds enthralling." Tracks did not ask for details and Ultra Magnus volunteered nothing else. Instead the large mech wearily headed for the temporary quarters he shared with Kup, Rodimus, and Springer. Tracks followed. At the door the two paused, facing each other expectantly.
"Did you want something?" the giant mech didn't want to ask him that, but there was something disconcerting about the way his smaller counterpart trailed him like a mini-bot shadows his protector.
Tracks frowned at the unopened door. He wanted to be invited in. If he could have time to talk with Ultra Magnus, maybe he could figure out what may have transpired this afternoon and they could get re-acquainted. At least this persistent desire to be with him would be silenced. It did not look as though he would have a chance, though; the door remained shut.
"I'm not very good at this," he admitted, fingers fidgeting slightly with the red Autobot symbol on his chest. Silence. "You're not making it any easier." He waited for an apology and all he received was a head tilted slightly forward as it awaited an explanation. "Do you remember the day I left?"
Ultra Magnus recoiled at the mentioning. He remembered smoke and pain and their victory told to him from med bay and a gray and gold dream. "Why?" he demanded, ivory face covered momentarily by a snowy hand. Tracks' optics glittered in triumph. He had to remember. "No, I don't recall it. There are too many battles to catalogue what happened at each and every one." They were interrupted by the door opened by a perceptive Hot Rod who claimed he needed to talk to Ultra Magnus. Relieved, the large mech excused himself and ducked in to help, leaving Tracks standing outside alone, confused.
"Why do you care?" Gears demanded, putting the high-grade energon he'd earned into the hidden compartment under his bed, behind his toy chest. "I heard he met somebody else, anyway."
With twenty female Autobots and sixteen from Ultra Magnus' faction, not to mention the other 26 Autobots who already resided in the modified ship, the ark was crowded. Every chamber was quadrupled, even after the Dinobot rumpus room had been taken over by the femmes to make more efficient space. Optimus Prime had promised a long break for those who had been working overtime to uncover Megatron's vile plot, thus no one was leaving for patrol any time soon. When it came time to choose who they wanted to bunk with there was a mad scramble and exactly four stragglers remained: Gears, Beachcomber, Warpath and Tracks.
"Who did he meet?" Tracks demanded, jerking his head over to glare at Gears, who had produced an energon whip from his toy chest and was calmly flicking it around to test his wrist.
"I heard they BANG! broke up." Warpath never knew when to stay out of a conversation. He was sitting alongside Gears, watching him peruse through his secret stash. Beachcomber was lazily observing an arthropod play in the corner of the room. At least he knew when to mind his own business.
"Like I said, why do you care? You barely noticed him when he was worshiping the ground you drove on."
"Yeah! POW! What is with you? BOOM!" Warpath had almost no face to convey his meanings, therefore his voice flared and exploded instead.
Tracks stood up, pouting. "I don't have to explain my actions to anyone." He barely knew the reason himself; all he knew was that he had to get Magnus to under his thumb again, and soon. "If you feel the need to contribute to the conversation, at least make a decent suggestion." He glared at the two red Autobots, one who quickly returned to his treasure hunt, the other who calmly stared back at Tracks until a quiet interruption interceded.
"Tracks, man, did you know there are two types of spiders on this planet?" Beachcomber asked, purring in his soft voice. "First there's the jumping spider. He waits for his target to pass by before he leaps out to attack it. In order to succeed he needs a good spot, a good disguise, and totally stupid prey." The topographer looked up from the small arachnid he'd been observing to smile at his audience.
"I think you've been smoking Raul's secret stash," Tracks sneered, stymied as to how this pertained to the attack on his former admirer. "Get to the part that makes sense."
"He WHAM! is," Warpath retorted, now helping Gears dig in his closet for more toys. "Let him BOOM! finish."
Beachcomber nodded appreciatively. "Like I was saying...there are two kinds of spiders. The jumping spider attacks. Check out the web-building spider, man. The web building spider uses what he has around him to create the most beautiful net...to get his victim."
Beachcomber pointed to the web the arachnid he'd been watching build while he explained the situation. When a fly soared into the web during his lecture it became caught in the web's adhesive. The Autobots watched the spider glide down, unstuck, towards the poor fly, ready to perform its insidious task. Beachcomber's audience drew back at the description of the fly's innards being consumed while the bug was still alive. Gears called Beachcomber a 'nut' and Warpath decided to go shoot his expressive mouth elsewhere. Tracks' optics glowed a fierce greenish blue in inspiration.
"Beachcomber, my brilliant friend, you will have to excuse me while I make a phone call," he whispered.
Ultra Magnus dragged himself back into the only room that he could claim sanctuary from Optimus Prime. That mech was a workaholic, and assumed that his old friend was the same way. The entire evening was spent planning the next decade or so, as well as catching up with everything the other had missed. The conference took so long Elita-1 came in to see if they'd been kidnapped. All Ultra Magnus wanted to do was to crawl onto a recharge plate and go offline.
Unfortunately, he was sharing Jazz's quarters with three other mechs. Springer, Kup, and Hot Rod were on the modest berth, leaning against the wall in a line with their legs in various positions but mostly dangling off the edge. As he tried to configure himself into the space they'd left for him he saw "Roddy" light up his optics and smile.
"Go back to sleep," Ultra Magnus whispered tenderly. Roddy's optics extinguished quickly and he leaned his head against Ultra Magnus' shoulder.
Traditionally the first love in a young mech's life is his mentor. Hot Rod, barely two years old, had followed antecedence and pursued his older mentor until Ultra Magnus' defensive personality scared him off. That's what the younger one told him, anyway. Roddy was still unfamiliar with tact. Ultra Magnus blamed himself for the short-lived courtship's demise because he did not want to be with anyone, ever, including any sweet-faced babies who needed a stronger spark than his to guide them through the perils of love. Hot Rod was too young; besides, destroying any emotional walls to allow someone in might be dangerous. There are some feelings best left dead. Ultra Magnus dozed off on that thought, neck at an angle that would definitely make its affect felt tomorrow.
It was barely morning when a pounding on their door forced all four, now in a tangle on the floor, to scramble for their dignity. Springer was up first.
"Good mornin'!" Jazz breezed in with the ease of one who'd entered his own room expecting to see some unusual scenario before him. The sight of four Autobots unhinging creaking joints was a new one, but not as startling as the day he found Prowl in there with energon, one of Gears' less threatening toys, and a devious grin.
"Good morning, Jazz." The other three fell in line next to him, being more or less formal.
"Good morning, sir."
"Good morning, sir."
"Good morning, kid."
Jazz smiled back. "At ease. I'm here for the big guy. He's been given an assignment."
Optimus Prime never rests. He was worse than Shockwave. "I'm happy to volunteer. What are the details?"
"We got a call from our New York branch about some Constructicons causin' trouble. Gears, Bumblebee, Tracks, and Trailbreaker have volunteered to help you set up shop for awhile and patrol." He turned to Kup. "Prime asked me bring you over to talk to the Dinobots. They're acting up, and since they seem to like you, we're hoping you can calm them down."
The grizzled old mech walked out with Jazz, who had finished his briefing to Ultra Magnus by giving his departure time. Springer commented on Jazz's like-ability while Hot Rod observed Ultra Magnus sitting back on the recharge plate, back against the corner where the walls met. His elbows rested on his knees as he sighed. He was staring off into space.
"Ultra Magnus? Are you okay?" No reply. Hot Rod took a risk and climbed in between his leaders legs, back facing him so that the large mech could rest his chin on the smaller mech's spoiler.
Ultra Magnus wrapped his arms around the maroon Autobot and hugged him. "How did you know I needed that?"
"You looked like you did." Physical intimacy between a mentor and his protege was not irregular, thus no surprise when the affection deepens. When the pupil grows older, though, it is considered inappropriate to act this way unless they are bonded. His large friend, one of a very close clique of mechs ill at ease with this new world and old leadership, took the gesture the right way. It kind of surprised Hot Rod, who had been rebuffed the last time he had done this.
"You're sweet." Ultra Magnus held up one of Hot Rod's hands in his own. So small. Tiny crevices where the joints met were untainted by killing, and smooth from a minimal amount of use. They had yet to be marred by the ugly around them. Ultra Magnus hoped those hands would never fall into the trap his had, where the smell of mech fluid and car polish continued to haunt him no matter how many times he'd had First Aid take them apart and thoroughly sterilize them.
"Your hands are very clean, Ultra Magnus," Hot Rod commented. "How do you keep them that way?"
Springer spoke first. "He avoids any potentially damaging situations," he said in a jocular voice. "How do you think?" The green mech was tired of watching this paternal cuddling already and was off to find Arcee, the pair's latest carnal endeavor. Hot Rod could not allow the competition to prevail, so he leapt up from the corner he was in and raced after Springer.
Ultra Magnus rose as well, making his way over to Prime's office.
Optimus Prime was in a better mood than usual. He had figured out creative ways to alleviate the overflow of Autobots in less than twelve hours. Cosmos reported that most of the Decepticons were hiding from Megatron in fear of his wrath, which meant it would take a least a week for them to come out of hiding; better yet, most were wounded. Raul had called them to voice some concerns regarding Constructicon-sightings, but luckily with Ultra Magnus here there were enough authority figures to have the large metropolis properly outfitted. The best part was that the New York team consisted of eager volunteers. Autobots were happy. Everything was going well. There was nothing left to do but sit back and wait for the monkey wrenches to throw themselves into his plans.
Monkey wrench "A" arrived the minute after the Dinobots finally lumbered back from being lost after the major battle and demanded to know where Kup was. He was their newest friend and they wanted to see how well he'd been repaired from a skirmish he'd been in with them in California. Their second complaint was the use of their rumpus room for female activity. Snarl complained of contamination. Grimlock didn't want to sleep outside. Kup was negotiating with them now.
When that was addressed monkey wrench "B" reared its ugly head. Wheeljack's newest invention was stolen. That happened during monkey wrench "C," which was Prowl informing him that the rampant practical jokes going on in the ark had reached epic proportions. If they weren't stopped, someone was going to get hurt, and he volunteered to go after the perpetrators instead of taking time off. Jazz would help.
Optimus Prime took all of this calmly, because it was not difficult to handle, until monkey wrench "D" arrived. Ultra Magnus did not want to go to New York City.
"Any particular reason?" Optimus asked, concerned. It was a rare day when his friend objected to an order.
Ultra Magnus looked down timorously. He didn't blush, but if he could this would be the time. "There are a couple issues, Optimus. To begin with, this planet is unknown to me. I'm not comfortable being the leader when I'll be relying on my soldiers to guide me along. It undermines my authority. I'm also unfamiliar with the Autobots on this mission. The only Autobot I've ever directly commanded is...Tracks."
There was a strange tone used for that name. "I know Tracks is vain, stubborn, a little too much in love with the planet earth, but you know that these are surmountable personality quirks."
Prime debated which route to take in commanding this mech. He had intelligence regarding the real reason for this behavior, and Prime had almost refused Tracks' volunteering to come along...but the need for an Autobot who related well to the inhabitants of the city was too much, and they could use the extra room his departure would offer. Besides, it was only for a couple of days, and the NEW Ultra Magnus, one who had apparently gained some sense of self-control while Optimus Prime had been stuck on another planet, could handle a manipulative little car with the strongest of fighters. It made Prime kind of awed at the change. How did he handle his protege now? Prime decided to use the rational approach.
"There is trouble in New York. We still need officers to help run this army, and there are not enough to go around. I am occupied here, Prowl cannot travel long distances while he recovers from his injuries, Jazz is watching for an internal problem, and Ironhide has moved to the Autobot City site to make sure no one is disturbing the new space bridge. That leaves you and Grimlock."
Ultra Magnus sighed. "I understand." Whether the approach worked or not Optimus was not certain but at least he knew his most reliable soldier was going.
Optimus stood up to signal the end of the meeting. "You depart at ten-hundred hours," he stated, hesitant to break down the wall they had carefully built around some subjects and ask what was really wrong. They were close friends but with Ultra Magnus some things had been left alone, including personal feelings. (With two spark-shaking exceptions, and Optimus Prime would not waste any impulses on those if he could help it.) "Good luck." His faithful soldier nodded, all trace of unhappiness skillfully eradicated, and marched out with his back straight.
One thing Trailbreaker was not used to was traveling on someone else. They had just transformed to go when Ultra Magnus commanded them to pile into his carrier, something they only did with Optimus when they were wounded. It felt completely awkward and started their leader out on the wrong track towards making them feel comfortable around him. The giant black mech decided he was the one to help out any clumsy situations and eagerly rolled up the giant mech's ramp first, calling to the others that it was a great way to save their fuel. He should know. Tracks griped about it being a good way to scratch his new paint job, HE should know. It was BUMBLEBEE who told him to watch himself, he didn't need to offend their new team leader like that.
"I've been under Ultra Magnus before," the Corvette replied silkily, "Haven't I, sir?"
"Roll out!" called Ultra Magnus, ignoring the reference.
"I forgot about that," Bumblebee commented as they barreled down the highway. "Ultra Magnus was your commander before you came here."
"How was he?" asked Gears in a smirking tone Trailbreaker didn't like.
"He can hear you, you know," the black mech reminded them.
"I don't mind," Magnus interrupted. "How was I, Tracks?"
Tracks had not planned for this conversation to emerge. He already regretted the allusion he'd made. This could be salvaged, however.
"The best." Tracks let his energy field expand ever-so-slightly so that Ultra Magnus could feel its warmth and remember their more private moments. "He was definitely a force to be reckoned with." The field reached out a bit further, catching the slightest traces of the carrier's and producing the slightest pleasure.
Something reached out and grabbed Tracks' spark and twisted it. He felt his whole energy field swirl in a moment of pain that caused him to audibly cry out. The pain receded quickly to a soft hum of pleasant vibration while a concerned Ultra Magnus asked him if he were all right.
"I thought a bird hit me. Maybe it was a rock. It must have left a dent somewhere. Can you see anything, Gears?" What happened? It had been a searing pain not felt before, so it must have been a fluke. Maybe it was a rock. Tracks' processor reeled in confusion.
"No. Are we there yet? All of this shaking is bad for my shocks."
"It happens," explained their leader. "We're in a mountainous area."
Trailbreaker watched the sun slip below the trees and told them they had several hours before New York's skyline would emerge. He heard the others babble about how much they were looking forward to various pursuits. Tracks wanted to go downtown with Raul. Bumblebee was eager to take Trailbreaker sight-seeing. Gears wanted to take a walk in Central Park. (Although his dog had passed away last year the mech found peace in wandering the large, grassy recreational area.)
"You're doing none of those things," their leader reminded them. "We're here to find Constructicons."
"Awww, c'mon!" whined Bumblebee.
"Constructicons aren't gonna to be doing anything at eight in the morning!" Gears protested.
"We could find them while we're looking around the city," timidly suggested Trailbreaker.
"I understand you all volunteered," their leader began sympathetically. "I know that you are forgoing time off to be here, and that you would like some sort of relaxation while you help; HOWEVER, we have a mission to find the Constructicons in case of potential danger." This bad news was not greeted happily. Gears grumbled and Trailbreaker told Bumblebee he could wait a little longer to see New York.
"Magnus is right," the blue Corvette sighed. He went as far as volunteering to scan the sky, as soon as he got permission from the governor.
"Good. I want to talk to Raul, too." Ultra Magnus continued with his plans and orders until the sun completely set. The rest of the ride persisted with only the noise of the road as a resentful reticence permeated the Autobots. Although they would not admit it out loud, they were not very fond of Ultra Magnus at this particular moment. What was with Tracks' kissing up? With nothing left to converse over Trailbreaker went offline and did not awaken until Gears was shaking him into awareness.
Sparkplug's garage was specially made as an ad hoc Autobot base whenever Optimus Prime and company came into town. Between the underground rooms, the satellite connection to Teletraan-1, and the smell of diesel fuel it was a homier establishment than most other bases built on this planet. The higher-than-usual ceilings echoed as the sound of Ultra Magnus' engine cut off. Raul and Macks hurried over to greet them.
"What," Gears demanded as muddy pawprints grazed his legs, "Is this?"
"This one's an English Springer Spaniel/German Shepherd mix I found at a junkyard in Jersey," Raul explained, leading an exhausted Ultra Magnus to a basic battery to give him enough strength to get around until he had more time for a recharge plate downstairs. "Name's Macks, what we found when we put the letters of his parents' names together." The dog had already won the cranky mech's heart, judging by the way Gears was scratching the mutt's ears. "You must be Ultra Magnus. I'm Raul."
"You-you saw Constructicons?" he was going offline as he spoke. A lack of time recharging and a long journey hauling four Autobots had taken its toll on him.
"Foggitaboutit. You need to rest, then we talk. Let your 'bots get out and have fun while you recharge."
"That's not a good..." Too late: he was down, and would be for a few hours. Gears, Bumblebee, and Trailbreaker ran off giggling like schoolgirls.
Tracks allowed himself a good look at Ultra Magnus, now that he had the chance. Raul walked up next to him and stared: side by side with Tracks, arms crossed. Nothing was said, even when the Corvette placed a hand on the giant leader's sleeping face to trace his features. When he lingered over the blue optics Raul lost his patience and reminded Tracks that he had not explained to him why there had been a pressing need to call him to ask Prime to drag a few Autobots to the other side of the country, and to make up something, anything, just find a way to get them over here.
"Thanks for the ruse," Tracks finally muttered.
"Ruse, nothin,' man! I've been trying to get a hold of you for weeks but your stupid Teletraan wouldn't answer!" Raul was glad to finally get the mech's attention. "There ARE Constructicons here! They're tinkerin' with some kind of factory over by the town where I found that dog!"
"In New Jersey?" This was more serious than he thought. Tracks walked over to Teletraan to see what the problem might be. He was not a computer expert, but it was better than nothing, which is exactly what he discovered he could do. Teletraan appeared to be mostly normal, only it kept turning itself off. Maybe one of the others would help when they got back. Tracks shrugged and wandered off to the main room of Sparkplug's garage, explaining that they had to wait.
"What do you want to do in the meantime?" Raul asked, turning on the radio to his favorite station and getting ready to settle into a chair with the latest issue of "Hot Rod." He looked up to see a gray hand holding a can of polish. "Aw, c'mon T!" Raul gave his friend a pleading look. "I'll have to wash you and buff it on and wait for it to dry and buff it off and..." Tracks' smile never wavered. "...you...don't...care." The human sighed miserably, tossing his car magazine aside while Tracks transformed into car mode. "You have a weird sense of fun, T."
It was not the same as a Cybertronian polishing, in which no washing/extraneous buffing was required, but the human method wasn't bad. Raul took his friend to a car wash down the street and returned within twenty minutes, still grumbling.
"I had to find an alien robot. All I freakin' wanted was a freakin' 'Vette..." Raul was leaning over the hood, terry cloth in hand, making long streaks across Tracks' hood. He pressed down, grimacing. "You got a new paint job again, man."
"So glad you noticed. They were out of Metallic Royal Blue, so I had to go with Metallic Ocean Blue." It was slightly lighter than the previous but still not the right shade. Raul berated him for spending too much of his hard-earned capital on his surface and not enough under his hood, to which the mech retorted that until humans concocted the perfect shade of luminous blue he had to keep trying new palettes. Tracks tried to lose himself in the methodical strokes but Raul had no idea what he was doing. He was haphazard with his application, and too rough in some spots. The compound wasn't that great, either. Tracks could feel Raul scraping the surface. "Watch it!"
The young man ceased his activity and whapped the terry cloth against the chassis. "Can't we do something else? This SUCKS, man!"
"You need to press down at a different angle." Ultra Magnus was watching from the doorway, still groggy from his minimal recharge. Raul looked up and offered him the towel. Magnus looked at it incredulously.
"You wouldn't mind showing me?" the human asked. If this Autobot had some suggestions, he was willing to listen. Anything to finish this tedious chore!
Magnus pulled something out of subspace. A silver-stained cloth with an old can. "Try this," he suggested. Raul started again with the materials handed to him, following Magnus' guidelines. "Go in circles, one area at a time."
Raul sulkily continued his chore, disappointed the task had not been seized from him. "That's better," Tracks finally interjected, finding his vocaliser. This was a strange encounter that made him very uncomfortable. Raul was human, thus unable to project his energy field while he stroked him. He felt nothing when Raul polished him, but the addition of the one who made it personal watching another was too unnerving. "Maybe...uh...you don't need to do this right now."
"Good! I'm outta here!" Raul threw down the rag and hurried out before Tracks could call after him. The resonation of the door closing behind him faded quickly.
Now he was alone in the main room with Ultra Magnus. The heater clicked off at the same time as the radio paused mid-song, and for the slightest nanosecond there wasn't a sound in the giant room. Tracks could feel Ultra Magnus standing over him, waiting. The radio interrupted with a commercial but neither paid attention to it. They were expecting the other to move first.
Tracks' processor raced wildly, but all he could think was that he was alone. With Ultra Magnus. In an empty garage. Alternate mode hiding his face but exposing an ungainly relic he was sure the other wanted to ignore. This was not how he had planned it, and now he had to find a way to get out of it, but the issues blasting through his processor were repetitive. 'I'm stuck in an empty garage with Ultra Magnus. Alone. In Corvette mode. Primus, help!'
Something warm lightly pressed against his roof, a firm point on a soft cloth tracing the Autobot symbol inside of the yellow square. It moved down to the driver's side door. Tracks leaned into the hand like a cat into a caress, feeling its warmth increase into an intense heat. The hand moved forward to the front of his hood, radiating with every stroke. The anxiety dissipated, and the words rolled out like a soft purr.
"It has been too long," sighed the Corvette, energy field already glowing in delight. "I never thought you would do this for me again."
The other Autobot did not reply right away. His first impulse was to admit he had imagined the scene a million different ways-usually with him rejecting Tracks and walking away satisfied he had been avenged-but he changed his mind. "The human's face looked like the dog's with its pleading," he rumbled, reapplying the liquid to the buff and flinching at the odor it produced. It brought back unpleasant memories. Well, this time would be different.
Tracks laughed out loud, reverberating like his motor when it thrummed in first gear. "I should tell Raul you said that." He liked the way Ultra Magnus chuckled, having not heard it in awhile. It sounded gentle, like thunder rumbling miles before it rolled across the desert to the ark.
They settled into a strange reticence. As accustomed as Tracks had been to a silent polish job there were unsettling moments, holes that he was eager to fill with any kind of dialogue. The tension was too thick for him to be complacent, not after all of their issues. "I couldn't get Raul to copy your methods at all." No response. "I must not be a very good instructor."
After five minutes of nothing Tracks lost his sense of restraint. "Say something, Magnus. Anything. You're a brick wall."
"What's brick?" he asked, mouth twisting in askance. Tracks allowed himself a snicker before he explained a few English phrases. The smallest indication of the larger grin Ultra Magnus had shown to very few Autobots peeked through as they ridiculed the strange customs of this tiny corner of a foreign planet: a large, gaping expression that looked more apropos on a clown than a soldier. Tracks almost commented on it when he felt another surge of warmth press against the flame on his hood. He quietly shivered.
"You must get quite a kick out of this." Now that his audience knew what that meant Tracks could use it.
The grin emerged completely. "I don't do it for just anybody."
"I know that. You don't do it for yourself either," the blue mech reminded him. He felt the Autobot sigil on his hood being tickled the right way. "I have yet to see you perform a selfish act-"
"I have yet to see you perform an unselfish act," snapped Ultra Magnus, anger coming out without warning and manifesting in more than one way. Tracks' paint squeaked. "If you ever volunteered to fight for the cause we are all dying for without mentioning how it puts your paint job in jeopardy I would fall over in shock." That was an unfair assessment. Look at how he had volunteered for this assignment-no, wait, that was a bad example. Tracks decided Ultra Magnus was angry about something else and needed a distraction. An idea flashed into his processor and made him glad no one could see him grin.
Tracks transformed and yanked the cloth out of Ultra Magnus' hand. "Show me how you do this," he replied, smile lopsided and optics glittering.
"I'm not finished," snarled the irate leader.
"Yes, you are. My wings are new. They don't need to be mauled by someone who's still grumpy from his nap." He gave his most charming smile to the surly mech, relieving him of the polish.
Reluctantly Ultra Magnus sat on the floor and pointed to one of his legs. When Tracks put his hand down on it the larger mech placed his own on top and made the motion, explaining how to work his way up the appendage and when to replenish his polish supply. The touch shot bolts of excitement down to their cores.
"What happened the day you left?" demanded Ultra Magnus suddenly, hand still resting casually on Tracks'. The rationale behind why he was prolonging the contact was unknown, but pretty easy to figure out.
Tracks couldn't process this while getting over his victory and overcoming the touch of Ultra Magnus' hand. "Excuse me?"
"Like I said, I can't remember what happened that day. I thought maybe you could tell me your side," he suggested. Ultra Magnus' hand finally withdrew while Tracks began his monologue.
"I waited outside of Sky Lynx after I saw you run into battle. Someone said that you would be back in a moment. When it became obvious you were not coming back, I flew out after you. Perceptor tried to radio a warning but it wasn't working, and I wouldn't leave until I got to say good-bye, so Kup came after me." Ultra Magnus had spent so much time chasing after Tracks that the smaller mech had become addicted to the attention lavished upon him. When it was no longer his for the taking its absence was felt. "You were on the ground with Shockwave blasting you to scrap when we got to you." Tracks had somehow wormed his way in between his subject's legs as he worked on the inner knees. There was no response from his recipient. "This does nothing for you, does it?" he asked in a minor key.
"No. My body armor won't let me feel it." His mouth curled grimly. Tracks could watch him do that all day. "I'm indestructible."
"Re-ally?" Tracks chuckled, fingers fanning out to search for crevices that might lead to a reaction. "I'm going to have to find some holes in this armor of yours."
Ultra Magnus had Tracks' wrists clenched together with one sweep of his ivory hand. "Don't bother." His optics, the perfect shade of luminous blue, darkened in irritation.
"Calm down. I'm not going to do anything." Tracks smiled until the grip released to allow him to resume his polishing. "You act like I'm some kind of threat to you. I'm harmless. So what happened to make you so...serious?"
Tracks had somehow found little tiny gaps in his leg armor where softer metal sang at the touch. Ultra Magnus felt it and tried to ignore it, like he did with the pain inflicted upon him when he was shot. He concentrated on his defense while tiny firings of heat continued to build up. His lips twitched.
"It wasn't easy," he began, air intakes increasing as his temperature did the same. "But instead of fighting my thoughts of you I decided to let them flow whichever way they went, and soon the frequency decreased to nothing. You drained out of me. I almost forgot about you."
"So did I," Tracks replied, somewhat relieved. "Something we have in common."
"Besides our anomalous interest in your alternate mode," Ultra Magnus added wryly. Tracks had no response to that. He almost never heard the larger mech speak, and such florid use of language was not what one was used to hearing come out of his vocalizer.
This time the silence was too much. "To reiterate: you were down, and Kup had Shockwave, so that left just you and me." He was up to the red and blue paneling of his chestplate. In the polished surface he could see his own reflection staring at himself in all its splendid glory, warped by all of the layers of armor he had. "You were calling for me."
"I doubt it." Ultra Magnus snorted, backing his body away slightly and bumping into a large tool chest. Discomfort edged into his handsome features upon the comprehension that he had no escape and a former lover was between his legs. Tracks moved in for the kill.
"I think it's coming back to you," he leered, straightening up to be face-to-face with Ultra Magnus. "Right...about..." The large mech's mouth opened to protest as Tracks' lips met with his with a grunt.
A kiss, while viewed by some as the ultimate confession of love, is perceived by others as the best way to manipulate the naive. Gray fingers connected to the pure white of Ultra Magnus' face, finally finding the vulnerable space around his helmet. 'All mine,' Tracks thought smugly, pulling on the antennae to bring his conquest closer to him. Ultra Magnus shuddered.
Without any warning, Tracks discovered he had been pushed onto his back and enveloped in red, blue, and white. The pressure was crushing.
"Magnus," Tracks scratched. "I can't move."
"Ultra Magnus," corrected the one above him. An amused sneer crept up the corner of his mouth. "Get my name right." His blue optics glowed as he crashed into his target. "You are right, though. I don't do enough for me. Let's fix that."
There was no chance to vocally react. The sharp tweak Tracks had felt inside during their highway journey came back, pinching and pulling his spark as giant white hands perfumed with Cybertronian polishing solvent pushed his new wings against the floor. As Tracks arched his back the force separated his wings from his body enough to expose the wiring to Magnus' fingers. An electric field was projected into the exposed circuitry, causing his pinioned legs to shake involuntarily at the electrical firings. Blue light that usually glided into Tracks with the grace of an ambassador coming down a flight of stairs struck him with the force of Megatron's ion cannon. It invaded his body and moved, painfully swirling and dipping. Tracks fathomed nothing except the realization that he was clawing Ultra Magnus' sides with reckless abandon. All of him rattled.
"Ow! That-Ow! You're hurting me! Ahhh-" As soon as the words were uttered the pain disappeared and the mild throbbing he'd felt from his earlier encounter paled in comparison to a delightful body-wide twinge that hummed inside of him pleasantly. He tried to fire back his own field and found it blocked by Ultra Magnus', completely dominating him with a heat that caused the whole room to turn a soft rose-color. It continued without end, electricity racing through his circuits unceasing, until finally, finally, it faded to a warm buzz. The room was still pink. "Where," he gasped, "did you learn to do that?"
Ultra Magnus allowed himself a chuckle. "It was there all along." He leaned down and kissed the forehead part of Tracks' helmet. "I would have done it before, but you never asked."
Tracks gained control of his arms and used them to grab his rising partner, any part of him, as long as he could pull him back down to circumnavigate his departure. "Do it again," he hissed.
The slight smirk wavered in confusion. "What?"
"Stop fighting yourself and do it again!" Tracks pulled harder, only to have Ultra Magnus slip out of his fingers. "You liked it, too."
"I...have to...go...to work." Disquieted by the unforseen reaction, the larger mech got up and hurried out of the larger room to find Raul and Teletraan-1. He didn't look back.
"You know you want me!" Tracks called after him, still glowing happily; either with the recent encounter or the discovery of his victim's talent he wasn't sure, but it didn't matter.
"Start spreadin' the news..." Bumblebee sang as they made their way back to Sparkplug's garage from their sight-seeing tour. "How did you like the city?"
"It's fantastic!" Trailbreaker had never seen a human city this large (or this strange) before. He had been created in an off-planet laboratory and was not as accustomed to cities like Iacon and Tarn and Vos, therefore this human urban establishment was a wonder to behold. "Is it true that they never sleep?"
"That's just an expression." Bumblebee turned onto the street they used to gain access to their base and rolled inside, transforming. Gears and Raul looked up from their observations of a being on the floor. The blue lump was covered in smudged polish, his paint marred with streaks in some places and scratches in others. Bumblebee was completely bewildered. "What happened to Tracks?"
The large blue mech was lying on his back, arms and legs extended out in a snow angel pose and a dreamy expression attesting to his lack of response to basic questions. Gears informed the new arrivals that all Tracks would admit was that he 'got jumped.' Raul rolled his eyes.
"Man, he probably pissed off that Magnus guy. It sounded like a demolition derby in here for awhile. Look at him, he's punch drunk! Yo, T, get that shit-eatin' grin off yo' face and WAKE up!" Raul tapped his shoulder, causing the mech to giggle.
"Did he just say 'tee-hee'?" demanded Gears, looking around for confirmation. He shook his head in disgust, knowing what went on better than the human. "I'm not hearing this."
"I'm all right, just give me a minute." The mech on the floor knew better than to allow Gears any time to assume the worst. "And he's ULTRA Magnus. Get his name right."
"So that's what he kicked your ass over," Raul muttered. "I told you your mouth would get you fucked up sooner or later."
Ultra Magnus marched in, looking suspiciously shiny in some places. Gears had to choke himself to stifle the laughter. Trailbreaker put two and two together and physically held his mouth shut, shaking. Raul and Bumblebee shrugged. "I've fixed the problem with our connection to Teletraan-1. Fortunately, it was only a minor mainframe virus. Once I got us online I found out that Cosmos sent us these pictures." Their leader held up a datapad showing satellite photographs of a partially-built factory. Constructicons swarmed about like bees in a hive. "Optimus Prime is sending Omega Supreme to render aid, but I would like to do some closer reconnaissance. Any volunteers?" He looked up to see Gears and Trailbreaker almost exploding. He told them to calm down, or else they would have oil-change duty in the garage for the rest of the week.
A gray hand rose from the cement floor. "I'll go."
Ultra Magnus regarded the supine mech on the floor with a flicker of a smile quickly covered by a contemptuous scowl. "Is there something wrong, soldier?"
If the supercilious tone perturbed him (as well as the two mechs above him cracking up) Tracks didn't show. Instead he held his arms out for Bumblebee to pull him up. The small yellow mech complied, still puzzled over this reaction to an unnamed action. What had made the mech so euphoric? Whatever it had been, it accomplished the impossible by getting Tracks to volunteer for a mission.
"Tracks, your assignment is to find this location and radio back what you observe. Try to get details without getting caught."
The haze that had kept Tracks incapacitated evaporated at that sentence. His face hardened. "I beg your pardon, but I am the last individual you need to worry about making a mistake."
"Dismissed," his leader responded, turning away to ignore the confrontational tone his dispatch used. Scowling slightly at Ultra Magnus' back, Tracks transformed into Corvette mode and rolled away.
Ultra Magnus didn't know why he was hurrying after him. When the Corvette stopped at a red light he transformed to ask his leader if he wanted something.
"I...you...forgot your map," he spoke in a rush, thrusting the datapad into the mech's hands. Tracks looked at him, smile lopsided like the tail of a comet. Ultra Magnus' arms shook slightly.
"You can let go now," he gently chided the carrier, tugging at the datapad to free it. The larger mech turned and hurried away, berating himself for his lapse in courage. "Ultra Magnus?" He watched his leader acknowledge him. "Kiss me good-bye."
Ultra Magnus strode over and seized him up in less than half a second. "You cannot act as though we are picking up where we left off!" he snarled.
"Thank Primus!" Tracks replied, expression unwavering as he lifted a free hand to touch Ultra Magnus' antenna. "Now maybe you'll admit how bad you want me. Oof!" Tracks' body protested being ceremoniously dumped to the curb by angrily creaking.
"Just come back in one piece," snapped the mech looming over him. "And don't forget my map."
"I don't need your map." Tracks stood up and transformed to the sound of angry horns honking. "I just need you."
Ultra Magnus, shocked, watched him leave, rooted to the spot Tracks had left him in for a long time after that, grinning like an idiot.
Teletraan-1 was beeping urgently as Ultra Magnus walked into the communications room. At the click of a mouse Optimus Prime's face appeared on screen.
"Do you have a status report?" he asked somberly. He acted as though someone had just died. Ultra Magnus still glowed from the after-affects of besting his friend and foe, as well as the farewell confession, and smiled triumphantly as he gave an update.
"We've dispatched Tracks for closer reconnaissance of the Constructicons," Ultra Magnus responded. "We have reason to believe they're working on a factory to build drones, based on those pictures Cosmos sent us."
Optimus Prime stared. "Negative. Cosmos has been on sabbatical. No one sent you pictures."
"Do you mean they transmitted those pictures?" Ultra Magnus' exultation faded as he backed away from the screen, concerned at the danger his spy might be in. If anything were to happen to Tracks-
"Ultra Magnus, we have reason to believe the site is still a valid concern, only that it may be a trap." Optimus Prime's optics crinkled in worry. "Is there a problem? Come in! Ultra Magnus?" The screen went black as another misfiring from the computer caused it to crash.
Tracks would never believe him. There was no way for Optimus Prime to tell the mech himself, and by the time Ultra Magnus got this third-rate equipment working, it might be too late. He tried not to panic, instead calling for Trailbreaker to help him out. The black mech took notes as fast as he could on a datapad as Ultra Magnus prepared to find his lost spy.
Trailbreaker read his hasty dictation back. "Get the computer fixed, make sure Gears does his oil-change shift, don't let Raul smoke in the main room-"
"Don't tell Tracks I'm coming," Ultra Magnus finished, transforming into carrier mode. "Try to keep him from getting into trouble!" He turned into rush hour traffic and inched away, Trailbreaker following him to the stoplight before he arrived at the freeway. As soon as he was gone, Trailbreaker returned to the garage, saw Raul lighting up and Gears playing with the dog while Bumblebee was on the phone with Spike long-distance and threw the datapad at the inactive computer.
"Just great," the black mech muttered. "Nothing too difficult."
Several parts of New Jersey are designated for industrial commerce. Mile after mile of gray, brown, and maroon buildings frown at the smoky blue atmosphere that glares back. In one such area a conspicuous blue Stingray cruised towards a warehouse in the middle of the night, his fifth hour of observing renovation.
"Mag-Ultra Magnus, this is Tracks. Come in," he whispered into his commlink. He had been fighting the impulse to call him every five minutes to ask his leader if he were thinking about his favorite flying car. Although he was only reporting when he had something to say, for some reason Tracks had been unable to get a hold of Ultra Magnus at any point in time.
"Tracks, this is Trailbreaker. Report."
"Hour Five: The Constructicons have not emerged from their fortress since my arrival. They have established formidable alarms around the perimeter. Said alarms have not been de-coded. Request assistance from Teletraan-1."
"Request denied. I'm sorry, Tracks, but Teletraan-1 broke communication with us again."
"What the devil? WHERE is Ultra Magnus?" Tracks demanded impatiently. "I'm out here alone and none of you are willing to help me." It seemed to the frustrated mech that Ultra Magnus was bound and determined to make him look like a fool.
"We are, it's just that...I have orders, Tracks. Nobody can help you right now. Just wait."
"I see." Tracks had no idea where to go from here. "Tracks out." If he had no help and no way to figure anything out, then he decided it was best to go over the wall to investigate.
The alarms were silenced easily, once Tracks cut the correct wire. Bush branches etched ugly lines into his armor when he landed on the other side of the wall. "Why did I spend $900 on a new paint job?" he moaned as he saw the evidence of his poor landing. "Well, never mind. That scratch was from Ultra Magnus." He suppressed a smile at the mental distraction.
Light blazed into his optics as blasters fired.
Scrapper admired his newest lawn ornament. "Not a lawn gnome, but it will have to do," he mused as Scavenger placed the small ceramic objects in the ground around the offline Tracks. "How did you get him like that?"
Hook tightened another vice grip. "Creativity." Tracks had been molded into a pose resembling a gospel preacher they'd seen on television. TV provided a decent pastime as they hid from Megatron's wrath after the space bridge debacle. They had disappeared to this abandoned New Jersey factory when after one week Scrapper decided they required a new kind of entertainment. Someone suggested redecorating. The interior wasn't bad, but artistic merit lacked outside, thus creating a need for landscaping. Their Autobot prisoner had destroyed Scrapper's attempt at topiary. "He's not bad. By the way, I'm sorry about your bushes."
"As am I." The nerve of this mech! "Bonecrusher made the liners from that brick wall we tore down, Mixmaster found a decent fertilizer, Long Haul got the hedge clippers, for what?" He stared at the blank red face. "They almost resembled us! Now look at them!" He angrily gestured to the crushed shrubs. Tracks' vital cord had been disconnected, making him a pretty statue for the time being.
"I like them," Bonecrusher commented, coming outside as the sun began to creep above the fuzzy skyline. He saw Hook's gesture of annoyance and hastily changed the subject. "What do you think the Autobots will say when Teletraan-1 shows the aerial of THIS guy?"
"I don't know. All I care about is how soon Omega gets here for our next fight." He jerked his head towards the sky, where Mixmaster and Long Haul waited. "It's getting harder and harder to bait him out of hiding. How long did it take you to hack into that mainframe?"
"Two days," Scrapper replied. When Devastator missed his favorite fightmate it took ingenious ploys to inspire their enemies to send Omega Supreme out. Last time they had to attack an oil tanker or two to get him to come out and play.
"Here he comes!" called Long Haul, pointing to the rocket approaching.
"I love the smell of destruction in the morning," Hook cackled, taking to the air.
Explosions flared in the sky; the sound of battle booming loud enough for a few buildings to rattle as Ultra Magnus busted through the rusty gates barely holding onto the wall Tracks had surmounted earlier.
"Tracks!" he called, blaster drawn the moment he transformed. Omega Supreme thundered less than a mile away as he scraped the ground from a particularly hard hit. The walls shook and bricks fell on his head. "TRACKS!"
There were not many rooms in the factory. There was a large room with nothing in it but junk, none of which bore the visage of the Corvette. Another room contained a television set. The main room echoed with his footsteps, glass crunching as the remaining windows shattered with another sonic boom. Omega Supreme was losing again.
As Ultra Magnus watched the impacted guardian's reeling fall his optics rested upon a mech on his knees on the lawn, hands held up to heaven. He was surrounded by objects that looked like fat humans with pointy hats. Ultra Magnus was nowhere near a door, so in Decepticon fashion, he made one.
"Tracks!" the large mech bellowed, kicking the articles of decor out of his way. "Let's get out of here." He did not move. "What's wrong?" Upon closer inspection Ultra Magnus realized that Tracks was forced into this position by vice grips, screws, nails, and some sticky compound that smelled abhorrent. He kneeled onto the lawn to look into the greenish-blue optics, the sky oddly quiet above him.
"Can you hear me?" he asked softly, blaster discarded next to him in the dew as he inspected the Constructicons' latest prank. The mouth he had seen smile so crookedly whenever he had a devious scheme was sealed shut with industrial duct tape. The optics were dark, lusterless. Ultra Magnus traced them with a finger, whispering some admission of too much pride and assuming all guilt regarding their situation into unhearing audioreceptors. His hands roved around the body as birds timidly emerged from their hiding places and tentatively chirped a few notes. When he encountered the severed cord he had been searching for Ultra Magnus reattached it and watched the optics glow with vain indignation.
"Mmmm-hmm-hmm-hm!" Tracks couldn't move or articulate. It made an interesting picture. Ultra Magnus swallowed a lascivious sneer by kissing the duct tape.
"You and I have a lot of catching up to do." The quiet around them finally inspired the large mech to glance above to see where the two Gladiators were fighting.
Devastator roared above them as he attacked Omega Supreme. He stopped short at the sight of Superion flying in for backup.
"All those gnomes!" Devastator moaned sorrowfully as he flew away, firing his blaster at the former hideout. The mobile Autobot tried to save his friend while ducking for cover.
"I have to get you out of here." Ultra Magnus pulled at Tracks, grass and topsoil tearing away from its original point, transforming with his prize on the top shelf of his trailer. "I don't know why I bother," he muttered snidely, still unable to tell a hearing Tracks what he really felt. "You would have made a great statue. At least you would have been less of a problem." There was still a chance Devastator might change his mind and come after them.
A warm electric fuzz brushed him lightly where the contorted mech lay, gratefully blue as it told Ultra Magnus that Tracks was happy to see him. "You're welcome," the red, white and blue mech replied to his inert cargo. "And you can show me how sorry you are for losing my map later."
Devastator chased Omega Supreme down the road until Superion interceded.
Tracks underwent a great deal of humiliation at the Ark once he'd returned. Wheeljack carefully applied the last of the acetone to get rid of the Superglue.
"You'll need a new paint job, but other than that, good as new!" the mechanic sang, lights on the sides of his head flashing. His audience broke into applause. Tracks hid his face from Bumblebee, Gears, Bluestreak, and the Lamborghini brothers as they taunted him.
"That's a good way to get out of a STICKY situation!"
"Don't beat around the BUSH!"
"There's no place like GNOME!"
He kept his optics covered. "Are they finished yet?"
Wheeljack laughed. "That was Gears and Bluestreak. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are waiting for the lame ones to finish."
"Hey! That sticky situation one was GOOD!" Bumblebee protested. Tracks sighed, regretting his return already. His misery was just beginning as two red and yellow grins expanded maliciously to begin the verbal abuse.
The announcement of almost one-quarter of the Autobot team, lead by Ultra Magnus, who would be permanently residing at the Oregon construction site was made at 6:19 PM, MST, right after patrol shifts started up again from sabbatical. Tracks had been out in a security gig with Beachcomber to aid in a rally the President of the United States attended. When his shift was over it was past midnight, and the ark was quiet. The notice remained on a datapad in the commissary, giving anyone who had missed the general announcement some kind of hard copy. Tracks read the list twice before reality sank in. He was going. Ultra Magnus classified him as an alternate, which meant he would render aid with defense–alongside the Aerialbots-for six months and return to the desert base unless otherwise notified.
This should not have been a surprise. Perhaps the miracle was that he had been on the list at all. Tracks did not have any type of construction experience, forcing him to conclude that Ultra Magnus had pulled some very long strings or made up some ingenious excuses to get him on the team. (Optimus Prime was not Tracks' friend in any way shape or form, either, thanks to the slanted accounts given by Ultra Magnus every time he hadn't liked what Tracks had done on Cybertron.) If he weren't so depleted of energy he might even be satisfied that there was a time limit. Instead he was tired.
Autobots passed by him, a couple nodding in acknowledgement and one even congratulating him for getting the best of both worlds.
"Thank you," he replied, spark sinking lower at the thought of someone ENVYING his position. "Have you seen Ultra Magnus?"
The mech, one of the newer bunch (some maroon colored sports car), frowned slightly.
"Not since he traded bunks," he replied. "Try Prime's office."
Tracks gave his appreciation and wandered over to Optimus Prime's area, only to discover that he didn't want to interrupt. Muted voices drifted through the thin orange door, difficult to discern but low enough to tempt Tracks' imagination to believe Magnus' presence lurked.
'All I wanted to do was find him,' he thought. "I found him. Case closed.' He stood by the door, waiting, until it occurred to him that this was the sort of ridiculous action Gears and Warpath enjoyed tormenting him over. They'd already passed by on their way to patrol to remind him of the 'Constructicon Incident'. He told himself, again, that all he wanted to do was be made aware of Magnus' location. Twenty minutes later he made himself leave and go to bed.
The chamber door opened to an almost empty room. On Gears' recharge plate Ultra Magnus' optics softly glowed in the dark, a perfect shade of luminous blue. Tracks tried not to smile.
"Not tonight, honey, I have a headache." The joke was lost on his audience as the optics flickered in confusion. "Never mind." He approached the larger mech, uncertain as to what to say. At his visitor's prompting Tracks climbed onto the lap of the sitting Ultra Magnus, resting his wings against the red and blue chestplate he'd once seen himself in. Large arms wrapped around him. The movement jostled Tracks enough to force him to lose his balance and impulsively press his hand against the wall.
"I'm sorry," Ultra Magnus murmured, nosepiece softly tracing the edge of the wing before him.
"You tried," Tracks replied, somehow thinking the recent loss of equilibrium was not the subject at hand. "Six months is better than nothing."
The arms tightened. "I fought to keep you with us longer, but Prime said he needed you in New York." Tracks nodded as the voice continued. "It was something I wanted to do for me," he rumbled, voice surprisingly tender, almost emotional. His head rested on the smaller mech's shoulder, antenna bending slightly from the pressure against his blue helmet hood.
"Now it's time to do something for me," Tracks replied, shifting his position to bend back as an energy field gently eased into his own and sensuously moved, creating ripples of warm bliss. A snow white hand encased the gray one on the wall, narrowly squashing the spider scurrying away as Ultra Magnus leaned in for a kiss.