When they enter the Repair Room, Ratchet doesn't even look at them, just points at one table and keeps working on whatever it is he's doing.
Hoist gives them a wink before helping them up, and, once they're released, the humans see a datapad raised against what looks like a book-rest, already online and showing a Newspark Protoform with a column of unknown writing on one side.
"Called ahead?" Spike asks with a smile, and the green mech returns the gesture.
"Of course. I wouldn't have wanted to be received with a wrench because I came in here with no malfunctions." The ambulance's engine growls menacingly, one optic peeking over a shoulder to glare at them, before turning back to his work.
"If I hear something not related to teaching the humans about models, I can solve that lack of malfunctions." Hoist's frame shivers with soft tingling before he quickly turns with an exaggerated grimace.
Recognizing the friendly bantering for what it is, the Witwicky chuckle.
"So… can we start?" Spike asks cheerfully, taking his notebook and pen and looking at the cheat chart of frame types.
"Whenever you are ready." The green medic answers, taking a seat next to the table, in close range of the pad. "Would you like to start with a certain model, or do I explain them as they come up?"
"How about we start with general characteristics of the frame type before explaining their models?" Sparkplug suggests, and his son nods eagerly as he opens a blank page and writes 'Road Runner' at the top.
"Fine by me. Shall we use the Common Structure, then?"
"What's that?" The teenager asks, and the medic chuckles.
"It's the most usual method of classification of frame types, as well as the official one. It follows the order of the Thirteen." Both humans nod, and Hoist taps the first row of symbols on the pad, which disappears to give way to another. "Alright. The first frame type would then be the Road Runners. They're Ground-bound Cybertronian of medium size, and include the fastest ground models. They are one of the most numerous frame type, and formed most of the Senate. Due to Prima, the first Prime, being a Road Runner, those with this frame type believe themselves higher in status than any other, which brought about their supremacy and usually high status during the Golden Age, with almost all in the Nobility being Road Runners."
"Ah, Hoist?" The Autobot's mouth shuts as he turns to the Witwicky, his visor a paler blue in curiosity. "I thought you were going to explain physical characteristics, not cultural." The Medic reboots his visual band before smiling sheepishly.
"I apologize, but it's just that such things are deeply entwined, and thus difficult to put apart. I can try to stick to frames, though, if you would prefer it."
"No, no. We were just surprised, that's all." His father answers with an easy smile, waving a hand to tell the mech to relax. "Though I'm afraid I have some questions."
"So do I." The boy adds with a nod, and the Autobot's smile softens.
"Of course. Ask ahead."
"What is the Senate?"
Hoist's smile wavers and his visor turns a deeper blue, but he manages to keep it up.
"Was, actually. It is no more, thanks to the War."
"I may not support the methods, but I will say it was about slagging time." Spike jumps in surprise, having forgotten Ratchet was there, before he turns to the serious ambulance leaning against his worktable with his arms crossed against his chassis. "The Senate was the ultimate governing power on Cybertron. Originally, they were supposed to be formed by one representative of each frame type, and another from each City-State, but such a structure was only real in history pads, by the time I activated." His voice is dark, slightly growling, and the snarl on his faceplate is nothing like those the boy is used to seeing when the Medic deals with unruly patients.
This one is downright scary.
"As far as I know, it was decreed at the beginning of the Golden Age that only the representatives of the City-States were needed to conform the Senate, since frame types weren't restricted to a single one and thus it was useless to debate about what would be best for each of them without taking into consideration the environment of each and every Cybertronian. The problem came when the remaining representatives, somehow, slowly were replaced by Road Runners. They had always had the numbers and position, but to go as far as that…" The mostly white Autobot shakes his head, optics going black. "Inevitably, the Senate started to corrupt, even going as far as taking the Prime with them. By the time someone rose against them, the only solution was to get rid of the system and start anew."
"Megatron deactivated all of the Senate and decided to avoid such a system and corruption by becoming the only supreme ruler of Cybertron. 'Peace through tyranny'. That's his motto." The green mech adds softly, helm lowering to his tight fists.
"Optimus wanted to change that too. When he became Prime, he tried to reason with the Senate, but they couldn't be reasoned with anymore. Or, well. Megatron didn't give him more time to keep trying." Ratchet adds, plating twitching in a Cybertronian shrug.
A nonchalant Cybertronian shrug.
"But that's in the past now. Next question?"
Spike opens his mouth just to close them again, not sure if the question he wants to ask will be welcomed now… but he'll never know if he doesn't at least try.
"Don't answer if you don't want to, but… what was the Golden Age?" To his relief, both Autobots relax, with the green one even giving him a small smile.
"It was a period in which Cybertron flourished. There were a lot of discoveries made and advancements the likes of which hadn't been recorded before. But it grew… stagnant, and it slowly came to an end."
"An explosive end that was seen coming vorns before, but the Senate only cared for themselves by then, and thus the Rebellion rose and hit. Hard. And Megatron was the one to walk away triumphant." Ratchet adds to Hoist's explanation, their calm having soured a bit, but the mood not being as angry and almost hateful as before.
"Right. You said Road Runners were medium size?" Sparkplug asks curiously, and both Medics return to the present with identical nods. "What would be 'medium size' for a Cybertronian?"
The ambulance lets out a snort-rev while the green mech's engine purrs in the equivalent of chuckling.
"There are two kinds of 'medium size', if you wish to get technical. 'Average size' applies to specific frame types, even to models sometimes, while 'medium size' is used when comparing frame types. Medium size would be a bit bigger than Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, but not too much." Hoist answers calmly before marking the first line of the new column.
The image of the Newspark Protoform changes, and the resulting Cybertronian is one that looks a lot like Red Alert.
"That would be the Road Runner model of the equally named frame type. The 'standard', if you wish to call it so."
"I thought you said the twins were the standard model." Spike comments with a small confused frown, looking up into the blue visor.
"They are. And Red Alert is too. Being of the same model doesn't mean they're all identical, there are differences between individuals." The green mech answers with a small amused smile, and Ratchet shakes his head with a bigger one before returning to his worktable.
"Right. My bad." The teenager chuckles, feeling his cheeks redden as his father pats his shoulder reassuringly, despite being softly laughing himself.
"Now this—" The Medic touches a couple of things and the pad goes back to showing the normal Newspark Protoform and the second column, of which he selects the fourth. "—is a Racer."
The image changes as Spike writes what has just been explained and the two names he knows now, along the given Autobot names next to the 'Road Runner' model.
So, when he looks up, he has the new form ready to be examined—and recognized.
"That looks a lot like Wheeljack." Sparkplug speaks first, while the boy marvels at the lack of face-mask and the Sunstreaker-like head-fins, though the body is distinctively the white scientist's.
"That would be because Wheeljack is a Racer. Their speed is slightly above Road Runner average, and their maneuverability is admirable. Their anti-gravs are also more powerful than the standard Road Runner's, so they can hover somewhat." Spike hurries to write that down under to the model name, before writing the scientist's name next to it.
"What about the standard Road Runner?"
"Fast, agile… there's not much that can be said without comparing them to others, which is why all models are describe in relation to the standard." Hoist answers easily and, since the boy already knows the twins and their capabilities, he just nods.
"Makes sense, I guess. Why does Wheeljack wear the face-mask and the fins?"
"The face-mask is because faceplates are slagging hard to fix, and I grew tired of dealing with that sort of thing after every explosion." Ratchet's grumpy voice cuts before the green mech can do more than open his mouth. "As for the fins, you'd have to ask him personally."
There's no tension in his voice, unlike that time with Prowl and the Newspark Law, so Spike makes a mental note of finding Wheeljack after this is over while he nods gratefully to the Medic.
"Does that mean you could take the mask off?" His father asks with a mix of curiosity and expectation, and the ambulance turns around to look at them with a deadpanned expression.
"Of course I can, that's a minor modification. Besides, the face-mask is retractable, Wheeljack can decide when to wear it or not. I guess he's either got used to it over the vorn, or he's just tinkering with something all the time when I'm not there to watch him."
Hoist looks away with an amused smile at that, but the older medic just turns his optics off with a shake of his helm.
"Is Prime's like his?" Both Autobots turn to Spike at that, looking curious, before nodding, and the boy smiles widely. "I have to ask him to take it off."
"Good luck with that." Ratchet snort-revs, turning back to his work of, from what he's seen, taking care of his tools.
"You ask Prime, I'll ask Wheeljack." His father proposes, holding out a hand, and the teenager eagerly shakes it.
"Deal, but you've got to convince him to do it when I'm there too, 'kay?"
"And same with Prime."
Purring chuckles fill the Repair Bay at that, but Hoist calms down easily when they turn to him.
"Want some advice?" The humans nod eagerly, and the Medic smiles softly down at them. "If you ask Wheeljack anyplace outside the labs, he'll probably not object to it. As for Prime… well, good luck with that."
And Spike groans at that while his father lets out a bark of laughter.
"Be thankful we haven't bet anything." The older man finally says when the boy looks up again, though his sulky demeanor quickly goes back to cheerfulness as his gaze falls on the datapad again.
"So we have Road Runners and Racers. What model is Mirage's?" He asks the green mech, who touches a couple of things to show a new modified Newspark Protoform.
This time, Spike has to try really hard to recognize it, and even then, there are only small things he can relate to the blue and white spy, besides the overall shape.
"Why is this one so different?"
"That's a Tower Runner. Most Nobles were Road Runners, and of them, the majority were of this model. Because of that, and of them having access to the means to do so, they modified themselves extensively to be as 'unique' and 'special' as possible. They used to change color schemes frequently too, and minor aesthetic trinkets were added and taken off their frames almost ornly."
"Ornly?"
"Right, sorry. The human equivalent would be 'daily'."
And Spike remembers Ratchet and Hound telling him how many orns it takes a newspark to mature, and that they translated to months in human time measurements.
But to be said that an orn is essentially a Cybertronian day…
"Your days are really long, aren't they?" He whistles with eyes wide in surprise, and Hoist does that purring chuckling again.
"We live a lot longer than any organic lifeforms we've ever encountered, so it's expected that you find our time measures to be longer than your own."
"What does an orn amount in human terms?" His father asks, and the green Medic smiles at him.
"About 8'3 of your days."
Sparkplug whistles in appreciation.
"So, you guys stay awake eight days in a row?" The man questions, and the teenager turns to the Autobot with curiosity.
"It depends on the need to recharge. If we've been battling long or hard, we last less than if we've been working around the Ark." The humans nod, and Hoist's smile turns to a calm thinking expression. "Though we don't usually stay active all orn long. About 6'7 of your days in it, we tend to go into recharge. Sometimes more and sometimes less, it depends as much on the frame type and model as it does the mech and the situation."
And the mention of models quickly makes the boy's attention return to the datapad, and write down what the Medic has explained about Tower Runners.
"What other models are there? And who is which one?" The green mech chuckles at that before modifying the datapad again.
"Well, there's Hound. His model is the Wilderness Crosser." The servo stops just before marking another line in the 'model selection screen' as the medic's faceplate turns to a frown and his optics darken.
"Wilderness?" Ratchet repeats with a mix of incredulity and annoyance.
"That's what came up when I tried to translate it to English. I'm looking, but there doesn't seem to be an accurate equivalent other than that."
"Slagging language packets." The ambulance grumbles as he shakes his head and turns back to his work. "First our designations, then that mess with Femmes and now this. This is more trouble than it's worth."
Before Spike can ask what that thing with designations is about, Hoist shakes himself out of his reverie and presses the line, the Newspark Protoform image changing accordingly.
"Well, lets try and make it work with what we have. Alright, this is a Wilderness Crosser." The apparent sturdiness of the frame quickly reminds the boy of the tracker, but, unlike with the Tower Runners, there are a lot more small and not so small details that are clearly Hound in it.
Minus the chest.
The mech onscreen has a slightly protruding bumper-like thing, but it looks nothing like the scout's.
"What is that with the chest?" The teenager asks with a small frown, and Hoist leans a bit to the side as if the new angle could show him what is wrong.
"What is wrong with it?"
"It looks nothing like Hound's."
"Oh!" The Medic exclaims with a big smile, sitting back properly. "That's because of his alt mode, his jeep mode. That's how he looked like back in Cybertron, at least at the basic level. You've got to take into account that this is the Newspark Protoform, there was a lot more plating and some other additions put on after the transfer."
And, once more, Spike finds himself blushing.
"Right, your disguises. I had completely forgotten that you guys weren't always like you are now." A dactyl pats him softly on the back, the pressure barely amounting to what a human hand would feel like.
"It's alright. That's how you've always seen us as, after all."
"And here I was thinking the differences were all because of them being different individuals." Sparkplug groans, covering his face with his hands, and both boy and Autobot chuckle softly.
"No need to worry or apologize, it wasn't as if you knew how different some of us are after scanning this new forms."
"Yeah, you're right. So, what can you tell us about Hound's model?" Spike asks while giving the green mech a big smile.
"Wilderness Crossers aren't as fast as standard Road Runners, but they are a lot more stable on any kind of terrain, and thus have a higher maneuverability than other mechs even in the environment best suited to their models. They tend to have better scans too, though Hound is above average on that." The boy writes it down, chuckling as he remembers the ride through the desert while thinking about what it would have been like for the twins. "Speed isn't everything on the wild areas of Cybertron, and you usually tend to need a specialist or a Flier to get out with all your parts attached to your frame." He adds almost cheerfully, but there's a note of seriousness in his voice.
Spike's smile turns smaller at that, but the Medic waves a hand to quit it importance.
"Now, another model you know is the High Weight." Hoist continues calmly, and the teenager shrugs that off as the Medic modifies the parameters on the datapad.
They're not on Cybertron, and, being with giant alien robotic beings, there is little on Earth that can harm him.
Besides other giant alien robotic beings, of course.
His mind flashes back to the time he was standing in the middle of nowhere, surrounded only by red rocks and sand, and looking up at a kneeling white and dark blue being and a standing tri-colored aerial.
That was only once.
Trapped by two beings their size, though with drills and pile-drivers for arms, one out of commission and the other held back by a well known and higher ranked enemy.
Alright, twice. Doesn't mean it will always be like that.
And yet, Spike finds himself wanting to meet them again, if just to see how such an encounter would play out.
Will they answer any questions he may ask? Will they tell him about their culture and physiology like the Autobots are doing? Or about Decepticon way of life?
"Spike?" Startled out of his thoughts more because of the hand on his shoulder than the voice calling his name, the boy looks up, first at his father and then at the Medic.
"Ah, sorry. I was lost in thought."
"We noticed." Hoist answers with an amused smile, and the teenager rubs the back of his head in embarrassment. "I was asking if you recognized this frame." He adds, gesturing to the pad.
The Newspark Protoform has now turned bigger than the previous times, though not as much as with the Prime model—Cargo, wasn't it?—yet that small change is enough to diminish the amount of armor on it.
As thus, the human can only tilt his head in confusion.
"No idea. Who is it?"
"That's Trailbreaker's model." Startled, the boy turns to the green mech and back to the datapad, squinting his eyes as he tries to imagine some more armor on the Newspark Protoform—
And easily recognizing the shape that would result.
"Huh. You're right." Hoist purrs with amusement at that, but Ratchet lets out a loud rev as a bark of laughter. "Alright, alright. Wrong choice of words."
"At least you can recognize that." The ambulance answers, the revving having softened but still audible, and Spike pouts when the Medic turns around.
"Well, excuse me for not being a Medic or having all this information already crammed in my brain." The CMO straightens with a fake scowl at those words, and the green mech's purring grows slightly in intensity.
"I'll let you know, newspark, that there's not a single strand of code crammed in my processor, everything is perfectly partitioned, compressed and ordered as it should be."
"I'm not Cybertronian." He points out, pout still in place.
"Alright. Then, I'll let you know, child, that there's not a single strand of code—"
"Alright, alright!" The boy laughs, unable to keep it back at the deja vu that comes with Ratchet's identical intonation of his previous statement. "Self-righteous Medic."
"As it should very well be." The ambulance answers with a nod, leaving the humans laughing as he turns back to his tools with an amused smile.
"Looks like Ratchet's in a good mood, huh?" Hoist whispers, leaning closer, and a cloth flies over the mostly white Autobot's shoulder to slam on the green mech's faceplate. "I didn't say anything!"
"Do you know what doesn't say anything either? Human toasters." The younger Medic winces at that, and the Witwicky have to fight their laughter. "Now give me back my polishing cloth."
Silently, Hoist obeys, wearing a sheepish grin, and father and son exchange a look.
Oh, yes. The Chief Medical Officer is indeed in a good mood.
That, and he values the other Medic too much to throw wrenches at him.
When the green mech sits down again, Spike gestures to the datapad.
"So, about Trailbreaker's model…" He leaves it at that, but the Autobot just smiles.
"The name's High Weight, because they're larger and, consequently, heavier than the standard. They're slower, too, but they make up for that with their thicker armor."
"What about his ability to create force fields?" Sparkplug asks, and the Medic frowns softly.
"Well, that kind of abilities are different from one individual to another. Some are unique to the Cybertronian presenting it, while others are thanks to some kind of device. The thing is, every one of them is attuned to the mech, sometimes using spark energy to initialize, or require some kind of log in only the user possesses, like a certain wavelength of spark energy. Mirage's invisibility and Trailbreaker's force fields are due to devices, but said items were developed using their own systems as their base. I'd rather not bore you with the details, but that's why the Decepticons, nor any other mech, have been able to copy them."
"And it's the same with Skywarp and Thundercracker."
"Not really." All eyes plus one visor turn to Ratchet, once more leaning against his worktable. "Skywarp's teleporting may very well be, but if it is, no one's been able to replicate it. As for Thundercracker's sonics, they are unique to him, as well as Dirge's fear-inducing engines. These abilities that are integrated in the mech are called Sigma Abilities, and it's impossible to copy them, since they're part of their frames. Seekers usually have frequency-related Abilities, including sound. Hound, on the other hand, has the Ability to project holograms because of his highly developed scanning suite. It can't just receive, it can also send. Basically, he tricks the sensors of others, but he needs to have scanned whatever he's using to deceive them for it to be useful."
"It's like superpowers." Spike whispers in awe, receiving amused looks from the Autobots.
"You humans have a name for everything except for what matters, don't you?" Ratchet asks in a tone of voice that reveals he's not expecting an answer, so the teenager just laughs.
"Wouldn't know about that, there are names for everything that matters to me." He answers cockily, and the Medic dims his optics with a fond smile, leaving him looking condescending.
"Oh, yes. There are names for everything important. Brat."
"Har. Har."
AN: Yes! I finished it on time! This one was hard to start, but once I got it going? I couldn't find the brakes!
Update on Friday because I won't be able to tomorrow or Sunday (and because I'm proud of having finished this chapter XP).
I'm happy to introduce some models of Road Runners and answers to some other things. There will be more coming up (and I hope it won't be as hard as with this one...).
Nevertheless, ask if you have questions. Unless they will be answered in the fic, I'll be happy to clear them (my HC's a bit messy sometimes).