Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

Title: On The Care And Feeding Of Humans

Summary: Transformers AU. Juxtaposition side story. So you think you're ready for a human all your own, but do you know how to care for one? ... Ratchet and Wheeljack are doing their best to figure it out.

Rating: PG

Warnings: mild cursing

Author Notes: Number eight: humans can create a wide range of noises in order to communicate.

Timeframe: After Evelyn's discovery of the Cybertronian language. (post Ch. 27)

On The Care And Feeding Of Humans

Communication

If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head.
If you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart.
- Nelson Mandela

Even through the faint pressure of a headache, a near-constant affliction at this point, Evelyn's mind raced with a gleeful sort of energy, a ball-point pen from her purse in one hand as she knelt atop a sheet of synthesized paper (a la Wheeljack) roughly the square-footage of a king-sized mattress. The size was probably because that was how large the mechs' datapads were, and it was awkward to write on with any semblance of organization, but she had sketched out a grid of roughly 8 1/2" x 11" rectangles. Later, perhaps, she would see if one of the mechs would trim the paper down so that she could stack the rectangles like a notebook, but right now...

Right now, she was having a brainstorm of the most magnificent kind, and she needed to write.

Sounds... sounds... she mused, sketching out a key of IPA phonetic symbols. Many of these probably don't exist in Cybertronian, though, judging by their reaction when I had my nosebleed, so there are probably going to be sounds that IPA doesn't account for...

She murmured, "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog," and then repeated it again and again, lingering over the syllables, feeling the way her mouth moved. 'Fox' and 'dog' came out in English, blunt and straightforward amidst the muddled hisses, buzzes, growls, clicks, and god-only-knew what other sounds that constituted Cybertronian, the strange noises sounding considerably stranger coming from her limited human vocal cords. She had to concentrate to hear the difference, though, and there was the difficulty.

If I can't readily tell the difference between English and Cybertronian, how can I make this work?

'Why would you want to, anyway?'

First contact with an alien species and a free 'download' of said alien language, and you expect me to sit back and do nothing?

'What's the point? No one but you knows about us.'

Evelyn began to list out the Latin (and Greek) alphabet characters not already included in the IPA key to give her a ready source of symbols for any new sounds she needed to transcribe. Sideswipe, I am a language geek. This is fun for me, believe it or not.

The fact that it's the greatest linguistic discovery of the millennium is just icing on the cake.

The voice laughed. 'Is this where you say "fascinating"?'

To be honest, I think I'm going to be saying that quite a lot in the foreseeable future. She tapped the pen against her mouth thoughtfully, shifting to ease a kink in her spine. Do you think Ratchet would help with this?

'Doc Hatchet? Nah.' Slyly, Sideswipe added, 'But Sunny knows Cybertronian and English. He could help.'

Sideswipe, if I need someone dismembered, I'll call your brother. For this? No.

She circled a few likely symbols, writing out some katakana and hiragana as well just to keep her mind and pen moving. Inspiration struck, and she grinned broadly at the disorganized muddle of foreign symbols.

Jazz knows Cybertronian and English, she thought. Hmm...

'What are you "hmm"ing about?'

Just wondering if Met is in a good mood. She glanced thoughtfully at the blinking keypad beside the door. How did this go again...?

She cleared her throat. "Ah... Evelyn to Jazz?"

She half-expected some sort of snarky comment from Sideswipe, but the voice seemed just as interested to see whether the little experiment would work.

There was a soft click, a faint hiss, then the familiar drawl of the black and white mech seemed to come from all around.

"Jazz here. Well, paint me blue an' call me Prime, you've learned a neat li'l trick there, haven't ya?"

Evelyn's smile stretched across her face until her cheek muscles hurt. "Hello, Jazz. Am I interrupting anything?"

"Not a thing, li'l lady. I was jus' about t' head over t' th' rec room. Whatcha' need?"

"Would you mind swinging by and taking me along? I'm working on a... project. I'm trying to transcribe your language, and since you know English and Cybertronian, I thought you might be able to help. Er, that is, if you wanted to."

"No problem." In fact, the mech sounded intrigued. "Be there in a tic. Jazz out."

Evelyn leaned back to look over the expansive columns of notes now covering about half of the giant sheet of paper, which the black and white mech had been kind enough to roll up and carry for her.

"Jazz, you are the coolest mech in the history of all mechs. All right, now, how does your writing system work? Do you have an alphabet or is it syllabaric or logographic?"

His energon cube set aside for the time being, Jazz rumbled in amusement. "Gonna' hafta' put that in Iacon-standard for me, Evy."

"Oh. Um, alphabet is where a symbol stands for a consonant or a vowel, like English. Syllabaric is where a symbol represents a consonant and a vowel, like Japanese hiragana and katakana. Logographic is where a symbol represents an object or idea, like Chinese."

"Hmm." The light behind the mech's visor flickered; no doubt he was accessing Metellus' databases to clarify her explanation. "Bit o' th' second an' third. Mostly 'syllabaric', but there are some things, like names, that are written as glyphs. Here."

He reached toward a blank corner of her paper, and a tiny instrument extended from his finger, ending in a tiny pincer, deftly plucking the pen from Evelyn's fingers.

"This--" He held his hand still, the pincer moving independently to scrawl out a little string of the angular characters that made up Cybertronian script, writing far smaller than a being of his stature should have been able to manage. "--is my name, 'spelled out' as you'd say. This--" He jotted down a far more complicated character, elegant curves and sharp angles coming together in something that was just short of a work of art. "--is my glyph."

When he pulled his hand back, Evelyn leaned over to peer at the two words, enthralled.

"Jazz..." she murmured, trying to feel the word on her tongue to get a sense for the real pronunciation and not the way her mind perceived it. It was more than one syllable, and she rolled it around in her mouth.

I'm not saying "Jazz". So what am I saying?

'You don't have a word for it. It's a music style from Cybertron.'

"Huh," she muttered. "Well, what about Sunstreaker, then?"

Jazz rumbled but obliged her, scrawling out another line of characters and a second glyph.

She repeated the exercise, saying the warrior's name softly to herself. Sunstreaker... Sun... Streak...

The name broke down easier than Jazz's had, perhaps because she had ready words to explain it. It implied a color like sunlight but also great speed, so that the name was actually "One-Like-A-Streak-Of-Sunlight" than simply Sunstreaker.

Inwardly, she thrilled at the progress.

"Sideswipe?" she asked, smiling hopefully at the black and white mech.

Again, he jotted down a line of characters and a glyph.

"Si-i-i-ideswipe. Sideswipe." She frowned as she muttered to herself, and then she could not help but chuckle as the name broke down into its parts. The name meant 'sideswipe' as in a wreck, but it had an interesting inflection that implied that the one named was the swiper rather than the swipee.

The-One-Who-Sideswipes, she thought. It fits so well. I'm stunned that your brother's real name isn't The-One-Who-Scares-All-Shitless.

'Well, it would have been that,' replied the voice flatly, 'but no one really wants to be called Shitstreaker.'

End Communication

IPA - International Phonetic Alphabet. A system of phonetic notation based on the Latin alphabet, devised by the International Phonetic Association as a standardized representation of the sounds of spoken language. (source: Wikipedia)