28 Whiplashes: 7. Transforming (no spoilers)

Milliseconds dragged on as his transcanner processed the terrestrial machine.

Just under ideal mass, but that could be compensated for. Four wheels, though arranged differently than his base vehicular form, but better than the apparent standard of two, to judge by the surrounding devices. There were some four-wheeled machines visible through the transparent walls of the enclosure, but they were much too large for his capabilities. No, this silver vehicle, with some judicious alteration, was adequate.

Better than adequate, he allowed, pleasantly surprised by the configuration of the engine. Ten internal combustion piston cylinders, easily modified to work with energon. The end result would compliment his existing power core beautifully. This technology was amazingly compatible!

Finally, the transcan was complete and systems indicated readiness for total mode conversion. Power reserves were within tolerances-- luckily his planetfall had been perfect, or he might have had to risk a recharge cycle before attempting mode switch. No, this landing was perhaps his smoothest ever. Low atmospheric disturbances, soft terrain to land in, and even gentle precipitation of water to cool him down after the heat of entry burned through his crust of interplanetary dust and ice. He liked this planet already.

Scanning a sample of the enameled coloring of one of the other vehicles, he incorporated it and initiated the transformation, shedding his space-going protoform with great relief.

Heavy shielding that insulated delicate inner systems against the bitter chill of the void flowed and gave way, diverting mass and becoming lighter. His propulsion system, designed to maneuver in low and no-gravity, dismantled completely. Ventilation systems opened wider, intakes no longer restricted by protective valves. His core temperature dropped with a delicious tingle, drawing in the cooling air-- oxygen, nitrogen, argon, carbon dioxide, all gentle on his sensors-- and the whole of his chassis pulled apart to reconfigure.

He had only done this a few times in his relatively short life. Taking on new forms was both the same and different every time. Deeply ingrained programming told him exactly what would happen, but still, each new form had unexpected aspects. His Cybertronian base forms were sturdy but light, struts with a bit of give to them, and highly streamlined. The modified form he had to adopt for space travel was almost uncomfortably bulky out of necessity, and that ridiculous little hovercraft form he'd taken for recon on that Nebulos colony planet-- what did the Nebulans have against wheels, anyway?

The shape he had chosen for this little blue world, though, felt almost like returning to Cybertronian form. The flexibility was back, and for the first time since leaving Cybertron he felt light again, even though logically he knew he had shed no mass. Wheels formed, taking the place of thrusters, and he sincerely hoped it would be a very long time before he had to leave the ground again. Poor Powerglide had tried and failed to instill a love in his favorite "little brother" for the freedom of hurtling through open space while out in the deep reaches. Looking back, he realized the smallish seeker had been incredibly patient with the lot of them, ground-pounders all. Or perhaps had enjoyed his lofty (literally) position as one of the few flighted Cybertronians to side with the Autobots.

No, no matter how much "fun" it was to rocket through empty space, it was definitely good to be on something more solid than a ship's deck or crumbling planetoid.

As his body folded in on itself, secondary and tertiary transformation cogs realigned and made new connections. And for a solid second, as his dull-hued outer armor liquefied and flowed, he experienced complete and total sensory blackout. By the time it was restored, bright glossy blue was already blooming across the surfaces of reshaped armor panels, and all four wheels were on the smooth paving of the ground. A final settling of gears, and systems reported acquisition of new secondary mode complete.

It felt comfortable, this new shell. It fit.

A warm, pulsing signal slowly moved into his sensor range from behind. The little spotted native creature had recovered from its dunking in the stream, evidently, and was curious now.

Whiplash made ready to introduce himself.


Author's Note: If it wasn't obvious, this takes place in the first chapter of TLRH, a little snippet of Whiplash's thoughts and what goes on as he first scans the Tomahawk. The whole transformation process I imagine is pretty quick, a couple seconds at most, but I'd hazard to guess that Cybertronians can cram a lot of thinking into a small period of time, being living computers and whatnot.

...why do I get the feeling Powerglide was the kind of big-brother type who was probably the worst influence? Like, teaching bitty Whip the 'bot equivalent of burping loudly or something like that.