Authors notes: Updates a few days early because I felt like it. I'm several chapter ahead but I like having a good number of chapters in reserve to keep me safe from any potential writer's blocks or periods of procrastination. I am prone to those. Once again, thank you everyone who has read and reviewed this story! I'm happy to be able to provide a service that makes people happy. It gives me the warm fuzzies. Not much goings on at my end really. Same old same old. My supervisor at work is trying to get me in as a full time employee (I've been a temp since the begining of summer 07, after I graduated high school) and as a full on employee, I would get a raise (WOOT!) and be elligible for the company's benefits (health insurence, vacation time, etc. Paid sick leave. All the good stuff) and I'm already enrolled in the company's 401k (YAYNESS). Essentially A 401K (for you younger folks who don't know) is like a savings account your employers uses and puts a certain of your check into everyweek to go towards your retirement. The sooner you start one the better. More money for you when you retire.
Phase eight: Ball and Chain
Chapter Seventeen
Brea had never really seen Ratchet laugh before, but the Medic positively burst into hysteric giggles when she asked him if the Mech that the Micromasters had mentioned really did cause random and spontaneous explosions.
"They said that, did they?" He asked after he'd composed himself. Brea was sitting cross-legged on the counter while Ratchet was putting away some medical supplies into various cupboards, drawers, and cabinets.
"…Yeah," She said, feeling stupid for being so gullible.
"Well, they're not too far from the truth really," He replied and Brea looked at him, startled. "He likes to drabble in what we've called 'extreme engineering'."
Brea had a sudden mental image of a scientist climbing a rock face while mixing dangerous and highly explosive chemicals. She stared up at the Mech, squinting in confusion. "Meaning…?"
"Meaning he's the kind of Mech who tries out theories and experiments that no other sane Mech with working logic circuits would even considered attempting. That's where the explosions come in. I've patched his chassis more times then any other Mech. Even the Twins. Ask 'em when you see them, they'll vouch for me."
"Ah…and how likely is it that he could blow something up here?"
Ratchet leaned on the counter, staring down at her in amusement. "They really have you going with this, don't they?"
Brea blushed and narrowed her eyes, looking away. "No…I just…"
He flapped a hand at her dismissively. "Don't worry about it," He told her, "We need the help. Besides, Wheeljack won't be doing any experiments here. I'll make sure of it."
Brea furrowed her brow, her mind conjuring up the mental image of Ratchet locking away all the dangerous chemicals into a 'Wheeljack-proof' cabinet.
"Besides," Ratchet continued with a shrug, "You'll be down in the Sanctuary when they arrive. If he blows anything up you won't be in any danger."
"So am I free?" Brea asked hopefully, sitting up straight, and eyes sparkling hopefully.
"Yes, but you'll have to wait another quarter of a joor," Ratchet said, "I have something to finish before they arrive and then I'll bring you down OK?"
Brea deflated and flopped onto the ground in defeat, feeling like a wounded animal. She groaned. "No-o-o-o-o!"
"That was the longest hour and a half of my life!" Brea stated as Ratchet walked down the hall way, taking the same route Jazz had the other day.
"You need to learn how to be patient," Ratchet told her and she immediately thought of an old saying about something involving a kettle.
"I'll learn patience the day you stop hitting people," Brea replied with a little more vice then she meant. She still had a goose egg on her head from before.
Pinning the girl with a look, he said, "I could always take you back, you know…" To signify his point, Ratchet turned his body around as if he were about to walk back to the infirmary.
"No, no, no! I'm sorry!" She amended with alacrity, waving her arms as if to stop the Medic from backtracking. Ratchet dutifully turned back and resumed the original path, chuckling. They traveled in silence for a while, mostly because Brea didn't really have much to say and Ratchet seemed to prone to silence unless prompted to speak.
Lost in her own thoughts, Brea came back to reality when her chaperone suddenly paused. Looking around her, she caught sight of two Mechs walking up the halls towards them, their foot falls echoing loudly. She felt a jolt of apprehension run through her, as she did whenever she saw a Mech she did not know; and also because these two Mechs were big. A head taller then Ratchet, the two matched Xeon's own towering height. Their contrasting colors made them stand out starkly against the bleak and colorless grey halls. The Mech at the front was colored a bright sheen of Red while his fellow that tailed him was a happy, sunshine, yellow. Red was clutching something in his hands.
She felt the hand beneath her vibrate when Ratchet growled. "If you two are heading to the infirmary don't bother," He growled. "I don't have time to bang out your dents right now."
The red one's face bore a look of mock pain. "Why Ratchet, I'm crushed! How could you think that we—"
"Save it," Ratchet grouched. "I have more important things to do then to patch your…"
"It's not us," Yellow grumbled, electric blue optics narrowing in annoyance. His expression was an ironic contrast to his joyfully yellow body.
"It's Kimberly," Red suddenly interjected, turning his palm to reveal what he'd been clutching to his chest. Ratchet's anger dissipated in a blip. A young girl about Brea's age was curled against the metal fingers, a head of fluffy red hair that was disheveled and tangled. She turned her face from the red metal and looked up and Brea felt her insides turn cold. Her eyes widened.
Oh my god…it's her!
It was the girl from the transport ship, the one who had tried to escape. The one Lady Viral had taken from the processing facility as her pet.
The girl glanced over and their eyes locked. From the startled look in the girl's own eyes, Brea was sure that she probably recognized her as well. The girl's hand rose to her neck as if in gesture to signify that she, indeed, recognized Brea. Something silent and incomprehensible seemed to pass between them, their eyes never wavering from one another. Memories flooded back to Brea in a torrent and puzzle pieces suddenly seemed to come together, sewing into one another to create a tapestry of events she could read like an open book.
Lady Viral's voice, shrill and grating, echoed in her mind: "I enrolled my own little Aida in the breeding program! She has the most striking features. That fluff on their heads? Well, my little Aida's is bright red. I simply had to have another just like her! No conceptions yet, but I am hopeful we see results soon. Only the top gladiator will do for my pet, but it seems as though they make poor breeders."
Brea felt sick. She didn't know anything about this 'breeding program', but looking into the girl's eyes…Brea had a sickening feeling it was nothing pleasant.
Or consensual.
Viral had called her Aida though…Red had called her Kimberly. As she pondered that, Xeon's voice drifted into her mind: "Acceptable. You may keep your given name."
Given name. Had Viral…changed this girl's name? Was Kimberly's pet-name Aida?
"What's wrong with her?" Ratchet's voice broke her from her thoughts.
"I think she might have been contaminated by whatever Preston has," Red replied. "Her core temperature is elevated and she's been doing that spasm thing with her ventilation systems…"
"You mean coughing?' Ratchet asked flatly.
"Yeah that."
"Alright," Ratchet conceded. "Go up and have a seat and wait. I gotta take this one down to the Sanctuary first before she deactivates from boredom."
The Red Mech seemed to just then realize Brea was there. "Oh," he said, face breaking into a pleasant smile, "Hey there. When'd we get this one?"
"Little over an orn ago," Ratchet replied.
"Really? Where was I?"
"I ask myself that all the time," Ratchet replied flippantly.
The Red Mech looked unamused, "Ha ha, very funny."
"Well go on," Ratchet instructed, gesturing back up the hall, "I'll be back in a few breems."
"Will do Doc."
As Ratchet continued down the hall, the other group heading the opposite way, Brea's eyes lingered on the girl until she was out of sight. Turing back around to face the open corridor, Brea's mind fluttered. "So…that's Kimberly," She said quietly.
"Yes," Ratchet replied cheerlessly. "Those two Mechs are Sideswipe and Sunstreaker; they rescued her from some rich Femme."
A pause.
"Lady Viral." Brea supplied and Ratchet stopped.
"…you know Lady Viral?" He asked, surprised.
"Not…really," She replied, still sounding distant, almost as if she were in shock. "She came to visit Xeon once. And she was always sending him invitations to her parties and stuff. She lives in the tower across from his office and I use to watch the parties from the window. And also I…" She broke off, trying to line up her thoughts, "I've seen her before too…Kimberly I mean."
Ratchet did not continue down the hall. Instead, he just stood there and Brea took that as meaning he wanted to hear more. "She was on the same ship as me that brought us here. And she was at the same processing facility. I never talked with her though…"
Another pause.
"She can't," Ratchet replied quietly, a very audible sadness coloring his voice.
"What?" Brea asked, not understanding the medic's meaning.
"She can't speak," He repeated, sounding oddly forlorn, "Kimberly's hasn't said a word since those two rescued her from Viral."
Brea stared off into space at the information. It didn't quite sink in.
"Sideswipe said she spoke a little when he first met her; told him her name and things like that," Ratchet explained, continuing the path down to the Sanctuary, but at a slower pace. "But I suppose she was so traumatized her mind just snapped and when she was brought here we couldn't get a peep from her. For the first two orns she wouldn't let anyone but Sideswipe or Sunstreaker near her. She would start crying and thrashing about. She had an infection and I couldn't get close enough to treat it. I had to get those two to actually sedate her so I could give her the injection," A mornful pause, "That's why we wanted to take it slow with you," He looked down at her, his blue eyes seemed to dim, "…we didn't want you snap or go mute like she did. We had to be careful. I would have perfered to have gone even slower then we have, but you seem to be adjusting well enough and everyone seems to agree we should allow you into the main population."
Brea stared into the Mechs face, feeling odd. She felt grateful they wanted to be careful with her, that they seemed to care that much, but also there was a deep sense of shame when she thought about Kimberly. It was dizzying to think about it. How easy would it have been for their fortunes to have been swapped, that she was sent to Xeon and Brea to Viral. How easy it would have been…
"Domesticated doesn't mean their tame. It's a term we use to describe humans who're brought in as pets. Y'know… like Kimberly."
"They can have a lot of psychological and social problems. Most of the domesticated ones are kept solitarily with little to no social interaction with their own species and kept under total submission. After a time, it starts to mess with their heads. We don't know when or how long she's been captive so we won't know the extent of the damage until later, after we see how she reacts to the group."
"We don't want to scare her or she won't be able to tell us anything."
"I realize that, Prowl, but we have to be more delicate with the domesticated ones. For all we know she could be mentally unstable. We don't want a repeat of what happened to Kimberly."
"No much of a talker are ya?"
Brea reached up and touched her neck, feeling the smoother scar tissue. It made her ill to think about it. What would she be like now if Kimberly was the one with these burns, and Brea the one without a voice?
Upon entering the clearing that housed the metal sheds, Brea caught the familiar form of Bluestreak sitting on the ground. On his left shoulder was an unfamiliar small boy with light brown hair and sitting on Blue's leg was a girl of the same age and hair color. The fire pit blazed with brilliant flames and a delicious smell was wafting up from the pot perched over it on the metal grate. Sitting around the pit were several older humans, softly chatting. Brea instantly recognized Caleb who was sitting in between two other boys, both older then him and both with dark brown hair instead of his dirty blonde. Beside them sat an older man, bald and strongly built, who looked to be in his mid forties. A tall thin woman with raven black hair stood back from the group, holding baby Becky, swaying and rocking the child in her arms.
As Ratchet entered the clearing, all chatter ceased and those present turned to look towards them.
"Hello Ratchet," Bluestreak greeted the medic first and turned to Brea, smiling good naturedly. "Hey Brea."
She smiled back. Assembled greeting were ushered from the humans and Caleb smiled up at her. Ratchet bent down and allowed Brea to scoot off the edge of his hand. Turning to face the group, Brea was relieved to see Caleb coming up to her. She felt her heart give a little leap.
"Welcome back," He grinned, taking her hand, "C'mon over and have a seat."
Brea allowed Caleb to guide her over to where he had been sitting. He motioned to one of the boys to scoot over. "Make some room Roddy."
The boy obligingly moved over and Caleb sat down, never letting go of Brea's hand and she followed him down, taking a seat on his left and next to the other boy.
"How's Preston's condition?" Ratchet asked.
The raven haired woman turned to look up at the Mech, "He's eating but only a little. Too much makes him nauseous. I'll see how he takes to the soup. If that doesn't work I'll make him some broth to see if he takes better to that."
Ratchet glanced towards the shed where, presumably, the aforementioned human was sleeping and back to the woman.
"Make sure to take precaution around him," The medic said, "I think whatever he has is contagious. Kimberly seems to have become sick with something too."
The dark haired woman's brow furrowed and she nodded solemnly.
"And no Tylenol for a gazillion light years," the older man grumbled. "Times like this make me wish I'd finished med school."
"I'm heading back up to the infirmary to see to her," Ratchet said. Then he added, a slight worry in his tone, "Please watch his condition closely. If he gets worse come get me."
"We will Ratchet," The woman said reassuringly, "Don't worry."
"Thank you Annie," He said. Turning to Brea he placed his hands on his hips and said, "Alright, Brea, you're officially clear for release. If you have any questions or anything, just ask these guys. We try to have at least one Mech down here at all times, so you can ask them as well if you need anything."
"OK," she said, smiling, "Thanks Ratchet."
"I'll probably be down in a few joor with some guests," he said, "So I'll be checking in with you all later."
"Bye," the group said as the Medic retreated.
"Well Brea, welcome to the village," the older man said with a smile. "Sorry we weren't around to greet you before."
She just smiled. "Nah, it's OK. I was only here for like…ten or fifteen minutes."
"Jazz still has that dent in his head," Caleb said, grinning and tapping himself on the head. "He said it'd probably be there for another week."
Brea was suddenly reminded of her own experience at the receiving end of Ratchet's fist—er, finger and she looked over at Caleb. "Speaking of which: I thought you said Ratchet doesn't hit humans."
Caleb looked at her, baffled. "…he doesn't."
Brea grabbed the boy's hand and placed it on her head, over the goose egg Ratchet had given her. His eyes widened.
"Bloody hell!" He called, "He did that?"
"Yeah."
He grinned and turned to his brothers. "Hey guys, check this out!"
And then Brea, to her chagrin, suddenly found herself being virtually assaulted by the three brothers, all of them whistling and commenting about her being the only humans to have survived the wrath of Ratchet the Hatchet.
"Alright, that's enough," The older man barked and the three boys settled, muffling their snickers. Brea took a moment to fix her disheveled hair. "Don't need to go off and start harassing her."
"We weren't harassin' 'er," One of Caleb's brother said.
"Yeah Craig, we were just goofing." Said the other.
"Well stop. You three will drive her away before introductions are even made." The man turned to her and smiled. "Hi, I'm Craig, nice to meet you."
"I'm Brea," She replied.
"Well you know me," Caleb said, "And these are my brothers Sean and Rodney. That's Annie over there and you know Becky. And the two monkeys up there are Zoë and Izzy."
Brea turned around to glance at the two children who were using Bluestreak as a jungle gym, although the Mech didn't seem to mind at all, rather he seemed to enjoy the children's attention. The boy Izzy was trying to climb down the Mech's chest, but misstepped and almost fell, but Bluestreak's hand shot up and caught the child before he could do little more then slide down a few feet. Zoë was contently sitting on the Mech's leg, leaning against his foot and looking as if she was ready to take a nap.
"And Preston's still sick," Caleb finished on a sad note. "Kimberly's almost never around so don't worry about her. She only shows up to eat or use the privy. Rest of the time she's with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker or wandering around on her own."
"Yeah we past them in the halls," Brea said. "She might be sick too."
"Hopefully it's nothing serious and it'll pass." Annie commented.
"Probably only after we've all had it though," Sean mumbled.
"So Brea," Annie asked, handing Becky to Craig before walking up to the simmering pot over the grated fire. "Are you hungry? I just made some soup."
"Yes, thank you," Brea smiled, the prospect of have a hot, real, meal instead of raw fruit and vegetables sounded absolutely heavenly.
"Alright," the woman smiled. "Let me get you bowl."
As the raven haired woman poured some thick red soup into a metal bowl for her, Brea couldn't help but allow her thoughts to drift to the one human not present in the little camp; Kimberly.