Chapter 28
-0-Med Bay
By the time Bumblebee was brought into Med Bay Ratchet had closed the hole in Ironhide's spark chamber. The stasis field still was in place as a protective measure but only just so. Ratchet who felt exhausted mentally and emotionally had finished, tossing the welding tool that had done the finish work onto the instrument cart.
First Aid who had silently watched the procedure patted Ratchet. "That was impressive, Ratchet."
Ratchet smiled faintly. "That was my pinnacle, First Aid. It's all downhill from here."
First Aid grinned sympathetically at Ratchet, then turned toward the racket from the hallway which was becoming louder. A stretcher borne by four mechs entered with a painfully bent and mangled Bumblebee stretched out upon it.
Springer came along behind and helped them move the little mini-con onto the med bed by the door where First Aid pointed.
"What the frag happened to you, Bumblebee?" Ratchet asked as he walked to the small Autobot. "You're in pain?"
Bee nodded as he lay back suddenly exhausted from relief.
Ratchet watched the monitors as First Aid took his stats. "You're low," Ratchet said shaking his head. "You'll need a couple of transfusions right away." He glanced at Springer who had walked over and was looking at Ironhide. "Hi, Springer."
"Ratchet." Springer said as he regarded Ratchet quietly. "You look like slag. You really didn't expect that this old fragger was going anywhere did you?"
"He almost did," Ratchet said. "What happened to Bee?"
Springer shook his helm, gathering the few things Bumblebee could tell him into his thoughts. "He was chased for about five hundred miles before careening off the road. Barricade managed to wound him and the energon loss was his downfall. He might have made it to Denver otherwise. But the strangest part was, he stood over Bee and Bee figured it was up. Then he said, 'Starscream wanted you to know he ordered this, that he wants you broken in half and for you to tell Prime.' Then he left."
"What?" Ratchet asked with surprise. His processor hurt and he was as tired as he'd felt during the height of the war on Cybertron. "Barricade is about as lenient with his potential victims as I am with dumb afts. What does that mean and what the slag has Starscream got crammed sideways in his exhaust vents now?"
Springer shook his helm. A broad smile graced his lips. "Don't know, Ratch. Screamer needs a thorough beating."
"I hope you can deliver it. Soon," Ratchet said as he looked at the little mini-con. First Aid began the initial repairs of his battered frame. "The last thing we need is obtuse devious slag from that jackass."
Springer grinned. "I gotta go. Some new humans have come with SUVs and a new human wrangler. They look like mercs. Prime wants me to keep an eye on them until we figure out what they want. Bringing hired guns with a bureaucrat doesn't sound right to him."
"Or me," Ratchet agreed as he considered Autobot Public Enemy #1, Theodore Galloway. It appeared that they had another one.
Springer paused beside Bumblebee, then left.
Ratchet walked to Bee, resting his hands on his hip assemblies as he considered the kid. "You look like you're the bug this time, Bee. No pun intended."
Bee grinned. "You should see the other mech."
Ratchet shook his head. "You could get paddled for telling whoppers but I think you might just like it if I did."
Bee grinned then looked across the room, gazing once to the revived and now recovering Hound and the off line self repairing Ironhide. "What happened?" he asked innocently.
-0-Ops Center, later
Optimus Prime walked into Ops Center nodding to the mechs on duty as he made his way to Teletraan III where Prowl was standing. He considered how beautiful Prowl was and the indefinable thing that came to him each time he looked at the mech now. The stark clean lines of his paint scheme, black and white, and the startlingly beautiful red of his chevron, that was part of it. His big mech wings moving to absorb data or to reflect his mood, that was also part of it. The competence, calm dignity, the elegance of his form called to him whenever he saw him.
Then Prowl turned to look at him, the warmth of his blue optics reaching into Prime's spark. He grinned to the big mech. That was it he thought, the thing that made him feel like a kid, like a mech that could overcome anything put before him. Those blue optics and that look, that incredible look.
When it wasn't aiming torpedoes at him for fragging up some of his carefully laid plans. Those optics. Optimus grinned in spite of himself.
"How was the meeting, sir?" Prowl asked as he walked toward Prime, stopping to stare up at the eight feet of height difference between them.
Prime looked down as Prowl's blue optics reached into his spark and captured him once more in their power. "We have a new problem," he said taking Prowl's arm to steer him toward a corner of the room. He looked at Prowl, at the expectant slightly frowning face looking.
"A new group is here," he said, "and they are staying in the transient officer's barracks at the other end of the base. They are hired guns from a firm called Intel-Martin who runs them. They are the group that is involved in contract security in the Middle East and their reputation as killers, abusers and hot head drunks is not good. We have to investigate them and get plans in line if they become a problem."
Prowl nodded. "I'll work on it. I'll have Jazz research them. Do we have a list of the individuals?"
"I suppose that Jazz can get it and not leave a trace," Prime suggested with a smile. Prowl smiled back and Prime felt his spark squeeze.
"I'll see to it myself," Prowl said glancing at Jazz who was lounging in his chair trading quips with Mirage as he worked his shift. "I wonder ... do you have anything for Mirage to do? After all, the humans say 'all is fair in love and war'."
Prime grinned faintly, his optics shining with pleasure. "You read my mind."
Prowl smiled, the genuine feeling of love on Prime's face almost overwhelming. "Consider this my problem and not yours, Optimus."
Prime quashed a desire to hug Prowl, to kiss him and thank him for all that he did consciously and unconsciously to make Prime happy and his job easier. "I have a conference call to the F.B.I. in Denver."
"All right," Prowl said as reluctant to part as Prime. They stood together for a moment savoring the difference in their proximity now, then Prime slowly walked off the command deck with a lighter step in his peds than usual.
Prowl watched him until he left. Then as he thought through a dozen and a half possible scenarios for the new problem and a set of objectives for both Mirage and Jazz to work on for the next few orns, he came back to reality. With a lighter step of his own, he walked to Jazz and Mirage and began to plan their nefarious scheme.
-0-At the Transient Officer's Barracks
They moved in, nine security personnel and a bureaucrat. Once quarters were established, they walked out together to the mess hall nearby. They were easy to spot, their self-identifying matching black Kevlar vests, ubiquitous sunglasses and pistols strapped to hips a dead giveaway to the pros who lived and worked here.
Civilians and soldiers, airmen and women walked past along with sailors and marines. They knew what they were seeing and although they were curious they also carried the usual disgust that professionals felt for those who would do what they did for money, that and worse.
Entering the building, they bumped past Niall Graham, muscling their way inside without a cursory remark. They streamed into the building as Niall who was pushed against the doorjamb glared back. They entered then headed toward the food line and lunch.
He watched them join the line then stepped away to cross the tarmac to the offices that were theirs, the command team for the Autobot-N.E.S.T Strike Force. Entering the cooler building from the humid and heated outdoors, he spotted Lennox and signaled for him to come into Epps' office where the Sargent was working on paperwork, always and ever infernal paperwork.
Will popped in to sit in the dispersal range of the desk fan. "What's up, Niall?" He tensed. "Not another Autobot thing...?"
"No," Niall said with a frown. "It's worse. I just saw a team of hired slime from Intel-Martin elbow their way into the mess hall."
The two Americans looked at each other and without a beat spoke together: "Oh shit."
=0=Inside the mess hall
They sat together eating their food. Around them were the usual types, soldiers, sailors, airmen and women. They noted the women, checking out the local talent. They were going to be here for some time having been assigned by their boss, Bill Nast himself to accompany Jason Daniels to his posting here.
They were all former military but had left it for varying reasons to take high pay and less ethical adventures with Intel-Martin, the largest and most controversial 'private army-for-hire' in the world. They had a very long trail of murder, sexual misconduct and physical intimidation to their company name.
No one would be happy to see them here.
"Did you see the cars?" Lawrence Dobbs asked.
Carlos Ortega nodded. "Sweet rides. I suppose they're all aliens."
"Probably," Lawrence said. "I'm going over to look when I'm done here."
They chatted, ate and watched the locals.
The locals ate, chatted and ignored them.
-0-On the tarmac a joor (hour) later
Bluestreak was walking to the firing range, his limp nearly gone. It was very hot and most of the humans were not out and about, preferring early morning or later evening when the heat coupled with humidity was bearable. He walked along thinking about Sunstreaker and their evening with Sideswipe, Hound and Trailbreaker. It would be a welcoming party for the big mech who'd made it finally here to the literally delirious delight of Hound.
The activity would be one of the first parties they'd actually planned, not counting the spontaneous ones that burst into flames whenever someone provided the spark of an arrival or a besting of some human of dubious quality. Fire pits at the ocean side were popular and they were already collecting drift wood for the evening since Hound would be out of Med Bay and everyone would be there, he thought, in his continuous stream of consciousness, perhaps even Prowl and Prime and maybe even Ratchet would come for a while-
"Hey!"
A voice stopped the flow of words through his processor as Bluestreak slowed to stare around himself. Then he looked down and noticed new organics. They were lounging on deck chairs at the transient officers barracks, some of them stripped down to their skivvies. All of them wore dark glasses.
"I said 'hey'!" a human male said sitting forward in his chair. He then stood. He stared at Bluestreak then looked the others, laughing as he said something softly.
Bluestreak instantly didn't like them, so he moved forward, ignoring the little insect voices of the tiny figures sitting on their patio. Their barracks was on the way to the firing range and he was determined not to have a bad time with organics. Prowl wanted it so and so did Prime. He wasn't going to be the one who had The Incident that they were warned against. It would especially be a bad event after the almost train wreck of Sunstreaker and Johnson/Hedges, a pair that were preparing to cause trouble back in their home land or so he thought he'd heard in the Rec Room one morning.
The insect voices continued but Bluestreak didn't listen. He walked onward finding the firing range empty as he believed it would be. Unsubbing his rifle, checking every aspect of it, he took his stance and began to sight the scope on a number of different things including skeet-like targets that flew up at an astonishing rate. Behind him, a roaring noise broke his concentration so he looked down.
An organic, the one who called to him was sitting on a small off road machine the organics called a four wheeler. He considered the tiny machine and its lack of sentience. Then he looked at the human and two others sitting on the back of it with cans of something in their hands. He decided that he wouldn't let them know he understood their languages.
Being an inoffensive individual, he didn't understand the aggression of stupid people so he decided to listen without engagement. Maybe he would understand doing so if he'd violated even obliviously some sort of taboo to invite this attention.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!"
Blue continued working with his scope ignoring the humans below. The sun was hot and he felt good, the energy absorption meters in his processor moving to near capacity from the sunlight his receptors were collecting. His limbs were healed and the pains were mostly a memory. The only aches he had were the welcomed kind from his exertions with Sunstreaker the night before.
He grinned as he considered the big Lambo who'd stuck up for him so fiercely at the enlisted man's barracks. He knew that Sunny loved him though it was hard for him to say. But he showed it all the time with touches, whispers and protection. The last thing he wanted to do was cause a reason for Sunny's anger so he considered leaving now.
"Hey, robot! I'm talking to you!" the man persisted. "Look down here and talk to me!"
Bluestreak looked down with dislike clear on his face. "I'm shooting. Go away," he said as he turned back to fire.
The human stepped off the four wheeler and walked to the firing line to look up at Bluestreak. Then he pulled his pistol and pointed it up at the Autobot.
Bluestreak seeing the pistol flash in the light looked down at the man holding the gun. He glanced at the others who were sitting with sudden silence, watching intently the scene.
Then one of them thought better, perhaps noticing the size of Bluestreak's rifle. "Todd. Let's go."
'Todd' looked at them with a smirk. "You aren't afraid of a little old robot are you?" he asked.
"That isn't a little robot," the man countered. "Come on. Let's go get some beer."
Todd looked at them then back at Bluestreak. He pointed the gun back up looking as if he were preparing a shot.
Bluestreak who moved on instinct turned slightly, then focused his rifle on the human.
The human had the grace to freeze, the size of the bore of the rifle pointing directly into his face was bigger than his head and filled the visual field of his face. He lowered his gun slowly, his demeanor shifting to calmness and sobriety. "Hey, I'm just joking. Can't you take a joke?" he asked.
Bluestreak who was shocked by the human's move looked down his sight into the face of Todd. "No," he said quietly, then he moved away from the men, his rifle still on them, his back never turned. When he'd backed away enough he walked away, subbing his rifle as he left.
The men watching him go relaxed at last then looked at each other with gathering disgust.
"Great job, Todd, you ass hat."
"Blow me, Steve," Todd said moving to sit back on the four wheeler. "So that robot can't take a joke. We'll see," he said gunning the vehicle. They rode off in a haze of dust for the Transient Officer's Quarters and a beer driven afternoon of poker and bullshit.
-0-Med Bay, late that night
Ratchet sat on a chair next to Ironhide, the big mech's arm a pillow for the medic's head as he kept vigil. He went to their quarters but it was curiously devoid of warmth and personality. Coming back, nodding to the night medic, he pulled up a chair and sat as memories of their life together came one after another to his processor. The endless fun, the suffering and separations, it all came. Ratchet was surprised as he thought back at the lack of rancor they had together in a life spanning so many vorns.
They were compatible to a degree he hadn't realized until now. They were friends, lovers and comrades. They were Autobots, soldiers and he was a diplomat, the official Autobot diplomat and negotiator.
Each of them were formidable alone but together they were never defeated. It had almost happened now but Ironhide had stuck around, almost as if afraid to leave Ratchet behind. At least that's what Ratchet settled upon.
Now all it took was the stabilization of Ironhide's spark. The meter was already at 54%. Though that number was not the 98% Ratchet needed, it was a good one. For this number was Ironhide doing the work, not the machine. All they had to do was wait and Ironhide would be back where he belonged, with the Autobots, with Prime and with his 'bestest old yellow aft mech in the whole fraggin' galaxy'.
Ratchet.
He shuttered his optics to rest as his sensors focused on the big silent mech beside him.