~blah~ is comm-speak ; blah is Cybertronian

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters, places, etc. belong to HasTak and other copyright holders. I make no profit from this.

Chapter 2: Discovery

It seemed the explosion had been a particularly forceful one even by Wheeljack's normal standards, with debris strewn out into the corridor and the lab door hanging precariously on one hinge. The lab itself was dark and although Jazz thought he might be able to get the overhead lights going with little trouble, he elected not to take the risk; more than one of Wheeljack's accidents had been exacerbated in the past by adding power to the damage. So instead he used his own headlights as he picked his cautiously into the room.

Earlier there would have been problems seeing through smoke, but the corridor filters here were efficient and now everything was calm and still, if frustratingly covered in soot and a thick layer of dust which obscured what he needed to see. And then his optics caught on something whitish in a far corner of the room.

He paused to adjust his optical settings, able to make out the shapes under the debris; one in the corner, the other over to his left.

~Prowl, they're here.~

~Are they functional?~

~Can't tell yet, but they're not moving. I have to get closer.~

~Prime's arrived. I'm briefing him on what we know.~

~Can ya stall'im?~

~Stall him? Why would I do that?~

~Jus' gimme as long as ya can. Things could still go boom here, an' we don't need Prime caught up in it.~

He could guess at Prowl's exasperation, but the response came readily.

~That reasoning is unlikely to sway him but I will do what I can. Be quick.~

It was not easy to get across the room. With every step he took unidentified things shifted and ground worryingly against each other, and with this being the inventor's workshop anything could be explosive. As he moved, he scanned and double-scanned with every sensor and system that had kept him alive as an ops agent over the vorns, and by the time he was halfway across the jumbled space he felt relatively confident that nothing was an immediate danger. Which meant he could concentrate more on the two mech he could now see were definitely still here.

Wheeljack was closer, sprawled on the ground and pinned under a heavy girder. He had probably been at his workbench, tinkering with whatever had exploded. Ratchet was in the corner where Wheeljack often took short naps when he could not be bothered going back to his quarters, which suggested he had been in recharge at the time. Jazz could only see part of one of his legs and his arm from the elbow down, everything else obscured by the remains of a generator. Hopefully the rest of him was attached to the parts he could see.

Something slipped under his left pede as he raised his right and he careened forwards ungracefully, making all manner of debris shift and clatter and barely managing to stop his momentum before he fell on top of Wheeljack. Sending a quick reassuring pulse to Prowl whose voice he could now hear a few corridors away, he was relieved to hear a soft groan from the inventor.

"Wheeljack? Can you hear me? You still online, old buddy?"

~Jack's still with us.~ he reported.

~Condition?~

~Not good. Barely online. It'll take a bit of work to get'im out.~

"Ratchet..." Wheeljack groaned. "Is he...?"

"I'll get to'im. Don't worry, we'll get you outta here. What'd you do, Jack, set off a compound blast?"

Wheeljack did not seem to hear, squirming to try to free himself. Jazz began to gently remind him he was stuck, then choked as he saw the sharp edge poking into Wheeljack's side, tearing a bigger hole with every movement.

"Jack! You've gotta stay still, man!"

"Can't... get to him." Wheeljack muttered, seemingly unaware of the pain. "No-one hearing me. Gotta... Ratchet, please... help him, hurry..."

He slumped abruptly, and Jazz thought for a nanoclick that he had deactivated. But no, he was just too low on energy to keep trying.

~Jazz? You've gone quiet. Is Ratchet gone?~

He shook himself.

~Don't know. I was caught up with Wheeljack. I'll check now.~

~Hurry. Prime's getting impatient.~

Stepping carefully over Wheeljack's head, Jazz squeezed past the broken generator and eased a sheet of deck plating out of the way. The medic was trapped under some precariously balanced debris, but he did not seem to be leaking huge amounts of energon anywhere and his frame was mostly undented, even. What he could see of it, anyway, yet if that was the case why had he not gotten himself out of here? Or at least commed for help?

~Jazz, we're coming now.~ Prowl warned.

"Jazz!" Prime demanded, drowning out Prowl's warning. "What's the situation?"

Ratchet did not so much as twitch at the sound. Delaying for just a click, Jazz reached forward and brushed one hand against the other mech's leg; the nearest part accessible to him. It was still warm, and most importantly still white under the dust and grime. Thank Primus.

"They're both hangin' on, Prime." he called back. "But Ratchet's offline and Jack's not much better. We gotta get them to the repair bay fast."

The call was an unusual one, First Aid mused as he hurried down the corridor. All Autobots at the base were required to assemble at the rec room. And they wanted everyone - injured, on duty, off duty, they were all to go. It made no sense. If it was an attack they would not assemble the injured, and the medical staff would be ordered to the repair bay. If it was a meeting, why the urgency?

Reaching the rec room, he found similar confusion amongst the others and went to join his gestalt-mates. They had no idea either. Huffer and Gears were already laying out the worst possible scenarios - another outbreak of the recent near-fatal infection seemed to be their favoured theory. First Aid hoped they were wrong. From everything he had heard, it had been devastating and it was a miracle no-one had been killed. Sideswipe, though, had a different idea.

"It's a mission." he nodded wisely. "Gotta be. Look - no officers. Not even the gestalt leaders."

First Aid looked around and realised he was right. There was no sign of Hot Spot or Silverbolt or Red Alert, or even Grimlock. That explained where Ratchet had disappeared to, then, he thought with relief. But even as he realised that, Prowl and Perceptor walked in with Ironhide close behind.

"Quiet." the second in command ordered, receiving it instantly. "First Aid - go to Prime's office now. Hoist, Huffer..."

"Prime's been hurt!" someone cried, and others began to clamour.

"Quiet!" Prowl repeated, raising his voice a little. "No, Prime is not injured. You'll get a full briefing shortly. Hoist, Huffer: go with Perceptor. Now is there anyone else here with medical experience? Anything at all. This is important."

First Aid hesitated near the door.

"Sideswipe knows a bit." he put in. "He helped me last week after the battle."

Prowl looked a little surprised, but nodded.

"Sideswipe, you too, then. First Aid, stop delaying. Blaster, Cliffjumper and Smokescreen: go join Red Alert at command..."

He missed the rest of the orders as he left the room and hurried down the hallway. Why did they need medics? Maybe Sideswipe was right and it was a mission after all. If so, the twin was not going to be happy about being stuck back behind the lines to help, but Prowl had wanted to know and it was the truth. First Aid had seen him helping with triage, quipping that he was so often in for repairs that he knew as much as the medics; now it seemed they would find out if that were true. But how? What was going on?

Behind him he could hear mechs beginning to move about in the halls, but then his optics focused on the tall blue form standing just in front of his destination.

"Hot Spot! What's going on? Why...?"

His gestalt leader shook his head, his expression grim.

"Come inside, quickly."

Doing so, he found Optimus Prime pacing impatiently. Hot Spot closed the door, and Prime looked up, his expression grim.

"You're here. Good. How far have you progressed in your studies with Ratchet?"

First Aid was startled by the question and glanced at Hot Spot in confusion.

"Uh, not far yet, sir. There's so much to learn..."

"But you began with a good base of knowledge, correct?" Prime interrupted him.

"Well yes, but..."

"Good." Prime nodded briskly. "You'll have the assistance of every other mech on the base if you need it. Just tell us what you need and it'll happen. We're relying on you to do this, First Aid."

"D-do what, Prime?"

Prime's optics glowed with intensity.

"Save Ratchet and Wheeljack's lives."

Ironhide watched as First Aid picked his way nervously through the debris. His team had already cleared much of it from the entranceway, but there was plenty more to be done. The problem was, they needed a medic's opinion on how to do it. If they just started pulling at stuff at random, they could make things worse. Out on the battlefield it was a matter of necessity; you had to get the wounded out of the way before the Decepticons finished them off, and if they died in transit then at least they died in friendly arms. This was different, and he would be slagged if he let anyone do anything which would lead to them losing either of these two.

Unfortunately, Ratchet was really the only one they had who could have made the proper assessments here. Wheeljack and Hoist helped out occasionally, and they both knew a fair bit about anatomy, but that did not make them medics. Knowing what circuits a wire connected to did not tell you whether it was safe to cut it without putting the mech offline with pain, or what backups might come into play. That was why medics took so long to train up. Any idiot with a welding iron could tack a patch over a hole, but only a trained healer could encourage the hole to heal over under that patch. First Aid was a good student but he was well out of his depth. Nevertheless he was their best chance.

The Protectobots had arrived at Iacon shortly before the Ark's departure, brought aboard more for their capabilities as a gestalt than for any other reason. They were very young, having been activated only a century or so before and raised in secret on an isolated moon base, and although First Aid had always been intended to be trained as a medic there had been no-one there to teach him. He had learned from archived datafiles and training tapes, but they had taught pre-war knowledge and when Ratchet had heard he had immediately railed at the uselessness of that knowledge in a time of war.

"I need my tools." First Aid spoke up suddenly.

The box was passed from mech to mech over the rubble, reaching him quickly, and he pulled something out of it then bent down again to do something out of sight.

Back in Iacon, Ratchet had put First Aid under the tutelage of one of his subordinates, Ironhide couldn't remember exactly who, and the Protectobot had basically started his training over. But the Ark's crash had killed the rest of the medical staff, and so now Ratchet had taken him on himself.

In private, Ratchet had admitted that the young mech was doing very well in his training. The older medic was proud of his achievements, and although he remained cautious it was clear that he thought highly of him. But there was a difference between having pride in a student who was progressing well, and knowing that that student could come through in a crisis, Ironhide fretted. Could First Aid do this? If he couldn't, would it be because it couldn't be done or because he had failed? And would anyone forgive him the failure, whether it was his fault or not?

Whatever happened, someone had to back First Aid, he decided. His gestalt mates would, no doubt, but their opinion wouldn't carry much weight with the older mechs. Someone had to be on First Aid's side, and it might as well be him.

"Okay." First Aid declared, sitting back. "You can move him now. But gently."

Ironhide nodded, motioning to his team.

"You got it, kid. Lets get this done."

Sunstreaker edged around the mechs working to free Wheeljack and crept up behind First Aid who was now kneeling beside Ratchet, running scans.

"Is he going to be okay?"

First Aid jumped, startled, then turned back to his patient.

"I'll do my best."

Sunstreaker frowned, unhappy with the vague answer.

"What's wrong with him, anyway? He doesn't look more than a bit scuffed."

First Aid seemed to consider several answers before settling on a neutral one that told him nothing at all.

"I need to get him back to the repair bay sensors. This hand scanner is limited."

"Sunstreaker." Prowl called. "What are you doing over there?"

Sunstreaker grimaced, knowing he was about to be sent away to where he would find out nothing for joors, but then First Aid surprised him.

"He's helping me move this panel."

Prowl hesitated, and Sunstreaker knew he was about to call the junior medic on his lie. Only, the expected rebuke did not come.

"Do you need any other assistance?"

"A couple of others." First Aid said cautiously. "We need to clear all this away without having it fall on him."

"Or on you." Prowl nodded. "Beachcomber, Hound, Tracks. Help here now. And no complaints about your finish, Tracks. If Sunstreaker can put up with a bit of grit on his panels so can you."

"Move it carefully." First Aid warned them, searching through his tools for something.

Grateful for something to do, though he would never say so aloud, Sunstreaker gripped one side of the metal sheet which had been a bit of wall plating. With the others helping, it was soon being lifted off and away to the side. First Aid was scanning again and Sunstreaker was just tugging gently on another piece of wreckage when the medic suddenly cried out.

"Stop!"

Sunstreaker froze in place, then turned cautiously, afraid of what was happening. First Aid had dropped his scanner and dipped half under the mess that was concealing Ratchet's head and right shoulder. Then he was backing out again.

"I need to get something." he told them, picking his way back to the entrance. "Don't move anything until I get back."

Then he was gone.