The Diego Diaries: Grounded T-Minus Four Orns (452) edited
-0-On the way to the armory from Terra
Ironhide felt the melancholy from Ratchet reaching him over their bond. It was a rare thing, Ratchet giving into some memory or moment from his past. When things got that way he would wait until Ratchet pulled himself together. It was the fastest way for Ratchet to revive. He walked across the street heading for the underground station that would take both he and Prowler back to his office. The infant was laying in the crook of his atar's arm smiling. They disappeared downward into the station with the rest of the mid afternoon crowd.
-0-At the apartment on the 24th floor
Ratchet sat watching the dishwasher work as memories of his life began to drift into his processor. The idea of having conveniences like this was unheard of growing up. He had lived in a tiny two room tenement apartment with his parents in the Jumble which by any definition of the word was a slum. Their caste was cooped up into crowded run down areas of Iacon that the low castes and other poor were shunted into by virtue of their poverty. It was the way it always was and he never really knew any better until he was older.
His grandgenitors Ratchet and Docker who were his ada's genitors as well as Chan and Corr who were his atar's genitors showed him there was a different world beyond the poverty and barriers of his small life. Docker who was a master electrician would take him into the city to wander past stores and restaurants they couldn't enter even if they could afford it as he was told about the history of his people. Docker was a small mech with a lot of skills and a burning hatred of the caste system. He wanted everything for his little grandson as he had wanted the world for his son, Ravel. Working wasn't an issue for him. He worked hard and saved his shanix making sure that his loved ones could have what he could manage to make happen.
A treat from a street vendor as they walked to the museum, a toy that Ratchet might admire … he had no idea at the time how long it would take his genitors or grandgenitors to raise the shanix to get him some little thing. Then he understood because poor younglings learned about inequity early on and the effort their families went through to provide. When he got candy, his genitors didn't eat for two orns. When his grandadas took him to this or that thing it was only after torturous saving and scrimping. When he realized that, he stopped vocalizing what he liked or wished for.
Now sitting in the kitchen of his beautiful over sized apartment filled with nice things he could only think about his family and their privation. It wasn't based on their ability to work hard. It was based on a system that was cruel, short sighted, unjust and evil. Many were the mechs and femmes with talents and things to offer who never got to do that for themselves and their culture was the victim of their lost talents. Ratchet was an exception. He had been flagged to go to University because he had a use. He was a medical genius. That had value in the stratified system of Cybertron. High castes got sick too.
University had been hell. He had gone in at a disadvantage having lived without attending formal schooling. He was forced to study more strenuously than anyone else and his status as a 'mercy case' was always thrown in his face. He had been stoic for a while, then when he was followed to his dormitory by three mechs with a yen to kick low caste aft proved himself to be a formidable fighter by wiping up the floor with all of them. Living in the slums, he had learned to defend himself. They learned too. No one ever tried to attack him again. But no one let him in. No one let him feel equal no matter how hard he worked and excelled. In fact, when he excelled it made things worse.
The only other student on a mercy posting in the University was a Seeker he had never met called Starscream. No one fragged with him. No one made the mistake of giving him crap. He was big, incredibly dangerous appearing and concerned only with getting his education. It would seem that everyone who wanted to slag a low caste reserved that for Ratchet. He stuck it out because he knew he would be a good doctor. He stuck it out because his family was thrilled that he could have a chance to get out of the swamp of poverty and injustice that they were trapped in. He stuck it out for them.
The orn he graduated had been a bitter moment for him. His family couldn't come. He received his certification as a doctor while they waited outside for him. When he came out eschewing the ceremonies and parties afterward, the image that they took of him was the one his genitors would keep with them all the orns of their separation. It was their son graduating from University as a doctor, something that had never happened in his family. They had their own small celebration at home, an event that he treasured in memory.
He had joined the Armed Forces working at the hospital on duty, then working with the healers in the Jumble treating the poor. He had never forgotten where he had come from. He never would. But at moments like this sitting in his home with conveniences that he didn't even know existed for half his life, he could feel every slight ever given to him and his family.
Where his grandgenitors were, he had no idea. No one knew. They were separated in the fighting. Maybe they were alive. Probably not. He had no idea. He just knew that he loved them passionately and thought about them every time something good happened to him. He thought of them and felt the longing. He would never be able to show them to a home here, give them the chance to be what they wanted and to have unheard of luxuries like good food and leisure. He wished his kids could have known them, these amazingly brave good sparked individuals who helped him never to give up. "You are as good as anyone, Ratchet. Don't ever forget that," they would tell him. It kept him going when he thought he couldn't. "No one can make you feel badly, grandson, unless you let them."
He owed them everything.
Rising when the bell rang, he looked at the little screen. The dishes were cleaned, sanitized and dry. All of it was done in ten minutes. Life was good again. He opened the machine looking at the silver and copper dishes inside. Pulling them out, he put them into their proper places until the task was completed. Closing the machine, he looked around. "This place is a mess," he said to no one in particular. So he began to clean it. His family taught him to 'be a neat mech, Ratchet. Even if you don't have much, take care of what you have' they had said. He did. For them.
-0-Ops Center, Autobot City, Mars
They stood around the table formulating the plans that would allow them to go to eight prison camps to liberate 2200-2400 prisoners. It would be a different strategy and all listened as Jazz explained it. "This will be a stealth mission. What we have decided to do is retrofit three battle cruisers of Decepticon design, then fill them with Autobots and former Decepticons. We would deliver them to the locations where they can use surprise to get access to the prison camps. It would be overpower, snatch and grab, then leave the same way."
"I think that would be a good idea," Optimus said nodding. "It would be unexpected."
"We can refit the three ships that came with Turmoil's group. They have been reconditioned for a ship-board bridge and hyper speed," Jazz said with a nod. "We can paint everyone gray and use magnetic 'Con brands that we can remove easily. We can organize that pretty fast and without too much fuss, Optimus."
Prime nodded. "Good. I would like a list of crews. Wreckers and front liners all."
"Agreed," Elita said. "Flint, Ironhide and Blackjack can command ships. Alor for tactics in the field and Ratchet for medical. I think we need to have some serious medical personnel on board. We can bring them back with the bridges but they will have to travel to them over distance. We can't let them bridge too closely to the sensor grid."
Prime nodded. "Very well. I would like a plan to troubleshoot as soon as possible."
"I am assumin' that we are go when Prowl and everyone gets out of jail," Jazz asked with a grin.
Prime smirked slightly. "We have that factored in but if the moment calls for it, we will go."
They nodded, then walked out to make it so.
-0-On the Autobot City Military Airfield
The ground crews moved through the vast array of ships that were stationed at the far end of the shipyard of vessels used in most of the military operations that stood out for battle or retrieval. They were pulling three battle cruisers for refit to Decepticon specifications. The ships would be stripped of all possible Autobot insignia or telltale signs for the journey through the Empire. It would take around the clock crews to make it so over the next two orns.
-0-At the apartment
:Prowl:
:What?:
:What are you doing?:
:Lounging, Ratchet. Enjoying myself:
(grin) :Sounds fun:
Pause.
:What are you doing, Ratchet?:
(grin) :Cooking an amazing dinner. I'm just now finishing up the other dishes that go with the amazing entree that I have cooking:
:Is that so? Do I alert fire control?:
:OH HA HA, PROWL!: Ratchet grinned, then finished his order. Slipping it into the monitor jack, he put through the rest of their dinner. After looking over the recipes of the rest of the Thanksgiving dinner American-style, he decided to throw in the towel and get the rest from various food sources. Everyone of the dishes he ordered would arrive shortly and if he was lucky he might be able to lie and say they were his doing. He didn't care particularly that anyone would know he had ordered outside food as well because the monster baking in the oven was all that mattered at the moment. He had actually made the turducken. That was self punishment enough for one orn. With a grin, he turned to clear up the mess in the berth rooms.
-0-Nearby
:Ratchet:
:What?:
:What are you doing?: Alor stood by the window watching the world go by. He had cleaned the apartment, changed everything possible including his mind a couple of times and now he had the rest of today and three more just like it.
:Cleaning up slag. I got a dishwasher and a washer and dryer. Your son provides:
:YOU DID!? THAT SLAGGER!: Alor said with a guffaw. :IRONHIDE!:
:WHAT?: Ironhide who was finishing up reports paused. Prowler was laying asleep in a box bed on the desk corner as he worked through the last of the orn's business.
:DID YOU GET A WASHER, DRYER AND DISHWASHER FOR RATCHET?!: Alor asked.
:Uh ... yeah: Ironhide answered.
Alor grinned. :Well done, son:
Ironhide smirked, then shook his helm. :Thanks, Ada. Ratchet?:
:What?:
:What's for dinner?: Ironhide asked as he girded himself.
:It's a surprise, Only One. I cooked it myself: Ratchet grinned knowing full well that Ironhide was being a big femme. :I hope you like it. I made it just for you:
Ironhide sat a moment, then vented a sigh. :Ada:
:What?: Alor asked pausing a moment by the bookshelf.
:If I sneak over tonight will there be any stew left?: he asked with more than a little whine in his voice.
Alor laughed. :Of course:
:Good: Ironhide grinned. :I knew I could count on you:
At that moment, a knock on the door drew Ratchet's attention. He opened it and grinned. Standing outside was a youngling with a big box from the bakery and the grocery deli. He took it, thanked the youngling, then closed the door. Walking to the table, he set it down and began to unpack the contents. He put a big 'pumpkin pie' on the counter along with 'mashed potatoes and gravy', a favorite of Ironhide and other side dishes to turducken. He looked at the stuff, then grinned. "I am going to say I cooked all this slag myself, Ironhide. Serves you right, sneaking off to your ada's house. I am going to make you a plate the size of Mount Olympus and you're going to eat all of it." He grinned, then turned back to the business of house arrest once more.
-0-TBC September 27, 2013