The Diego Diaries: Aftermath 1 (491) edited
-0-On the ground
"Careful." Ratchet nervously supervised the off loading of the wounded and sick, his own processor warring with the discovery of his namesake grandfather and the idea that the rest of his grandgenitors were still alive. When the last gurney and stretcher passed he turned running inside again. Down the corridors he hurried. The elevator ride up was swift and the walk to the ward even swifter. The orderly waiting there nodded. "He's just fine, Ratchet."
Ratchet nodded. "Thank you, Timbo for waiting with him. I'll take it from here." Ratchet gently, tenderly slid his arms under the recharging figure of his grandfather lifting him carefully. Turning, he walked with the orderly to the elevator and the ride downward.
It was sunny when he stepped down the ramp, the spectacular sight of the city uplifting him once more. This was a bittersweet orn for him, the retrieval of what was found underscoring what wasn't. He walked forward to pause before Prime and the others. They were pensive and solemn. "This is my appa," Ratchet said as tears came unbidden. "He helped raise me. I have his name. He was my hero all my life."
Prowl stepped closer. "What do you want and need, Ratchet? Just tell us."
"My genitors can't know yet. I want my family but I know that's ridiculous. Everyone wants their own back. I have to have enough time to get him stable before telling my genitors. We will do Halloween and tomorrow I will tell them," Ratchet replied.
Prowl nodded. "That's a good plan," he said quietly. "Let's take him to the hospital." Alor who had stayed with Ratchet during the ride back turned to accompany Ratchet and Prowl to a nearby medical runabout that he had called for. They entered and it lifted off. Everyone watched it, then turned to Ironhide.
"This is Ratchet's grandatar. Who is his son?" Prime asked.
"Ravel." Ironhide vented a sigh. "The other three … it sounds like they're alive. We just don't know for sure."
Prime nodded. "It gives some of us hope, this moment."
Ironhide nodded. "It does."
-0-In a holding pen at the prison
Seventy-five promising Decepticon youngling soldiers had been sorted out of the group, their youth the greatest determining factor to their selection. They stood at the bars staring out toward the city beyond with its airfields, glittering towers and beyond that, more cities and an industrial center. They talked together in hushed tones, some pointing out this or that thing. It was a better view than any on Cybertron. Or anywhere else for that matter. The propaganda they were raised on was not borne out by the reality. A massive Autobrand shown in immaculate brilliance on the side of what everyone knew was Metroplex.
They saw him coming along with a number of bots, the figure of their most implacable enemy, the last greatest Prime of Cybertron. They hushed, watching with expectation as he approached, then paused before them. They recognized many with him, but not all. Everyone knew Jazz, Blackjack and Kup. The others … half of them Wreckers and the other half intel … Elita and her femme team were unknown. They stared at each other, then a youngling stepped forward.
"You're Optimus Prime."
Prime nodded.
"I want to give my oath." He stood staring at Prime, a youngling closer to sub adult than adult. He was drably gray, potentially very handsome and seemingly guileless. He could not have been a Decepticon very long.
"I would take it. But I need to know things," Prime replied.
"What do you want to know?" the youngling asked as numerous others nodded.
"How long have you been in the army?" Prime asked.
"Only 6 decaorns. We were hungry." He glanced at the others who nodded. "We were hungry," he repeated.
Prime felt weariness suffuse him. "You needed food? Where are you from, how many are still left on Cybertron and what have you seen about the leadership?"
"I saw Soundwave once," the youngling said. "I haven't seen Megatron or Shockwave. None of us have," he said turning back to Prime. "There are a lot of us still there. It's hard so we joined up to eat better. Working on the rebuild is really tough. But the energon is coming back. Our ration went up after we joined. How's that for bad timing?"
"Pretty bad," Springer said with a grin. "You couldn't back out?"
"No," the youngling said ruefully. "Actually … my family were Autobots but I couldn't join you. There aren't any on Cybertron. Just Decepticons. Soundwave doesn't have control of the whole planet though. He has let some go to concentrate on other parts. Refugees live there and they defend it. Woe be you to go there."
Prime nodded. "Millions are still there though?"
The youngling nodded along with others. "Most fled. Someone told me that they heard about 55% did. I heard also that 10-12% died in the fighting. The rest are there. 43%, right? I was never good with math."
The ones who were, the command team considered that 10-12% numbered in the hundreds of millions if not billions of sparks. It was a sickening thought altogether. Prime nodded. "Who among you are ready to become a citizen with all the rights and responsibilities of such?"
All of them raised their servos glancing at each other as they did. Elita grinned slightly. "Unanimous."
Prime nodded. "You must give your oath to me and the Matrix. If you break the oath to me you go to jail. If you break it to the Matrix, you will go to your grave. Do you understand?"
They nodded, the youngling spokesmech most solemnly. "We would be killed by the Matrix for the dishonor. I remember hearing that from my family."
Prime stood a moment looking at the younglings behind the bars, 75 who wanted a life and weren't too invested in the old one that they would probably be a bad risk. He nodded to the Officer of the Orn who dropped the gate bars. The youngling stood a moment, then walked out holding his servo up to the Prime. Optimus shook it and the electrical seal was made. The youngling smiled, then looked at the assembled group. "Does this mean I can play football now?" he asked.
Springer would make sure that he could. Personally.
-0-At the hospital landing zone
The runabout touched down and the hatch popped. Ratchet stepped out, his appa in his arms. Walking to the big doors beyond, he entered an elevator with Alor and Prowl to go down a story to emergency. They stepped off, then walked to a side door that would take the party to wards and private rooms.
Ratchet paused by the nursing station. "Cisco, do we have a private room left?"
"We have lots of them, Ratchet," he said checking his screen. "There's one at the end of the hallway."
"Thanks," Ratchet said as he turned to go. Alor and Prowl followed silently pausing in the door as Ratchet walked around the berth and lay his appa on the soft cushioned surface. He pulled back the blankets, then began a better survey of Ratchet's condition. It wasn't as bad as the prisoners but his hurts stood witness to the hard life of Cybertron since The Fall. He hooked the little mech up, then covered him again.
"How is he, Ratchet?" Prowl asked as he and Alor walked in to stand by the bed.
"He's a mess. But he's going to be alright. Nothing too bad. I will be upgrading the slag out of him. I want him to function at 100%. He's going to be optimal for the rest of eternity," Ratchet said, his optics fixed on the little mech who looked more comfortable than earlier. "I think he's better already," Ratchet said checking the monitor overhead.
"That's good," Prowl said nodding. He looked at the little mech on the bed. "What do we call him? You both have the same name." He grinned slightly at Ratchet. "You can see the confusion."
"He likes to be called Ratch," Ratchet said with a grin. "He's a funny mech, lots of fun. His friends called him Ratch."
Prowl nodded. "Alright."
They stood a while, then Prowl stepped out to help in the aftermath. Alor stayed.
-0-On the way to the studio
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe commed Bluestreak and they met at the door of the Cultural Center. It had been repaired and very little of the disaster was seen from the outside. The inside bore the brunt but was in stages of repair. They took the steps upward to the third floor, then walked grimly to the studio. The door was off the hinge but the debris and water damage was cleaned up.
Sunstreaker walked inside. He paused as the others joined him. The windows were gray from smoke and a lot of colors scattered over their surface told the tale of his paint supplies. A big box in the middle contained all that was salvaged thus far. The rest was left to him and the others. All of the canvasses in the room were destroyed. They were shattered but left because they were a project and therefore his responsibility.
The cabinets had been destroyed and therein everything he used. The infant's play center was eradicated along with their toys and their pillows and sleeping beds were gone, taken out with the rest of the mulched materials that had once been home away from home. They stood silently, then Sunstreaker shook his helm. "Frag."
-0-Across the hallway
Drift walked in with Springer and Kup, all of the others following to check on the destruction of their 'club house' as Springer so quaintly put it.
The slagger.
They stood looking around, their entire premises reduced to rubble. Kup who was standing beside Lon who was deeply upset took his stogie into servo. "Slag. I was getting to like that couch."
It was the right comment for the right moment.
-0-Magnus
He stood on the tarmac watching the last patients go to the hospital with the medics. The ships would be taken to the big hangar where non-sentient vessels and the giants were washed. Crews would do for them what they did for the giants when asked. They would wipe The Fallen away.
He turned to walk toward the city and the Cultural Center. He had seen a number of the Wreckers and Kup head that way. He would go there and tell them what their options were. The Courthouse wanted to take over the building to manage the legal side of their burgeoning colony. A new migration was coming. It was modestly considered to be nearly one million of their people. It might do a lot of good to disperse the last few businesses and clubs in the Cultural Center to the new one that had been started in Tyger Pax.
He disappeared into the early morning crowd on his way to Cultural Center Road.
-0-RTR Tools
"I wonder why Ratchet hasn't told us he's back," Ravel asked as he set the treat basket for trick or treaters on the counter. They would be handing out treats between now and Christmas Surprise, having heard about the practice among some in the United States as a way of giving 'good cheer'. He liked it so he arranged for treats to be delivered every morning from The Energon Basket across the way.
"He will, Ravie," Tie Down said as he honed a sword edge. Ravel and Tie Down were the only non-Circle or Knight sword smiths that either group used for their primary weapons outside of their own acknowledged master smiths. The blades were crafted by specialist metallurgists among their own sects but the blades of RTR Tools were so profoundly perfect that they were getting orders from that profoundly picky group.
"Trick or treat is tonight. I can't wait," Ravel said. "I saw Ironhide's costume."
Tie looked up with a grin. "Ironhide has a costume?"
Ravel nodded as he began to wind the red banding around the hilt of the sword Tie just finished. It would be meticulously accomplished. "It is something called Jabba the Hut."
Tie paused to get the image, then guffawed. "Ratchet is out of his processor. That mech is something else, Ravel."
Ravel smirked, then chuckled. "He is. He takes after my atar."
"He surely does," Tie said as he bent down into the grinding wheel once more.
-0-TBC October 31, 2013 HAPPY HALLOWEEN WHEREVER YOU CELEBRATE IT! OR NOT! :D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D
NOTE: Readers have never understood in my thinking how important they are to a story. 'Guest' has eagle eyes and found boo boos that I have fixed. Docker was supposed to be a mech but I flipped them. Docker is now a femme and without your notice of that, Guest, I might have really bit it somewhere ahead. I will adjust the genders of the characters to account for this. This story is so big I make boo boos like that. I try not to but it happens. The easiest fix is to go back to the few notices of these characters already posted and change it there. Hugs to all out there. You are that important. - Me, getting out the eraser. :D:D:D:D