Fire of Youth
Chapter 13
*Note to Giddy: I'm making your wish come true this chapter...*evil laughter* I read your comment. You know what I mean. ;3
*Note to Kaleia: Neal didn't know Optimus personally, but he's read a few reports on him ever since the news hit the base – enough to understand what he was like. I guess you could say he's trying to substitute for him in his own unique way. Where Magnus is the true authority figure for Infernus, since he's the one who's going to teach him the necessary leadership skills (or at least better hone them), Neal's more like the gruff but soft-hearted uncle with a lot of common sense.
Ultra Magnus had to privately admit to himself that he had his work cut out for him.
When the Primeling had requested (though in his opinion it was more along the lines of emotional extortion) to be released for a short while, he had had to resist the overwhelming urge to argue about his methods of getting that result. A leader was supposed to have a certain amount of maturity, and toying with the emotions of a team mate might lead to problems in the long run – especially if said team mate was Ratchet. While allowed to get away with it this time, he would ensure he went about it in a more mature way.
It wasn't that he wanted to see him fail. On the contrary, Ultra Magnus wanted Infernus to succeed in everything he did. Infernus definitely could. He just wanted that clever processor put to better uses than emotional blackmail. A talent for manipulating others in such an innocent way as his might be put to better use in persuasive endeavors. And his reputed quick processor? That could easily be melded into an expert tactician, perhaps one to rival Prowl. Being able to sum up an enemy with only a glance and formulate a battle plan – an effective one at that, and one that truly thought outside the box – was quite a feat for someone so young.
'No wonder Alpha Trion and Optimus took an interest in him. He's young, a little immature and impulsive...but he does have promise.'
Outside a nearby hangar, the three earthling mechanics were just finishing up their task of hosing down their target, the last of the stubborn blue stains removed. If any member of Team Prime had approached at that point, even Prowl, they might well be excused for laughing, because Infernus wasn't the only one utterly and completely soaked – Adrian, Katelyn, and, Daily were drenched from head to foot. But in the strong Nevada heat, none of the three minded.
As it was, they did have one observer. Neal finally removed himself from his spot against the walls and approached the four soaked, water war participants. Hanging from one hand was a bucket with a smooth, clean rag draped over the rim. Held within it was a tall dark bottle without a label of any kind.
"A'ight, you three. You've had your fun with the giant alien. Head to the barracks and get some dry clothes. I'll finish up here with the details."
All three humans nodded, smiling broadly, laughing and teasing as they walked off. Once he was sure they wouldn't double back for a round two, Neal approached the white beast-former and set the small bucket on the ground. Infernus watched curiously as the man took both the cloth rag and the dark bottle, popping the lid of the latter off with one well-practiced flick of his thumb. Then he tipped it over and let a strange, rather tangy-yet-sweet smelling liquid soak the cloth rag.
The man thus set about gently stroking the Primeling's welds with the strange-smelling rag. He couldn't help himself from grimacing at how bad some of them looked. Whoever or whatever had done this to him had all too clearly meant to do him in. And while he was no military medic, he knew enough about the various weapons employed in modern warfare to know the marks of a fragmentation weapon when he saw them. The differing impact angles and degrees of severity of the sealed wounds were a dead give away. It was also plain more than one weapon had been used against him. Some of the shrapnel looked to have pierced clear through his armor going by how some of the thicker welds appeared.
Mentally he shook his head as he worked, rage warring with sympathy in his heart. It was nothing short of a miracle the young alien hadn't been shredded apart. He was also lucky that whatever had damaged him so badly hadn't torn his wings apart. As it was, they still bore significant tears and rends that would be in need of mending by Infernus's medic. Whether or not he'd be able to fly with them he couldn't say, but he'd seen the first How to Train Your Dragon film. A dragon without its wings was effectively defenseless, only able to rely on its talons and its fire.
Gobber's advice now rang ominously in his mind: "A downed dragon...is a dead dragon."
If Ratchet couldn't mend those tears...would Infernus ever be able to fly again? How could he defend them from their flying enemies if he himself ended up ground-bound?
Infernus found himself intrigued by the strange fluid Neal was massaging into his welds. The smell was peculiar enough – sharp and tangy, yet there was a distinct sweet undertone to it that was almost flowery or even fruity. It didn't smell artificial in any way, which left him puzzled. What was the most interesting was the effect the substance was having on his wounds – whatever the stuff was, it was serving to dampen the agitated neurodes around his wounds. Though it was by no means a genuine pain killer, it was powerful enough to get his attention.
And to get him thinking. Wasn't like he had anything else to do at the moment.
He hadn't thought any natural remedies from an alien planet would have any effect on a Cybertronian. Everyone and everything here was carbon-based, whereas Cybertronians were made of metals not found here at all. So why was this natural mixture helping to ease his pain? It didn't make any sense. Was there something else in it that he just couldn't pick up?
At last he gave in to his own curiosity. He hacked the hand-held radio on Neal's belt.
*Hey, Neal?*
"Hmm?"
*What is that stuff?*
The man smiled, winking mysteriously as he answered: "Sorry, son. Old family recipe. Much as I like you, I'm not about to go blabbin' secrets that have been passed down since before my great-great-great granddaddy was born."
Infernus let out a disappointed whining noise, shamelessly performing the same puppy-dog look as he had in the hangar. Neal merely chuckled at the child-like response. Cute as the expression was he said, he had a good number of nephews and nieces. He was immune to such puppy looks by this point in his life, adorable as they were. He could keep trying as much as he wanted, but it wouldn't work. Some things in life were just meant to remain a mystery.
"Tell you what though. How 'bout a story? Somethin' to pass the time. Can't have you getting bored and squirming, can I?"
Instantly the white dragon's attention was riveted on him. Two bright blue orbs of life waited eagerly for the story to begin. The head mechanic smiled, peridot eyes twinkling. He didn't resist the urge to laugh aloud. Good Lord, he was like a white metal version of Toothless at that moment. Oh, if he was ever allowed to introduce his youngest to the Primeling they'd be squealing from cuteness overload and delight. His whole personality was made to make you smile and laugh.
"Might wanna get comfy. It's a bit of a long story..."
"First, a bit of a disclaimer before I start." began Neal. "This story's been passed down by word of mouth from parent to child in my family for the Lord knows how long. Now, oral tradition is all well and good, but the longer it goes the more likely the story is to be embellished – sort of like a long-running game of telephone. Sometimes the tale can get so altered the original teller might not recognize it. So it's lucky for you my whole family line was never really inclined to do that. Oh, a few parts here and there may have been made more moving or poetic, but it's essentially remained the same since the very first time it was told."
And so, the mechanic began his story:
"This story begins in the distant past, before the first white man ever stepped foot on American soil, before America was even called the New World by the first explorers. My people, the Navajo, come from around the areas of Arizona and New Mexico – o' course, they weren't called that back then. Those states were just land that my people lived on. It supplied their needs. That was all that really mattered."
"So to really start this tale: Out in the desert in the far past lived my particular tribe group so my granddad said. One day, long ago, some of the women had gone out to gather cactus fruit, and one or two warriors went with them in case of trouble. You can never be too careful out in the desert. Nothing seemed to be wrong at first. The sun was rising, the skies were free of clouds, and there was a nice, strong breeze to keep them cool. All around nice day so I was assured."
Neal soaked the rag afresh before continuing:
"The women were just about halfway done with their harvest when the skies darkened. One of the warriors cried out, fully alerting their female wards. They looked up and cried out in alarm at what they saw: the skies had gone black with storm clouds that swirled like a budding tornado. Winds raged and whipped around them. Lightning and thunder cracked so loudly that both parties were forced to empty their hands of items and clamp them over their ears lest they become deaf."
Infernus looked at him in rapt attention. *What was it? Some freak desert storm? Heard that those happen.*
"Oh, no. It was far more terrifying than that. Just picture this in your head. Once the storm got up to full throttle, the sky itself seemed to split open like a wound. Two great birds adorned in shining but battered armor fell out of the rend, clawing at each other and screaming as they fell. Their eyes seemed to spit multicolored lightning. Each landed strike was like a cannon shot, each wing beat louder than thunder, each shriek like a clap of lightning. And they were massive – wing spans bigger even than yours."
His blue optics widened. *Whoa-kay. This just got interesting.*
Neal had no way of hearing the ancient voices in the youngling's mind readily agree.
*What were they?*
"Story calls 'em Thunderbirds. They're big birds that're supposed to embody the destructive powers of storms. And traditional myths tell they've got tempers to match. Trust me when I say these two were no exception. The two Thunderbirds I'm tellin' you about seemed intent to fight to the death. What exactly they were warrin' over is just another mystery that'll never be solved. Could've been anything from an insult (myths all tell that they're proud beasts) to an incursion into the other's territory."
*What happened next?*
"One of the Thunderbirds landed a colossal blow on the other one's wing, practically ripping it off. The thing's scream probably made the dead all the way over in Europe roll over in their graves. It was a horrible sound, as if a thousand banshees were shriekin' at the tops of their lungs. One of the warriors and two of the women later found themselves deaf because of it. They watched in awe-struck terror as the wounded Thunderbird fell towards the ground, landing many miles away near one of the sacred mountains, the one we call Tsoodzil. The other gave a victory scream and flew off back into the raging storm it had emerged from. Soon after, the storm dissipated as readily as it had come."
"Fearful that the fight was a bad omen, the people ran back to the village to warn their chief. They told him of the spectacular fight they had witnessed, and it seemed those in the village had seen it, too. That evening, he advised his people not to go looking for the downed Thunderbird, warning them that even while wounded it could easily snap the strongest warrior in half. He doubted even the clever trickster Coyote could survive a meeting with such a creature. Thunderbirds were not to be trifled with."
*...I'm sensing a 'but' here somewhere.*
Neal smiled. "Perceptive one, ain't you? Yes, someone chose to disregard the warning. A young woman by the name of Anaba – meaning 'she returns from war' in our language. She was in training under the village medicine woman. Got that name because no matter how badly the odds were against her, she somehow always came out on top. To be able to return from war, alive and unharmed, is no small feat. Many die in wars, and countless more are wounded. You know that all too well."
Infernus bowed his helm in silent acknowledgment. Remnants of his vision flashed in front of his optics. Yes. He knew war always brought unspeakable amounts of death and destruction. The Autobot/Decepticon conflict was solid proof of that. They'd nearly brought their entire species to the brink of extinction.
"Anaba packed a few supplies plus a spare pair of moccasins and left at midnight, slipping out of the village. It was a long walk to the place where the Thunderbird lay, and with no weapons to defend herself from predators and skin-walkers, she maintained a quick pace. Four days of near constant walking later, she found the spot. In all honesty it was hard to miss. A massive crater had been gouged into the base of the mountain, and the brush near it still smoldered and smoked even after four sunrises. She barely paid the small fires any mind, 'cause layin' in the crater, looking more dead than alive, was the titanic form of the wounded Thunderbird."
The Primeling's helm tilted to the side curiously. *How bad was it hurt? What'd Anaba do?*
"The beast's right wing had pretty much fallen off at the joint. It lay limp and at a ghastly angle. Every inch of its armored body bore talon marks and open wounds, and what she could only describe later as liquid lightning oozed out of its injuries. Its breaths were low and shallow. Sparks danced between its tattered feathers, though they looked weak compared to the ones seen earlier. Being an apprentice to the medicine woman, Anaba was smart enough to realize the Thunderbird was dying, and being almost as clever as Coyote himself, she had in fact brought some medicinal supplies with her – salves, herbs; that sorta thing. Intent to either save it or simply ease the bird's pain, she slid down into the crater, accidentally burning her hand on a super-heated stone in the process."
"When she drew closer, the Thunderbird let out a low sound that made the bones in her body vibrate and the hairs on her neck stand on end. Its clawed head lifted a few inches, the beast's lightning-filled eyes watching her. But before it could scream at her it let out a high keen of pain and winced in a very human-like way before letting its head fall back into the dirt. When she drew even closer, to her surprise, it seemed to flinch away. It wasn't afraid of her – it seemed almost revolted. Like I said earlier, these birds are reputed to be proud, even arrogant. Probably was horrified about being helped by a mere human."
" 'Hold still. Let me help.' " said Anaba.
"The bird seemed to understand her and fell still. Emboldened, Anaba approached. She rummaged in her small hide pack and brought out an oil her teacher had taught her to make. Supposed to help ease pain. Actually, it's the same stuff I'm using on you right now. And it's helping, isn't it?"
Infernus nodded. He may not know what it was, but at least now he knew the formula was incredibly ancient.
"Anyway, to continue. She did the same thing I'm doin' – rubbed the oil into the wounds and soaked the useless wing in it. Stuff seemed to help, and the bird itself watched her curiously as she worked. The salves didn't seem to work, though the flow of liquid lightning had apparently slowed on its own. But the wing – what was a bird without flight? Powerful as the creature was, it was nearly defenseless on the ground. It couldn't even hunt. And if its rival came back the Thunderbird didn't even stand the remotest chance. So Anaba did the only thing she could."
*Which was?*
"She turned around, headed back to the village, and asked for their help."
Infernus looked at him, surprise in his baby blue optics as he asked: *Did they agree? She did disobey a direct order from her leader. She didn't get in huge trouble, did she?*
"Well, it took some convincing but she finally persuaded them that helping the Thunderbird was only right. It was on their land, it was hurt. Nursing it back to health might earn them a powerful ally. And in point of fact, they managed to do just that. Thing's wing wasn't able to be saved, but the bird also didn't seem to want it amputated either. Couldn't speak, but it made that point pretty clear. Picky eater though – only ate lightning during the random flash thunderstorms, and to make it more efficient it taught this Navajo tribe to refine copper ore and built it three spires – lightning rods – on the mountain, which is where the big guy ended up staying."
*What happened to it?*
"Eventually it became self-sufficient and lived on its own up there. Never bothered anyone, and no one bothered it. Stories say it either still lives up there, guarding the mountain...or its spirit haunts the peaks. Freak thunderstorms aren't exactly uncommon up there. But no one knows for sure. Contact with it was lost entirely after a few generations. More than a few have gone up there to investigate, never to come back."
Neal had managed to finish his story just as he finished his task. He squeezed excess oil from the cloth and slung it over his shoulder, then wiping his hands on the rag hanging from his hip. He glanced at Infernus to find him apparently deep in thought, his gaze locked on an invisible target off in the distance. He'd seen that sort of look before – the look of someone deep in thought, analyzing information with the meticulousness of a private eye. Then, after what felt like an hour of silence, his radio crackled to life.
*Neal...you realize that Thunderbird might've been a Predacon, like me? The armor, the "liquid lightning" blood, its habit of consuming electricity. It probably had no means of telling the Navajo that it needed Energon and somehow found a way to refine raw electricity into a fuel source. And without its wing, stealing some from another Predacon would've been suicide for it.*
At that, the mechanic grinned and said: "Let's just say I've had my suspicions it weren't a normal Thunderbird ever since I met your kind. Stories from the different tribes all over the southwest never describe one wearing armor, so that was a hint that somethin' wasn't right about it and its rival."
*That's another question: any idea what happened to the other one?*
Neal rubbed his chin as he considered for a moment. In the end he shrugged, admitting he didn't know. Like the story had described, it had flown back up into the storm clouds and had seemingly vanished from the face of the Earth. No tribe had ever reported seeing the second armored Thunderbird again. Probably for the best – unlike the mountain guardian, the other one had seemed brutal and downright vicious.
He gently patted the white beast-former's neck. "Well, you should probably get on back. If the welds start hurtin' again, you're free to come back an' get another dose of the oil."
Infernus rose, stretching like an overgrown feline and flapping his tattered wings once to get some of the clinging water drops off. With a nod of thanks to the mechanic, he slowly walked off towards Hangar E. He may not have been able to secure the formula for the strange oil, but at least he had found the location of another Predacon – one that might very well still be alive. If the Thunderbird in Neal's story still functioned, they might be able to secure an alliance with it. Outnumbered as the Autobots were here, and with Megatron planning to clone an army of Predacons, they needed all the help they could get.
Ratchet was just about to have Bluestreak or Bumblebee go out in search of Infernus and Daily when his comm. link pinged, the sound followed by the distinct heavy pedefalls of a beast. He turned from his computer where he was performing some minor calibrations and was relieved and pleased to see the gleaming white form of the youth's dragon form. All the dried Energon had been removed by water, as was evident from the massive clear droplets that dripped off him. His baby blue eyes gleamed with renewed energy. Seemed the private had pulled a favor with the base's automotive shop.
However, the medic did note the unsightly tears that now marred his baby blue wings. Being in bipedal mode when brought to the hangar, he hadn't been aware of the damage to his beast form. In hindsight he should've expected such collateral damage. He would try mending them, but to say that a Predacon's wing and wing membrane were far different from a modern day Seeker's would be a massive understatement. The two bore almost no similarities.
In spite of that, he did look far better than he had earlier, and the welds didn't seem to be bothering him as much. There was an energy in his powerful field that hadn't been there before.
He eyed him curiously when the Primeling didn't move from his spot in the middle of the hangar. He looked to be...considering something. What was going on in that helm of his? Knowing his playful, mischievous nature – probably nothing good. Nothing harmful, but definitely something impish.
As it was, he got his answer before even five seconds had gone by.
Infernus's wings spread out about a quarter of the way. A spurt of mischief flashed in his blue optics, and what looked very much like a reptilian smirk formed on his long, draconic snout. Ratchet thus put two and two together right when the Primeling's whole body shook in the same manner of a wet canine, sending droplets of soap-laden water every which way. He, Magnus, and Prowl let out shouts of protest when they found themselves dripping wet against their wills.
"You just couldn't resist, could you?" Prowl deadpanned flatly.
Bluestreak, Bumblebee, and the humans on the catwalk erupted in laughter.
"I can't believe you didn't see that coming!" Jack smiled. "That was kind of a no-brainer!"
A message popped up on Ratchet's console: LOL! X3
Then the Primeling – very carefully everyone noted – switched out of his beast form. The massive smile on his lip-plates was practically contagious, as was his hysterical, care-free laughter. Not even the plainly annoyed trio of older mechs whom he had targeted were immune to it. Ratchet and Ultra Magnus managed very small smiles while Prowl contented himself to shake his helm and mumble something too low for anyone to hear.
"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for an excuse to do that!"
Miko cracked up: "Dude, you entertain waaay to easy."
"Did you come here just to do that?"
Infernus's smile faded somewhat as he replied:
"Ah, sorta. I actually got a lead on another Predacon through the head mechanic here – Neal Rowland. An unnamed Thunderbird his particular Navajo tribe encountered way, way long time ago. Supposed to live on one of their sacred mountains – Tsoodzil." He rubbed his neck awkwardly. "No idea which mountain that is, though. May have to look it up. I'm not an exactly an expert on this sorta thing. Geography was never really my thing, even on Cybertron."
"Can't you just ask the little voices in your head?" Miko wondered. "Maybe the big guys knows?"
"No need! Already done!" Rafael chirped, laptop out and screen lit. "Tsoodzil is the name the Navajo gave to the modern Mount Taylor. Its north of Laguna, New Mexico."
The smile returned. "Thanks, Raf."
He made to turn and leave. Ratchet stopped him in his tracks before he could even take five steps. One hand grabbed his arm and spun him around. He addressed him firmly but with a certain undercurrent of gentleness in his tone.
"Ep, ep! You are not going anywhere in your current state, Prime! You need to heal first. You can easily assign someone else to investigate this Thunderbird. You don't have to do everything yourself, you know."
Rather reluctantly, Infernus sighed and gave in. The grouchy old medic had a point. He was in no shape to go out climbing mountains or quite possibly battling a wounded Thunderbird. Even without a wing the thing might be able to put up a decent fight. That didn't mean he had to like said point, though. He hated being confined to the hangar, loathed being forced to take it easy. Out of anyone here he stood the most chance in a fight against a Predacon – no matter how badly he himself was hurt.
Ratchet, sensing he'd won this round, thus released his grip on the youth's arm.
The Primeling's optics darted between the Autobot who remained. Going by Neal's story, he needed to send someone who was strong in order to counter the Predacon's own brute strength. With Bulkhead and Wheeljack in Greece, that left only Ultra Magnus. But he also needed someone quick and small to take advantage of its larger size and slower movement, so the only logical choices there were either Bluestreak or Arcee. Slag, maybe sending both of them would work as well. They would have the advantage of numbers that way.
'That sounds reasonable.' Optimus observed. 'Now ask them.'
Infernus was forced to steel himself. This was only his second direct command since becoming a Prime. He still wasn't quite used to it yet.
'You did fine last time. Simply do what you did then – ask. Remember, you are not making demands of them. You are requesting.'
"Ultra Magnus? Arcee? Blue?"
All three turned to him, optics curious.
"Could you three check out Mount Taylor? See if that Thunderbird's still there or, if not, secure whatever's left of it? Oh! also – Neal mentioned another one. If you can, see if you can dig up anything about the second Thunderbird. Something in Neal's story about the way it vanished was really weird. I've got a suspicion, but I need some evidence."
Three voices assured him they would do so.
"Thanks. And...be careful. Keep me posted on what's going on, 'kay?"
"We will." Ultra Magnus assured. "No unnecessary risks will be taken if they can be avoided."
Infernus nodded, convinced but still wary. From the way Neal described the vicious aerial fight between the two winged titans and the ugly damage inflicted on the loser, he shuddered to think what might be the result if those talons were directed at an Autobot. If one colossal slash from the victor had pretty much severed the other's wing right off, who knew what would happen against Blue's doorwings or even his body? This Thunderbird of Mount Taylor could probably easily slice the gunner in half with ease, and if Blue – Pit, if any of them got hurt or killed because he wasn't there to defend them, he'd never forgive himself.
The groundbridge swirled to life with a wireless flick of the lever by Raf, permitting the three Autobot warriors into its turquoise depths. But he stayed where he was despite his better judgement screaming at him to ignore Ratchet's advice and follow them. Some of his protectiveness faded when a little tendril of familiar comfort touched his spark before wrapping around it gently. The Primeling managed a soft smile.
'Can you protect them?'
'I will do what I can for them, little ember. I can promise no more than that.'
While not quite satisfied, he was forced to concede. It wasn't to his liking, but he had remind himself that Primus only had so much power and so much reach right now.
He stood there for a moment, indecisive as to what to do during the wait. Sitting around was never gonna happen, and indirectly that was due in part to his strange encounter while on death's doorstep. He wanted to keep it to himself to make sure the others wouldn't worry about him...but that wasn't the honest thing to do. Would Optimus lie to them? Not on his life. Well, maybe if it was absolutely imperative in order to keep them safe. That line of thinking didn't apply here though. He wasn't putting them in danger by concealing this information, nor would he endanger them by telling.
Besides, once he told someone maybe he'd stop freaking out about it – and the Thirteen by default didn't count. They knew already. For all he knew they'd been the ones to help pull him back. And that mist guy...his voice had been so whisper-y and altered that he still had no idea who that had been. None of the voices currently locked in his helm matched. Some nagging instinct told him one of them was the guilty party, though which one was beyond him. None of them were being exactly forthcoming.
He made his way over to the medic now busy at his worktable reassembling Mark's modified AK-47.
"Uh, hey...Ratchet?"
The old medic abandoned his task in an instant. He turned to face him, curiosity swimming in tandem with worry in his optics.
"Can I...talk to you outside for a klik?"
Author's Note: Hehe. I am very much enjoying not being swamped in work quite yet. :3 I've managed to get two chapters out in the first two weeks. Lovin' this.
I actually had to do some research for this chapter into Navajo mythology. I wanted to make sure Neal's story didn't sound entirely made up, and with his Navajo heritage I felt it would be very easy to incorporate two "Thunderbirds" and turn them into Predacons. After all, no one's quite sure where the myth stemmed from other than the flash thunderstorms that occur in the desert southwest. And I'm a firm believer that all myths have to stem from something tangible.
