Chap 2
Nestling
After a while of listening to the electrical thrum of the lights in the hangar, you decide to get up and snoop a bit, starting with the vehicle that you're in.
The backseat where you've been lying is slightly depressed from your body weight, and the backs of the chairs have no pockets. You poke your head in the trunk, but you don't see anything back there either. Crawling into the front passenger seat without exiting the vehicle, you open the divider between the driver's side and you. Two coins of a currency that are not from your country greet you, and you quickly lose your interest in them.
The glove compartment, however, is a goldmine. Fighting a small smile on your face, inside you find a brochure, the vehicle's licence and registration, and a government issued ID . Trying not to act your age, you take a look at the government issued ID and frown upon reading that it's expired. Damn, this could have been useful.
The licence and registration is useless to you, as you're nowhere near old enough to drive. Not to mention most of the words are technical jargon and you don't even really know what a licence and registration is for , anyway.
The brochure is probably the most useful piece of information you've found. The title reads : Our Robot Allies and what They can do for YOU. Inside is a comprehensive summary of Cybertronians and how they ended up on Earth. You skim the first few pages before realising this might be important information, so you go back and read more thoroughly.
There was a war, just like Optimus said, but instead of fighting invaders they were fighting their own kind. Autobots and Decepticons, they were called. Optimus was apparently more important than you expected, because his face was on every single page. As the leader of the Autobots, he even persuaded the Decepticon leader to join his cause. The war had apparently gone on for millenia, but you're pretty sure that's either a typo or an exaggeration.
The last few pages of the brochure dictate the Human and Autobot alliance that culminated with the creation of G.H.O.S.T. Along with the different opportunities and causes that the robots are tasked with, the giant robots are apparently 'guest envoys from a far away planet'. Sure, if that's how they want to spin it. The year on the brochure dated the organisation as pretty new, maybe less than two years old. That explains the cobbled together feel of the rooms you've been in. Everything has that impersonal feeling to it, combined with that new car smell that seeps into all the leather furniture including the office chairs.
Satisfied with your immediate finds, you exit the vehicle, feet shuffling to the floor. You get a closer look at your own bodily appendages through the dark reflection of the car window.
Your feet are bigger, with no discernable ankles except for a hinge-like joint. That same greenish light comes from the divots in the metal, but they are more subdued farther away from your eyes. Every part you can see is covered in shiny new metal, and the reflection off the window of the dark vehicle confirms your worst suspicions.
Your face, which was previously adorned with skin, now is that same silvery pallor, with a helmet shape sitting over your brow. Moving your brows moves the helm, so you guess the metal is kind of malleable? You try not to freak out when instead of looking into your familiar eyes, two blue-green lights blink back at you. Cold unease sits like a rock in your stomach. The shape, the colour, everything about you is unfamiliar territory, and even your pulse has abandoned you. The panic you feel building is quenched by the stubborn frustration of not doing this again . In recent days you've spent too long panicking, and if you're gonna improve your horrible situation, you gotta chill out .
Your metal feet make soft tink sounds as they touch the concrete floor, and you walk around the room pointedly ignoring your reflection in the windows. Instead, you try to focus on exploring the massive room.
The silence, which before was oppressive, now is a bit more comforting. You'd be able to hear the doors open if anyone decided to come in, and besides the low frequency that your body won't stop emitting , there are no other noises except your tinny footsteps.
The vehicles here are varied in size. Some clearly with the sole purpose of transportation, like the large cargo-looking van you can see off to the right; others are unrecognisable with their purpose. A few black civilian cars, each with the licence plate removed, and you think based on the shape of the tarp way in the back, there might even be a tank .
Walking further to the larger vehicle area, the room darkens as the tarps cast huge shadows over the smaller transports. Here near the back, these tarps had a very different shape to them. Rather than pointed and narrow, these ones were tall and wide. Wheels peek out from the bottom, but they seem so small in comparison to the size of the shape hidden under the grey tarp.
Shifting closer, you take your hand and lift the sheet up enough to give yourself a better look. Underneath you find more grey panelling, but smoother and more aerodynamic. A closer inspection looking at either side confirms your suspicions, these are planes ! Your childish curiosity demands you try and get a look in one of the cockpits.
Relatively excited, you begin looking under all the wider tarps, finding planes of varying sizes. Some have propellers, some have turbines, some are clearly still weaponized, but you try not to look at those too closely. All of them are big , and there's no way for you to explore the cockpit as much as you want to.
Kind of disappointed, you walk around a bit further until you find a smaller shape partially obscured by its tarp. This one is a plane too, but it's much smaller. The tarp has fallen off of the back end, showing off its colourful rudders. It's the only colour you've seen in this grayscale hangar, and its bright red panels beckon you forward.
Wanting to get a closer look, you take both of your hands and grab the fabric and pull . A small cloud of dust kicks into the air as the tarp hits the concrete floor and exposes the small plane to your eyes.
It's definitely only meant for one, maybe two passengers, and its sharp design shows that it's meant to go fast . The nose is pointed like a needle, and small unknown weapons can barely be seen underneath the grey wings. The size of it makes it seem almost childlike in comparison to its larger neighbours, with a subtle nod to the fact that it's meant for speed and accuracy.
The longer you stare at it, the more you feel drawn to it. Weirdly, you feel alike in some weird way; a small metal creature surrounded by bigger, scarier machines. Just two little guys in this big grey hangar. Your eyes squint as if looking closer, as if you could understand more about this small plane despite not having any prior knowledge.
Oddly, you feel inside your head that something you said was incorrect. Not a plane per se, but a jet . More information filters through your head, unbidden. Scorpion : an all- composite material fuselage jet designed for light attack and intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance missions; expected service life of 20,000 hours notwithstanding landing gear.
A searing green light pours out of your eyes and passes over the small jet. Like a scanner, reminding you vaguely of Ratchet's red beam, the light begins at the rudder and ends at the nose, pouring lines and lines of information directly into your brain, overwhelming in its speed. You shut your eyes in an attempt to stop the flow, but it's too late. A harsh metallic screech is heard from within your chest, and the feeling of shifting and changing comes over you. The sound of metal whirring and clanging surrounds your ears, and it overwhelms you. It's weird . It doesn't hurt, but it feels like passing through a covered slide and coming out upside down without that weird sense of feeling upside down.
Your eyes, finally shut, blessedly shut, tried to block out the information that is slowly trickling to a stop within you. You try to support your head in your hands, but your hands aren't moving the way you wanted them to. You try flexing your fingers, but the most you can feel moving are these little flaps, which you assume are your fingertips. Everything feels wrong and weird .
Breathing heavily (or at least trying to) you try to focus on these small movements to bring you back to yourself. Wiggling your toes, you find that those aren't moving the way you want to either. You can feel them shifting side to side, but you don't feel confident enough to open your eyes. You don't want to fall back into another panic attack and visual stimulation will definitely bring you there closer. You know this from experience.
Steadying yourself as much as you can, you try to focus on the information that forced its way into your brain. It's like a lot of schematics that you don't understand, but there's a bunch of stuff mentioning the word T-cog. The more you focus on that word, an image of a circular mechanical device appears in your brain, but you don't know what you're looking at so you try to ignore it.
The thoughts inside of your head seem weird and computer like. Information appears like pop-up screens; intrusive and startling. Information that you don't remember learning appears like a browser window and focusing on any particular aspect causes you to fall down the rabbit hole of information. It's kind of interesting, but overall it's confusing. Mostly it helps you stop focusing on how weird your body feels. Which, at this point, is becoming less and less of a new occurrence.
Being part mechanical must mean your brain is part machine too, right? Or are you all machine? You hope Ratchet gets back to you sooner so you can stop having to fight yourself with these questions.
The jet's schematics are kinda pretty to look at, once you figure out a way to look them up visually. Again, you don't really know what these words mean, but the visuals are labelled and they help you understand a bit more about the plane. Focusing on the cockpit area, you discover the jet even has a radio! Which makes sense considering the planes must have some way to communicate with each other. Having your own built in radio would be a useful skill to have, or at least a good way to combat your boredom. You don't know how long it'll take for GHOST to get your room ready, but once you're done snooping around the hangar you can't think of anything else you can do until they come back for you.
Focusing intently on the radio blueprint in your internal visual schematic, you hear a small crackly noise. Still too nervous to open your eyes after that weird feeling you got staring too closely at the plane, the crackling changes to a muffled, distorted voice. Concentrating harder, the voice becomes more clear:
: -weather was real nice this evening with clear skies and a-:
The radio! It works inside your head? How does that even work? As cool as it is, you shudder to think about all the ways your body has changed recently. Try to focus on the positives for now. You won't be bored!
Changing stations is a little harder, considering you don't really know the stations in this area by heart. Flipping through manually (or, in your case, mentally) you practise for a while until you find a station that plays some music that you like and you take a few moments to listen to it.
The music is soft and slow, with no discernible lyrics, which is good because it helps you get your mind off of your current predicament. Lying on the concrete floor, taking a moment for yourself, you feel the previous panic within you slow and cease.
The mechanical whirring returns without panicking you this time. You feel that shift overcome you again, and by the time the noises stop, you can feel your fingertips and toes again. Wiggling them, they feel just like they used to, metal and all.
Weirdly, that frequency that was constantly pouring out of your chest has ceased. Or, you note, it's shifted to your internal radio frequency. That's good, right? It's no longer emitting audibly, instead existing only as an internal hum which (you hope) only you can hear. It fades into the background and soon you don't even notice it anymore.
Feeling pleased at your multiple successes and talking yourself down from a panic attack, you wander around the hangar a bit more until you decide there's nothing else you can really do. The radio plays a constant stream of music inside your head, but other than that nothing really changes while you wait.
There are no windows to the outside that show the passing of the sun, and the radio mentioned that it's three something. You're unsure if it means daytime or nighttime, but you don't feel tired and oddly you don't feel hungry either. There's no way to tell how long it's been since you got here, or even how long you've been snooping around, and given everything that's happened recently, it's no wonder why your internal clock is all out of whack.
You pick the closest car to the entrance where Optimus brought you and climb inside. You leave the door open in case he comes back while you're taking a nap. Hopefully he'll notice the open door, but you know the noise of the massive door opening will wake you up before he even gets close. You're not sleepy, but this may be your only way to pass the time. It's a little harder to get comfortable than earlier, but you find some weird position that works for you. Plus, the music helps in lulling you to sleep.
Your metal hands tucked underneath your metal head, and your metal knees pressed up against your metal chest, you close your blue-green eyes and focus on the music to help you fall into an uneasy sleep.
: -out a call to all Cybertronians, we are extending an invitation to any of our kind that wish to join us on an inaugural voyage back home to Cybertron. This invitation is open to any and all who abide by the peace treaty and wish to rebuild our home and return it to its former glory. We-:
Groggily, you furrow your brow ridge. One of your hands reaches up and tries to cover your ears. You feel around for your ears, but can't feel them? The voice continues without stopping.
: All of us have suffered during the war, and we here at Autobot command are sending this transmission with a message of hope: we have the Emberstone. This relic of Quintus Prime may be a way to reinstill life on Cybertron and may be the key facet in the salvation of our race.:
The voice is deep and sounds relatively familiar.
: -will be leaving Earth and venturing through a space bridge back to Cybertron with the Emberstone on board. Those who wish to join us must respond to this transmission by the end of this solar cycle. If you have not responded in due time, the voyage will depart without you. This voyage is meant for those who wish to aid in the regeneration and potentially see history in the making. :
Your eyes shoot open. The voice sounds familiar because it sounds like Optimus. What's he saying? You focus on his words more closely. You caught the word Emberstone, something you remember Ratchet saying was important to their race. Voyage was also mentioned a few times. Are they leaving ? Without helping you like they said they would?
Cold panic returns within you, beside a growing wave of anger that you try desperately to quell. They're gonna leave . Would they have enough time before they leave to help you figure out if your condition can be reversed? Space travel surely takes time, right? And who knows how long a cycle is anyway. The word is foreign to you. Could be a whole year for as long as you know.
You shudder instinctively. You hope it doesn't take a year to fix you.
More information filters through your head as the transmission continues, but you can't focus on the specifics. The humming that you figured out symbolises your panic overrides the transmission and makes it hard for you to concentrate. You shut your eyes again, tight this time, and wiggle your fingers and toes anxiously.
The transmission loops a few times before you hear a noise outside the vehicle. Stumbling stiffly upright in the backseat of the nondescript black vehicle, you peek your head out of the open door to see who's come into the hangar.
Outside you can see giant red and white metal feet. The doctor of the Autobots notices you peering out of the car and looks down at you, frowning.
"Little one, it's only me."
You stare at him.
He stares back and furrows his brow.
"We've prepared a room for you. Would you like to accompany me to see it?"
You nod, and step out of the dark vehicle.
The moment your feet hit the concrete, Ratchet's eyes go wide. He stares at you, mouth agape, and freezes. What's the matter this time?
His eyes never leave you, and he puts a hand up to the side of his head and speaks, but he's not talking to you.
"Optimus, you're going to want to see this."
Ratchet takes a knee, lowering himself closer to your level. The doors shut automatically behind him, but not for long.
Not even ten seconds pass and Optimus walks through the door as well, clearly hurried by Ratchet's call, with the sound of the metallic clunk of the door closing timing perfectly with the sudden expression that appears on his face.
At first it's similar to Ratchet's expression; shock, plain and simple. Then a slow but genuine smile appears on his face. He looks at Ratchet who doesn't return his smile. This doesn't deter him and he looks back at you.
"Little one, what were you doing in here while you were waiting?" His tone sounds like a parent who's caught their child in a humorous situation. You find it confusing, and it makes you feel guilty like you did something wrong. He takes a knee, and you fight with yourself not to take a step back from his hulking figure.
Your eyes flit between Ratchet and Optimus. Were you not allowed to look around? They didn't mention it when they left you here. Did they expect you to just wait quietly doing nothing until they came back? On one hand there were definitely some no-no touching things back here (like the tank , for example) but you hope you're not in too much trouble. How many areas of a government organisation are kid-proof anyway. They were the ones who told you to wait here.
You look at him stubbornly and muster up some courage that would have been impossible before your nap.
"Well what was I supposed to do? Just sit here doing nothing?"
Optimus chuckles quietly and his small smile doesn't falter. Ratchet's laser scans you again but you ignore him in favour of scowling at the Prime.
"Looked at some of the vehicles, did you?"
You bite your lip in frustration. You felt like he was toying with you. Get to the point, already!
"Have you gotten a good look at yourself? Anything new or strange happen while we were gone?"
The answer to the first question was easy. Sure, you looked at yourself in the reflection of the car window earlier. And weirdly yes, you noticed that you can connect to the radio now, but you don't tell him any of these things. You just continue frowning, and nod at him.
His big hand comes down in a scooping position, but he doesn't pick you up. Instead his grey finger curls and touches something on your back that makes you jump because you swear that wasn't there before.
On your back, angling downwards, are two flat panels that taper off into a triangular shape. They have smaller panels with a hinge you can barely see from your angle, and the weirdest part is you can feel them. They look similar to the Scorpion jet's wings you saw earlier. In fact, looking at the schematic closely in your head, you find that it's exactly the same.
Your eyes trail from the wings (your wings?) on your back to Optimus' expression, which is nothing short of delighted. He shoots a glance over to Ratchet as if to say 'can you believe this', but Ratchet rises to his feet and continues typing furiously on the panel on his arm without looking away. You gulp and follow Optimus' arm with your eyes until you meet his face.
"Is this…normal?"
Blue eyes stare into you, the cold hue seems more intense now.
Another chuckle response."Better than normal. It's a miracle." His voice is so soft. His fingers don't stop caressing your wingtips. The motion makes you feel awkward. "You picked a flight mode. You're the first new Seeker since the fall of Cybertron." His eyes have a heavy quality to them, as if he's reminiscing about something painful.
You don't like the pressure his eyes seem to press down on you. But there's no way you'd have the strength to push his huge fingers away. Instead you look pleadingly at Ratchet, hoping to catch his eyes.
"What's a Seeker?"
Successful, Ratchet's eyes look up to meet yours, but only briefly before they turn back to the panel on his forearm. His typing doesn't stop.
"A Seeker is a Cybertronian with natural flight capabilities." He hums in response. "Currently there are only three known living Seekers in existence." His eyes, too, have that sad quality to them. "As bad luck would have it, Nova Storm, another Seeker, was lost in a botched mission less than a stellar cycle ago." He glances up at you again. "The war wasn't kind to Seekers at the start, and even less kind as the war continued."
That cold rage within you is back, and this time you can't suppress it. You use your small hands to push away Optimus' fingers and take a step away from him. The delighted haze hasn't left his face, but his fingers don't move from where you pushed them.
"What about changing me back? You'll still help me, right?" Ratchet pointedly doesn't look at you, seemingly far too engrossed with his forearm panel screen.
Optimus regards you warmly, ignoring your harsh tone. "Of course we'll help you in any way we can." His words have a dismissive quality to it that you dislike. "Forgive me, I was merely excited to observe the first Seeker in many millenia."
You open your mouth to say something, but Optimus interrupts you.
"I'm sure you're very excited to learn to fly, but unfortunately that will have to wait until we can undergo a full checkup on you, and ensure you have a safe space to practise." He joins Ratchet and stands from his kneeling position to continue speaking.
"Come, let us show you to your new quarters." Without another word, you're once again scooped up (without your permission) in Optimus' grey hands and carried out of the hangar. His right hand covers your head like a metal tent and you catch him beaming at Ratchet before it obstructs your vision completely. The fingers are tight this time, so you don't get a chance to peek through the cracks.
A while passes until you're brought to what looks like a series of shipping containers in an even larger room. The room is so huge that the Prime's footsteps echo for a good few seconds after they take a step. The bright lights are sparser here, giving the room a more dim quality than the hangar, but you can see just fine. Optimus gently lowers you to the ground, the small smile still present on his face.
He sets you in front of a large blue shipping container. You look around quizzically. Using his large finger, Optimus pushes a panel on the large blue box and a small human-sized door opens. He ushers you inside.
"Go on."
Taking a tentative step, you look towards the doorway and peek inside. Little lights blink on as you enter, and a sparsely furnished room greets you.
Inside is a military cot, complete with camouflage sheets, a sparsely equipped desk with a radio and a computer screen, and a few notebooks with some stationary. All stuff that could easily be found in a military government office. The lights on the ceiling are clearly motion activated, and give off a warmer light than the cold LED's in the outside room. On the desk as well are a few brochures, including the one you found earlier in the glove compartment of the car. One of them on the top reads : So you're a Terran? What does that mean? Underneath you even spot a few old comic books. You look back at Optimus who's leaned down to peek through the door, and he looks pleased.
"There's a hatch on this container that allows the ceiling to be removed in case of emergency. We won't disrupt your privacy unless it's a matter of safety, but I wanted you to know regardless." His face disappears from the doorway and a deafening clunk is heard as a lever is pulled somewhere on the outside. Just like he said, the ceiling is removed and the cooler toned light of the outside room floods the shipping container. He places the roof on the ground next to him with a metallic resonant thunk.
"I hope you'll let us know if there's anything that you require. We'd be happy to provide for you." He turns to Ratchet. "Perhaps now is the best time to conduct that checkup?"
Ratchet, who had entered the shipping container room alongside you and Optimus, peers into the makeshift room that was prepared for you. You expect his scanner to come out right away, but instead he gingerly lowers his hand into the room ( your room) and waits for you to step onto his hand.
You appreciate this over being picked up unceremoniously by Optimus, and you try to hide your scowl thinking about it as you step onto Ratchet's palm willingly.
Rather than lowering you back to the ground, Ratchet's opposite hand comes up and gently gestures for you to lift your arms and lower them. Oh, it really is like a medical checkup. He gestures for you to do the same with your legs, doing a few lowered squats and turning your head from side to side. He asks a few questions here and there, mostly about if you feel discomfort anywhere, and surprisingly you don't feel any pain. Especially considering the pain you felt when you first changed into this, you feel…optimal. He also refers to your body parts as something else; if he hadn't been gesturing at them you wouldn't know what he was talking about. Apparently the head is called a helm, hands are servos, feet are peds, among other things. These details file away in your brain (processor) for later use.
Everything goes smoothly until he asks you to flex your wings. You strain, but nothing happens. Your wings remain unmoved, pointed at the ground.
Ratched hums and asks your permission before examining them closer. His grey digit lifts the new appendage and flexes the tiny smaller panels on the back.
"Can you feel that?" He asks. You nod.
"Try to focus on the area you can feel me touching, then try to flex that area." He demonstrates by touching the base of the wing and giving it two taps. Concentrating, you try to move it. You quickly become frustrated when it doesn't move an inch.
Your expression must've given you away when you hear Optimus chuckle in the background. You glance at him in your periphery, and he's looking at you with soft eyes.
When he sees you looking at him, he speaks to you. "Don't be too discouraged little one, those wings are still brand new."
A small huff leaves you as Ratchet lowers you to the ground outside the shipping container. He types a few things into his panel without looking at you.
"Do you feel hungry at all?" You shake your head. You're unsure how long it's been since you ate, but you don't feel hungry at all. Ratchet continues. "I'm not surprised. The other Terrans went months without needing any fuel, and with the Emberstone in our possession there should be no issue getting you some. And your source of fuel should be the same as theirs, but we have alternatives just in case." His typing ends with a satisfying click as the panel closes. He turns to Optimus.
"I've finished with my medical checkup." He turns back to you. "There are a few documents in your quarters I recommend you read before asking us any questions. They might be able to answer your queries more thoroughly than we can. There's also a computer in there if there's anything else you need to look up, but unfortunately we have a pretty strict firewall with G.H.O.S.T. so certain things are quite limited."
Both bots' eyes are trained on you, as if daring you to ask any questions. The pressure in the room is enormous. You nod slowly. You'll do just that.
Ratchet nods back at you and walks out of the room. You and Optimus are left alone, his eyes still soft and not leaving your small form.
"Ratchet and I will be quite busy for the next little while, but we will do our best to answer all your questions and ensure your stay here is a comfortable one." His small smile is back on his face.
"If you ever need to get our attention, please use the comm unit." He puts a hand up to where his ear would be. (if he had any)
Shockingly, his voice appears in your head, a small browser window labelled Comm with a subtitle Optimus Prime.
: This is your comm unit. :
You blink, shocked. Robots have telepathy ?
: I'll add Ratchet's comm unit to your library. Other members will want to meet you once they arrive, but for now we should limit your safety to those we know we can trust. :
He winks at you awkwardly. You don't feel reassured at all, but you smile weakly back at him. He seems to like that.
He turns and moves to leave, giving you a smile in return.
: I'll let you get settled. : And the doors shut behind him.
Optimus can hardly contain himself as his pace quickens to catch up with Ratchet. He steels his face to any human G.H.O.S.T. personnel, and sees the doctor not too far ahead.
: The first Aerialbot since the war. Can you believe it, Ratchet? This must be a sign that this could work! :
Ratchet's pace doesn't slow, and he doesn't look at Optimus who matches his stride.
: Optimus, I still think it might be too early- : He's cut off by the Prime's desperate tone.
: If not now, when? We lost the Emberstone at the same cusp of losing the opportunity to restore our race. The Terrans won't leave Earth without their human counterparts, and Cybertron can't support human life. Now a new miracle has been found, alongside the Emberstone and I can't help but feel this is a sign from Primus that now is the time for us to try again. :
He looks briefly at his chief MO, a sorrowful expression flitting across his face plate.
Ratchet huffs, and Optimus continues.
: On top of that, they chose a Seeker build. What are the odds of that? The Seekers are at even greater risk of losing their entire culture. If it's worked on one human, why not more? : His optics are wild.
: What of their family? : Ratchet posits. : Don't think I haven't noticed that you haven't asked . :
Optimus' optics stare pointedly forward, his optic ridge lowering. Ratchet continues after a beat. : It's unlike you, Optimus. :
A brittle sigh shudders out of the leader of the Autobots. War had made him so heavy, and every cycle he thought about returning to Cybertron and restoring it to its former glory. And now, after millenia of trying and failing, he feels he's been given the chance to try again.
Optimus is quiet, and he resumes his difficult thinking. The hope of the entire Cybertronian race rests on the chance that this human-turned-Cybertronian; a Seeker no less, perhaps unwanting or unwilling to return to their old life. But should that heavy decision be left up to chance? And by a child nonetheless?
The sparkling was young, younger than they said. This had garnered some confusion from the medic who wasn't used to falsehoods coming from one so young. Sparklings were as pure and malleable as fresh cybermatter straight from the Well of Allsparks. Optimus had noticed that although he did not ask if the child wanted to return, the child did not ask to be returned either. This meant the interactions stayed generally positive in his benefit so long as the subject wasn't mentioned.
There hadn't been a sparkling since before the war. This made Optimus feel heavy from the years behind him. He looked back at Ratchet, slowing his stride slightly.
: A sparkling, Ratchet. There could be sparklings again. :
Ratchet's face visibly fell, deep emotion coating his face plate. Optimus knew of Ratchet's previous medical escapades before the war, and he knew how much the older medic wanted to return to that post again. Very few Cybertronians could be trusted more than a sparkling doctor, and Ratchet had turned over his tools from the very beginning to help the Autobot cause, fully believing he could return to his old post when the war was over.
A millenia later, and there wasn't a single sparkling left.
Until now.
A single Seeker sparkling, with the weight of an entire world on its small shoulders.
Ratchet's shoulders sagged, and Optimus knew he wouldn't press the idea further. What was the sacrifice (it's not a sacrifice, he convinced himself) of a single human child over the continuation of their entire race?
The sparkling would be cared for with the best support the Autobots could manage. There were so few Cybertronians left, but this child would receive the best of the best that could be offered.
The only element that could possibly hinder their plans to get the sparkling offworld lay with its discovery as a previously human underage citizen by their human allies. Optimus didn't feel good about it, but he was reaching new levels of desperation. War made him willing to make tough decisions and this was one of them. Once the sparkling was offworld, They could spend millenia teaching them the Cybertronian ways until they were more Cybertronian than human.
Keeping the sparkling secret and safe until their departure was paramount. The information was on a need-to-know basis and the transmission he sent earlier was already receiving replies.
Bumblebee and Elita-1 were out of country managing the Malto's relocation. After hearing the transmission, they were already on their way back to base. Arcee and Wheeljack were tasked with mining as much energon as possible for their voyage so they weren't far. Megatron was dealing with a solo mission undercover at the behest of this country's government, and could not respond although he did acknowledge the transmission. Other autobots and neutrals had responded positively at the concept of the voyage.
Ratchet and Optimus arrived at the main G.H.O.S.T. control centre just as a few human agents were changing shifts. They had placed the sparkling in a storage section of the base, far away from any of the populated human areas. In fact, the shipping container room was a clear 5km away from the closest human-used G.H.O.S.T office space, and thus if the humans needed anything from storage they would usually ask a Cybertronian anyway since it would take them less time.
There would be little chance of any human finding the seekerling, but just in case Optimus changed the door permissions to Autobot only, and had a good excuse in case he was ever asked about it.
The humans petered out, waving to their colleagues, a few waving to the giant Cybertronians politely, and were replaced by the dayshift. Earth's clock read 07:00, and the screens blinked to life around him.
Ratchet wandered over to his designated area, no doubt going through the details of the Seekerling's checkup, and Optimus had some meetings with the human leaders concerning his sudden interstellar voyage. A busy day ahead of him, and a lot of Emberstone related explaining to do, sparkling notwithstanding, he put on his best professional expression, and addressed the world leaders before him on the screen.
"Greetings. I believe I have some exciting news to share."
