Roughly ten Earth years later
Shortwave held tightly to the the ship's control board, and she shoved her right knee tight against a support somewhere beneath it, struggling not to loose her footing on the smooth metal floor as the craft tilted hard to the side. Bracing herself just as well as she could that way, Shortwave moved one hand from its place still holding the control board front, so that she could reach forward over the controls, intent on flipping a blue switch close to the back.
She smiled for just a second with her victory, just a millimetre away from flipping it, when a blast slammed against the side of the ship. And the shock of that blast sent her felling immediately to the floor, before she had time to even hold on again.
"Fragging scrap," Shortwave grumbled, sprawled face-plate down on the cold metallic flooring. And she took just a second, about as long as she could spare, to make sure she could move undamaged.
"Carrier!" cried Blastwave, alarmed somewhere beside her.
"I'm good, Blast. I'm good," Shortwave answered, picking herself up from the floor, only to stumble while only halfway back into her feet, as the ship rocked sideways again from another hit. She watched her creation as he grabbed at once for the front of the panel himself, and hung on, able to avoid falling.
And now that she had just a second to do so, she turned her head a little, looking behind her, at Lightwave – still strapped into a seat, and silent as ever. The smaller youngling was slipping too, falling to the left against the cargo strap which held her in place. But there was no time to help her then, no opportunity to cross the flight deck to do so. As much as Shortwave obviously did not want her to fall, she knew the height was hardly dangerous.
"The stabilizer switch, Blast," Shortwave told her son, sure he would reach it because he was always so quick when he was trying.
"Got it," the young bot answered the second his fingertips hit the same blue switch his carrier's had missed before she fell. And the ship at once regained at least partial barrings in space.
"Carrier," Blastwave was starring at the monitors mounted to above the control board, now. And he watched the view outside, as a small small, dented scouting ship circled their own to fly on it's other side. "He's powering up again. He's going to hit us."
"Let him," Shortwave answered, confidant as ever, now that she was once again back on her feet. The blasts her ship had taken so far from the small ship, flying it's strange simply side switching pattern to fire at one side and then the other and back again, had certainly been enough to knock them around. But still the blasts were small, because the weapons were weak. And she knew it would take many more blasts then it could likely offer to cause serious damage to her ship.
"They are just Deception scavengers," Shortwave explained. She took over the control board again, pressing buttons, inputting code and just becoming all out annoyed at the nuisance outside. "The question is do they not know the war is over yet, or do they simply not care?"
"Are we going to fire back, Carrier?" asked Blastwave. His small frame moved slowly closer to hers, and he looked up at her, his large youngling optics wide with uncertainty. Clearly he feared the war he'd grown up thus far aware of, and may now have landed on his doorstep.
"No, we are not," Shortwave said, her hand already on the comm switch far from the blasters. "We are Autobots, Blast'. Shooting first and asking questions later, just isn't how we do things."
She cursed loudly, when the 'cons of board the ship beside them failed to answer to her singling bleeps via comms. And her cursing grew louder, when instead they simply fired again on her ship.
"Blastwave!" she cried, optics locking a second on the youngling, before she turned to scan the monitors, and the readout underneath, before she finally grabbed hold on the console again, bracing with her bent knees against an impact she know was about to hit them hard. "Hold on!"
"I'm good," the youngling answered back, and Shortwave trusted that indeed he was.
Blast' may have been young – just past halfway through his third frame years. But he was capable, and he knew how to survive and function on board just as well as any bot, because indeed that life on board the ship was the only one he had ever known. And sure enough he stayed on his feet, holding the edge of the control board as the ship rocked hard from the next hard hit from blaster fire.
"Carrier, what do we do now?" he asked, optics wider, but his hands still holding tight to the metal front of the thing. Another hit closely followed right behind the first. And Shortwave watched the Youngling fall, dropping hard to his knees from the force of the impact.
She herself could barely manage to reach the comm then, sent rocking forward herself, and almost meeting the floor again, before she grabbed quickly for a support brace. She finally did manage it though, tapping the comm switch twice, to send out two fast little chimes of inquiry to the other ship. Her call was met only with another blast of its weapons, which only made her angry.
"Blastwave," she called across the length of the console. Her hand gestured a little while the other let go of her hand hold again to reach for the stabilizer and flip it again. "The targeting system above your hands... work on that. Track that ship and target it."
"On it," Blast' answered, reaching with one hand like any trained engineer, while the other still held on.
Shortwave knew from decent experience that her ship's own weapons, mounted to underside and facing forward, were more then powerful enough to blast a ship like the one currently attacking, right into tiny bits of floating metal. It didn't hurt things either that the 'con ship was old, and clearly held together in places by little more then rusted bolts. And acting fast, she grabbed for the steering control, and turned her ship to face toward the one she was currently at odds with.
Still, she did not fire though – not while there may still have been hope. Instead, she tapped the comms again, a short succession of fast near frustrated taps against the button this time. She only hopped that might get her point across – that she had had just about enough of trying to be civil. Finally, her urgently and hopeful flagging of the 'con ship yielded static from the other end, and she sighed her relief, still hoping for more than that.
"What... is wanted... Autobot?" someone with clearly bad grammar and an obviously bad attitude barked across the commlink. And the contempt with which he had named her faction made her cringe inwardly just a little. She watched the small screen then, right above the comms set up. And she did see an image or the bot she now spoke with. But it was fuzzy, barely enough to be sure it was even a bot at all if she hadn't already known that. She certainly could not tell anything of what he actually looked like.
"I don't need your attitude... Decepticon..." she snapped boldly, daring to repeat his own faction in the same contempt he had shown to hers, only because he had done so first. "I comm'd you out of courtesy." She smirked at the fuzzy image of the bot, unsure if her own image was any less fuzzy to him. "The war is over, 'con. Just thought you might like to know that before you continue trying to blow away a habitation ship containing younglings. And I am no threat to you. I'm flying on a simple mission to get my own children to safety."
"War is... not over!" the 'con scavenger roared into his end of the commlink. "War never be over until Deceptions win!"
"The war is over." Shortwave's answer to the 'con's screaming was short and to the point, delivered in an even tone of finality. After just a second though, and as an afterthought, she added, gloating slightly, "Megatron is dead. Did you not get the memo that was blasted out to every bot ship in range?"
"Megatron... was fool!" the Decepticon snarled back. "We not need him. We fellow new master now. New great leader... who work to unite our forces!"
"Who is this new master of yours?" Shortwave's anger was giving way to real worry by now. And she stared at the comm-screen, holding her optics in a serious glare to hide her nervousness. She had never exactly held any real rank among her faction. But he may not have known that.
The comm-call was cut then however, by the viscous 'con. And obviously he had chosen to answer now with his weapon instead of his words. Because another blast hit the front of the ship. Shortwave would have warned her youngling to hold on again. But there was clearly no need, as she was instantly holding tight to the control board again.
Shortwave reached for her controls, and powered up her own ships weapons. But still, she did not wish to blow the other ship away if she could avoid it. Not with the war over at least from her perspective. And the bots on board that ship were, to her still just fellow Cybertronians, as much as they were enemies. So, instead of firing at once at full power, as it may well have seemed for a moment she might have done, she fired only a few small warning shots against the side of the enemy ship in front of her own.
"Cowards," she mumbled under an intake, when the small dilapidated scavenger ship turned around at once, retreating just as fast as the old and slow thing could possibly have gone. "Just like some rust ridden old cyberhound...no bite left, but they sure like to bark a lot."
"They are leaving, Carrier," Blastwave smiled. But the fear so well expected from any youngling, caught up to him quickly, now that it could. And the smile left his face-plate again, to be replaced by his wide optic'd trembling in his delayed panic reaction.
"Come here, Blast," Shortwave said. And she held her arms out at once, as the ship fully stabilized itself.
"Carrier, I... thought we... we might b... be offlined for sure... th... this time," Blastwave said, stammering badly as his frame trembled just a bit harder.
It was hard to remember sometimes that Blastwave was indeed still a youngling. He was, at least in general, self sufficient and adult for his half century of existing. But he nevertheless was, and Shortwave vowed for the next countless time, to always remember that.
"You will never go offline as long as I'm alive to prevent it," Shortwave promised. And she smiled down at him, just as soon as he slowly let go of her, and backed up a step, his look almost sheepish as he did. And Shortwave just chuckled with laughter at his look.
She turned then to look over the second and far smaller of her younglings – a tiny girl still secured into her seat across the control room. Shortwave ran over at once, unstrapping the tiny bot from the improvised harness that she'd once rigged up for her from heavy tie downs and salvaged clips. And inclined the seat, which had been tilted back a good degree for safety, and caught the tiny thing as soon as she fell forward immediately just as soon as the straps were lifted away from her shoulders and across her middle.
"The very same goes for you too, Lightwave," Shortwave said to her smaller child, sitting down with her on the floor, holding her in her lap, supporting her head which the youngling could barely support by herself. She held her tightly, watching her red optics blink just a little in a simple and crude show that she understood that she was being talked to. "You'll be safe as long as I have a thing to do with it..."
"Mama," said Blastwave, who joined them eagerly, sitting on the floor beside his carrier. He gently grabbed his sister's small hands in each of his and swung them playfully for a second, before he stopped that again and began to work just as his carrier had taught him, bending and unbending her fingers and turning her wrist joints slowly to the left and right. His optics stared up at his carrier though as he worked, still clearly so shaken up and fearful.
It had seemed like he'd been about to say more. His tone, in which he'd said that simple word, had sounded like one at the start of a question. But he said nothing more after all. And instead he just sat quietly, working with his sister's hands because he'd always loved to help her more then anything. Lightwave emitted a tiny hint of a pleased little whirring, and her optics half closed.
"Just how much do you think she really understands?" Blast' asked after a long moment in which they had all just kind of sat still. And Shortwave looked at him for a second, dismayed. He'd never asked much about his sister's state before – never asked much about anything really. Instead it seemed he;d always just accepted life quietly for whatever it was, and never wondered on the hows and the the whys.
"I... don't know that, Blast'" Shortwave answered slowly, taking a second to think a little bit herself. "She knows her designation very well... you see how she blinks when we call her by name. And you hear that little whirring of hers... you see now, she's half way to recharging? She knows she likes and appreciates you helping with her wiring."
"Light knows who we are?"
"Of course she knows that, Blast."
"She just... kinda watches and takes life in then," Blastwave reasoned. And Shortwave just smiled at him, agreeing with his reasoning, though she'd never thought much about it.
"Will she ever have more to take in?" Blast' asked next – another question from a youngling who so rarely questioned. "More than just this ship and space I mean, Mama..."
"Indeed she will," Shortwave told him, smiling now because she'd wanted to explain before the attacking 'cons had stopped all thought of it. And so will you, my young one. We are close to Cybertron now."
"Cybertron?" Blastwave paused abruptly in his task of gently moving his sister's tiny right hand, bending the first finger to unkink its wire, and stared up at his carrier with amazement on his face-plate. "It really is a real place, Mama?"
Shortwave just chuckled a little. And she shifted Lightwave slightly in her lap, tilting her back as she drifted toward recharge. And she gently pushed the tiny hand back into Blastwave's again, encouraging him to keep working, because the little one was so clearly enjoying it.
"Of course it's a real place, youngling," she smiled. "It's my home... our home..."
"It's just hard to believe..." Blast' said. And he looked around for a moment wistfully and smiling, before he reached to take his sister from their carrier so that he could hold her for a while himself – something he'd always liked to do, and was always so careful when doing. "A planet... a whole world filled with bots just like us... with fresh clean air and sunshine, and buildings and..."
He stopped then – a youngling born in space who barely knew what to expect from a world at all.
"And... open sky," Shortwave told him, smiling brighter now. She watched Light' blink again twice quickly and once much slower, and reached out to tap Blast's small wings gently. "Wide open endless skies that go on forever. You're learn to really fly on Cybertron, and we can fly for miles without ever stopping..."
"I bet they have some good medics too," Blast' said, his tone hopeful. "One who can look at Lightwave... maybe help her some..." He watched his sister, still in his lap, with a smile on his face-plate.
"I certainly plan to seek one out," Shortwave answered, slowly. She gently took hold of the tiny youngling girl's feet, while brother held her easily, pulling her bent knees straighter, letting go and pulling down toward herself again. And she smiled at both younglings while she worked.
She'd been running the ship at close to full power for weeks on end, despite any risk that could well have brought her small family. And the need of a medic – the hope of reaching Cybertron faster to find one – was the thing that had made her make the risky decision.
Lightwave had never had never been strong. It was clear from the second she was born that she was nothing like the last two newsparks had been when they integrated into frames. She never had began to fully function, or been healthy. Now, after slightly more than seven years, her spark only grew weaker by the day.
"What about Soundwave?" Blast' asked suddenly, again surprising Shortwave with his question. "You... used to talk all the time about how I have a brother somewhere... you haven't in a while..."
"I suppose I haven't..." Shortwave felt some hint of regret now, realizing that although Blast' was so often quiet, he certainly paid attention anyway.
"Do you suppose he's still alive and well... somewhere on Cybertron perhaps? Maybe he grew up. Survived the war... has his own life now."
"I... refuse to believe that isn't possible."
"Maybe he's looking for you too, Mama," Blast suggested, youngling innocence and hope clear in his voice. "With the war over on our home world, there's gotta be thousands of bots, all looking for each other as their ships come home. Maybe... there's some kind of registry for anyone looking for anyone else?"
"That may be so," Shortwave said, smiling at him. The youngling certainly had hope. And she sat still for a moment in her place on the floor, just enjoying the emotion she saw in his optics, because by then she certainly needed a little hope of her own.
"What was he really like, Mama?" Blast asked then. "My... brother..." And Shortwave thought a moment, remembering, and smiling while she did.
"He was... quiet," she said thoughtfully. "Even more than you are. His designation was, in hindsight anyway, perhaps almost ridiculous considering how little sound I ever heard from him... ever." She laughed a little then, reflecting, and slowly she continued. "He was dismantling broken circuit boards for parts and wire... rebuilding it all into new fully working ones, when he was Lightwave's age. But he was so... well.. different. How can I even explain it? I hated his creator so much for how much he clearly resented him...That old bot was nothing but a raging fool to reject his own son..."
"You were better off with mine and Light's creator." Blast said then, certainly blunt for a youngling – but just blunt enough to sound just like himself. Shortwave smiled brighter then for a hint of a second, before she gave a tiny laugh and nearly cried all the same time. She thought in that second that Blast sounded so much like Soundwave – another strangely blunt youngling the rare times he had spoken much.
"I was better off," she said honestly. And she blinked back the tears, choosing to smile brighter instead. "He and I.. we made each other happy. He was my second chance at love when I thought I'd never get one. And I'm thankful to him everyday for giving me you and your sister..."
"I still miss him sometimes... Well, okay, a lot of times..." Blastwave said, seriously and sad. He did miss him, and Shortwave knew it. And Lightwave had never got to know him."
"Do you think he's okay, somewhere in the well, with all the other sparks," Blast' asked. And Shortwave nodded firmly without needing to give it a thought.
"Mama?"
"Yes, Blast'"
"What did that, Decepticon mean when he talked about following a new master now?"
"I don't know, Blast'" Lightwave said seriously, while still sitting on the floor.
She truly didn't know much at all. She had always been nobody within the Autobot ranks. And nobodies just weren't always told much, unless they needed to now it a the times they might have asked. And now it was far too late for questions, as there was no one around that she could ask those questions to. But had her guesses, and her fears for what it meant, and chose to hide such things for her child – still too young to be troubled by such matters.
"Another reason to hurry toward Cybertron," she said simply. She smiled a little – let it all be some new grand adventure. "We need reach headquarters and warn the Autobots."
"Knockout," Arcee mumbled, impossibly fretful, from her place on a bench in the front row of the stands, behind the railing that surrounded the racetrack. She reached out to grab her bondmate's arm, careful all the while not to distract him from his focus on the timer he held in his hand. "Don't you think she's going a little fast...?"
"That's kind of the idea, Arcee," Knockout told her, with a laugh clearly meant to dismiss her concerns. "To beat her previous best time... something she can't exactly hope to do by going slower." He leaned on the railing that surrounded the track in front of them, making sure he wouldn't lose his still just slightly weak footing, while he watched the timer in his hand.
"I know. I know... but..." Arcee tried to protest, laughing just a little, albeit nervously, while Knockout laughed back at her grinning.
Arcee said nothing more, looking instead intently at her youngling, who raced still faster around the long track – a tiny light blue Fortwo 'Smart' car with red highlighted side panels, who clearly imagined then that she was something much closer to being a Ferrari.
Coolant tears filled Arcee's optics then. And she blinked then away, leaning forward in her seat on the bench in the front row of the spectator stands, trying hard to hide it as more flowed freely to replace them. She batted at the tears helplessly with the back of her hand, and forced her face-plate into a smile with such effort that it hurt. When more tears fell, despite all of her helpless (and she hopefully discrete enough,) almost violent wiping, and the forced smile, she just took helpless desperate intakes, close now to hating herself for her weakness in so suddenly sobbing at the racetrack, of any place on Cybertron.
"Arcee?" said Knockout, dropping to sit on the bench close beside her. She felt his arms wrap around her frame at once, and she just sat stiff in his light hold on her, still staring straight ahead, through a blur of tears, at the track in front of her... at bluish, red highlighted blur of her youngling, who may just have gained still more speed.
"Yes?" she said, fighting painfully hard to stop her voice from shaking with her tears, and more painfully still to force an air of cheerfulness into it besides. She just kept staring straight ahead, before she finally turned her head away from her mate even more in a convincing show of following the youngling's path out of the track, to hide her coolant soaked face-plate.
"Arcee..." Knockout's voice was firm, and she knew he wasn't buying the act for a second. He sadly never did. "Talk to me, please."
"There isn't much to talk about," Arcee said. And she still batted horribly at her tears, despite him so clearly knowing all about them anyway. "Nothing new anyway." New tears of coolant fell. And it didn't seem to matter how hard she refused to let them. Arcee slammed her foot backwards against the metal support of the bench behind her in frustration, and silently cursed her lack of any control. "Just... another year gone without a newspark..."
"Arcee... We still never know. This could be our year..." Knockout was clearly trying his best. But Arcee was suddenly just so angry without even knowing why exactly. And so she kicked the bench again, almost hurting herself in doing it, but not exactly caring.
"Our year of what?" she grumbled, miserable and despairing. "Another year of hoping more than anything for some miracle? Another year of broken sparks again and again while we wonder what we ever did so wrong?"
"Arcee..." Knockout still sounded almost hopeful, through his helplessness. "Maybe we should talk to Ratchet again..."
"We know what he'll say... that there's no real reason why we can't manage to... You know these days I actually wish there was some real problem. Because problems can be fixed. This is Cybertron, and science is just something so many bots do very well!"
"We'll just keep trying..."
"No," Arcee answered him, suddenly forceful. She looked up at him then, finally daring to turn her coolant filled optics in his direction, as she tried even harder than ever to stop her voice from shaking. "I'm done trying... that last negative scan the other day... it was just too much to hear this time."
"Arcee..."
"My spark is breaking, Knockout. One tiny piece at a time and one more piece of it every time we fail again. It's been years and years... I can't do it anymore."
"Maybe it really is best for now..." Knockout nodded slowly. And he almost appeared to fully understand. He just sat a moment, his arms still wrapped tightly around her, until she finally moved to hug him back.
Arcee turned again, back toward the public racetrack. And with her optics less blurry now as her tears began to slowly let up, she watched their only youngling intently.
Cybershock was still very much a child, still just short of her third-frame years now. But she was growing up so fast – too fast perhaps for Arcee's liking. Little by little, she was giving up her toys – she barely seemed to play with any by now. She much preferred electronics, and discovering new music. She still loved the playground, but her play was different now – entirely about challenging herself now, or out competing others for the harmless fun of it when several younglings climbed the bars together, or ran and jumped, swung from bars and climbed so dangerously high. She was strong and fast, and hard to out do at such physical games. And she was becoming so pretty... not the with the prettiness of a cute and adorable tiny youngling bot – but instead of a maturing young Cybertronian.
If the bots of the city, had ever wondered in her earliest years who's child she actually was, surely none could wonder that now. She showed every hint of her carrier's quick temper, but also her passion for justice and a sense of right and wrong. And much to her creator's pride, her paint was always kept shiny and her finish perfect because she could barely imagine not being nearly reflective in the sunlight. She was just as silly as he was too. The pair so rarely stopped their endless antics. And they somehow always seemed to get each other's silliest jokes even when no other bots seemed to do much more then roll their optics.
And she loved all things automotive – her interest in the subject now easily rivalled her creator's passion for it. She had not had her vehicle mode long– she'd only just acquired one on a still so recent trip to Earth... a trip planned in large part to allow her to do exactly that. And her newly altered frame – with small wheels on the outside of each lower leg, and another outside each upper arm, with small wipers comically attached to her shoulder panels – still looked so strange and unexpected. But she was a surprisingly skilled driver considering just how young she was. And her desire to race, kept her carrier on edge.
"I'm not sure she'd even want a sibling now," Arcee mumbled to her mate, while they both watched their youngling – who still drove alone on the empty public use track, blissfully ignorant to her parents' upset.
Neither Arcee, nor Knockout, had ever told her their were even even trying for another little bot. The little family could easily talk about most anything together, because they had always raised her to sit and talk with them, with trust form all sides, about anything. But a subject like that... it just never seemed to easily come up in any conversation. And Arcee, watching her now, was glad now that she had never got around to telling her of good news that just never happened. And surely by now, Cybershock - already old enough that she could transform - would have nothing at all in common with a tiny sibling if she ever were to have had one.
"Mama?" the youngling bot questioned. She'd stopped driving, and had hurriedly transformed back to her bot mode, climbing easily over the railing at over half her own height, before stepping hesitantly toward the bench. "Daddy?"
"Are... are you two okay?" she asked a second later, and she looked from one of them to the other, clearly unsure of where to sit down. Finally though she chose to sit beside Arcee, slowly putting her small arms around her, before half burying her blue face-plate against her carrier's chest panel.
"I'm good, baby. I'm good," Arcee mumbled at the youngling, still half way to helpless to stop herself from crying. And in fact she started crying harder again, as soon as she hugged her.
She tried again to hide it, stubbornly as ever. But Cybershock was no more clueless than her creator. And the little bot just looked at her, concerned and dismayed entirely, while Arcee just shook her head hard with a forced smile on her face-plate.
"Daddy?" the youngling questioned then, looking uncertainly in her creator's direction while still hugging her carrier tightly and trying her best. "What should I...?
"We're fine, Cybershock," Knockout explained, understanding and calmly as ever. "She's just a bit... upset is all."
"Happens to the best of us," the youngling calmly answered back. And Arcee, daring to look at her again while she still fought back the coolant that leaked from the corners of her optics, saw her simply smiling with a look of honest understanding. "You... need anything, Mama?"
Arcee just shook her head in answer to her, forcing a little smile which then slowly became at least the start of a real one.
"No thanks, baby," she said, instantly conflicted by now over wanting to hug her tighter and wanting to gently push her away to spare her from 'grown bot' matters that were certainly not meant to effect her. Finally, after just another good moment of just hugging the child who so clearly didn't mind staying still and letting her, she gestured with her optics back toward the racetrack. "Why don't you go and take one more good run?"
"I'll time you this time," Knockout added, his own smile just slightly forced. And he reached over his mate's frame to rest a hand lightly on their youngling's shoulder panel. "Sorry I didn't get to finish timing properly last time."
"That's okay," Cybershock said, smiling her clear understanding in an instant. And standing up slowly she headed, hesitantly now, back toward the track.
"We really do have the perfect child," Arcee mused, her optics finally beginning to dry, as she watched the little bot back out on the race track. She smiled then, feeling far better. "I'll always be grateful to at least have one... and that of any youngling in the world we got her."
"Go!" Knockout shouted cheerfully at Cybershock, once he reset his timer again, because he'd promised to.
"Arcee..." he said a short moment later, with his hand motioning urgently toward the racetrack. Arcee followed his hand quickly to see a second youngling, a small fast moving bright blue and white roadster-mode, who drove the track behind their own youngling and gained on her quickly. "Who is that?"
"Speedtrap." Arcee's concern was all to clear as she stood up to watch the younglings closer. She recalled the blue and white youngling well from his days in her early learning classroom. And she knew all too well that the said youngling – a little older and certainly bigger then her own – had always been obnoxious for a youngling.
"Any relation to Sideswipe?" Knockout asked, his tone joking cynically when the little blue and white roadster cut out in front of Cybershock at the far side of the track, spinning up metal dust into her headlights and causing her to swerve badly.
"His baby brother..." Arcee muttered, serious despite knowing it might have sounded almost unbelievable. She stood up straighter, her concern growing as she watched Cybershock, still holding her own, drive away from him faster then ever.
Sideswipe's reputation on the racetrack, where he had excelled quickly through the 'master's class of racing, was one of a bully and a hot head. And it was well known how most bots in the league dreaded his presence because of his haughty attitude. This little bot on the track now, may not have grown up alongside his brother. But it clearly made little difference.
"Ha!" the youngling speedster mocked Cybershock, as he spun another spray of dust at her. "Nice alt mode, amateur!"
"Thanks," Cybershock yelled back, and too cheerful and clearly only pretending to be flattered.
"Why don't you race around in the preschool, instead of on the big bot's track... pipsqueak." Speedtrap made a show of driving fast toward the smaller youngling, pretended it might just hit her from the side, before he quickly veered away again, laughing hard.
"Well...that's just about enough..." Arcee mumbled, disbelieving and horrified, as she leapt to her feet ready to run toward the track and already debating how to best get between the pair of younglings to protect hers. But Knockout, to her surprise and dismay grabbed her arm gently from behind, pulling her back lightly until she fell back to to seated position on the first row bench.
"Give this a minute," he said urgently, his tone hushed as he looked toward the track. And despite her more then obvious annoyance, he chuckled just a little with confidence and continued quickly. "Let's let them work this out themselves for a bit. It'll only make it worse if you jump in and 'save' her. He'll call her a 'Mama's bot,' until they're both a century old..."
Arcee, understanding his point at once, reluctantly settled back on the bench.
"Well gee, Speedtrap. I'd love to..." Cybershock called back to the bigger youngling, who now kept perfect pace beside her. "But I think the last spot in there is already yours!"
"Nice!" Knockout exclaimed, under his intakes in a whispered cheer. And beside him, Arcee couldn't help but laugh a little.
"Go... stuff energon in your tail pipe and backfire!" Speedtrap exclaimed, obviously reaching a loss for a more effective insult in what was fast becoming a war of words younglings had always been so known for when settling their own disputes.
"Put yourself in reverse and drive into a really big ditch backwards," Cybershock retorted. She was falling behind the bigger youngling. And he roared off ahead of her for a second or two, before he slowed himself down, clearly on purpose, and just as clearly for the purpose of continuing to pick on her while they sped around the track.
"So..." he said laughing nastily. "You're a 'smart car' huh?"
"Yes... so?"
"Smart car? More like 'dumb car'!"
"Leave me alone, Speedtrap," said Cybershock firmly and with confidence as she reached the painted finish line and her parents on the bench behind it. She left the track, and transformed again to her bot mode with a smirk on her blue face-plate.
"I'd tell you to go play with your friends..." she said, speaking over her shoulder as she walked away from him. "But... I think I'd feel a bit sorry for your friends if I did."
"Humph..." Speedtrap huffed loudly. And once he was back in his own bot mode, he kicked at the ground hard, his frustration and disbelief made more then clear.
"We'll never catch me, now," Firestorm yelled loudly over the sound of her roaring duel engines. She fired her thrusters in one good burst, and shot forward, daring to roll twice, flipping easily in the open sky as she flew.
She landed easily on the edge of a mountain, her bot mode landing to sit perched on the fronts of her feet just as soon as she had finished transforming quickly in the air, just a head above her landing place. She laughed out loud, the joy of yet another flight at the front of her mind – and her love of it just as fresh as the first day she'd flown. She looked around her, scanning the sky for any sign of Soundwave, but found Laserbeak first, whizzing right toward her with her tiny wings extended. Soundwave followed close behind her though. And he landed on the ridge, with his face-plate full of dismay just as soon as he had transformed.
"An odd place to land, Firestorm," he said. And his head shook a little with his confusion and concern, as she stood, balanced on the narrow ridge, his back to the edge of the near vertical surface of the mountain. "We certainly can't stay here..."
"Why not?" Firestorm protested with a giggle, as she sat down on the too-narrow little ledge without a care about her. She kicked her small feet half a mile in the air, making tiny tinging sounds against the crystal wall below her, and leaned back against the wall behind her. With another giggle of laughter, she tapped her hand playfully against the narrow ledge she sat on – a ledge barely deep enough from front to back to support of upper legs half way to the backs of her bent knees. "I think this works just fine.
Soundwave was of course much bigger than she was, with far longer legs. But still he just managed to sit down on the small narrow ledge himself – on a slightly wider section of it still close by – and he just looked uneasy.
"You can not be afraid of falling off of here..." Firestorm said, teasing playfully as she wiggled herself away from the wall behind her wings, and sat leaning forward, looking down and resting with her elbows on her knees. She looked again again to see shock and near horror on Soundwave's face-plate.
She sat back at once and looked at him, concerned now, and smiling uncertainly, as waited, only hoping he would speak to her, explaining.
"I am not," he said slowly. And his optics locked on hers, with a serious look. "My concern is that you might just fall off..."
"So?" Firestorm questioned back, challenging just a little because it was what she was always best at where he was concerned. She leaned forward again, and this time even more so, extending her arms out in front of her, and pressing her backs of her feet against the smooth crystal wall.
"Fire... storm...!" Soundwave's voice was closer to true panic now, and his hand reached out clearly meaning to grab her in his worry
"Sorry..." Firestorm replied. And she cast him a quick look of confidant assurance, before she let herself fall forward. "I'll... be right back!"
Her upper body pulled her right over itself as she over balanced quite deliberately. And she tumbled over, and right off the ridge. Instantly she was falling and fast in her bot mode. But she just laughed turning a little to raise her wings up toward the wind, letting the breeze and the momentum of her fall carry her out and away from the side of the mountain. And only then did she transform, still in mid fall and with the ground rushing up toward her. Laughing harder, a grin of joy across her face-late now hidden inside her jet mode, she lurched easily forward and up, spinning once and then twice more in the air as she gained impressive speed.
"So, what it I fall?" she asked Soundwave, after she'd landed beside him again and sat herself down.
"Firestorm... I... we... I... you... I think..." Soundwave's verbal communication had only been getting better and better. Until by now there seemed like there had never been any difficulty at all. But suddenly the slight verbal glitching was back, and badly. And Firestorm just looked at him for a moment, concerned and quickly growing more so.
"Do you still worry I'll just never be quite good enough in the air?" she asked him, her question honest and without any hint of any judgment. "Do the rest of our friends still worry I might just mess this up and badly?"
It had certainly been a concern once – for most bots and him only slightly less so. She could hardly have blamed them and she hadn't. She had once been a grounder after all. Still, it had been years already. And neither he, nor anyone else had expressed much true fear for her in a while already.
Soundwave only shook his head in reply, and for a long moment he just sat sill and looking out over the landscape far below.
"Soundwave?" She said. She wiggled over, carefully, to sit close against his frame, and moved to rest her head lightly on his panelling.
"No one worries these days about your flying skill," Soundwave said, just slightly hesitant as he spoke. He pulled her tighter against him, and smiled a little with uncertainty. "If anything, some say you are almost too good."
"Isn't it a good thing to be good at something?" Firestorm asked, laughing a little, as she looked out over the edge of mountain, seeing for miles all at once over endless emptiness of still unrestored, yet to be reclaimed lands, and rubble piles.
"Yes," Soundwave answered her, his hesitation far less now as he smiled at her. "And as for my fear that you still may fall... I fear the impossibly because I truly love you..."
"You dreamed some vivid dreams last night," Firestorm said, changing the subject and hugging him tighter. "I know you did because I can always tell. I don't know though this time if they were bad dreams..."
"They were not bad," Soundwave answered, thoughtful. "I dreamed of my carrier..."
"I haven't heard you talk about her much in a few years now at least."
"No. I haven't I suppose."
"So, what did you dream?"
"It was... a strange sort of dream..." Soundwave said, slowly and thoughtfully. His optics narrowed a little and he stared ahead slightly, distracted while he appeared to try hard to find words for things that existed instead only as images and ideas. "It was not a memory this time, or something I might have wished could really have been as a youngling. She spoke me this time from somewhere in space... it felt like now instead of sometime centuries ago. She sent me coordinates... I sent her data files. She asked me send a bridge... I told her I would. She said things that made no real sense to me. Something... something about a blast. Something about light..."
Firestorm just sat still on the ridge, nodding and hoping he might explain more. But clearly there was little more to explain at all. And even when he was done, he just stayed silent for a moment longer, shaking his head a little in obvious confusion over the dream he had just tried to relay.
"You were... up in the night," he said a moment later, changing the subject and looking at her now with worry on his face-plate.
"I didn't mean to woken you up," Firestorm replied, knowing well how easy it had always been to do so. "I... I just couldn't seem to recharge well so I got up for a bit."
She didn't want to tell him the whole truth – that she had been up twice in the night purging her fuel tank. He would only worry without much obvious need, for her health, when she easily assumed it might simply have been some slightly stale energon she'd drank at her paint shop – having left it out a bit too long. And anyway she'd felt just fine by morning, and was still just as fine now.
Ratchet, despite the cranky and so often almost standoffish, attitude he still tried sometimes too hard to portray, did truly care for every member of the Autobot team. Every one of them was valued like a creation or grand-creation he'd never had. And he knew they all knew it well, regardless of his shouting at them all to get out of his way when he was busy working, or his sometimes too harsh criticisms of their taste in music and entertainment. As the years slowly began to leave the war behind them all, he'd found the time to understand just how proud he truly was of everything each one of them had become.
There were bond-mates and devoted partners, younglings and promotions. Everyone of them had dreams to peruse, and every one of them was trying for them – each one still working to build a life they'd never really had the chance to have before, on the still fast changing world.
Bumblebee ran the simpler of medical cases on his own by now, and he held top rank among all fifteen of the medical students now in training at once. And his wonderful mate had come to nearly dominate field entirely when it came to mechanics and engineering. All this, Ratchet reflected with a silent chuckle, done so far with four younglings to raise by now a much wanted fifth one on the way.
Smokescreen was standing champion in the 'masters' class on the racetrack. He had fans now, mostly youngling bots, who recognized him easily in the street for his racing skill and his latest win. Wheeljack owned and ran an energon bar, which had fast ranked among the top three in the city. And he still refused - despite the number of bots that had clearly loved him during their too brief affairs thought the years – to settle down with any one of them.
There was Arcee, with her wonderful youngling daughter, who would clearly be beating off too flirtatious hopefuls with a tire iron someday. And Bulkhead, whose life was so clearly devoted entirely to his own daughter's happiness – and it didn't matter for scrap that she wasn't always his. And...
"Ratchet," Knockout exclaimed pulling the old bot at once from thoughts that had so obviously wandered away from him, against his will.
He looked around the marketplace- relatively quiet at that time of mid-morning - from his place close to the edge of the refreshment area at it's centre, And he mumbled a simple apology, to his fellow medic, who sat across from him at the small metal table, forcing away his strange distractedness quickly.
"You were... saying something about some problematic medical equipment..." Ratchet mumbled. He looked his teammate in the optics to show he was indeed fully paying attention again. And he saw Knockout nod slightly.
"The primary wiring systems connectivity tester," he explained, seriously. "The same one that's been glitching for years... I do believe it's finally given up and finished."
The small machine that Knockout spoke of, was certainly not nearly as needed in day to day medical practice as an energon pressure monitor or a med scanner. But nonetheless, the device – used to measure impulses through limbs and digits from the processors of bots – was a very important piece of equipment. And at least a few known younglings in the city still required regular testing. Ratchet immediately frowned.
"Send it down to Speedbreaker later today," he advised, well aware that she could surely fashion parts and improvise is she needed to in order to give the old thing another year or two at least. And the hospital still lacked funding just as badly as ever to replace such a technical piece of equipment if it could be saved. "If she can't make it work somehow, the thing is truly doomed to the parts bin."
Knockout nodded, smiling half absently now in the direction of his mate, who stood nearby , at the edge of the closest market stall, rummaging trough a bin of finely embroidered throw pillows, in any and all possible colours. For a moment she held up blue one, turning it to view it's design under the lights above. And she must have decided against it, because she set it nicely back down at the top of the bin. She inspected a greyish one next, one that shimmered a little in the light because of its metallic threads. This one she was so clearly undecided about, because she almost put it down, before she picked it up again and looked at it again in the lights, while she frowned.
Ratchet watched then, chuckling slightly with his amusement, as Arcee looked toward Knockout clearly asking his for his opinion with only her doubtful optics and a shrug of her shoulders while she held the pillow out in front of her and turned to him. Knockout, who Ratchet knew well from experience, had never much minded whatever his mate chose to pick out for their home, just shrugged back laughing.
Arcee must have finally decided against that one too, because she dropped it gently back into the bin with a shake of her head and a hint of a smile. And she stepped sideways then, rummaging now though a bin of smaller throw pillows instead. But she stopped her browsing a second after that. And for a long moment, she just stood, her hands on the edge of the thing, her body leaning froward and a sudden sad expression as she seemed to stare a pale blue pillow that she'd tuned up to the top of the pile.
"Is Arcee feeling alright?" Ratchet questioned, watching the bot now in question, with suddenly very concerned optics, from his place still seated in the refreshment area.
He didn't concern himself much with Arcee's health – or Cybershock's either for that matter. As much as his instincts told him constantly to concern himself with everyone all the same, they were the family of another perfectly capable and qualified medic. And Ratchet had learned quickly, through experience, that Knockout was always so clearly on top of it every time his mate or child fell ill or was injured. But he questioned it now, because he was close by, and of course he was concerned. And he saw Knockout nod a little, with obvious concern of his own.
"We... we made the decision together to stop trying for a second youngling," he explained, clearly saddened now himself. That much was perfectly obvious in his tone, although he didn't show it on his face-plate. Understandable of cause that he should be sad himself. He'd wanted a brand new first frame for years just as much as Arcee did. And Ratchet knew it without ever having needed to directly question him on that.
"I told her maybe we should try for just a little longer," knockout continued. He leaned over the table just a little, now talking in slightly hushed tones about a private matter in a place that was slowly filling with bots in hearing range. He sipped from the fuel container in front of him, held it absently in his hand for a while, clearly having simply forgot to set it back down. And he shook his head. "I reminded her of everything you've always said... that there's no real reason we can't..." he shook his head again, and finally set down his fuel. "But then there's the constant hoping that maybe this time we've done it, and the constant spark break of one negative scan after another. I understand why she says she just can't anymore. She... she says it might be for the best now anyway... That Cybershock is too old now to want a baby sibling for a playmate. But it's clear to me she still wants another one anyway. And Cybershock would have been so happy too... even if they'd have not a thing in common for years."
"I'll tell you what," Ratchet said slowly, considering as he carefully chose his words. He looked again at the bot who he loved like a daughter, now back to browsing in the bin with unshed tears in her optics. "I'll review your case again... look back over anything I have from both of you on file. If there's even one thing I might have missed..." he sighed smiling assurance, and took a drink from his own fuel container, finishing it. "I'll refrain from telling Arcee I'm still working on this – I don't exactly need to say a thing because you know it's legal and fine for a medic to review patient files... If there's a way for the two of you to make a newspark, I'll find it..."
Knockout looked at him for a long moment, doubtful. He was a medic too. And Ratchet knew well he must have reviewed every variable on his own, probably reaching the very same conclusion Ratchet had when asked... simple bad luck and no known and fixable problem. But Knockout was much younger than Ratchet was. He'd practised only a fraction as long as him, and he hadn't come nearly as close to seeing it all. The old bot smiled again, with what he hoped looked a little like confidence. And finally he watched his teammate nod a little.
"Thank you," Knockout said, with a grateful expression. And his tone said that he meant it entirely.
"May I... trust you with something in confidence, Knockout?" Ratchet dared to ask then. He leaned in even closer over the table, and strange he found himself looking around the marketplace carefully, just as thought on some level it mattered who among the crowd of strangers might hear him speaking.
"Uh... sure..." Knockout sounded confused and baffled. And Ratchet could hardly say he blamed him. But he just nodded his thanks and decided to settle back in his chair again, though he did still speak quietly.
"There is... a ship on its way here in within a day or two," he explained quickly. "A very small one this time. Under Autobot control..."
"So...?" Knockout still sounded confused. Again, impossible to blame him for that.
"I took the call from the craft myself last night," Ratchet started to explain. "The piloting bot is a..." he stopped speaking then, falling utterly silent at once, when his optics fell on Soundwave – strolling slowly through the marketplace with Firestorm beside him.
The pair clearly noticed Ratchet and Knockout themselves, because both nodded polite and simple greetings, before they paused a short distance away to talk to each other for a second or two. Finally Soundwave- his own skill and confidence at socializing completely by his own choice – wandered quickly over to the medics at their table. Firestorm, who had clearly noticed Arcee by the vendor's stall close by, ran the short distance to join her at once smiling bright as ever.
Soundwave sat down, with little hesitation at all in the chair ratchet offered him at once. And for a while he sat ideally chatting with the medi-bots. The discussion though slowly become more of one entirely between him and Knockout, while Ratchet's attention once again wandered away.
The old medic looked intently in the direction of Arcee and Firestorm, who now laughed and chattered away together as the browsed a rank of curtains folded over hangers on a long movable rail. Arcee looked happier now, clearly distracted pleasantly, by a good friend to shop with. But still she was sad. It was obvious. And Firestorm, smiling brightly as she was and nearly always seemed to do, appeared strangely run down and tired. Her head hung just slightly – not nearly enough that most non-medical bots would have noticed in the least, but enough that Ratchet did – and her optics were clouded just a little. She rested a hand against her middle, roughly where her fuel tank would fit behind it, just as were queasy, for a second. But that much of her trouble at least, seemed to pass quickly. Because she looked up again, smiling easily though the same slightly tiredness, to resume her casual chit-chat.
"Firestorm?" Ratchet finally managed to question her a short while later, once the two femmes had joined the group at the table, sitting in chairs that Knockout had easily jumped up to fetch for them from some table close by, and with a large package of purchases behind the knees of both of them. "Are you feeling alright?"
"Wonderful, thank you," Firestorm replied. And Ratchet feared for just a second that she was speaking in sarcasm, and felt fall worse in fact than she appeared. But she smiled just the same as ever, and nodded at him with a grateful grin. And he knew at once she truly did feel just fine.
"You've been getting enough fuel?" Knockout questioned her next, and boldly as ever. Clearly then he'd seen her troubles too, however minor and simple they may well have been. "Remember... a flyer bot needs up to twice as much as a grounder..." he paused then, shook his head a little and chuckled to himself, clearly understanding that he sounded annoyingly fretful over his 'sister-in-spark.' He still reminded her of such now truly obvious things, after enough years to know better, out of habit to do so.
"Yep," Firestorm answered him simply. And clearly just slightly less than amused.
"And no.." she said, before he could further question her on the question she must have guessed he was about to ask her next. "I have certainly not been pushing my engines to the brink."
The question, had the medic had the chance to ask it, might certainly have been a fair one. Firestorm, though she had certainly learned her lesson well by now, had certainly pushed herself once within her capabilities. Clearly determined to prove to anyone who doubted her that she could fly with the best of those bots born and raised to do so... just as though she'd never had a set of wheels at all.
"It's a legitimate concern!" Knockout said, laughing a little, in his own obvious defence, "You do have very some very impressive engine performance." He paused, once again in the middle of speaking. And this time he just smirked at her, before he added, mumbling with that same smirked, "well... impressive for a plane anyway."
Firestorm gave another glare then, though it was so clearly in good fun and humour. And she raised a hand, in a motion of pretending she might just throw something at him – save for the fact that her hand was empty. Knockout raised his hands in mock surrender, and Arcee, despite her earlier sadness obvious in her optics, chuckled cheerfully, smiling now. Soundwave, strange as it might have seemed once from him, laughed loudly at the nonsense.
"Well, I think I could certainly go for some powered iron cake," Ratchet declared. He wasn't much for sweets, and he never had been. But still any bot liked them from time to time and he knew the snack booth behind him and across the refreshment area made the best he'd managed to find so far on New Cybertron. So he looked around the table grinning a second before asking politely, "anyone want anything?"
"I better come with you," Knockout offered, laughing slightly, and getting to his feet, once they had a small collection of everyone's requests just large to be almost impossible for one bot to easily carry.
"Ratchet," Knockout said, speaking in whispers as the two moved away from their table, and toward the snack booth. He grabbed his arm gently to get his attention. And the old medic was hardly surprised. "What's this now about an incoming ship?" He frowned a little, his earlier confusion giving way to at least some obvious look of some understanding, as he looked back toward their table. "Just judging by how fast you stopped talking, it might have something to do with... Firestorm and Soundwave?"
Knockout could walk well enough in general, at least for a reasonable distance before he grew tired, still sooner than many bots would. Still, his balance was not exactly perfect, and his reaction times while standing were frequently lacking. And suddenly with no immediately clear and obvious cause, he stumbled forward, his hands flying forward to catch himself. But he couldn't quite fast enough. And just like that he landed on the floor, close to face-plate first on the metal tiles. His frustration and distress were clear in his optics as she struggled a little, while fluttered, to get to his knees.
"Knockout... these things happen..." Ratchet told him, his tone calm and hopefully assuring as he leaned to offer a hand up. He didn't bother to ask his teammate if he was okay, because it was clear he was, and hard falls, though far from common anymore, were certainly not new.
"That they do..." Knockout grumbled slightly, before he smiled again, proud and confident, looking around at the small crowd that had clearly noticed his tumble and mumbled among themselves – some in concern and, others in disdain while assuming he might have been wasted drunk, without a clue how impossible far he'd come.
He declined the hand Ratchet offered to help him back up, opting instead pull himself up by using an empty table beside him, with a look of a bot that utterly refused to be embarrassed. Still, he was less than pleased as ever, exchanging glances now with his mate, half standing up from her chair across the refreshment area, until she finally sat down at his wordless insistence.
"About that ship then," Ratchet said, right back the topic of discussion he'd been distracted from so abruptly, once he saw that Knockout was indeed clearly quite perfectly alright as usual. His red painted teammate in turn looked at him once again with interest. His steps had evened out again to a steady if not slightly slow pace. And when it came to that fall, he was clearly over it.
"The ship is piloted by an Autobot femme. It seems there are a couple of younglings on board – her own children. And her primary goal – understandably of course – is to get them to safety."
"Of course. But what does that..." Knockout's questioning was cut short when Ratchet held up a hand, pausing at the far edge of the refreshment area now, and close to the snack stand.
"I have decent reasons to think that Autobot pilot might be Soundwave's carrier," he explained quickly, his tone more hushed then before. He gently grabbed the red paint bot by the arm, holding his attention, as he explained more. "I'm due to meet the ship myself when it lands on Cybertron, and I'd like to ask you to go out there with me to do so. There was something said about a sick youngling... I want to be sure we got this right or wrong before Soundwave and Firestorm hear a thing."
Knockout, quite predictably just nodded, obviously agreeing to help.