Caro Transmutata Metallo 39

Caro Transmutata Metallo 39

A Transformers Prime Fanfiction

Gathering Storm

    “Dearlight is the last of them,” Glyph murmured gently as she handed the tiny body to the Predacon.
    First Aid could tell that the little femme was nearly bursting with eager questions about the ancient creatures that had entirely upset her worldview, about the traditions that infused the ceremonies she was performing, and about the aborted lives that they were honoring. The older bot felt a glow of pride as he watched her restrain those questions out of respect. It was quite clear that the Predacons were likewise impressed by Glyph. Already Razorplume had warmed up to her and on the other side of the cart Skysmoke seemed downright fascinated by Shard. The Retrieval handover had gone more smoothly than any previously … as long as he paid no attention to the furious huddle of mechs at the edge of the plaza and completely ignored the panic gnawing away at his tanks.
    “The Guardians of the Well thank you for escorting these ~welcome~ Gra <i~acknowledged~</i> safely to us,” Skysmoke spoke up, interrupting First Aid’s worrying.  She stepped back and bowed low to the smaller Cybertronians, spreading her crystalline blue wings wide. “By the Light of the Well we pledge to carry them to their creator.”
    Primus, even I can barely resist trying to figure out why she keeps her secondary beast-form characteristics in mech form. First Aid mused, letting his scientific curiosity calm him.
    “You honor us with your presence and we humbly thank the Guardians of the Well for tending to the needs of the ~precious~ Gra ~valued~ who were summoned home,” Shard answered.
    First Aid was once again mildly surprised at how well the supposedly low-caste Seeker took to the formalities of Retrieval. Whatever his personal views on sparklings and Primus might have been, the former Decepticon simply radiated respect and care in his interactions with the Guardians of the Well and the offline frames. Moreover, he showed a level of social skill that First Aid had never seen in a Decepticon, and only rarely in Autobots. Just as Glyph had warmed to Shard, both the dragon-form Skysmoke and the gryphon-form Razorplume had been nearly immediately put at ease by Shard’s gentle manner, which was a great accomplishment considering the deeply ingrained fear of Seekers they had learned from their Guardians. Predaking however–
    First Aid’s plating twitched at the thought of the senior Predacon and he glanced uneasily at where the giant mech was looming over Ratchet and his escort.  The old medic had not left an exact schedule as to when he would be back from his secretive mission but today had been marked on First Aid’s callender as the most likely return date. First Aid was well aware that much was being kept from him about Daybreaker and had spent years reacting to whatever the war had thrown at him, so he was not caught completely off guard when Predaking had announced his relationship with the Seeker to the world at large. Glyph had seemed only fascinated, he could almost hear the calculations spinning in her processor. Shard had handled the revelation with grace and aplomb; outwardly not showing a flicker of apprehension and privately sending First Aid a comm asking if he should get Glyph to safety. The medic had signaled him, no. Running was not an option in such an enclosed space, not for a Seeker encumbered by a femme nearly his own mass. So First Aid had stepped forward and calmly addressed Predaking even as he frantically commed Ratchet, praying that the trip had gone as planned and his mentor would be in reach.
    The old medic had answered instantly, and cursed fluently when First Aid explained the situation, but there was more self-directed irritation than true shock in Ratchet’s tone. With a crisp order to stall the Predacon and keep him quiet if possible Ratchet pinged his location and promised to get there as soon as possible. The assurance of Ratchet’s impending arrival had not so much calmed Predaking as it focused his agitation, but the great mech had turned and ordered his young assistants to begin the Retrieval while he swept First Aid aside to begin questioning him quietly. The medic had nearly run out of synonyms for ‘cannot comment’ when the sound of a familiar engine pulled Predaking’s attention away from him.  
     Ratchet must have redlined his engine the entire way from the train depot because barely ten minutes later he swept into the plaza and squealed to a stop on tires that First Aid couldn’t help notice were worn nearly bare. The still enraged Predacon immediately turned his attention on the old medic even as Ratchet transformed and curtly gestured for First Aid to rejoin the Retrieval team.
    Predaking seemed to hold Ratchet in grudging respect – a higher compliment than he paid any other non-Predacon Cybertronian – and allowed himself to be pulled into a private consultation at the edge of the plaza. The younger Predacons had been mindfully fulfilling the duties they had come for in the dimness of Cybertron’s night, but kept stealing surreptitious glances at Ratchet and their mentor whispering together. First Aid however, was a mature and professional mech who could not allow himself to display such weakness, much.
     “We will carry them safely to the Well of Allsparks – ” Skysmoke now hesitated and her star-white optics glanced uneasily at Predaking – “as soon as we get the word.”
     The five Cybertronians stood around in awkward silence for a moment before First Aid saw Glyph staring at Razorplume with eager optics. He couldn’t help either the small surge of panic, or the equally small smile as he witnessed the moment he saw her self-control crack and give.
    “Are the plumes on top of your helm sensory organs?” Glyph finally burst out.
    Both young Predacons turned and stared at her blankly. The combined attention of the two would have quelled many a larger mech, but Glyph only grew more excited. “They seem to respond to everything that is going on around you,” she enthused, her hands coming up and then falling back to her sides as if she dearly wanted to touch but knew she shouldn’t. “And yet they are so thick and powerful-looking. Do they provide armor functions as well?”
    “What’s she talking about?” Razorplume demanded, turning his helm to Skysmoke.
    “She wants to know how your frame works,” Skysmoke responded slowly, her helm tilted to the side curiously.
    Razorplume shot a sharp look at Glyph and hissed. “We aren’t supposed to talk about that to anyone but Doc Ratch!” he said with a touch of suspicion in his voice.
    Skysmoke’s lithe tail whipped out and smacked into the back of his helm seemingly of its own accord as she never took her optics off of Glyph. “You’re not a scientist are you?” Skysmoke demanded suspiciously, causing First Aid’s spark to twitch uneasily.
     “Of course I am,” Glyph replied, sounding a little hurt.
    Both young Predacons tensed and growled at that, suddenly entirely focused on the small femme. First Aid moved to draw their attention but Shard beat him to it. The Seeker gracefully placed himself in front of Glyph and smiled up at the Predacons. “We all have questions,” he began and First Aid nearly jumped out of his frame as the sudden change in the Seeker’s voice, “no matter what our professions. I for one am fascinated by your markings.” He gestured towards the oddly shaped blue chevrons on their shoulders. “Who granted Skysmoke the rank of Tender so early?”
    The femme flared her plating in pride while Razorplume huffed and glanced at his feet.
    “You must have flown strong and true to be recognized thus,” Shard continued, letting admiration seep into his voice.
    First Aid had mostly composed himself but was staring at the Seeker in shock. The medic had come to accept the protectiveness Shard displayed towards Glyph and his unusual social skills. But when Shard had opened his mouth this time, the words that had come out of his vocalizer had been accompanied by subtle but powerful tones. They were something that few other than a trained medic would notice.  The vocal modulation was used as a method of soothing the processor and spark of fragile patients for whom more traditional medical methods were untenable. While all Cybertronians had the hardware, the programming was complex and proper execution required vorns of practice under a master of the art. Almost no one outside of a special subset of medics and the Prime himself had bothered to learn it and the ability had been thought all but lost during the war. Wherever Shard had learned it, however, he was clearly skilled. Skysmoke and Razorplume immediately relaxed and the dragon nodded proudly.
    “The Well of Allsparks welcomes me almost to the Core,” she explained. “These – ” she reached up to touch the glowing blue marks – “we do not paint them on. They simply appear as we grow closer to Primus.”
     “That is wonderful,” Shard murmured.
    First Aid noted with some amusement that the Seeker was holding Glyph behind him in a grip so firm that it had to be a little painful, but the femme seemed utterly oblivious as she drank in the new information.
    “Skysmoke! Razorplume!” Predaking’s voice boomed across the plaza as he stalked forward. “Transform and take the Gra back to the Well. I have business to attend to here in Iacon.”
    The two Predacons had immediately turned their attention to their elder and now drooped with disappointment.
   “Of course, Guardian,” Skysmoke answered dutifully.
     “When do we get to see Uncle Ja– Daybreaker?” Razorplume demanded, breaking protocol for a moment.
     Predaking fell silent and glared at the younger mech until the gryphon let his plumes droop in submission, but when the monarch stepped forward it was only to lay a gentle touch on Razorplume’s helm.  “We will all greet my brother soon enough,” Predaking said with compassion lacing his voice, “but the Gra need to be escorted to their rest.”
    “Yes, my king,” Razorplume murmured.
    “Now leave,” Predaking growled at them.
    Skysmoke and Razorplume bowed again and stepped back to transform. They swept into the air with powerful beats of their wings and Skysmoke dipped down lightly to pick up the carrying basket. Shard released Glyph and they watched in fascination as the younglings departed.
    “Take me to my brother,” Predaking demanded, drawing their attention suddenly back to the ground. Without waiting for an answer he spun and stalked towards the Tower.
    “Immediately,” Ratchet agreed and followed in his wake.
    First Aid shook his head in bemusement and turned to Glyph. The femme understood and smiled up at him. “I’ll return the trailer,” she assured the medic. “You two go take care of Al– of Daybreaker.”
    Shard thanked her gratefully and they parted ways. Instead of following the Predacon directly, First Aid led Shard around the side and the building and paused. He turned to the Seeker and tilted his helm to the side. “I hate to ask,” First Aid started apologetically.
    “No problem at all,” Shard assured him.
    The medic rearranged his plating a bit to give the Seeker purchase and Shard gripped him firmly. First Aid felt the lurch of take-off as the flyer carried him straight up to the medical level. Shard landed them gracefully on the utilitarian arrival ledge and First Aid pinged the door with his clearance. A guard came out and cleared them.
    “We should have a few moments to prepare Daybreaker before Predaking arrives,” First Aid muttered as he weighed what would need to be done. “First, get some energon to replace what you burned using your thrusters in mech form; then, if you could make sure Daybreaker’s energon levels are high enough to take potentially disruptive visitors?”
    Shard flicked his wings in the affirmative but hesitated. First Aid glanced at him curiously.
    “Who were the two mechs watching us from the shadows?” Shard asked. “The Praxian and the large mini-bot?”
    First Aid shuttered his optics in surprise and laughed with relief. “Just our back-up,” he assured the Seeker. Few mechs could detect that pair when they were deliberately hiding. First Aid certainly couldn’t. Yes, there was definitely more to Shard than met the optic.
O
O
    “Okay, mech,” Jazz drawled as they rode the elevator to the medical level. He was slumped against the wall, arms crossed, lightly tapping his servos on his armor. “That was informative.”
    Prowl arched an optic ridge at him skeptically from where he stood ramrod-straight in the center of the elevator. His processors were spinning at full capacity now; pulling data on the Well and its new Guardian. That the information was highly classified and difficult to gain access to was hardly a surprise and he had postponed digging too deeply when Ultra Magnus had assured him that the life-source of their population was adequately protected. However now he was running every scrap of data through close analysis and comparing it to his files on Daybreaker. Between the new information on Daybreaker they had heard from Ratchet as he spoke to Predaking and what they had observed in the Retrieval ceremony it was difficult to tell if his spark or his processors were straining harder. Informative hardly covered the scope of their observations but Jazz was clearly waiting for a response.
    “How,” Prowl asked carefully, “was that informative?”
    “One,” Jazz started, holding up a digit, “we know that Breaker was important.”
    Prowl frowned at that. “He is Optimus’s sparkling.”
    “Yeah, that makes him important to us,” Jazz agreed, “but from what I’ve gotten from the classified records Predaking didn’t give a scrap about the Primacy and the only time he was around Optimus they were duking it out.”
    “And yet a youngling, a human youngling, was given the duty of ambassador to an extremely aggressive and easily offended sub-population,” Prowl acknowledged. “He then preformed the duties so well that a mech who should have been predisposed to distrust him granted him a place of honor in his cadre.”
    “The assignment was officially signed off on by President Bee,” Jazz continued, “but no one on the council at the time objected.”
    “That level of unity in itself is unusual,” Prowl said.
    “Which brings us ta two. Breaker was powerful. Everyone who knew him was willing to dump the Predacons on him before he was even fully mature. If there’s left anything of the original in our Breaker…” Jazz trailed off as they approached the medical bay. His attention shifted a moment and he sent a quick databurst to Ratchet informing the medic that they would be taking care of security for the meeting personally. Ratchet responded with a distracted but grateful series of glyps.
    “He will be a force to be reckoned with,” Prowl murmured, “and a target of high value for any who seek political power.”
    “Makes ya think that it might not have been just about revenge,” Jazz offered with a low rumble of his engine.
    “Indeed,” Prowl agreed and was quiet for a moment as he extended his search even further to sift through the related files in the public databsase. “Even more interesting was that this was not limited to Jackson Darby. At multiple points the council has drawn humans from Earth to mediate disputes both internally on Cybertron and with off-world contacts.”
    “No scrap?” Jazz asked, genuinely surprised. Cybertronians as a whole had never trusted outsiders all that much, and organic species even less. Their species had willingly isolated itself for countless generations. “How’s that working for them?”
    “Internal disputes overseen by a human mediator have a ninety-five percent success rate over all,” Prowl responded with surprise tinting his field, “while internal disputes without a human mediator have a sixty-five percent success rate over all and a twenty-three percent success rate when one or more parties involved is a former Decepticon. External disputes mediated by a human have a sixty-five percent success rate while those not mediated by humans have a thirteen percent success rate.”
    “Well, it ain’t no secret that we got a bad rap with other planets,” Jazz commented. “I suppose if we got one that likes us by some miracle, it makes sense to use that to get in good with the others. Still,” he frowned and Prowl could see that Jazz was considering the potential this news presented, “those numbers are pretty high.”
    “I suspect fetching one of these alternate ambassadors might have been a major purpose of Ratchet’s planned visit to Earth.” Prowl postulated.  “Whatever their own issues may be on their homeworld, it would appear that these humans provide a stabilizing force for Cybertron.”
    “And someone is trying to take that away from us,” Jazz said grimly as his processor flicked back to the still nonfunctional spacebridge.  “But right now we got our own little problem here and no friendly organics ta help us.”