Where the Heart Is 2A Transf

Where the Heart Is 2

A Transformers Prime Fanfiction

Set During the Events of “Darkest Hour” “Darkmount NV” “Scattered” “Prey”

    Zechariah Franklin was a big man. His affable personality and gentle face belied his six-foot-four frame leaving the impression with most people that he was smaller than he actually was and he had spent a lifetime learning to be unobtrusive. As a member of the Northclan in good standing with the Others it was important that he not draw the attention of the powers that be in the world of men. So he smiled and paid his taxes exactly on time and never got speeding tickets, and he knew how to move every ounce of his powerful frame silently and completely unseen. Not perhaps attributes he wished generally known by friends like Jack who belonged to the world of science and facts and the laws of man. Now he glided over the hot Nevada landscape towards the smell of burning civilization. He crested a hill and leaned against a concealing boulder. A perforated green highway sign declared that Jasper city limits began just ahead of him. Grimly he stared out over the desolation.
    “You have failed human.”
    Zech snapped his head around and glared at the shimmering black bird that had lit on the road sign.
    “Not by a long shot Raven,” he replied. “Not according to the agreement.”
    “Maybe not by the letter of the law,” the corvid conceded as he hopped closer to the man, “but who will that really matter to?”
     “The eagles.”
     The gleaming black bird hissed and puffed out, each obsidian feather reflecting a faint rainbow.
    “Go!” the bird cawed taking flight. “Go and see what your carelessness has wrought Eagles Claw!”
    “I can smell it from here,” Zechariah pointed out. “And why else would your people be here?” he gestured out over the barren desert where flocks of crows, ravens, and jays scoured the battle site.
    Raven only laughed harshly and flapped out to join his brethren. The human gritted his teeth and swallowed hard. The scents of fear and death hung over the landscape in a dense pall and for once he cursed his keen sense of smell. He was no half but still the air choked him. Ozone and burnt steel spoke of the power of the weapons used and human blood stained the Nevada sand. The buttes had not seen this level of destruction since they had been formed by the great floods of the past. Overhead the wind howled mournfully as if with the voices of the slain soldiers.
    Zech began moving quickly towards the dark tower that stood away from the ruined town. Like most truckers he kept a mental map of every place he frequented and the fact that the roads had been shattered did not disturb him in the least. Unlike most truckers his legs were well used to walking long distances and he covered the miles quickly, far more quickly than the textbooks said a human should be capable of. The man passed a red sedan that smelled of Mrs. Darby’s fear and determination as well as a dead voidwalker but paid it little heed. He was focused on the burning pile of rock and steel at the base of the alien structure.
     His goal was near but the searchers made him travel more slowly now. The human crouched down by a smoldering pile of steel and the smoke seemed to come to him and encircle Zech. The busy purple Veichion walked past scouring the base but its visor passed over the hidden from without pausing. Easily scrambling over the shattered remains of the base the clansman gave a brisk and thorough search of his own. He was less than perfectly comforted by what he found.
    Deciding to take the risk he backed into a crevasse and stretched out his awareness towards the Others. The usual carrion eaters that haunted battle fields flickered around with a host of more powerful beings that should not have been there. The Others knew too much already but they accepted his presence without comment. They would expect the Clan to investigate. More disturbing was what should have been there and wasn’t. A cold emptiness permeated the desert and chilled the human. Shaking off the implications of that for a moment Zech stretched out his awareness to find the injured Prime, because there was no doubt from the scent of spilled energon that Optimus was gravely injured.
    The pain began almost as soon as the Others’ light faded from his awareness but the man ignored it and forced his senses outward. He was just beginning to get a clear view of the Decepticons’ around him when there was a harsh tearing sensation in his mind. Zechariah cried out and collapsed onto his hands and knees. Something dripped down his lip and when he raised his hand there was blood on it. With a snarl of frustration the man staggered to his feet and began to move towards the meeting place he had agreed on with Salcha. There would be no way to find the Leader of the Autobots now even if he was alive.
                                           ***
    Far across the desert a gunmetal grey semi tracked straight as an arrow down a two lane highway. The injured Army private had been replaced with a very old man. The medical supply depot had had a corporal handy to send back with him; a closer cousin on the other side of the family, but Sal had left without him. The elder who had met him on the other side of the fence might have been anywhere between sixty and one-hundred twenty.  Silver hair streaked with a few remaining obsidian strands were held in two neat braids by flannel strips. A frown creased a face etched with laugh lines and pale blue eyes flashed with annoyance. Worn jeans lay comfortably along his lean legs and a faded dress shirt covered broad shoulders but left thick sinewy wrists exposed. The man rode in silence while the semi tried to think of the best way to pose his problem.
    “Elder Sipray,” he finally began having decided on the straightforward approach. “I have questions.”
    The man only grunted. He had been dragged away from his mountain home and into the choking air of the cities at the request of this questionable creature that Northclan had adopted. He was not in the most charitable mood.
    “Look, I know it was never the humans’ job to remember. But you do have more memory than me. A counsel, a Full Counsel, is being called at Kealkil. This is about the Erie Accords. I need to know everything you know about it.”
    “Why?”
    That floored Salcha for a moment. The Elder was clearly not going to answer any questions without justification and the creature muttered under his breath in frustration; wishing he was back in Northclan territory where he could never seem to avoid some Grandmother pouring history into him.
    Probably should have listened better to the old stories when I had the chance.
    Here, far from the direct influence of the Franklins and the rest of Wolf tribe, the wise men were far less likely to accept him.
    “The Clan is in danger,” he finally said. “I need to be prepared to defend my family and friends against the coming storm. I need your knowledge to do that.”
    “And the Clan has no memories?”
    “I was a poor student,” the truck confessed.
    For a long moment the man glared down at the dash, then he gave a huff of annoyance.
    “Very well, for the friendship between myself and the Storytellers of Wolf Clan. Be sure you mention this at the next gathering young one.”
    “Oh I will!”
    “Silence!” the old bard barked pulling out a gnarled pipe and tamping it down. “I cannot tell you all-“
    “Why not?”
    “Silence!” the pipe struck the dash scattering leaf over the interior. “As you said blood creature; it is not for humans to remember. But we can hold on to a fragment or two of the past. I have a few such fragments. Stop at the next Synagogue you pass and I will show you one who holds another.”
    There was another long moment of stillness, with only the whirr of tires on pavement as Sal waited and the strike of a match as the elder lit his pipe. His eyes grew milky and dim and when he spoke his voice was soft.
    “For time untold the sky above our land was ruled by the Thunderbird. They laid eggs on the rocky clefts and ate even the flesh of man. Only the greatest of warriors could slay them. But then came the ones who pulled the very Thunderbirds themselves from the sky…”
                                           
                                              ***

    Many hours later a lone figure sat slumped in a booth in a roadside dinner. Franklin credit was good throughout North America so it was not lack of funds that kept the tall Native American sipping a glass of ice water. His eyes were bloodshot and his hands were trembling but his gaze was steady as he checked the road. When a cloud of dust and the familiar sound of airbrakes announced the arrival of a dark grey semi he got haltingly to his feet and stepped carefully out to meet his partner. His eyebrows arched as a black robed priest carrying an ancient leather bound tome let himself down out of the cab and gave a cheery wave before walking into the diner.
    “Okay?” Zech asked slowly as he accepted the offered tie straps that helped him into the cab. “Am I going to need to get some rosary beads for you now?”
    “Ha, ha, I needed a driver and he was handy.”
    “Wasn’t there a Clansman at the medical base?”
    “What’s that big word that means ‘shut up it doesn’t matter?’ again?”
    “Irrelevant.”
    “Right, that’s irrelevant. You are hurting bad.”
    “Yeah, never mind about that. I couldn’t find any of the mech-“ Zech was interrupted by a fit of coughing and Sal scented fresh blood.
    “Stop talking,” the big rig snapped, “for just a bit stop talking.” Black tentacles reached out and nipped a shaking hand.  “You think I don’t know what’s going on but I do! I know what happens, what was bound to happen to you if you hung out with the Autobots too long, and it’s happening now isn’t it?”
    Zechariah nodded reluctantly.
    “But it’s a touch more complicated than that Sal,” he weakly protested.
    “Yeah! I know you wouldn’t have tried to tell the voidwalkers anything, you aren’t that stupid, so it means this isn’t the curse, it’s just the weakness. You tried to use your other senses on them one too many times, or you tried to heal one, or something.”
    “Heh,” the man said suddenly looking far older than his paperwork claimed. “Pretty much. But I still need to brief you and the sooner I get that over with the better; like taking off a band-aid.”
    “Okay,” the semi agreed reluctantly. “But then you eat and sleep.”
    “The base is destroyed like Agent Fowler said. The purple ones are combing over it like scavengers. Raven and his cousins-“
    “Aankaawu Yeil?”
    “No, one of his southern brothers. Anyway they are all over the battle site. That’s trouble of one kind but there’s worse.”
    Sal let Zech talk until he had a pretty good idea of what had happened and then insisted that his brother eat and sleep. Optimus was injured, maybe worse, and hidden away by the newest member of team Prime, a flashy sports car that liked to speed and had given the brown bears a few good runs from the gossip on the shortwave.  The rest of the Autobots had fled the base with their human charges. They would be on the run and from what the Franklins had gathered from Jack about the Autobot’s movements that meant they could be anywhere in the world. This had been an especial worry to Sal until Zech had pointed out that the Prime had more sense than to send them where they would be unable to communicate or regroup. They were most likely still in the lower forty-eight. Sal had been all for putting out the word on the CB waves to watch out for the kids and report their location but Zech had convinced him of the danger in that just before falling asleep. The semi thought hard as he sat under the hot southern sky. Finally coming to a decision he sidled over to a nearby Kenworth, a light tan truck with a stylized wolf’s head on the door and trailer. From the sounds and smells coming from the cab the trucker was sleeping. Well that was just too bad. The gunmetal grey semi raised up a tie strap and knocked on the window sharply. The man inside grunted and woke with a start. A bearded face and a rumpled shirt glared out the window at the other truck before slipping out to stand beside him.
    “This had better be good Franklin,” growled the trucker, scratching at an anchor tattoo on his forearm.
    “Oh it is,” the semi stated in a whisper so low is sent chills through the man. “There are three children on the run and in need of help.”
    “Clan?” the other man demanded suddenly very alert.
    “No, but Clan protected.”
    “I can have an APB on the waves in no time flat!”
    “No! This has to be kept person to person only! The waves are being watched closely.”
    The man swore softly at that and grimaced.
    “I can spread the word, but you should probably tell the hog riders too. They travel faster than we do.”
    “Good idea! Now we are looking for a pretty little Asian in a green SUV, big thing. Watch out for her. She can get violent. There is a cute little Hispanic boy, big square glasses, he’ll have books or a computer with him. He’ll be in an Urbana five-hundred, yellow and black with racing stripes. And a Caucasian mutt of a guy, a bit skinny, blue jeans and a long-sleeved tee, real serious, black hair, blue grey-eyes, riding a hot little Japanese number, blue with rose trim.”
    “Got it. Remember to tell the bikers!”
    The old man leapt up into the cab and started his engine with a roar. Sal rolled over to where two black and silver Harleys leaned over on their respective kickstands. The semi  gave a short blast on his air horn and two blonds came out of the diner with fire in their eyes. The tall bikers’ leathers strained over rounded hips and chests as twin glared bored into the big rig.
    “Franklin!” snarled the woman in the lead. “How dare you show your grill here?”
    “Not now ladies! Got a little girl lost.”
    Instantly the anger faded from their eyes; replaced by cool determination.
    “Don’t think this lets you off the hook Salcha Franklin, but where, who, and how?”
    “Miko Nakadai, hiding out with a witness protection program of sorts but cover’s blown, as for the where; well that’s the tricky bit, and there’s more.”