"He took it better than I expected."
Optimus turned, away from observing where the humans sat, clustered around an assortment of quickly-prepared consumable substances-- fast food, they called it, in their charmingly succinct way-- talking with the newcomer. Sam was gesticulating wildly, likely describing the events of Mission City, with the human soldiers punctuating the conversation every so often. Ratchet had just finished putting Whiplash offline for some of the more extensive repair work, and Optimus had sent an electronic communiqué to Defense Secretary Keller detailing the rescue.
Optimus recognized Whiplash from the reports made by Rodimus before the exodus. The younger commander had described the raw recruit as an excellent soldier-- but little else. In Rodimus's own words, 'he'll follow orders and he thinks quickly in a fight-- sometimes too quickly. The way he slags off the 'Cons would be funny if it weren't so dangerous. But beyond that, he has the personality of a lugnut. Protocol is all that matters to him.' Drawn too soon from the protection of the assembly crèche, where the newly-sparked would normally spend at least a stellar cycle learning, shaping personality matrices, forming ties with one's crèche-brothers, and usually choosing a name before coming to the surface, Whiplash had let the war define him.
Obviously, time had had its inexorable effect and Whiplash had relaxed his stranglehold on protocol, or else he never would have dared initiate contact with a human. And because of that, while the little runner had been understandably shocked to learn of what had befallen Megatron and the Allspark, he was less surprised to learn that a human was how it had come about. Whiplash was no stranger to the force of human valor.
"I imagine it's a conversation we'll have many times over as more Autobots arrive," Optimus said. "But I imagine many won't be as..."
"Accepting?" Ratchet filled in, hands buried knuckle-deep in Whiplash's components. "Honestly, I think it hasn't processed yet. Primus, I was there and I'm still trying to get used to the idea that Cybertron is going to stay dead."
It was a flat statement of fact, with no hint of accusation or resentment. Optimus tried, and failed, not to read too deeply into it; Ratchet was thus far the only one of his team yet to express an opinion one way or the other regarding Earth as a new homeworld. But this wasn't the time to engage his medic in a discussion of personal opinion.
"Whiplash is a child of the war," the leader said. "Uncertainty and conflict has dominated his existence from the very beginning. I think it is the concept of peace he may have difficulty getting used to."
Ratchet grunted. "He needn't worry. We'll have uncertainty and conflict aplenty, and soon, I'd wager. Ravage's bond node was recently active."
"How recent?"
"Hours ago, at least."
Optimus rumbled quietly, unhappily. Ratchet paused and favored him with a sidelong glance.
"You had no way of knowing any of them would be this close this soon," the medic said, and activated a regenerative laser. "The concept of peace may have to wait a while yet."
"We may not have the luxury of calling down the Ark before we have to confront him. Will our current measures be sufficient?"
"After all this time, I don't doubt he's created newer and more heinous code to throw around. I'm already working on new firewalls, but I can't promise they'll be effective." Again Ratchet paused, optics cast ruefully down at the small blue form before him. "Whiplash may be of some help in that regard, much as I wish he wasn't."
"Ratchet?"
"Processor scan showed traces of intrusion. Multiple times, over a long period."
Optimus clenched a fist. And what horrors, he wondered, had been forced upon this unlucky spark?
"He fought back, of course, and that data is going to be very useful in constructing the programs. Unfortunately the damage to his processor's been done." Ratchet shook his head, resuming work. "I believe that's the source of his language difficulties. That, and spending over ninety vorn adrift alone, not communicating with anyone even once."
"Can you correct the fault?"
A hint of Ratchet's eternal longsuffering ire resurfaced. "Oh, certainly-- all it would take would be a complete interprocessor resequencing, and perhaps the aid of Primus himself to prevent an accidental total core wipe or cognitive function cascade failure. The faults are so seamlessly ingrained in his code that I'd never be able to isolate them without doing more damage.
"In my professional opinion, I don't think it'll do any harm to just leave it be. There's nothing wrong with his lingual comprehension; it's his execution that misfires. Perhaps the problem may correct itself with re-exposure to the use of communication... given time." Ratchet fell back to Cybertronian in a mutter. ("One patient who wants to speak but shouldn't, and another who should speak more and may shut up out of discomfiture. Truly, I am the envy of physicians the galaxy over.")
Optimus indulged in a human gesture he'd seen employed often by Mikaela: his optics turned momentarily upward. Any pat phrase resembling "do all you can for him" would be met with more caustic barbs, because why would the medic do less? So Optimus merely gripped Ratchet's shoulder once and turned away.
"I will leave him in your enviable hands, then, while I finish decrypting these logs he was carrying." He paused. "If there is anything concerning Perceptor, I will let you know."
Ratchet didn't look up. "Thank you, sir."
With a sigh of vents, Optimus strode away. They had all been separated from friends, colleagues, and brothers, and not once had Optimus's crew crossed paths with other Autobots in all the time in space. The vastness and uncertainty had taken its toll on them all. It stood to reason-- against all hope, which was reason's natural foe-- that the time had exacted its final price on a great many of their kind.
Still, it was one thing to merely assume a friend had perished, and quite another to have the truth of it. However sharply Ratchet felt Perceptor's loss, Optimus grieved equally for Rodimus.
Young by their standards, turned so swiftly from being reckless, careless and carefree, to being one of the best battlefield commanders early in the war, soon promoted to the circle of lieutenants that reported directly to Prime. Such a dramatic change in maturity and character had, while meriting a designation change, been to Rodimus's credit-- and detriment, for the innocence lost. Optimus had taken it upon himself to personally mentor the young commander.
And now, he was seventy-five hundred years gone. Who war does not kill, it leaves damaged.
Optimus settled into vehicle mode near the recharging Ironhide and powered down to concentrate on unraveling the last protective code around the bundle of data Whiplash had risked his life for. The encryption had been so tight it bordered on absurd. Clearly Rodimus had intended it to be impossible to break in the event Whiplash was captured. Only the fact that it was Autobot code, and the clearance that came with the rank of Prime, made relatively short work of revealing the logs themselves.
At first it was fairly straightforward. Star charts, navigational data, ship systems status reports. Nothing unusual, save that the course of the Axalon 7 had at first been seemingly random and haphazard, then an almost straight shot away, as if fleeing a persistent enemy. It fit with Whiplash's report, at least.
Mildly interesting, but hardly worth the measures taken. Optimus went deeper, unspooling the data with great care, until he came to a vocal recording, marked high priority.
He was unprepared for how weary Rodimus sounded. And as he listened, examining the files embedded beneath, a knot of anger and dread began to build.
Somehow-- and Nic suspected one of the robots was responsible-- there was running hot (oh, bless!) water in the showers tucked in one end of the abandoned plant, and while the whole place was dusty and a little bug-inhabited, rinsing off the smell of several hundred miles of road was worth playing dodge-spider. The hot shower took the edge off the aches and stubborn stiffness of a long, hard ride. Two years of neglecting riding were taking their toll, and even before her father's death she'd never gone on such an extended trip before.
And even if she had, she very much doubted such trips would have involved clinging like a limpet to the back of a Tomahawk and fighting giant robots. The network of angry purpling bruises would attest to that.
Tolerably clean, she returned to the empty room, likely once an office, where Bobby had set up a cot for her. Several hours of sleep had felt like heaven. It was now some unidentifiable grey hour of morning, and as she slipped on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt she resolved to find someone who had a watch. Timekeeping had been the function of her late-and-lamented cell phone. She left her leathers draped over a couple chairs to air out and made her way out into the open floor of the warehouse proper.
The yellow Camaro-- Bumblebee, she recalled-- was no longer parked along the wall, but the big black truck was, silent and motionless, looking as innocent as an ordinary (if slightly overpowered) vehicle. Nic knew better-- somewhere underneath the shape of the truck lurked person-sized guns and a personality that reminded her of that one cousin of Terry's who liked to show off the stuffed bear he'd killed, and describe in great gleeful detail how. Ironhide, and what a name for a tough old gunner. After a moment's hesitation she waved at him, but got no response. Probably asleep, or recharging, or offline or whatever they called it.
Of Whiplash, Ratchet and Optimus Prime there was no sign. Nor of any of the soldiers or the two kids, who she supposed might still be sleeping. But she soon spotted one human figure standing just outside the open bay door.
"Morning, Nic." Bobby flashed her a grin as she approached. "Kinda figured you'd be out 'till noon, with all the drama yesterday."
"Force of habit," Nic replied, and leaned in to peek at his watch. "I have to get up almost every day for work, so... seven-forty-five. I actually overslept by half an hour. Where is everybody?"
"Bumblebee took Sam to get some breakfast, Prime's patrolling the area, you'n me are the only other humans up." Bobby ticked off on his fingers. "The gun nut's napping inside, the medic's down that way giving your boy a workout or something."
At the far end of the lot, just at the beginning of the road, stood the brightly-colored figure of Ratchet, hands on hips as he watched something beyond the trees that blocked the road from view.
Bobby gave her a nudge. "Go on, he doesn't bite. No teeth."
"Cute." Nic let her eyes roll, smiling anyway as she walked down towards Ratchet. She hoped Whiplash being given a 'workout' meant he was repaired, or at least reassembled-- seeing him in literal pieces like that had been rather unsettling, even reasoning that having a limb detached didn't mean quite the same thing to a robot as it would a human.
Ratchet's head turned to look down at her as she approached. At five feet with boots on, Nic was used to feeling short but this took the prize. Once she'd gotten over the 'holy crap!' factor she found the sensation of being not merely short but tiny to be an interesting one, though she was surprised she wasn't all that intimidated. Just fascinated.
"Multiple contusions," Ratchet said. "Minor abrasion and laceration over the left frontal and temporal bones. Very lucky for such delicate physiology."
"Good morning to you too," Nic chirped.
"Whiplash expressed concern over your fluid loss. My research indicated that head wounds tend to bleed out of proportion to their severity and thus you aren't in any danger." Facial plates shifted almost as if he were sniffing at something in the air. "Please excuse me. I've been told that scanning people without their permission is rude, but it's a very hard habit to break."
"That's... okay," Nic replied, not quite sure how to handle the brusque medic. "How's Whiplash doing?"
"See for yourself." Ratchet lifted a hand and pointed down the twisting mountain road.
A very familiar chainsaw growl preceded the blue shape darting around a bend in the road. Whiplash, in bike mode, took the turn at an aggressive, eager tilt and flew full-out directly towards them. But the grin spreading across Nic's face was halted--
There was someone riding him. Black-clad, helmeted, and-- before she could get a good look, Whiplash was upon them, and the 'rider' vanished in a flash of light. The Tomahawk transformed without stopping, launching in a flip right over her head to land in a perfect kung-fu crouch on the asphalt.
"Showoff." Nic couldn't help but giggle as Whiplash stood, all limbs and armor accounted for and looking delighted beyond measure. He was still scuffed and dented, but to a much lesser degree than last night.
"For once," he said, laughing, "everything is working!"
"Enjoy that while it lasts," Ratchet muttered, leaning over the smaller mechanoid and poking mysteriously at underlying cables and gears. "Please, try and take it easy for a little while. At least until your systems integrate the repairs."
"This global communication and information network--" Whiplash stumbled under the medic's heavy hands, toes splayed wide as he continued to babble. "--impressive, very impressive, I had no idea when I was looking for the language data. What a relief to have proper reception again! Curious, though, such diverse methods of mating for a single organic species, perhaps you can explain--"
Oh god. He discovered porn.
"Nic? Your skin is changing color."
"I'm okay," she hastened to assure him, taking a deep breath, trying not to titter like an immature brat at the very thought of having to give a space robot 'The Talk.' "So you do the hologram thing now?"
A low hum vibrated through the air, and with a flickering of light, a figure appeared standing next to Whiplash. Wiry-framed, male, and dressed in leathers patterned identical to hers, with a helmet hiding the face behind a mirror-tinted visor. Nic poked experimentally at the projection's shoulder, and her hand passed through empty air, though she felt a slight staticky tingle.
"It is not perfect," Whiplash admitted. "The human face is more difficult to simulate than I thought. A dishonest thing in any case."
"Your alternate mode requires it," Ratchet put in. "You don't have the mass to assume an enclosed vehicle."
The hologram vanished with a flash, leaving the sharp tang of ozone in the air. "I am content to be as I am constructed." Whiplash waved dismissively. "And fully functional and able to perform my duties again at last."
He continued to chatter happily about how grand it was to be able to sense and link and communicate and scan once more, as Ratchet continued the brief examination, in turn muttering about jostled cables and needless acrobatics. Nic stood there, watching the two robots talk quite literally over her head, grin and blush long faded. In their place, there came a kind of dull, dismal realization.
Whiplash was repaired, restored to his own kind, and safe. He even had a fake rider. Mission accomplished. He doesn't need me any more.
Really, what had she been expecting? The soldiers all had weapons, training and experience, that Sam kid had saved the whole damn planet, and Mikaela had helped Bumblebee take down a Decepticon tank. Nic? Threw rocks and poked out optics. Decepticons beware.
She turned and ambled back towards the warehouse. Maybe Whiplash would give her a lift to a Greyhound station or something.
She'd had her little adventure.
It was time to go home.
"Ravage has been destroyed. The Prime's contingent has recovered Autobot Whiplash. Probability of project's compromise: High.
"Laserbeak, Buzzsaw: Return.
"Wreckage, Incinerator, Swindle: Descend."
Nic joined Bobby in leaning against the wall. "Do you have a cell phone I could use for a minute? Mine got subverted."
The soldier paused, giving her a once-over before slipping his phone out of his pocket and handing it to her. "Something wrong?"
Nic straightened, aware she looked as if she'd just been picked last for softball. "No, just... coming down off the adrenaline, I guess." She pushed back still-slightly-damp hair and chewed at her lip, looking over the top of the phone to where the robots stood. As she watched, the massive semi that was Optimus Prime rolled up the road, stopping before Ratchet and Whiplash to transform.
"I will never get tired of that," Bobby remarked, grinning ear to ear.
Her uncle's number only half-dialed, Nic watched as Bumblebee appeared right behind Optimus, and likewise transformed after letting Sam out. Sam started walking up towards the warehouse, bearing a pair of paper sacks, while the four mechanoids began discussing something in a chorus of buzzing and humming.
"Do you think they'd let me come visit?" She turned to Bobby. "I know they probably have to go back into hiding or something, but..."
He regarded her with a raised brow. "You're leaving?"
"Yeah." Nic looked back to the phone in her hand, but somehow couldn't finish dialing. "I mean, I did what I set out to do... Whip's safe now..."
"Well I--"
"You're going to get kinda popular in a minute, Nic," interrupted a rather cranky-looking Sam, stalking past into the warehouse. "Secret Squirrel's on his way up."
Nic pushed off the wall. "--uh, what?"
"Hell if I know." Bobby shrugged and raised his voice to call after the boy. "Sam-- I left my 'Spaz-to-English Dictionary' at home."
"Simmons," came Sam's curt reply.
"Who's Simmons?"
"Government liaison to the Autobots." Bobby looked a bit like he'd been chewing on a lemon. Nic warily shut the phone and handed it back to him. Down at the road, a black SUV rolled up into the lot. As it moved towards where the four robots stood, Optimus turned and flanked the vehicle, herding it towards the warehouse. Ratchet fell in behind the leader, and Bumblebee actually grabbed Whiplash by the shoulder and steered the smaller robot to his side away from the SUV.
By the time the entourage made it up to the entrance of the warehouse, Ironhide had rumbled outside and was in robot mode, followed by Sam, Mikaela and Lennox. Nic again found herself surrounded, only the attention was on the pair of suit-clad men getting out of the SUV.
"Reggie Simmons, Sector Sev-- Autobot Civilian Liaison," said one of the new arrivals, a reedy man with sharp eyes, wide smile and an outstretched hand. "You must be Nicole Darling."
Nic took the proffered hand briefly enough for one shake and withdrew. "I guess I am," she replied in as neutral a tone as possible, glancing around. Sam and Mikaela were actually glaring at Simmons, and Bumblebee still had himself deliberately interposed between the suited men and Whiplash, who merely looked on in bemused interest.
"Mr. Prime, how's it going?" Simmons turned the decidedly disingenuous smile up at the towering red-and-blue robot.
"Simmons." Optimus's tone was all business. "Please explain your business here. When I contacted Secretary Keller yesterday I made it clear that the situation was well in hand."
"Just doing our job here, big guy, not that we don't think you can't handle it, we just want to make sure everything's neat and tidy."
"Tom Banachek," the other man introduced himself, laying a briefcase on the hood of the SUV. "We're here to discuss the nature of your involvement with NBE 14, Miss Darling."
"En Bee Eee...?" Nic squinted at Banachek.
"Non-Biological Extraterrestrial," Simmons crisply informed her and pointed up at Whiplash. "Your buddy NBE 14 over there."
Nic raised an eyebrow. "His name is Whiplash."
"What, seriously?" Simmons cast another look back at the mechanoid in question. "You do know that's our word for a spinal injury, right?"
"Simmons, liaise and get it over with," growled Lennox, arms folded across his chest.
"Can you please explain how exactly you initiated contact with NBE 14?" Banachek asked, approaching Nic with a sheaf of papers in hand.
"Whiplash, and it was the other way around." Nic frowned thinly at the mustachioed man. "He pulled me out of a creek--"
Simmons cut in. "You were swimming?"
"I slipped on a footbridge and fell. It'd been raining hard," Nic turned her frown on Simmons. "I could've drowned. He saved my life."
"Did you report the occurrence to anyone?" Banachek was blandness incarnate. "Police or your parents?"
"And do they know you're out here by yourself?" Simmons added.
"No, and I'm a big girl, thanks," Nic snapped, deciding perhaps it'd be better not to clarify that her uncle knew. She was beginning to see why everyone seemed to be giving these guys the hairy eyeball.
"I'm going to ask you to provide all the intel you can on the other NBEs." Banachek handed a bound booklet of paper to her. "And a detailed account of NBE 14's activity up to this point."
"My name is Whiplash," the reluctantly-numbered blue robot put in.
"We asked you to stop this NBE nonsense," Ratchet added, looming over the two men. "Would it be so terrible to use our actual designations?"
Nic glanced down at the booklet.
NON-BIOLOGICAL EXTRATERRESTRIAL WITNESS REPORT and NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT the cover said.
"An NDA?" Nic added her own glare to the chorus. "You want me to sign this?"
"You have to understand, missy," Simmons told her with the patient smile of someone addressing a five-year-old, "This is a matter of national security. The NBEs are classified above top secret, we don't want you showing up on some talk show a year from now--"
"You think she's going to tattle?" Now Mikaela entered the fray, standing at Bumblebee's feet. "After everything she's been through? If she was going to tell anyone she'd have done it already."
The booklet crimped in Nic's hands as she gripped it tighter. "Does this thing even allow me to come back and visit my friend?"
Banachek shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Civilian contact with the NBEs needs to be minimized."
"This is bullshit, man." Bobby was behind Nic, hand on her shoulder. "The woman risked her life to help Whiplash. And now it's 'sign here, don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out'?"
Banachek ignored him. "Once you sign, you will be fully compensated for any financial and property damage incurred during your encounter."
"Oh, that's considerate." Bobby stepped forward, beside Nic now. "At least she gets a receipt."
"Nic," said Lennox, looking directly at her from his spot near Ironhide's feet, "You don't sign anything you don't want to."
Simmons let out a sigh, turning to give the captain an annoyed glance. "We can't allow her to return home without--"
"Candyass!" Sam barked. "Me and Mikaela didn't sign anything!"
"Well, if you're feeling left out, Wickety--"
"Enough."
All eyes and optics turned upward. Optimus Prime stood over the gathering, blotting out the morning sun, a stern mask of metal in place below his narrowed optics. Even though the I-will-turn-this-car-around warning wasn't directed at her, Nic felt like shrinking back, marginally aware that she'd crumpled the NDA booklet nearly double in her fists.
"It has become clear to me," Prime began in an even voice, "how ill-suited the former Sector Seven agents may be in the position of liaison between us and your government."
Simmons peered up at the immense backlit silhouette. "If you'd just listen--"
"Your position is to act as an intermediary between the two parties and negotiate an outcome to situations that arise, ideally favorable to all involved." Optimus verbally rolled right over him. "But you have, from the very beginning, worked against us, if not actively then passively denying us any progress. I am more than willing to reach a compromise with your government, but it cannot and will not happen unless some form of mutual agreement is reached. And the current state of affairs is unacceptable and risky, not only for my people, but yours as well if we are not allowed to aid you to our fullest capacity. I have already made my displeasure known to Secretary Keller and will be discussing with him the reassignment of the civilian liaison position."
"You're firing us?" Simmons flung his hands out, his face turning an interesting shade of red. "You can't fire us!"
Banachek put a restraining hand on his colleague's shoulder. "Then Captain Lennox--"
"Captain Lennox and his team are already our military liaison, and as such, are answerable to the government. The purpose of the civilian agent is to be outside that chain of command and be objective."
"If not us, then who?" Banachek asked.
"Samuel James Witwicky."
"Me?" Sam's head whipped around.
"Might I suggest someone who's old enough to vote?" Simmons scoffed, leveling a nasty look in the teen's direction.
"As I understand it, that chronological mark is not very far off for him, which makes the difference negligible. Sam has proven to be brave, clever, resourceful, quick-thinking, observant, and unafraid to challenge what he perceives as wrong. Qualities that a human will need in such a position. Moreover--" and Prime leaned over just slightly, fixing Simmons with a cold blue stare, "-- we trust him. I will be discussing the matter with Keller very soon, but it will be Sam's choice to accept the responsibility or not."
Sam sputtered gleefully for a second. "Yes! Yes, I accept!"
"Now, hold on a minute," Simmons protested. "We weren't just twiddling our thumbs during the Mission City fiasco. I was risking my ass with NBE 7--"
"Your actions during the battle for the Allspark are not in question here. You did acquit yourself admirably against Decepticon Frenzy, and for your part in the effort we are appreciative." Prime straightened. "There may yet be other ways you and the other former Sector Seven agents can aid us, but this is not it."
The mask withdrew, revealing Optimus's face in full, and with a whispering of whirring gears, the great Autobot took a half-step back and took in the gathering with a long pause. Then, settling arms across his chest as if taking a deep breath, he spoke again. "Sam, the position may not yet be formal, but it would entail the appointment of other human allies as the need arises. Now that Whiplash is fully functional, his duties as a scout may require him to be separate from other Autobots at times. But as he is so recently arrived to Earth, he may not be able to interact with the humans he may encounter without giving his true nature away. He will need a human partner, one he can rely on, one who possesses those same qualities we value in you."
The NDA wad-of-paper dropped from Nic's hands as she looked up, right into the twinkling optics of Optimus. The expression on the leader's face couldn't be anything but a very satisfied smile.
"Can you suggest such a human, Sam?" It was Bumblebee who spoke this time, this new voice quiet and staticky, but definitely amused. Whiplash took a few sideways steps in her direction, glancing alternately at Sam, Prime, and Nic.
"Hey, Nic," Sam said. "You want a job?"
All eyes and optics on her now, and for a long moment, all Nic could do was look at Whiplash and grin.