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sakon76Finally back in the saddle on this one.
Twin Terrors, part five
by K. Stonham
prereleased 27th January, 2008
His life had gotten decidedly surreal, Sam decided, sometime around the point when he'd gotten a second primary care physician. His new doctor was twenty feet tall, metallic, and came from another planet. For all that, though, he wasn't bad, even if Sam still wasn't as comfortable with the intimate questions and scans as he was with his human doctor's. But then, he'd been seeing Doctor Josef Smith since he was born. Ratchet was... newer. And somehow cooler, even though Sam was appreciating the mundane more now than he had before.
Which did not mean that Sam was not studiously ignoring Ratchet's commentary about his fading cold as he perched cross-legged on top of Bumblebee's hood, flipping through a Japanese phrasebook. Mikaela did the same, save for her seat was higher, atop Ratchet's chartreuse hood, where she was using a bright red laptop to pound out an essay. "Leave the kid be, Ratchet," Sergeant Epps advised from his own seat inside a third vehicle, legs leaning out the passenger door of the dark red Citroen C4 as he slowly sat up inside. Dark sunglasses were pushed back on his shaved head and his head bopped slightly in time to the music emanating from the black and gold boom box perched on the roof of the vehicle. "He's got more experience with having colds than you do with curing them."
"Yeah." Mikaela stopped her typing long enough to pat the H2's hood. "Sometimes a cold is just a cold, Ratchet."
"Humph," the alien medic opined. "It could be the precursor to any number of more serious ailments."
Mikaela patted his hood again. "The likelihood of any of which is minuscule," she pointed out.
"Unlikely, but--" Ratchet's arch rebuttal was cut off by Bumblebee's engine revving.
"They've just arrived and passed the security checkpoint," the yellow-armored scout reported. "ETA five minutes."
"Finally," Epps groused. He glanced down at the blue and white DS Lite in his hands. "Gettin' my ass handed to me anyway."
"Rematch?" the game system asked. "Best five outta nine?"
"You're on," Epps retorted.
*
The unlikely convoy moved through the base with the directional familiarity that GPS and the proximity of other Cybertronians lent them. Mikaela watched from where she leaned against the open hangar door as a police car, followed by two Lamborghinis, drove unerringly toward them. "Sweet," said Sam beside her as the police car passed them, his gaze on the two sports cars. "Lambos?"
"Murcielagos," Mikaela said with a nod as the red one drove in. Then, "No," she corrected herself, eyes widening, as the yellow one entered. "Reventons," she breathed reverently.
"That's special?" Sam, nice and sincere and clueless, asked.
"There're only twenty of them in the world!" she responded, hitting the switch to close the hangar doors. "They cost one-point-eight million each, before taxes!"
"Well," he said, turning to eye the red brakelights of the two vehicles, "I'm guessing there're twenty-two now." He grinned at her. "And they do look like they eat Decepticons for breakfast."
"And here I thought you hadn't met them before," Bumblebee replied before transforming as the doors shut fully. He looked down at the two of them from his sixteen feet of height as Ratchet did the same.
The doctor looked down at the three vehicles as his body unwound like clockwork, and tapped his foot in an apparently universal shorthand for impatience. "Well, which of the three of you is going to tell me what's wrong?" he demanded.
"Hey, doc, give 'em a break--the dudes just got here," emanated from the speakers of the red C4.
"Hey, long time no see!" said the laptop Mikaela had left on the roof of said vehicle, unfolding into a small robot, one about a head shorter than Frenzy had been, though bulkier and better armored.
"Rewind?" one of the cars, Mikaela thought it was the red one, asked, sounding startled.
The game system Sergeant Epps had also set on the vehicle's roof when he'd stood as the three new Autobots arrived, transformed too. As did the boom box. And the Garmin GPS unit inside the car that scuttled out the still-open door and acrobatically leapt up onto the vehicle's roof to be beside its three siblings.
The Japanese police car transformed too and stood, optics wide and bright. "You managed to repair them all?" he asked Ratchet, sounding amazed.
"Of course I did," Ratchet replied, sounding mildly offended. "Most of Eject and Steeljaw's mass had to be sacrificed in the name of functionality--" The humanoid game system shrugged lightly and the vaguely leonine GPS shook his head, one unconcerned, the other chagrined. "--but that should be fixable over time. Now," he asked, "what's wrong with your comm systems?"
As the police-bot, whose name Mikaela hadn't caught yet, replied in Cybertronian, a language half between a modem screech and synthesizer warbles, the driver's-side doors on both the Lamborghinis slowly slid up, and two young men about her and Sam's age stepped out, looking around. They didn't pay much attention to the police car Autobot, but instead looked wide-eyed at Ratchet, then at the collection of smaller 'bots hanging around the Citroen, then finally looked at Bumblebee, who was watching them back, radiating amusement.
Mikaela hit him lightly on the armor of his shin. "Knock that off," she instructed, knowing he wouldn't. It was perfectly fine for the Autobots to come to Earth: they had experience dealing with other planets and their natives. The humans they ran into, though, generally tended to end up with some degree of culture shock before they got used to things. Bumblebee tended to be amused at this reaction.
Sam took the initiative, walking over to the two teens--identical twins, Mikaela saw as she followed him and they caught the pair's attention. "Konnichiwa," Sam said with only a little stuffiness left from his cold.
"I think you mean 'konbanwa'," Mikaela corrected. "It's evening."
The twins exchanged a glance, then gave identical smiles as Epps wandered over. "I think our English is better than your Japanese," one said with only the faintest hint of an accent. "My name is Hikaru Hitachiin," he continued, extending a hand toward Sam. "This is my brother Kaoru."
"Sam Witwicky," Sam introduced himself. "This is Mikaela Banes. Tech Sergeant Robert Epps of the U.S. Air Force," he continued as the man himself reached their small human party. "Bumblebee and Ratchet," he added, nodding at each mech as appropriate. Ratchet ignored them in favor of getting more details from the black-and-white-armored 'bot; Bumblebee waved in greeting. "Blaster, with Ramhorn, Rewind, Eject, and Steeljaw," he continued, indicating the Citroen and the array of smaller Autobots sitting atop it, watching in varying degrees of amusement. "Welcome to the circus," Sam concluded.
*
By the time Prowl had finished an explanation that spoke of his Academy education with its clean, almost clinical analysis, and his Iaconic heritage with his clipped, elegant dialect, the twins had seen fit to introduce themselves to the humans, and provide a colorful description of who Prowl was as well. Their C.O. finished his statement to the medic and turned to glare at the unrepentant mock-Lamborghinis. Blaster settled back on his wheels, happy to watch, with the welcome weight of his team similar spectators, as the newest round of Prowl-versus-the-melee-twins began.
Then a particular pattern showed up on one of his sensors, and he hastily patched into the base's comms to double-check his findings.
"Slag," he cursed aloud, then raised his voice. "Prowl, Ratchet! We got incoming Seekers. A full trine."
Prowl cut off mid-remonstration as Epps sagged slightly. "Aww, man," he bitched, a human after Blaster's own spark.
"Blaster, contact the human military authorities," Prowl instructed. He looked down at Epps. "Do your kind here have suitable armaments?"
The dark-skinned human snorted. "Whole damn U.S. military got retrofitted since Mission City," he reported. "We're as ready here as anywhere."
"Good." Prowl looked back at Blaster. "Possible identities of the trine?"
"Starscream," Blaster reported with absolute certainty. "I'd recognize that 'bot's accent anywhere. Which means the other two're probably Tweedledee and Tweedledum--yep," he accorded his first guess as one of the inbound signatures flickered on his sensors, then reappeared elsewhere. "Skywarp and Thundercracker it is."
Prowl's face had gone into a predictable blank rage at the mention of the Decepticon Air Commander. "I'll deal with Starscream," he said flatly. "Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, you're on the other two. Ground them." He started to step forward, toward the hangar doors, but was restrained by Ratchet's sudden hand on his shoulder.
"I don't believe I just heard you correctly," the medic said acidly. "You are not taking on a trine by yourselves." His optics studied Prowl's expression. "What have you not told me?" he demanded softly.
Prowl hesitated just a nanosec, then told the medic flatly "Starscream murdered Bluestreak."
Ratchet's optics widened and his grasp faltered. "That's--"
Prowl shook off the medic's grip. "I will repay him for that," he told Ratchet, then stepped toward the doors once more. The still-vehicular melee twins revved their engines. Sunstreaker paused beside the group of humans to bluntly tell the Japanese twins they'd brought with them, "Stay out of the way," before following Prowl.
Ratchet was still looking shocked by Prowl's disclosure, but shook it off. Maybe he had some idea why Prowl'd survived, Blaster didn't know. "Blaster," the medic instructed, "you and your team cover Prowl and help him with that Primus-slagged 'Con. Bumblebee, you're with Sideswipe. I'll take Sunshine." He looked down at the party of motley humans. "Epps, we'll be in contact. Sam, Mikaela, take care of the two of them." He nodded at the Hitachiin twins, then rapidly folded himself into H2 mode. The yellow Camaro and the red C4 with its crew of four miniature robots inside, followed him and the other three Autobots out the hangar door into the Japanese night, where the roar of three jets was already starting to shake the building and base, American military soldiers running around outside.
The five humans left behind looked at one another with varying expressions.
"Well," Epps finally asked the Japanese twins, "either of you know how to shoot?"
Twin Terrors, part five
by K. Stonham
prereleased 27th January, 2008
His life had gotten decidedly surreal, Sam decided, sometime around the point when he'd gotten a second primary care physician. His new doctor was twenty feet tall, metallic, and came from another planet. For all that, though, he wasn't bad, even if Sam still wasn't as comfortable with the intimate questions and scans as he was with his human doctor's. But then, he'd been seeing Doctor Josef Smith since he was born. Ratchet was... newer. And somehow cooler, even though Sam was appreciating the mundane more now than he had before.
Which did not mean that Sam was not studiously ignoring Ratchet's commentary about his fading cold as he perched cross-legged on top of Bumblebee's hood, flipping through a Japanese phrasebook. Mikaela did the same, save for her seat was higher, atop Ratchet's chartreuse hood, where she was using a bright red laptop to pound out an essay. "Leave the kid be, Ratchet," Sergeant Epps advised from his own seat inside a third vehicle, legs leaning out the passenger door of the dark red Citroen C4 as he slowly sat up inside. Dark sunglasses were pushed back on his shaved head and his head bopped slightly in time to the music emanating from the black and gold boom box perched on the roof of the vehicle. "He's got more experience with having colds than you do with curing them."
"Yeah." Mikaela stopped her typing long enough to pat the H2's hood. "Sometimes a cold is just a cold, Ratchet."
"Humph," the alien medic opined. "It could be the precursor to any number of more serious ailments."
Mikaela patted his hood again. "The likelihood of any of which is minuscule," she pointed out.
"Unlikely, but--" Ratchet's arch rebuttal was cut off by Bumblebee's engine revving.
"They've just arrived and passed the security checkpoint," the yellow-armored scout reported. "ETA five minutes."
"Finally," Epps groused. He glanced down at the blue and white DS Lite in his hands. "Gettin' my ass handed to me anyway."
"Rematch?" the game system asked. "Best five outta nine?"
"You're on," Epps retorted.
The unlikely convoy moved through the base with the directional familiarity that GPS and the proximity of other Cybertronians lent them. Mikaela watched from where she leaned against the open hangar door as a police car, followed by two Lamborghinis, drove unerringly toward them. "Sweet," said Sam beside her as the police car passed them, his gaze on the two sports cars. "Lambos?"
"Murcielagos," Mikaela said with a nod as the red one drove in. Then, "No," she corrected herself, eyes widening, as the yellow one entered. "Reventons," she breathed reverently.
"That's special?" Sam, nice and sincere and clueless, asked.
"There're only twenty of them in the world!" she responded, hitting the switch to close the hangar doors. "They cost one-point-eight million each, before taxes!"
"Well," he said, turning to eye the red brakelights of the two vehicles, "I'm guessing there're twenty-two now." He grinned at her. "And they do look like they eat Decepticons for breakfast."
"And here I thought you hadn't met them before," Bumblebee replied before transforming as the doors shut fully. He looked down at the two of them from his sixteen feet of height as Ratchet did the same.
The doctor looked down at the three vehicles as his body unwound like clockwork, and tapped his foot in an apparently universal shorthand for impatience. "Well, which of the three of you is going to tell me what's wrong?" he demanded.
"Hey, doc, give 'em a break--the dudes just got here," emanated from the speakers of the red C4.
"Hey, long time no see!" said the laptop Mikaela had left on the roof of said vehicle, unfolding into a small robot, one about a head shorter than Frenzy had been, though bulkier and better armored.
"Rewind?" one of the cars, Mikaela thought it was the red one, asked, sounding startled.
The game system Sergeant Epps had also set on the vehicle's roof when he'd stood as the three new Autobots arrived, transformed too. As did the boom box. And the Garmin GPS unit inside the car that scuttled out the still-open door and acrobatically leapt up onto the vehicle's roof to be beside its three siblings.
The Japanese police car transformed too and stood, optics wide and bright. "You managed to repair them all?" he asked Ratchet, sounding amazed.
"Of course I did," Ratchet replied, sounding mildly offended. "Most of Eject and Steeljaw's mass had to be sacrificed in the name of functionality--" The humanoid game system shrugged lightly and the vaguely leonine GPS shook his head, one unconcerned, the other chagrined. "--but that should be fixable over time. Now," he asked, "what's wrong with your comm systems?"
As the police-bot, whose name Mikaela hadn't caught yet, replied in Cybertronian, a language half between a modem screech and synthesizer warbles, the driver's-side doors on both the Lamborghinis slowly slid up, and two young men about her and Sam's age stepped out, looking around. They didn't pay much attention to the police car Autobot, but instead looked wide-eyed at Ratchet, then at the collection of smaller 'bots hanging around the Citroen, then finally looked at Bumblebee, who was watching them back, radiating amusement.
Mikaela hit him lightly on the armor of his shin. "Knock that off," she instructed, knowing he wouldn't. It was perfectly fine for the Autobots to come to Earth: they had experience dealing with other planets and their natives. The humans they ran into, though, generally tended to end up with some degree of culture shock before they got used to things. Bumblebee tended to be amused at this reaction.
Sam took the initiative, walking over to the two teens--identical twins, Mikaela saw as she followed him and they caught the pair's attention. "Konnichiwa," Sam said with only a little stuffiness left from his cold.
"I think you mean 'konbanwa'," Mikaela corrected. "It's evening."
The twins exchanged a glance, then gave identical smiles as Epps wandered over. "I think our English is better than your Japanese," one said with only the faintest hint of an accent. "My name is Hikaru Hitachiin," he continued, extending a hand toward Sam. "This is my brother Kaoru."
"Sam Witwicky," Sam introduced himself. "This is Mikaela Banes. Tech Sergeant Robert Epps of the U.S. Air Force," he continued as the man himself reached their small human party. "Bumblebee and Ratchet," he added, nodding at each mech as appropriate. Ratchet ignored them in favor of getting more details from the black-and-white-armored 'bot; Bumblebee waved in greeting. "Blaster, with Ramhorn, Rewind, Eject, and Steeljaw," he continued, indicating the Citroen and the array of smaller Autobots sitting atop it, watching in varying degrees of amusement. "Welcome to the circus," Sam concluded.
By the time Prowl had finished an explanation that spoke of his Academy education with its clean, almost clinical analysis, and his Iaconic heritage with his clipped, elegant dialect, the twins had seen fit to introduce themselves to the humans, and provide a colorful description of who Prowl was as well. Their C.O. finished his statement to the medic and turned to glare at the unrepentant mock-Lamborghinis. Blaster settled back on his wheels, happy to watch, with the welcome weight of his team similar spectators, as the newest round of Prowl-versus-the-melee-twins began.
Then a particular pattern showed up on one of his sensors, and he hastily patched into the base's comms to double-check his findings.
"Slag," he cursed aloud, then raised his voice. "Prowl, Ratchet! We got incoming Seekers. A full trine."
Prowl cut off mid-remonstration as Epps sagged slightly. "Aww, man," he bitched, a human after Blaster's own spark.
"Blaster, contact the human military authorities," Prowl instructed. He looked down at Epps. "Do your kind here have suitable armaments?"
The dark-skinned human snorted. "Whole damn U.S. military got retrofitted since Mission City," he reported. "We're as ready here as anywhere."
"Good." Prowl looked back at Blaster. "Possible identities of the trine?"
"Starscream," Blaster reported with absolute certainty. "I'd recognize that 'bot's accent anywhere. Which means the other two're probably Tweedledee and Tweedledum--yep," he accorded his first guess as one of the inbound signatures flickered on his sensors, then reappeared elsewhere. "Skywarp and Thundercracker it is."
Prowl's face had gone into a predictable blank rage at the mention of the Decepticon Air Commander. "I'll deal with Starscream," he said flatly. "Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, you're on the other two. Ground them." He started to step forward, toward the hangar doors, but was restrained by Ratchet's sudden hand on his shoulder.
"I don't believe I just heard you correctly," the medic said acidly. "You are not taking on a trine by yourselves." His optics studied Prowl's expression. "What have you not told me?" he demanded softly.
Prowl hesitated just a nanosec, then told the medic flatly "Starscream murdered Bluestreak."
Ratchet's optics widened and his grasp faltered. "That's--"
Prowl shook off the medic's grip. "I will repay him for that," he told Ratchet, then stepped toward the doors once more. The still-vehicular melee twins revved their engines. Sunstreaker paused beside the group of humans to bluntly tell the Japanese twins they'd brought with them, "Stay out of the way," before following Prowl.
Ratchet was still looking shocked by Prowl's disclosure, but shook it off. Maybe he had some idea why Prowl'd survived, Blaster didn't know. "Blaster," the medic instructed, "you and your team cover Prowl and help him with that Primus-slagged 'Con. Bumblebee, you're with Sideswipe. I'll take Sunshine." He looked down at the party of motley humans. "Epps, we'll be in contact. Sam, Mikaela, take care of the two of them." He nodded at the Hitachiin twins, then rapidly folded himself into H2 mode. The yellow Camaro and the red C4 with its crew of four miniature robots inside, followed him and the other three Autobots out the hangar door into the Japanese night, where the roar of three jets was already starting to shake the building and base, American military soldiers running around outside.
The five humans left behind looked at one another with varying expressions.
"Well," Epps finally asked the Japanese twins, "either of you know how to shoot?"
