Conceptions - 8.b
Ratchet's Intermission - Take Two
Ratchet deals with a medical-mechanical miracle and really wishes he didn't have to. And Prime's a jerk :'(
1, 2, 2.b, 3, 4, 4.b, 5, 6, 7, 7.b, 8, 8.b
Ratchet clicked once, loudly, with alarm when the boy abruptly crumpled. Slaggit, he thought darkly. He knew the boy hadn't been up to hearing all of this -- hell, Ratchet would be loathed to tell anyone that their body was changing beyond their control. Cybertronian's didn't like it, and he couldn't imagine that humans (as unused to invasive problems beyond their control as they were) would handle it any better. Apparently, 'softening the blow' by being unforthcoming when he noticed the panic hadn't helped either ... considering how he reacted, Ratchet hoped to Primus he wouldn't have to admit what was really going on in the boy's body.
"(Bumblebee,)" he sent, and received an anxious not-word in response, "(The boy passed out.)"
"(What did you do?)" the young mech demanded shrilly, practically wrenching Ratchet's lovely doors off as he charged in and almost literally threw himself at the boy.
Ratchet had never been particularly intimidated by Bumblebee, even during the few times the mech glitched and had a psychotic episode. On the other hand, Bumblebee had never had a charge that he was so attached to, either, and Ratchet moved quickly and quietly out of immediate reach. "(All I did was tell him some of what was happening -- I didn't even tell him everything! He just ... ended up like that.)"
With a strangely disturbing surety and ease, Bumblebee plucked up the unconscious human, cradling him in both hands under his bumper protectively and giving Ratchet a look of measuring accusation. "(You should know that the biologicals are fragile! How many reports did I send on this, for you lot to be careful with them so that nothing goes wrong with any possible alliances?)"
Wa-was he being lectured by this little scout bot? A rumble of indignation started deep in Ratchet's chassis, and he narrowed his visual field. (Oh. There was something interesting about human expressions. It was fairly satisfying to scowl. He might actually enjoy this having a face thing.) "Bumblebee," he said sternly, glowering until the little yellow mech remembered just who was boss around here. "I have to tell Prime about this."
"Couldn't you wait?" Bumblebee demanded. "Isn't this Sam's decision?"
"Normally, I would say yes," Ratchet said, letting his systems cool when no attack was forthcoming. He didn't think that Bumblebee would try to attack him with fragile cargo in hand, but he didn't put it past Bumblebee to have learned how over the months that he'd been with the human. Or not human, really, because -- well, that was something he needed to discuss with Prime. "I have to do damage control here," he said. "There is no logical reason for that much radiation -- I can't even be sure it's All Spark or just Spark -- well, anyway, take him to the third hanger, and stay with him."
Bumblebee clicked a little with irritation before he quieted and turned his attention to the medical-mechanical mystery in his hands. With one last sharp look, Bumblebee left to do as he instructed, and Ratchet wearily ran his fans. This was going to be a huge mess ... and as little as he liked to weigh in on issues like these, he knew that ... technically, the little Sam creature was now a patient of his.
"So much trouble," he moaned with self-pity before he collected himself and comm-linked Prime and Ironhide.
-+-
"You called us here?" Prime said without preamble as he approached.
Ironhide had gotten there first (he normally did; for whatever reason, he was fairly good at showing up soon whenever Ratchet needed him), and after the initial badgering, had reluctantly agreed to let Ratchet wait to explain until Prime got there. Bumblebee was safely locked up in hanger three, and radioing dangerously vague threats to Ratchet every breem or so. It seemed that the Sam boy had woken up ... well, regained consciousness. He was currently in a state that Ratchet's brief foray on the Internet suggested was psychological shock. Ratchet loathed the Internet ... it was just like the humans -- noisy, mess, and he could never be entirely certain what was and wasn't truth.
Shock was a bit like a Cybertronian triggering AR, from what he could tell. Well, Bumblebee would watch out after him.
"Yes. A bit of a situation has come up," Ratchet said, uncomfortably resting his hands on his hip plates.
"I can shoot it," Ironhide offered immediately. "Or blow it up -- you know, I've been working on some explosives ..."
"What sort of situation?" Prime asked, both of them ignoring Ironhide's good willed (if violent) offer. Prime looked as though he wasn't certain he even wanted to know what was wrong. Ratchet was rather proud that he managed to induce the growth of such a mask on Prime's helmet. Even Wheeljack would have to be impressed, though he probably would rather do it with a ray or building the construct himself -- instead of using the old-time practices Ratchet used.
Truthfully, it was due to Bumblebee's efforts in programing some codes that allowed such subtle shifts in the plates, but it was still Ratchet's work that had grown such an intricate structure that allowed the programming to work.
"It's about Bumblebee's Sam human," Ratchet said flatly.
Remembering the talk they had before, Ironhide uneasily whirled the inner components of his cannons. Prime now looked like he knew he didn't want to know. The Sam ... not-human was a delicate subject among the Autobots. While his courage was admirable and his intuitive intelligence worth respect, it was also ... difficult. He didn't seem to care much who he aimed those traits at, and as helpful as they were when he was working with him, in just a very short mission, it had become clear that he took no prisoners and could prove just as hard headed as some of their more rambunctious allies. He blithely blew off orders and threats to his safety with a sort of capricious willfulness that just about everyone except for Bumblebee found alarming.
Thanks to Mikaela, Ratchet knew that the Sam not-human was just unique that way. Mikaela was much more reasonable and, were she a mech, Ratchet would say that her personality matrix and programing were quite stable. He didn't mind working with her in the least.
"Ratchet, what is wrong with young Samuel Witwicky?" Prime asked reluctantly.
"You will recall that these Sector Seven humans took him prisoner for a few solar cycles," Ratchet said, "due to the radiation he was emitting. It appears that it was a false lull -- he is no longer entirely biological. This -- what he is is more techno-biological that we are, in the human senses of the word."
"... huh?"
That inelegant noise came from Ironhide. While not unintelligent in any sense of the word, Ironhide did have a bit of a weakness in intuitive processing -- meaning, until Ratchet explained exactly what was going on, from that sentence Ironhide would only basically understand that the Sam thing was not human -- whereas someone like Wheeljack would probably be able to divine Ratchet's meaning immediately, and mechs like Prime and Jazz would only make the intuitive leap to what the humans refer to as a 'cyborg'.
"What I mean by that is that the Sam ... organism--" English was so primitive, "-- isn't Homo Sapien. Oh, he mimics a human fairly well, but that's like saying one of us in alt mode is the vehicle we appear to be. Not a single cell structure anywhere in his body is still human, and I can't even guess how he managed to avoid a cascading systems failure --" he paused, trying to rearrange what he was trying to say into biological terms. "That is, he should have suffered massive organ failure, and his organic anti-viral systems -- his immune system should have attacked his body, so he must of disabled it first -- but ..." he gave up trying to make it make sense. "The only explanation I have is the strange Spark-like energy pattern emitting from his central nervous system -- I don't know, I'm a mechanic, not a biologist. He's still organic, in the meaning that his body would eventually break down ... were it going to stay that way, and considering what I've seen, it's certain that he's still changing."
Prime's eyes narrowed. "What kind of changes are we talking about here?" All business, a military commander to the last wire and software program.
"Besides the entirely synthetic material and overly energized fluids? We're talking about metal, Prime," Ratchet said. "Alloy, like we have. He's growing like we do, and producing quiet a bit of radiation that isn't that different from the All Spark -- just like newly Sparked mechs do. His nervous system has converted completely -- and probably has been for a while now. He's slowly but surely becoming more mechanical -- he has pumps, he has a main pump, for Primus' sake! It will probably begin functioning and his heart will stop within a few weeks! And I have every reason to believe that his body will barely even hiccup when it happens."
"That clean?"
"Exactly," Ratchet said, latching onto the question. "That clean. Too clean. If this was just accidental radiation ... some strange effect from destroying the All Spark that we couldn't have predicted -- having never destroyed the All Spark before, obviously -- then he'd be dying or dead. Mutating out of control, say his heart or lungs just turning into inert metal ... no, all of this is happening in a cascade effect. It's too clean, Prime. And he was completely unaware that it was happening, so the only explanation I can offer is that somehow his organic electrical relay system has more than just organic relay on it. It's possible he actually has a ... conversion program running his changes."
"A program? Com'n, Ratch, you don't really believe ..." Ironhide paused at his expression and his hydraulics hissed reflexively. "You do believe ...?"
"Yes," Ratchet said irritably. "It's the only thing that makes any sort of sense at all -- he must have had software before he even had hardware to support it. Right now, he's ... wetware, with hardware and software -- and ... well. We have a situation on our hands."
"This complicates things," Prime said, sighing.
"I could take him out," Ironhide offered helpfully.
"Ironhide," Ratchet said, staring.
"What?" he demanded defensively.
"Ironhide, didn't we talk about this ...?" Prime sighed, shaking his head and tilting his helmet back. Despite the similar shape of their optics to human eyeballs, the facial constructs were not yet fine enough around the optics to accommodate 'rolling eyes' and so tilting the head was as close as they could come right now. Ratchet thought that he had better fix that pretty soon. As satisfying as it was to scowl, he bet rolling the eyes would be even more cathartic.
"Well -- he's not human," Ironhide hedged. "That makes it an option, doesn't it?"
Prime stared. "What is wrong with you? First you want to kill his parents, now you wish to kill the boy?"
"I told you, I was just sayin'!"
"It doesn't matter," Ratchet said dismissively, absently nudging the defensive mech's shoulder. "Bumblebee would assassinate you in your sleep. Jazz taught him some of the tricks of the trade ..."
"Oh -- uh," he looked vaguely off balance. "Well, tactically ... I guess I could leave the boy alive ... dun' wanna have any sliced lines ..."
Prime looked mildly irritated. "Why am I the last one to know these things?"
"Don't want to over burden you," Ratchet said guilelessly, possibly actually managed to look as innocent as he was trying to be. Truthfully, as much as Prime was a fair leader ... that was mostly because he knew when to let his troops do what they knew needed to be done. Granted, a lot of mechs would wish that Jazz hadn't taught Bumblebee anything, but if he hadn't -- Bumblebee would have figured out something. He just had a mind for these things.
That and Prime was always a little unreasonable when he didn't have Prowl around. He was still young compared to the average age of the mechs he commanded -- Megatron would have never attempted a coup d'etat if the Prime hadn't been so young, and that had repercussions on Prime's personality matrix; the Decepticons had not been the only ones taken in by Megatron's charisma. Ratchet remembered how Prime used to hum in a pleasantly pleased way while telling his physician what new and radical and brilliant plan the High Lord Protector came up with. When Megatron betrayed that trust and regard, it became an insult -- for Prime, it became personal, and while he was still a just leader, all of his outward benevolence and sympathy seemed to have dried up; these vorns, he tended to become impatient and harsh when things weren't going right. (And apparently, the Sam thing didn't care for that one bit and boy, this was going to get exciting.)
Unless Prowl was around. If there was anything good that had come of Prowl's tragedy, it was that his clinical and cold responses made Prime modulate his own behavior to provide the nurturing and compassion that many mechs looked for in a leader ... that many mechs remembered Prime once having.
Maybe now that Megatron was deactivated ...
"Ratchet ... do you suspect that the All Spark has done this to him?" Prime said slowly, face unreadable.
A trill of apprehension echoed silently across Ratchet's processors. "Where else could he have gotten the software?" he said.
"Would it be possible to access his software remotely?" he persisted.
Ratchet shook his head. "No -- not right now at least. He doesn't have any transmitters or receivers. I couldn't even say if any are going to develop."
Prime turned that over in his processors for a while and then asked, "if you were to hook him up to a transmitter, do you think you could access his software?"
This really wasn't sounding good. Prime often forgot that Ratchet wasn't even really a part of this war. He'd lent his help in protecting the All Spark, but that was as far as his interference went. Now that it was gone, he was a medic, nothing more and nothing less. "It's possible I could," he said grudgingly. "But that's assuming that any of it would even be understandable to me. His organic brain and the wetware may have already corrupted the code even if it had been in Cybertronian at one point."
"I want you to do so as soon as possible," Prime said, not responding to anything other than the confirmation that it was possible. "I want to know what it is that's causing this ... what he's turning into and where it came from. I am in debt to Samuel Witwicky, as he spared me at the risk to his own life ... but my debt does not extend to those under my protection. If he is dangerous, I need to know as soon as possible."
Ratchet balked. While he hardly had any data at all except for the physical changes he had scanned with his own sensors, he didn't like at all how Prime was asking him to do something he should flatly refuse to do. The fact was that Prime had phrased it in such a way that Ratchet's own programming would take to code ...
Prime was not a military commander and a leader of their people for nothing, and Ratchet could not say that he thought Sam was going to survive the changes with his mind completely unscathed.
"Fine," he snapped, word-inflection reflecting what his snarling ER transmitter already said plainly. "I'll discover some way to hook the boy up to a transmitter -- and Primus have mercy on your sorry painted hide 'cause Bumblebee certainly won't!"
His piece said, he left immediately, changing mid-stride into his alt form. Primus smiled on them when they landed on this planet -- not only did the humans have fair alt forms to take, they also put them close to the ground and gave them a speed and maneuverability that their bipedal forms simply lacked in the thin atmosphere and the heavy gravity.
Being a medic, Ratchet basically was entirely neutral and therefore mostly out of Prime's reach to command. Therefore, Prime compensated by often appealing to or directly attacking Ratchet's code, which required that any mech he took in under his welder was a mech he looked after as kindly as a leader would. It was in Ratchet's every code to look after the mechs he repaired -- physically, and programing wise. It was simply how Ratchet functioned. He was of a model fitted with software that had been started long before the war, and he was ... it was his purpose. He couldn't deny his programming, especially not when his Spark agreed. He was a healer, plain and simple. Thank Primus he was built for it -- he had an assistant for a while, named First Aid -- or, that hadn't been his original designation, but the poor mech had been reformatted in an effort to keep him alive after his team was wiped out. However, he hadn't been programmed for the rigors of being a healer and ended up blowing a fuse before he suicided against the Decepticons.
"(Hey! Hey, Ratch, slow down ...)"
Belatedly, he realized that Ironhide was following him, also in his alt mode. Being somewhat less massive, unless Ironhide really tried to catch up, Ratchet would remain just out of companionable distance. The request to slow down was unnecessary, since once he was brought back around, Ratchet let up on his furious pace and dropped back down to a comfortable speed, grumbling to himself.
"(And just where are you off to in such a hurry?)" Ironhide sent archly.
"(The boy's progenitors -- his parents,)" he idly corrected his own message. The bad thing about speaking in real-time was that all errors had to be corrected after they were already made. It was a habit everyone got into during the war, so that in case something unfortunate happened, at least some of the message got through -- no more silent-recording responses and then playing them as they used to on Cybertron. "(There isn't any assurance when he'll come around, and we can't have them panicking or calling their authorities.)"
Ironhide returned a wordless affirmation, and didn't drop back. After a moment, another message came through Ratchet's receiver: "(So ... the boy's forecasted lifespand?)"
He was careful not to broadcast the amusement that vibrated through his frame. If he had know that being abandoned with two newly activated mechs for three vorns would make poor Ironhide turn into ... this, he would have conspired to do so a long time ago. Having been there for Bumblebee's activation, though, he thought he understood how it would affect a mech with a complex attachment program. Newly activated mechs ... they weren't children, but they tended to invoke a strangely similar response in the older mechs. It was ... programing, though, to aid those who lacked. Cybertronians performed their function, and part of that was making everything worked as cleanly as possible. While the imprinting mechs were adding 'character' to their operating system by writing software (influenced by both their spark, their environment, and the mechs around them), it just seemed like the thing to do to reinforce strength and unity. It made things run cleanly.
Amusingly, Ironhide went from not being able to tolerate a mech any younger than half his age to guarding them from behind the scenes. Then again, Ratchet had met the twins; they got themselves in so much trouble that pretty much anymech accustomed to helping things run cleanly was simply blown away ... it was surprising that Ratchet wasn't replacing more fan belts.
"(I can't say for certain,)" he replied, "(I've never seen anything like it ... we won't know much about him until I do as Optimus asked. It's possible that he'll have weakness that we wouldn't even think of, or that he'll stop being able to acquire fuel and will starve -- or he'll burn out quicker even with fuel, instead of living as long as a human.)"
"( ... frag.)"
Ironhide was a good mech, he reflected absently, busy formulating what he was going to say to the Sam creature's parents. Despite how stubborn he was and how violent (and sometimes cruel) he could be with the enemy, the fact remained that he looked after his own. He definitely helped fulfill the purpose that Ratchet had programmed into his codes, and that was a bit of a relief.
-+-
Later that night, Ratchet went to check on his ... new ... patient. The hanger was dark, which didn't hinder him at all, and in the corner furthermost from the door, he spotted the two of them. Bumblebee's optics glowed challengingly across the dark room at him, the sleeping boy sprawled half over his chest armor (it retained enough of it's alt shape that it was probably a familiar bumper shape to him) holding him there with his hands; he was humming faintly in reassurance, but he immediately comm-linked to Ratchet and essentially whined plaintively.
Ratchet vented air, approaching them and using his superior scanners to check on the Sam creature. "(I can't tell if his brain patterns are normal ... but he definitely has activity. The radiation has increased ... in the last twelve hours, the mineral deposits have decreased --)" he cut himself off and settled into a more comfortable position. It was times like these that he wished he had Wheeljack around. Then again, that was probably the last thing they needed -- Wheeljack would either blow a fuse from joy of such an oddity, or he'd blow the entire base up due to some idea he got from studying the Sam creature. With that one, there really was no telling. "(My guess is that the process has increased.)"
"(Why would it do that?)" Bumblebee demanded with apprehension.
Yes, it was definitely a good thing Wheeljack wasn't around. He'd either definitely blow a fuse, or Bumblebee would murder him in his berth for some unthinking thing he would do or say. "(It's possible that the conversion software had a trigger clause. It's been discovered; a possible explanation is that since it's no longer unknown, stealth is hardly important -- speed is. It wants to finish the conversion as quickly as possible.)"
Another distressed noise from Bumblebee.
Ratchet hated to pile issues and pressure on the two, but Prime hadn't exactly given him a choice. "(Bumblebee, as soon as possible ... I must hook him up to a transmitter. I have discussed it with one of the human doctors, and between the two of us, we have come up with an operation. Sam will have to be cut into --)"
The plaintive noises coming in silently over his radio immediately turned into a threatening humming, identical to charging weapons, and Bumblebee pulled away, hands cupped protectively over the frail biological on his chassis. Both froze when the Sam creature stirred and they remained silent until they were certain that their confrontation wouldn't be interrupted.
"(I'm on your side,)" Ratchet sent with agitation. "(This has made Sam one of my patients, and you know that my codes will not allow me to do anything untoward to him.)"
Bumblebee fell silent but for the quiet humming he was doing for the sleeping boy's sake.
"(Either way,)" he sent coaxingly, "(While I am working with Sam, that leaves you free to do what you wish.)"
Bumblebee looked at him sharply, and then power surged to his optics in surprise. He apparently understood exactly what Ratchet meant by that. He looked back down at the organic clutched protectively in his hands and then appeared to be considering it. "(If Sam agrees,)" he sent seriously. "(Because I have a long, long memory.)"
Which was entirely true. Bumblebee forgave extremely easily, but he definitely never forgot. Humans had a phrase about it -- something about eating revenge or offered cold or something. Ratchet wasn't sure there wasn't a food that went with it ... humans seemed to find reasons to eat all the time.
"(Take your time,)" he suggested. "(There isn't any rush ... I'll have to do it sooner or later, but I'm not going to let Prime pressure me into harming a patient.)" His ER transmitter rumbled in remembered anger before he cut it off to avoid waking the Sam creature. Impulsively, he scanned the small creature once more and didn't make the resigned noise he wanted to.
No more 'Sam creature'. They either had the first Cybertronian to have ever started life out as a genuine organic, or they had an entirely new specie on their hands.
-+-
Ratchet on Autobot!Sam: "I don't know, I'm a mechanic, not a biologist."
- and apparently mechanics lie like a dog when talking about issues and components -- but if you've ever taken your car in to get fixed, you already knew that.
- For those who didn't catch it: While they suspect that the All Spark made Sam, no, they don't suspect that the All Spark is Sam.
- HOMG, FALSE FORESHADOWING! Or not so false. hanyway, Ratchet thinks something he will come to regret thinking.
- RE Prowl's Tragedy: It's a secret 8B (Lol k, not rly, but I'm not saying until I have a story reason to.)
Ratchet deals with a medical-mechanical miracle and really wishes he didn't have to. And Prime's a jerk :'(
1, 2, 2.b, 3, 4, 4.b, 5, 6, 7, 7.b, 8, 8.b
Ratchet clicked once, loudly, with alarm when the boy abruptly crumpled. Slaggit, he thought darkly. He knew the boy hadn't been up to hearing all of this -- hell, Ratchet would be loathed to tell anyone that their body was changing beyond their control. Cybertronian's didn't like it, and he couldn't imagine that humans (as unused to invasive problems beyond their control as they were) would handle it any better. Apparently, 'softening the blow' by being unforthcoming when he noticed the panic hadn't helped either ... considering how he reacted, Ratchet hoped to Primus he wouldn't have to admit what was really going on in the boy's body.
"(Bumblebee,)" he sent, and received an anxious not-word in response, "(The boy passed out.)"
"(What did you do?)" the young mech demanded shrilly, practically wrenching Ratchet's lovely doors off as he charged in and almost literally threw himself at the boy.
Ratchet had never been particularly intimidated by Bumblebee, even during the few times the mech glitched and had a psychotic episode. On the other hand, Bumblebee had never had a charge that he was so attached to, either, and Ratchet moved quickly and quietly out of immediate reach. "(All I did was tell him some of what was happening -- I didn't even tell him everything! He just ... ended up like that.)"
With a strangely disturbing surety and ease, Bumblebee plucked up the unconscious human, cradling him in both hands under his bumper protectively and giving Ratchet a look of measuring accusation. "(You should know that the biologicals are fragile! How many reports did I send on this, for you lot to be careful with them so that nothing goes wrong with any possible alliances?)"
Wa-was he being lectured by this little scout bot? A rumble of indignation started deep in Ratchet's chassis, and he narrowed his visual field. (Oh. There was something interesting about human expressions. It was fairly satisfying to scowl. He might actually enjoy this having a face thing.) "Bumblebee," he said sternly, glowering until the little yellow mech remembered just who was boss around here. "I have to tell Prime about this."
"Couldn't you wait?" Bumblebee demanded. "Isn't this Sam's decision?"
"Normally, I would say yes," Ratchet said, letting his systems cool when no attack was forthcoming. He didn't think that Bumblebee would try to attack him with fragile cargo in hand, but he didn't put it past Bumblebee to have learned how over the months that he'd been with the human. Or not human, really, because -- well, that was something he needed to discuss with Prime. "I have to do damage control here," he said. "There is no logical reason for that much radiation -- I can't even be sure it's All Spark or just Spark -- well, anyway, take him to the third hanger, and stay with him."
Bumblebee clicked a little with irritation before he quieted and turned his attention to the medical-mechanical mystery in his hands. With one last sharp look, Bumblebee left to do as he instructed, and Ratchet wearily ran his fans. This was going to be a huge mess ... and as little as he liked to weigh in on issues like these, he knew that ... technically, the little Sam creature was now a patient of his.
"So much trouble," he moaned with self-pity before he collected himself and comm-linked Prime and Ironhide.
-+-
"You called us here?" Prime said without preamble as he approached.
Ironhide had gotten there first (he normally did; for whatever reason, he was fairly good at showing up soon whenever Ratchet needed him), and after the initial badgering, had reluctantly agreed to let Ratchet wait to explain until Prime got there. Bumblebee was safely locked up in hanger three, and radioing dangerously vague threats to Ratchet every breem or so. It seemed that the Sam boy had woken up ... well, regained consciousness. He was currently in a state that Ratchet's brief foray on the Internet suggested was psychological shock. Ratchet loathed the Internet ... it was just like the humans -- noisy, mess, and he could never be entirely certain what was and wasn't truth.
Shock was a bit like a Cybertronian triggering AR, from what he could tell. Well, Bumblebee would watch out after him.
"Yes. A bit of a situation has come up," Ratchet said, uncomfortably resting his hands on his hip plates.
"I can shoot it," Ironhide offered immediately. "Or blow it up -- you know, I've been working on some explosives ..."
"What sort of situation?" Prime asked, both of them ignoring Ironhide's good willed (if violent) offer. Prime looked as though he wasn't certain he even wanted to know what was wrong. Ratchet was rather proud that he managed to induce the growth of such a mask on Prime's helmet. Even Wheeljack would have to be impressed, though he probably would rather do it with a ray or building the construct himself -- instead of using the old-time practices Ratchet used.
Truthfully, it was due to Bumblebee's efforts in programing some codes that allowed such subtle shifts in the plates, but it was still Ratchet's work that had grown such an intricate structure that allowed the programming to work.
"It's about Bumblebee's Sam human," Ratchet said flatly.
Remembering the talk they had before, Ironhide uneasily whirled the inner components of his cannons. Prime now looked like he knew he didn't want to know. The Sam ... not-human was a delicate subject among the Autobots. While his courage was admirable and his intuitive intelligence worth respect, it was also ... difficult. He didn't seem to care much who he aimed those traits at, and as helpful as they were when he was working with him, in just a very short mission, it had become clear that he took no prisoners and could prove just as hard headed as some of their more rambunctious allies. He blithely blew off orders and threats to his safety with a sort of capricious willfulness that just about everyone except for Bumblebee found alarming.
Thanks to Mikaela, Ratchet knew that the Sam not-human was just unique that way. Mikaela was much more reasonable and, were she a mech, Ratchet would say that her personality matrix and programing were quite stable. He didn't mind working with her in the least.
"Ratchet, what is wrong with young Samuel Witwicky?" Prime asked reluctantly.
"You will recall that these Sector Seven humans took him prisoner for a few solar cycles," Ratchet said, "due to the radiation he was emitting. It appears that it was a false lull -- he is no longer entirely biological. This -- what he is is more techno-biological that we are, in the human senses of the word."
"... huh?"
That inelegant noise came from Ironhide. While not unintelligent in any sense of the word, Ironhide did have a bit of a weakness in intuitive processing -- meaning, until Ratchet explained exactly what was going on, from that sentence Ironhide would only basically understand that the Sam thing was not human -- whereas someone like Wheeljack would probably be able to divine Ratchet's meaning immediately, and mechs like Prime and Jazz would only make the intuitive leap to what the humans refer to as a 'cyborg'.
"What I mean by that is that the Sam ... organism--" English was so primitive, "-- isn't Homo Sapien. Oh, he mimics a human fairly well, but that's like saying one of us in alt mode is the vehicle we appear to be. Not a single cell structure anywhere in his body is still human, and I can't even guess how he managed to avoid a cascading systems failure --" he paused, trying to rearrange what he was trying to say into biological terms. "That is, he should have suffered massive organ failure, and his organic anti-viral systems -- his immune system should have attacked his body, so he must of disabled it first -- but ..." he gave up trying to make it make sense. "The only explanation I have is the strange Spark-like energy pattern emitting from his central nervous system -- I don't know, I'm a mechanic, not a biologist. He's still organic, in the meaning that his body would eventually break down ... were it going to stay that way, and considering what I've seen, it's certain that he's still changing."
Prime's eyes narrowed. "What kind of changes are we talking about here?" All business, a military commander to the last wire and software program.
"Besides the entirely synthetic material and overly energized fluids? We're talking about metal, Prime," Ratchet said. "Alloy, like we have. He's growing like we do, and producing quiet a bit of radiation that isn't that different from the All Spark -- just like newly Sparked mechs do. His nervous system has converted completely -- and probably has been for a while now. He's slowly but surely becoming more mechanical -- he has pumps, he has a main pump, for Primus' sake! It will probably begin functioning and his heart will stop within a few weeks! And I have every reason to believe that his body will barely even hiccup when it happens."
"That clean?"
"Exactly," Ratchet said, latching onto the question. "That clean. Too clean. If this was just accidental radiation ... some strange effect from destroying the All Spark that we couldn't have predicted -- having never destroyed the All Spark before, obviously -- then he'd be dying or dead. Mutating out of control, say his heart or lungs just turning into inert metal ... no, all of this is happening in a cascade effect. It's too clean, Prime. And he was completely unaware that it was happening, so the only explanation I can offer is that somehow his organic electrical relay system has more than just organic relay on it. It's possible he actually has a ... conversion program running his changes."
"A program? Com'n, Ratch, you don't really believe ..." Ironhide paused at his expression and his hydraulics hissed reflexively. "You do believe ...?"
"Yes," Ratchet said irritably. "It's the only thing that makes any sort of sense at all -- he must have had software before he even had hardware to support it. Right now, he's ... wetware, with hardware and software -- and ... well. We have a situation on our hands."
"This complicates things," Prime said, sighing.
"I could take him out," Ironhide offered helpfully.
"Ironhide," Ratchet said, staring.
"What?" he demanded defensively.
"Ironhide, didn't we talk about this ...?" Prime sighed, shaking his head and tilting his helmet back. Despite the similar shape of their optics to human eyeballs, the facial constructs were not yet fine enough around the optics to accommodate 'rolling eyes' and so tilting the head was as close as they could come right now. Ratchet thought that he had better fix that pretty soon. As satisfying as it was to scowl, he bet rolling the eyes would be even more cathartic.
"Well -- he's not human," Ironhide hedged. "That makes it an option, doesn't it?"
Prime stared. "What is wrong with you? First you want to kill his parents, now you wish to kill the boy?"
"I told you, I was just sayin'!"
"It doesn't matter," Ratchet said dismissively, absently nudging the defensive mech's shoulder. "Bumblebee would assassinate you in your sleep. Jazz taught him some of the tricks of the trade ..."
"Oh -- uh," he looked vaguely off balance. "Well, tactically ... I guess I could leave the boy alive ... dun' wanna have any sliced lines ..."
Prime looked mildly irritated. "Why am I the last one to know these things?"
"Don't want to over burden you," Ratchet said guilelessly, possibly actually managed to look as innocent as he was trying to be. Truthfully, as much as Prime was a fair leader ... that was mostly because he knew when to let his troops do what they knew needed to be done. Granted, a lot of mechs would wish that Jazz hadn't taught Bumblebee anything, but if he hadn't -- Bumblebee would have figured out something. He just had a mind for these things.
That and Prime was always a little unreasonable when he didn't have Prowl around. He was still young compared to the average age of the mechs he commanded -- Megatron would have never attempted a coup d'etat if the Prime hadn't been so young, and that had repercussions on Prime's personality matrix; the Decepticons had not been the only ones taken in by Megatron's charisma. Ratchet remembered how Prime used to hum in a pleasantly pleased way while telling his physician what new and radical and brilliant plan the High Lord Protector came up with. When Megatron betrayed that trust and regard, it became an insult -- for Prime, it became personal, and while he was still a just leader, all of his outward benevolence and sympathy seemed to have dried up; these vorns, he tended to become impatient and harsh when things weren't going right. (And apparently, the Sam thing didn't care for that one bit and boy, this was going to get exciting.)
Unless Prowl was around. If there was anything good that had come of Prowl's tragedy, it was that his clinical and cold responses made Prime modulate his own behavior to provide the nurturing and compassion that many mechs looked for in a leader ... that many mechs remembered Prime once having.
Maybe now that Megatron was deactivated ...
"Ratchet ... do you suspect that the All Spark has done this to him?" Prime said slowly, face unreadable.
A trill of apprehension echoed silently across Ratchet's processors. "Where else could he have gotten the software?" he said.
"Would it be possible to access his software remotely?" he persisted.
Ratchet shook his head. "No -- not right now at least. He doesn't have any transmitters or receivers. I couldn't even say if any are going to develop."
Prime turned that over in his processors for a while and then asked, "if you were to hook him up to a transmitter, do you think you could access his software?"
This really wasn't sounding good. Prime often forgot that Ratchet wasn't even really a part of this war. He'd lent his help in protecting the All Spark, but that was as far as his interference went. Now that it was gone, he was a medic, nothing more and nothing less. "It's possible I could," he said grudgingly. "But that's assuming that any of it would even be understandable to me. His organic brain and the wetware may have already corrupted the code even if it had been in Cybertronian at one point."
"I want you to do so as soon as possible," Prime said, not responding to anything other than the confirmation that it was possible. "I want to know what it is that's causing this ... what he's turning into and where it came from. I am in debt to Samuel Witwicky, as he spared me at the risk to his own life ... but my debt does not extend to those under my protection. If he is dangerous, I need to know as soon as possible."
Ratchet balked. While he hardly had any data at all except for the physical changes he had scanned with his own sensors, he didn't like at all how Prime was asking him to do something he should flatly refuse to do. The fact was that Prime had phrased it in such a way that Ratchet's own programming would take to code ...
Prime was not a military commander and a leader of their people for nothing, and Ratchet could not say that he thought Sam was going to survive the changes with his mind completely unscathed.
"Fine," he snapped, word-inflection reflecting what his snarling ER transmitter already said plainly. "I'll discover some way to hook the boy up to a transmitter -- and Primus have mercy on your sorry painted hide 'cause Bumblebee certainly won't!"
His piece said, he left immediately, changing mid-stride into his alt form. Primus smiled on them when they landed on this planet -- not only did the humans have fair alt forms to take, they also put them close to the ground and gave them a speed and maneuverability that their bipedal forms simply lacked in the thin atmosphere and the heavy gravity.
Being a medic, Ratchet basically was entirely neutral and therefore mostly out of Prime's reach to command. Therefore, Prime compensated by often appealing to or directly attacking Ratchet's code, which required that any mech he took in under his welder was a mech he looked after as kindly as a leader would. It was in Ratchet's every code to look after the mechs he repaired -- physically, and programing wise. It was simply how Ratchet functioned. He was of a model fitted with software that had been started long before the war, and he was ... it was his purpose. He couldn't deny his programming, especially not when his Spark agreed. He was a healer, plain and simple. Thank Primus he was built for it -- he had an assistant for a while, named First Aid -- or, that hadn't been his original designation, but the poor mech had been reformatted in an effort to keep him alive after his team was wiped out. However, he hadn't been programmed for the rigors of being a healer and ended up blowing a fuse before he suicided against the Decepticons.
"(Hey! Hey, Ratch, slow down ...)"
Belatedly, he realized that Ironhide was following him, also in his alt mode. Being somewhat less massive, unless Ironhide really tried to catch up, Ratchet would remain just out of companionable distance. The request to slow down was unnecessary, since once he was brought back around, Ratchet let up on his furious pace and dropped back down to a comfortable speed, grumbling to himself.
"(And just where are you off to in such a hurry?)" Ironhide sent archly.
"(The boy's progenitors -- his parents,)" he idly corrected his own message. The bad thing about speaking in real-time was that all errors had to be corrected after they were already made. It was a habit everyone got into during the war, so that in case something unfortunate happened, at least some of the message got through -- no more silent-recording responses and then playing them as they used to on Cybertron. "(There isn't any assurance when he'll come around, and we can't have them panicking or calling their authorities.)"
Ironhide returned a wordless affirmation, and didn't drop back. After a moment, another message came through Ratchet's receiver: "(So ... the boy's forecasted lifespand?)"
He was careful not to broadcast the amusement that vibrated through his frame. If he had know that being abandoned with two newly activated mechs for three vorns would make poor Ironhide turn into ... this, he would have conspired to do so a long time ago. Having been there for Bumblebee's activation, though, he thought he understood how it would affect a mech with a complex attachment program. Newly activated mechs ... they weren't children, but they tended to invoke a strangely similar response in the older mechs. It was ... programing, though, to aid those who lacked. Cybertronians performed their function, and part of that was making everything worked as cleanly as possible. While the imprinting mechs were adding 'character' to their operating system by writing software (influenced by both their spark, their environment, and the mechs around them), it just seemed like the thing to do to reinforce strength and unity. It made things run cleanly.
Amusingly, Ironhide went from not being able to tolerate a mech any younger than half his age to guarding them from behind the scenes. Then again, Ratchet had met the twins; they got themselves in so much trouble that pretty much anymech accustomed to helping things run cleanly was simply blown away ... it was surprising that Ratchet wasn't replacing more fan belts.
"(I can't say for certain,)" he replied, "(I've never seen anything like it ... we won't know much about him until I do as Optimus asked. It's possible that he'll have weakness that we wouldn't even think of, or that he'll stop being able to acquire fuel and will starve -- or he'll burn out quicker even with fuel, instead of living as long as a human.)"
"( ... frag.)"
Ironhide was a good mech, he reflected absently, busy formulating what he was going to say to the Sam creature's parents. Despite how stubborn he was and how violent (and sometimes cruel) he could be with the enemy, the fact remained that he looked after his own. He definitely helped fulfill the purpose that Ratchet had programmed into his codes, and that was a bit of a relief.
-+-
Later that night, Ratchet went to check on his ... new ... patient. The hanger was dark, which didn't hinder him at all, and in the corner furthermost from the door, he spotted the two of them. Bumblebee's optics glowed challengingly across the dark room at him, the sleeping boy sprawled half over his chest armor (it retained enough of it's alt shape that it was probably a familiar bumper shape to him) holding him there with his hands; he was humming faintly in reassurance, but he immediately comm-linked to Ratchet and essentially whined plaintively.
Ratchet vented air, approaching them and using his superior scanners to check on the Sam creature. "(I can't tell if his brain patterns are normal ... but he definitely has activity. The radiation has increased ... in the last twelve hours, the mineral deposits have decreased --)" he cut himself off and settled into a more comfortable position. It was times like these that he wished he had Wheeljack around. Then again, that was probably the last thing they needed -- Wheeljack would either blow a fuse from joy of such an oddity, or he'd blow the entire base up due to some idea he got from studying the Sam creature. With that one, there really was no telling. "(My guess is that the process has increased.)"
"(Why would it do that?)" Bumblebee demanded with apprehension.
Yes, it was definitely a good thing Wheeljack wasn't around. He'd either definitely blow a fuse, or Bumblebee would murder him in his berth for some unthinking thing he would do or say. "(It's possible that the conversion software had a trigger clause. It's been discovered; a possible explanation is that since it's no longer unknown, stealth is hardly important -- speed is. It wants to finish the conversion as quickly as possible.)"
Another distressed noise from Bumblebee.
Ratchet hated to pile issues and pressure on the two, but Prime hadn't exactly given him a choice. "(Bumblebee, as soon as possible ... I must hook him up to a transmitter. I have discussed it with one of the human doctors, and between the two of us, we have come up with an operation. Sam will have to be cut into --)"
The plaintive noises coming in silently over his radio immediately turned into a threatening humming, identical to charging weapons, and Bumblebee pulled away, hands cupped protectively over the frail biological on his chassis. Both froze when the Sam creature stirred and they remained silent until they were certain that their confrontation wouldn't be interrupted.
"(I'm on your side,)" Ratchet sent with agitation. "(This has made Sam one of my patients, and you know that my codes will not allow me to do anything untoward to him.)"
Bumblebee fell silent but for the quiet humming he was doing for the sleeping boy's sake.
"(Either way,)" he sent coaxingly, "(While I am working with Sam, that leaves you free to do what you wish.)"
Bumblebee looked at him sharply, and then power surged to his optics in surprise. He apparently understood exactly what Ratchet meant by that. He looked back down at the organic clutched protectively in his hands and then appeared to be considering it. "(If Sam agrees,)" he sent seriously. "(Because I have a long, long memory.)"
Which was entirely true. Bumblebee forgave extremely easily, but he definitely never forgot. Humans had a phrase about it -- something about eating revenge or offered cold or something. Ratchet wasn't sure there wasn't a food that went with it ... humans seemed to find reasons to eat all the time.
"(Take your time,)" he suggested. "(There isn't any rush ... I'll have to do it sooner or later, but I'm not going to let Prime pressure me into harming a patient.)" His ER transmitter rumbled in remembered anger before he cut it off to avoid waking the Sam creature. Impulsively, he scanned the small creature once more and didn't make the resigned noise he wanted to.
No more 'Sam creature'. They either had the first Cybertronian to have ever started life out as a genuine organic, or they had an entirely new specie on their hands.
-+-
Ratchet on Autobot!Sam: "I don't know, I'm a mechanic, not a biologist."
- and apparently mechanics lie like a dog when talking about issues and components -- but if you've ever taken your car in to get fixed, you already knew that.
- For those who didn't catch it: While they suspect that the All Spark made Sam, no, they don't suspect that the All Spark is Sam.
- HOMG, FALSE FORESHADOWING! Or not so false. hanyway, Ratchet thinks something he will come to regret thinking.
- RE Prowl's Tragedy: It's a secret 8B (Lol k, not rly, but I'm not saying until I have a story reason to.)