trans_9 | Meet-n-Greet

Despite everything that was happening around the ship, the moment Ratchet had heard that a new batch of pod sleepers had been woken up he was heading directly to the obs deck. Being taller than most afforded him a good view over the heads of everyone else but he didn't need his optics to pick up the presence of Cybertronian life. He turned in the direction his sensors pointed him and spotted a face that he was pretty sure he knew even better than his own.

"Wheeljack!" He moved as quickly as he could through the crowd, trying not to knock anyone over in his rush to get to his friend. It would've been impossible to hide the relief and joy in his expression so he didn't even try, thankful to luck or fate or Primus or whatever had conspired to spit a familiar face back out into the world at large.

Wheeljack spun at the sound of a familiar voice. He'd have been relieved and glad for any familiar voice, but that one . . . exponentially more so.

"Ratch!?" He peeled himself off the wall and slipped carefully through the throng of people to meet his best friend, pulling the other into a hug on reflex. Then he stepped back, meeting the other's optics. "Ratch, where...where are we? What's goin' on?" He'd heard a number of things, but too unbelievable. He needed to hear them from someone he knew, someone he trusted.

While he was not usually one to engage in displays of affection, he'd spent too long quietly worrying about his friends in the pods, especially after the bomb scare and, well, he made exceptions for Wheeljack anyway. He returned the hug, lifting the other clean off his feet before setting him down and promptly going back making sure everything on the engineer was where it was supposed to be.

"You're okay? How're you doing with the slime? Took me days to- what?" He stopped when he realized that he was trying to talk at the same time as Wheeljack, pausing his inspection with his hands on the other mech's arms. His expression sobered when he caught back up with what he was being asked. "This is Stacy. She's a ship; She saved you... and everyone else here. At least, that's what we're told."

Wheeljack yelped in surprise in spite of himself. The medic was not normally one for physicality, though he usually tolerated well enough the engineer's need for touch-contact as a means of connection, so to be picked clean up like that . . . well, it wasn't unwelcome or anything, but it was certainly startling.

And telling. Very telling.

"I'm okay! Ratch, I'm...I'm okay! Promise." The inspection was more than a cursory medic's once-over - Ratchet was worried. That didn't bode well. The only thing missing on him was a munitions shell for his shoulder cannon, so he'd retracted the thing - everything else was intact. "Those tentacle things did a decent job, but I've still got slag in places I really don't wanna think about." There was something else he really didn't want to think about either, but he had to. He looked around the room at the gathered multitude, his voice small. "S-saved...?"

"Yeah, you'll have to- well, it'll work itself out in time." Satisfied from his own inspection and Wheeljack's insistence, Ratchet stepped back and folded his arms over his chest; reigning himself back in. The attempt at humor seemed to fall uncharacteristically flat as he tried to figure out how to explain what had happened to them. To everyone.

"The story goes that some race called the 'Ohm' are moving from world to world, destroying everything they find. We're talking complete obliteration. This ship- Stacy- is some sort of.. trans-dimentional lifepod. She found us before the Ohm did."

Had Wheeljack been human, all the color would have drained from his face. As it was, his optics dimmed in shock, and he swayed just a little on his feet. Suddenly, all those countless pods made . . . at least a little more sense.

"C-complete . . . obliteration . . . ??" He was having a hard time wrapping his processor around that. Entire worlds, all those lives . . . "S-so . . . Earth's gone? W-what about . . . what about Cybertron!" Surely Cybertron was still intact! Even energy-depleted as their home was. It was far enough away from Earth, completely out of the planet's galaxy in another sector altogether - surely Cybertron had escaped! Right!?

"S-so what . . . w-what now? Are the others down in that cavern somewhere? M-maybe we should go look. Wait . . . what about you? I didn't see ya down in the cavern with the others. You been around longer? Are you okay?" Now it was his turn to look his friend over, though the sudden concern was probably irrational and merely born of a need for something - anything - else to concentrate on.

Edited 2010-10-02 22:39 (UTC)

He nodded to Wheeljack's assumption about Earth. At least that answered the question of where the engineer had been before waking up in his pod. As for Cybertron... "I don't know." It was the truth and while his own personal opinion was that it seemed to be statistically unlikely that their homeworld had been spared, he made the choice to keep his pessimism to himself.

"I'm fine... been awake for a few months now, but I was the only Autobot around here until you showed up," he said, choosing his words carefully and patiently letting Wheeljack give him a once-over. For the most part he was in one piece, most of the damage from his tangle with the auto-turrets in the pod cavern having been patched up. It wasn't perfect, considering that he'd had to do it all himself, but he was used to dealing with scrapes and dings. "It's possible there are others still in pods, but there's no way to check. Scanners are useless in there and it'd be a waste of time trying to do it manually. Can't do much more than wait and hope, unfortunately."

He smiled at his friend, reminded again of just how relieved he was to see a familiar face. One less mech that he had to waste his time fretting over. "Satisfied? C'mon, it's me- think I don't have enough sense to keep myself in one piece on my own?"

Edited 2010-10-02 23:25 (UTC)

Wheeljack crossed his arms and gave the taller mech a 'look'. Every medic worth his skills had at least one common trait, a fault as it were - they tended to neglect themselves in their focus on seeing to everyone else around them. In the tens of thousands of vorns that the two had known each other, Wheeljack knew his best friend was no exception - was a model example, even. The grin and the tease, however, were audible enough in his tone. "Without me ta make sure ya do take care'a yourself? I don't think ya want me ta answer that, Ratch." Still, he found himself brushing fingers over one of the more awkward patches on his friend's plating. He'd not missed the other's wording either.

"Who hurtcha, Ratchet? There're Decepticons here too?" Not that he'd want to see anyone destroyed, necessarily, even members for their enemy faction . . . but if they'd attacked his best friend-

He put that from his mind, passing a hand over his face and trying to just . . . deal . . .

"S-so . . . " He looked around the room again. "What happens now?"

Ratchet made an indignant little noise at the reply, but it seemed the good natured teasing only went so far as a distraction before reality sank back in. "It's a long story. Pretty sure I saw another Cybertronian here when I woke up but he didn't stick around very long and I haven't seen him since. There's different problems around here than our old war, anyway."

He nudged Wheeljack's hands away with an arm, a wordless dismissal of the worries. "You probably heard the speech when you woke up about being chosen and everything? Turns out we were rounded up to fight the Ohm. The deal seems to be that if we can get rid of them, all the worlds they destroyed can be put back together."

Edited 2010-10-03 03:22 (UTC)

He was going to worry, of course - that's what friends did, especially two war-weary veterans - but he also knew when to drop it. For now. He'd try to corner the medic later to get him to let Wheeljack finish the repairs.

He nodded a bit numbly. "Yeah. Still tryin' ta wrap my processor around all that, but . . . y-yeah." He tilted his head. "So these . . . Ohm. You met one yet? Or seen one? I mean . . . how's that all work?"

He shook his head and spread his hands in a gesture of futility. "No idea. The only things I've seen so far have been Stacy's insides." The conversation he'd had with Zetta not too long ago crawled its way up through his memory banks then and he paused in consideration before continuing.

"Look, to be honest, all this business with the Ohm and the worlds- all we have to go on is Stacy's word until we see it for ourselves. Maybe it's true... maybe it's not. I think it's worth believing because no one else seems have a better explanation, but so far the only trouble I've seen has been from within.

"Great." The frown was heavy in his tone. "What kinda trouble? An' . . . what about this...Stacy? Who is she? Is she trustworthy? I mean, I get that she's . . . all this, a sentient ship - a sentient, half-organic ship, but . . . " He waved an arm to take in the whole room, and by extension, the whole entity.

"The best I can gather about Stacy is that no one has any idea if she's on the level or not. She's supposed to belong to a race calling themselves Daligig, but if they manned her before, they were gone by the time I woke up. Supposedly they're the ones who started her on this 'save the worlds' mission."

And every single bit of information just seemed to fall right back into that 'might as well believe it because no one else has anything better' trap. He really wished that he had better news to give out, but even the people he'd talk to after his own awakening had been cautious in what they labeled as 'truth'. "Frankly, if you ask me, it doesn't make a fraggin' bit of difference whether anyone's telling the truth or just blowing smoke up our tailpipes until someone comes up with evidence one way or another." Ratchet was trusting Stacy's story for right now; people like Zetta had chosen to take it with a grain of salt. Wheeljack would have to make up his own mind on the matter.

"Right now, though? I hate to say it, but you guys woke up in the middle of trouble. There's some kind of pathogen going around; half the ship's locked down in quarantine."

Trust Ratchet to focus on the mundane and leave speculation to others. While some might think that a negative, Wheeljack knew full-well that his friend's practicality had helped keep him grounded more times than he could count. He just nodded with a soft, noncommittal grunt, determining not to form any opinions one way or another till he knew more.

"Pathogen?" He delved into the language downloads that Teletraan I had input into all of them, as that was a word he'd not really much come across before. 'pathogen: any disease-producing agent, esp. a virus, bacterium, or other microorganism.' "Somthin' organic? I'm guessin' you an' me're immune to it, then? What're the symptoms? Is there a cure for it yet?" Were this something mechanical, his mind would be working on eight different possible solutions for the problem . . . but he knew next to nothing about carbon-based breakdowns and how to handle them.

For as close as they were, there would always be this divergence: Ratchet had ages of medical knowledge at hand and Wheeljack had to look up the word 'pathogen'. On the other hand, Wheeljack could probably build a fusion reactor out of the things he found under the couch.

He shook his head. "Right now all we can do is try to keep it contained, but we're working on the details. It manifests in standard human flu symptoms- increased core temperature, sweating, skin pallor with potential for nausea and dehydration- but for some reason, it's pushing the host's aggressive tendencies way over the edge." Translated from medic speak, the general gist was that people were getting sick and going mad. "We've got some unusual cases so far, so I can't say whatever this is couldn't jump the line to something techno-organic, so I'm warning you now. But if you see anyone around the ship acting unduly violent, comm me immediately. They gave you the stuff for that when you got here, right?"

Considering that Bluestreak had once claimed the inventor could build a neutron bomb from a wristwatch and a rusty can? Actually, Wheeljack was still toying the concept...

"The wha- Oh, this?" He pulled out the device he'd been handed. It seemed elementary enough, though he could probably do just as well with his onboard comm. Then again, those tentacles had tried to give him clothing "just like everyone else" too. That, he'd politely declined.

He cycled a deep pull of air, grimacing inwardly at the thin layer of slime still coating his intake filters. That wasn't the important consideration, though. He looked up at his long-time friend, as serious as he'd ever been.

"Tell me what I can do ta help, Ratchet."

"Yeah. I'd get the comm ring integrated into your systems when you get a chance- those things are guaranteed to work if everything else fails. I can transfer over what I have on my omnicom to yours later." It was like falling back into an old routine; he didn't have to worry about what he could or couldn't tell Wheeljack because he trusted the mech with just about everything. And considering they were here, being told that they were drafted into some multi-dimensional war, 'everything' was probably something his friend could stand to know.

The reply to his following query was immediate: "Right now? Don't get sick. I can take you down to medical to see for yourself, but I've pretty much just told you everything we've got on this thing so far." He paused, expression softening slightly. "Trust me, that you're awake is a load off my shoulders all on its own. Once we get this situation under control and lift the quarantine, you can take a trip down to engineering; you won't be lacking for anything to do after that I'm sure."

There's an Engineerin' section here? Wheeljack perked visibly, having wondered if the ship, being largely (apparently) biological, would even have such a thing - or anyway, in a form he'd be familiar with.

But again . . . not the most immediate consideration. He pushed his sudden, customary eagerness back for now and took in his friend anew.

Ratchet had been here, alone - as it were - for some months now. No doubt the medic had made friends, but no one of his own race, which was isolating in itself. And certainly no one of those he'd known for so many tens of thousands of vorns. Wheeljack gave his long-time friend another hug before he really thought about what he was doing, and made himself pull back before he really wanted to. "Heh . . . no promises about not gettin' sick, but I'll do my best." His gaze wandered over the patching once more. "Maybe we head down ta medical, an' while we're there, you let me get a look at you? Check for breaches an' make sure all your seals're tight. Especially if this thing's airborn. I'm figurin' you're one'a the guys primarily handlin' this thing, right? We don't need this pathogen bypassin' your filters cuz it found an easy backdoor in some other way." He nodded at one of the more awkward patches, where Ratchet would have had a hard time reaching.

Wheeljack wouldn't hinder his friend from doing what he did best . . . but he would make sure the medic was as protected as reasonably possible.

He knew that would get the other's attention; just a little something to make the whole ordeal feel a little less daunting because he knew how much it helped to have something you knew. The hug was surprising, but he allowed it, not saying anything one way or another. A part of him had missed this anyway, although that same part was starting to wonder if maybe they didn't need to have a talk about the nature of timelines. The Wheeljack he remembered hadn't had a reason to hug him in far too long.

"Hey, you saying I can't tighten my own bolts the right way? I'm insulted!" He gave his friend a good natured nudge on the shoulder. "Don't worry, if I end up sick, it's not gonna be 'cause of shoddy repair work. I wouldn't mind the help getting some of these dings out of my plating, though."

He paused then, expression shifting to an odd mix of somber and serious. "There's something I want to ask." He motioned for Wheeljack to follow him and moved out of the thick of the crowd towards one of the 'portholes' where the Bleed rushed by outside. "What do you remember before waking up here?"

They'd had their spats, of course, who didn't?, but Wheeljack - the one whom Stacy had found and managed to rescue, then resuscitate - had never known a time since that fateful day in Gygax, when their university was leveled around their helms, that he'd not felt especially close to Ratchet. In his mind, the two old friends were inseparable. (Little might he know that there were realities out there where that seemingly infallible truth would prove breakable after all.)

Wheeljack just laughed and nudged back. "Yeah, I think I can manage that." The change in his friend's demeanor, however, gave him pause, and something in the other's tone made his tanks lurch a bit. He easily followed the taller mech through the crowd and to a porthole or viewscreen of some kind where . . . something . . . flowed by across the surface. He wanted to ask what that was but . . . he turned away to meet his friend's optics instead.

Huh? Wouldn't we remember the same thing? If their world had been completely decimated by a worlds-shattering race of beings...

"Um..." What did he remember last? Recharging . . . working in his lab . . . listening to Cliffjumper gripe about...something . . . breaking up a fight between Smokescreen and Sunstreaker over a human card game . . .

"Last major thing I guess'd be a couple days ago - feels like a couple days ago - when Prime an' the others impersonated the Stunticons ta find out what Megatron was after with all those seemingly-random heists." His chin had tucked a bit as he thought, but he looked up again then at Ratchet. "...you?"

Ratchet had done his homework on his off hours and as happy as he was to see Wheeljack, he still wanted to make sure everything was laid out like it should be. This situation was too... different to leave assumptions between them. He needed to be sure.

So he listened to what Wheeljack had to say... and none of it matched up to anything he remembered, either recently or in the past. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall next to the window, considering this turn of events. Ratchet had personally been serving in the Autobot army for as long as the Stunticons had been serving under Megatron and he would have remembered if Prime had come up with some glitchy scheme like that.

So what did that mean? That he didn't really know the mech who was standing in front of him? If their worlds were restored, would he find himself going to one place and Wheeljack to another? Was there another pod down there holding an Autobot identical to this one but with different memories? Was there another Ratchet down there? He was sure that he'd considered these sorts of things before when he'd pondered the nature of the Pod Caverns, but to see the physical embodiment of the idea standing here... it was a little unsettling.

"Last thing I saw was Hot Rod taking off in Ultra Magnus' ship, leaving the rest of us stranded on Earth. I don't remember anything even close to what you described." He watched Wheeljack closely, attentive to his friend's reaction. There was a part of him suddenly feeling hurt and maybe a little betrayed by this sudden revelation, but he kept it shoved down inside. Wheeljack was Wheeljack, right? They remembered that they were friends, so what did the details matter.

Edited 2010-10-05 05:25 (UTC)

Wheeljack watched Ratchet take in his comment as if it were something he had to ponder, like it was new or somehow unsettling information. Then the medic spoke, and a slag weight hit Wheeljack's manifold, heavy and uncomfortable.

Who's Hot Rod? An' when an' how did Ultra Magnus get a ship that could get ta Earth? An' why doesn't he remember that!? He was one'a the ones helpin' apply the camouflage paint ta Prime an' the others while I studied the components they'd stolen...

"What . . . what Earth year was it for you?"

Maybe . . . maybe something had just happened to him and he'd been knocked back into stasis lock for a time, and life carried on for Ratchet and the others so that things happened that he didn't know about. But . . . no . . . no, that wasn't quite right, either. For one, it didn't explain why Ratchet didn't remember the mess with the Stunticons. And two, if something had happened to him, why hadn't Ratchet repaired him? Obviously because for some reason he couldn't - he didn't believe for an astro-second that Ratchet wouldn't have if he had any means at all to do so - but then . . . why would Ratchet have asked what the last thing was he remembered? Ratchet would have known.

...wouldn't he?

Edited 2010-10-05 19:23 (UTC)

"2009," Ratchet answered, his tone sounding flat to his audios. It probably didn't matter what year it was if they were from different worlds entirely. It could be the same year and it wouldn't make a difference.

Wheeljack's optics flashed softly in surprise.

"O-oh..."

He backed up till he bumped the bulkhead behind him, suddenly needing something to lean on, his optics dropping from Ratchet's. Suddenly things didn't feel so real anymore again. He looked out around the room once more, suddenly feeling disconnected and more than a little lost.

"Um, Ratchet? What's...w-what's going on?"

Tell me this is just a really bad recharge...

He didn't know whether that 'oh' meant Wheeljack came from before or after, but he sounded unsettled enough by it that Ratchet felt a little guilty for bringing it up at all. Still, he knew just as much as anyone else, perhaps even more so, that some things needed to be done, no matter how unpleasant.

"It's like I said... this ship moves between... realities; dimensions; universes, whatever you want to call it." He pushed away from the wall and waved a hand towards the view from the porthole. "All that? That's called the Bleed. It's all the stuff between worlds, I guess. Best I can understand, one of us was picked up on one Earth and the other on a completely different one."

He turned his head to let his optics drift over the strange collection of life currently milling around the deck. Multitudes of humans, non-humans and everyone who looked like your run of the mill Terran but wasn't. "I don't claim to know how it works, but out of all these people, it's a fair bet that you can ask any of them that claim they come from 'Earth' and none of them would have known about the person standing next to them."

It was... weird, to put it lightly. Ratchet was used to other planets, but they were all in one universe. You didn't just hop from one Earth to another. Unless you were Stacy, apparently. He looked back to Wheeljack, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth that was half exasperation and half ironic amusement. "But you and I remember being friends, right? I guess some things are universal constants, no matter which dimension you come from."

Meet-n-Greet

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LOL I was /this/ close to using that icon myself! XD does this time, just for the hell of it

blargh icon twins! X)

XDDD

/completely rewrites her post because she's special like that 8B

Yes, but question is - what KIND of "special"? XD

the ~special~ kind of course!

XDDD

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Icon's over-reacting....I don't really have a better one. 9,9 ...also? edits forever OTL

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LOL I was /this/ close to using that icon myself! XD *does this time, just for the hell of it*

blargh icon twins! X)

XDDD

/completely rewrites her post because she's special like that 8B

Yes, but question is - what KIND of "special"? XD

the ~*special*~ kind of course!

XDDD

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LOL I was /this/ close to using that icon myself! XD does this time, just for the hell of it

the ~special~ kind of course!