Chapter Text
Obnoxious laughter, offensive odors, and cheap fuel. At least Maccadam’s Old Oil House never changes.
Tucked into the shadows of the many dozen roads that make up the Iacon Speedway, this greasy old place is said to be the oldest fueling station on Cybertron. Its purveyor, Maccadam himself, is rumored to be senior to all but Alpha Trion.
It’s dim, creaky, and the walls shake from the roads above, but they don’t ask questions and they’ll serve anyone who walks in. Well, so long as they don’t cause trouble.
One of the many reasons I love this place so much, despite the long drive to get here. Due to the rules and it’s location, you can see anyone here. A sketchy senator, a pompous racer, a jumpy messenger, a shy teacher, or even a lowly laborer. They’re all here, packed rotator to rotator, sipping their drinks and avoiding optical contact.
None of them are talking. There’s the dim clink of the cups on the counter, the dull drips of every pour, and the mild scraping as patrons shuffle on their stools, but no words. Not even to order. Ordering is based on a code, a number of taps to signify your choice. Once for normal energon, twice for mildly intoxicating, thrice for moderately intoxicating, the list goes on.
No one flicks a single optical sensor my way when I enter, letting me fade into anonymity. Just another patron. No responsibilities but to pay the tab at the end of my stay. The only one relying on me in here is Maccadam – to not disturb the peace or report him to authorities for selling the black market intoxicants that drew me here in the first place. Well, that draw everyone here. So, I slip through those well-oiled doors, into the dimly lit room and up to the counter.
The bartender meanders my way, and I wait until he’s almost in front of me before gently tapping my digit three times on his servo. He nods, stepping away to complete the request.
My instincts remind me that I don’t know the many other Cybertronians around me and that I should, for my safety, do a visual scan of the room. I resist. It would only lead to trouble and I came here to forget my troubles, not to add to them.
…
I down my order faster than I truly should, knowing it’s effects, but this solar cycle just went from bad to worse and I need all the help I can get if I am to power down later.
Reckless trainees, impatient visitors, and egotistical warriors caused maybe half of the incidents today. Tensions have been unusually high at work lately, though I can’t figure why.
Our equipment works, we have more than enough supplies, and we have plenty of servos to go around.
Maybe it’s our superiors. They have been stopping in more. But that could be due to all of the new trainees.
Maybe it has to do with finances. Rumor has it the council will be voting on funds distribution soon for the next few stellar cycles.
Or perhaps it has to do with the recent mass influx of protoform pods. Everyone on Cybertron wants to know what sort of new molds Primus will introduce with this batch. He’s been getting more creative lately, making it difficult to assign castes to them. No one knows what it means or what comes next.
That has a lot of bots nervous.
It has me intrigued.
Primus, supposedly, has a plan for each and every one of us at the time of our creation. I love that sentiment. Then again, not everyone is so..pleased with their lot in life as I am. I am good at what I do, I enjoy the work, and I am built for it. Sure sounds like I’m doing what I was designed to. What more could anyone ask for?
And yet, here I am. Sipping illegal intoxicants two cities over from where I live when I should be finishing reports or powering down in my berth.
Guess I’m not so satisfied after all.
* * *
Temporary energon shortage.
It is all anyone can talk about as I make my way to work as the early sun shines on Rodion. Harried messengers twist and turn as they speed down the roads, narrowly missing each other and everyone else. Each near-collision makes my spark’s pulse rate skyrocket. But their message is clear. There’s been several cave-ins in the energon mines across Cybertron, so shortages are to be expected in the coming solar cycles.
My colleagues are even more anxious than I expected, practically tripping themselves in their rush from one area to another.
But there’s no need to rush. No emergency patients, no equipment failures, and we have a surplus of energon from the recent lulls in medical emergencies.
I even checked our supply records. I’m not supposed to be checking them, but I have no regrets.
Still, there is work to be done and I bury myself in it for cycles. Calibrating equipment, checking on the overnight patients, and finishing the reports I should have last night. At least until my direct superior, Patchcore, gives me a new task.
A call came in from the Warrior Class training grounds. One of the new warriors is favoring one stabilizer over the other. Their superior wants them looked at.
Perfect, I have a lot of experience with stabilizer damage. I’m securing my kit into the compartment on my back when I hear those dreaded words: “take Kaput with you.”
A trainee. I have to take a trainee with me. While I haven’t met Kaput yet, if he’s anything like the last one I was assigned…this is going to be a long solar cycle.
…
The young mech meets me in the supply room, where I’m closing up the med kit I’ve been assembling.
“Oh, hey! I’m Kaput, and I’m-”
“Late,” I turn, handing him the kit. “Patchcore will have both our helms if we keep the warriors waiting.”
Kaput’s cheer dies immediately, his optics wide with fear. He takes the kit and we rush out of the facility, transforming as soon as we’re clear of the doors.
Only when we’re on the road do I take a moment to relax a little. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Oh, heh, not a problem.” His voice shudders a little, a sign of his unease. He takes a moment to compose himself, leaving the shudder behind as he adds, “I apologize for my delay. I have no good excuse for it.”
Humility. We’re already off to a better start than the last trainee I had. “Everyone does it at least once. I won’t tell anyone, so long as it does not become engrained in your programming.” Work aside though, now that I have a moment, I can’t help but fixate on two things that set Kaput apart from his fellow trainees.
Firstly, his primary color is a dull yellow-green, rather than white. In fact, he doesn’t have any white on him at all. He’s a solid color. Uncommon, but not unheard of.
Secondly, Kaput’s smaller than me, which makes him small for a medic. We haven’t had much variation in medic size or shape in some time. I’m statistically average in build. Not that there’s anything wrong with his size, of course. Being smaller means smaller digits and thus an easier time treating smaller patients.
Unfortunately, we probably won’t be taking advantage of that as the patient we’re on our way to see is likely going to tower over me. All warriors do. After all, Warrior Class mechs and femmes are all so far above average in build that they skew the planetary data. Them and laborers both, actually. They act as guards and law enforcement for the politicians, which is why they are the only ones who get to carry weapons on Cybertron. They work on a rotation basis with those not actively guarding or enforcing, they’re training. And it is to one of those training grounds that we have been summoned.
* * *
Patient designation: Snapback. Injury: internal fracture of the left midline stabilizer bearing. Cause: would be easier to determine if patient pulled her helm out of her exhaust.
The request for aid didn’t mention any breakage. Just a limp. A limp . Snapback confirms that the fracture did not occur between the call and now so she has been leaking internally this entire time. Also, she has been limping since this morning when they called for us…so why in Primus’s name did we find her actively sparring when we got here? For the sake of my processor I am not going to press that issue.
“How did you sustain this injury,” Kaput asks while clamping off the energon valves above and below the bearing. This will cut off energon flow, allowing us to limit pain and repair the area without igniting the fuel lines.
Snapback shrugs, far too nonchalantly for someone with a hole inside their stabilizer. Though her good stabilizer is rapidly twitching in place as she talks, betraying a nervous energy. “My partner grabbed it during sparring mid-jump. I fell on it.”
That’s a lie. The events she describes would lead to a dislocation of the proximal end of the stabilizer – next to the pelvis. But, no patient ever lies because it makes more sense than the truth. No. They lie because of embarrassment, shame, or fear. Respect with some reassurance should appease her ego enough to get her to tell the truth. “Warrior, we are not here to judge the situations which lead to injuries, only to repair them. We only ask so we know where else to check for damage, as well as to learn from it.”
Snapback is quick with her response, her tone curt and her optics averted, “and?”
I have to bite down the urge to roll my optics at her attitude. It is unproductive and she is smart enough to know what I implied. Warriors get a thorough education in law, geography, strategy, statistics, and history.
But, snapping at her would only get Kaput and me in trouble. “Warrior, we are trying to do our jobs. I know the events you described could not have caused your injury. However, I promise you, your superiors and peers will not know the contents of this conversation.” Unless your superiors order mine to share it with them. “Please just tell us the truth as we cannot fully treat it without knowing.”
Snapback is quiet for several nano-cycles, though her good stabilizer is still twitching.
I let her think, busying myself with examining the injury now that the bearing is open, energon flow has been cut off, and Kaput has cleaned the area. The fuel line seems to have burst, indicating that excessive force was applied above the bearing at least once. This could have been done with a weapon, but weapons normally leave an indentation or other visible damage.
“I fell on it.”
Probably not exactly what happened. I don’t look up when I ask, “multiple times? Onto a sharp object? Or from an excessive height? We need details.”
Snapback sighs heavily, attempting to pull her stabilizer from my digits.
Unfortunately for her, I’m well-accustomed to the habits of warriors and see the action coming. So I simply tighten my hold on her. “Please remain still. Movement risks exasperating your injury.”
She groans. The sound long and dramatic. “Fine. My partner landed on my stabilizer a few solar cycles ago. It started aching a few cycles later.”
Finally, an honest answer. I still can’t comment on her attitude, no matter how much I may want to. Her answer is hardly what I was looking for but I can work with it. “Have you noticed any other change since then?”
She rolls her helm. “I guess I’ve been slower.”
A common clinical sign of energon loss. “Thank you. Now, I’m disabling your pain receptors, but please tell us if you still feel any pain.”
Kaput works as my assistant here, handing me my tools when prompted as I walk him through the process of disabling her pain receptors and repairing the fuel line with fresh material.
As I weld the new line to the old one, I turn my attention to our patient. “I’ve replaced the crushed section, but the weld will take two solar cycles to completely bind. In the interim do not engage in any strenuous activity.” I make a point of making and holding optical contact with her as I clarify, “so, no training, chasing criminals, or transforming until this time in two solar cycles.”
“But-”
“I am not done.” By some blessing from Primus, I manage to keep my tone steady and my words firm when I interrupt her.
Primus is generous though and gives me another blessing as she shuts her mandible without mentioning the interruption.
Doing my best to show no haste or irritation, I add, “after that time is up, a medic will come and test the line.”
She nods. “Great. Can I go now?”
I release her stabilizer. “Your pain receptors have been turned on and energon flow is restored. If you have any trouble moving the bearing, any pain, or infirmity you can comm the Deltaran Medical Facility.”
“Great. Bye.” Snapback is up and moving immediately, striding out of the room.
Warriors, so impatient.
Kaput sounds almost indignant as he speaks just above his normal volume. “Uhh, you’re welcome.”
I immediately slap my servo over his mandible, holding his rotator with my free servo. We stay like that, still and silent in the now empty sickbay. My audios strain, trying to pick up even the smallest hint that someone, anyone, heard him.
After a few nano-cycles of silence I slowly release Kaput, backing away just as slowly to avoid making any sound whatsoever.
Kaput opens his mandible.
Why? I couldn’t care less right now. Shooting him a look that could melt plating, Kaput shuts his mandible again. Thankfully, blessedly, he copies my movements as I pack up my med kit and we leave the sickbay. In silence.
While walking, I withdraw a datapad and start typing away like my life depends on it. It doesn’t, but if anyone heard Kaput it will be our last day of operation.
“Medics, you are still here?”
I stop walking. Scrap, that’s Snapback’s superior. Kaput just barely manages to avoid colliding with me as he lets out an undignified grunt of surprise. I don’t waste the time to calm myself as I turn and lower my helm to the warrior. “Yes, sir.” I have two nano-cycles to double check my notes on the datapad before the mech is in front of us.
“Do you require anything,” he asks, his tone curious but with an undercurrent of suspicion.
I answer quickly to prevent Kaput from even considering giving this mech an answer. “No, sir.” Holding out the datapad to him, I make sure to keep my gaze on the mech’s mandible as I add, “these are the recovery instructions for your warrior, sir. If any complications arise, please do not hesitate to get in contact.”
He takes the datapad, scanning over it for a few nano-cycles before asking, “and what are your designations?”
Scrap. “Ratchet, sir.”
Silence.
Scrap, this proto’s going to get us both deactivated. “This is Kaput, sir. Please forgive his silence. He is still in training.”
The mech hums quietly.
I don’t like that sound. It could be suspicion, curiosity, judgement, or nothing at all. Too many possibilities.
His tone reveals no further information on the sound. “I see. Dismissed.”
I nod, praying to Primus that Kaput is still following my lead. “Yes, sir.” I don’t check on Kaput and I don’t wait as I am out the doors of the training facility as fast as my stabilizers can carry me.
* * *
Kaput is beside me on the speedway, which I take to be a good sign. But, I can’t possibly let him stay ignorant to what happened back there so I pull over, letting him follow. As soon as we’re a distance from the roads, I transform and pull Kaput into the shadow of a road.
“Woah!”
“Easy.” I glance around, making sure there are no cameras or other Cybertronians nearby. Once I am reasonably sure we’re alone, I turn back to Kaput. “Just wanted to talk. I imagine you have a question or two about…that.”
“Two? Try eight!” Kaput steps away from me so he can pace. Well, sort of. How I managed to miss that he doesn’t have traditional stabilizers is a mystery that will keep me up for many nights to come. He actually has one large central stabilizer that tapers down to one massive wheel at the base with broad treads.
That is definitely going to keep me up at night, but, I can’t let it distract me too much. Patchcore will ask questions if we are too late to return. “Then I suggest you start asking. We’re expected back soon and I won’t answer them at the facility.”
“Why not? And what was so wrong with wanting a thank you? And while we’re at it, what was with that last conversation? Who was that mech? Why did you practically run away from him?”
Okay, five questions. Some easier to answer than others but I expected all of them. “No one talks about it, Kaput. It just isn’t done. That’s why we can’t back at the facility.” One down.
Kaput is staring at me, expectant, yet curious.
“But the problem is more complicated than simply wanting a thank you.” How do I explain this without shattering his ability to talk to patients? Eventually, I just sigh, shaking my helm because there isn’t a way. “You can’t talk to a warrior with that tone. We are not meant to be thanked. No one above us is obligated to thank us and we are not entitled to their gratitude.”
Kaput frowns, his optics flickering for a moment as though his processor glitched while trying to comprehend my meaning. “But, we are upper caste, just like them.” He trails off at the sight of my shaking helm.
“No, Kaput. We may all be in the highest caste but we are not equal. At the top are the politicians, then the warriors, then us medics and other scientists. Only bots of lower castes than us are expected to thank us.”
Kaput shakes his helm, still pacing.
“As for that last conversation, that mech is Snapback’s superior. I don’t know his designation as we have only met once before. But we stayed longer than we should have and it could get us in trouble if he thinks we were avoiding work or, Primus forbid, he heard you being even remotely flippant with one of his warriors.”
Kaput stops pacing, a panicked twitch to his optics. “Is that why you were overly polite and basically ran away from him? He could get us suspended?”
Okay, it’s hope shattering time. It’s earlier than I was expecting but better now than later. “Suspended? No. I did all of that because he could very easily get us deactivated, Kaput. Primus, didn’t you see him? He could do it himself with little effort. He wouldn’t even need proof. Just a strong feeling and us leaving there late could be enough for him to make a case for it.”
Primus help me. This young bot, once so full of life and confidence, looks about ready to collapse.
“But…why?”
I put a servo on his rotator. “I’m afraid I don’t have an answer to that one beyond that this is just how things are.” In a poor attempt to lighten the mood, I give the side of his helm a light tap. “But, I think you’ll find this work is more than fulfilling to make up for having to watch ourselves around the politicians and warriors. Just about everyone else on the planet will thank you without prompting.”
“Really?” Kaput follows me back towards the road, the tension slowly leaving him with every word I add.
“Of course.” I can’t help but smile at the memories of all the grateful mechs and femmes I’ve ever worked on. “Every solar cycle you get to improve the quality of life, and ensure the continuation of it, for every patient you see. You get to be an agent of Primus. He shared with you his care for life and the preservation of it.”
Kaput actually smiles as we climb back onto the road, transforming and taking off back towards the facility.
I can’t help but add, a small smile on my own faceplate at the advice I wish I’d been told when I first started. “Remember, Primus never gets thanked for creating us, but he does it anyway. Why? Because it is what he exists to do. He’s good at it and he loves it. So, take joy in what we do, Kaput. It is what we were made to do.”