Conference Woes

It was late in the evening at the Iacon Clinic and Triage Facility.  

Io hadn’t intended to pull a double shift in the Intensive Care ward, but the only other ‘Bot on duty—a mech that went by the rather off-putting name of “Ring Cutter”—had been called away on some important business.  

It had been an uneventful night.  

Admittedly, this was a good thing, as it meant that her charges were healthy and recovering…but it also meant a lot of sitting and waiting.  She hated waiting. If this were recreational downtime, alone she could amuse herself by keeping apprised of new energon research or enjoying a drink at the bar. But on call, all she could do was think. And right now, thinking was a bad thing.

As was sitting.

She therefore made it a point, every groon or so, to force herself to her trods and totter around the room as best as she could to check energon regulators and electronic pulse monitors.  It wasn’t necessary—she could just as well observe all of the real-time data on the central monitor—but it gave her something to pass the time.  And it allowed her to exercise her legs.

As the final breem of her shift drew nigh, she conjured up enough willpower to climb to her flats for one last tour of the ward.

Unfortunately, her dorsal trunk line decided that after three solar cycles of fairly normal function that the time was right to cause some trouble.  In fact, it acted up with such gusto that she was forced to stand motionless for a few cycles to allow the line time to calibrate to her new position.  

She sighed, waited an additional cycle to see if it had completed its ‘fun,’ and then pushed herself away from her console.

Her right leg was a bit more stiff than usual, and the trek from berth one to four progressed slowly, in a series of uneven, stumbling steps.  She could only imagine how she must look and for the first time tonight, the solitude was actually comforting. Had Ring Cutter returned just then and not been aware of her disability, he probably would have thought she was overenergized.

Ignoring a biting sense of self-pity, she made it to berth five, signed the digital display forcefully and adjusted the energon regulator so that it was more centered over the mech’s medial plate.  

As she turned to move around the berth, her right leg seized up and she stumbled.  Hand flying out, she managed to dig her claws into the thick padding near the mech’s leg to keep herself upright, but the sudden impact shifted the inert form almost onto the floor.  She grimaced and reached to readjust him only to realize she needed most of her strength to hold this awkward position. In fact, it took several cycles for the neural pathways in her trunk-line to reestablish, and this did little to help her mood. Finally, she was able to stand stably on her trods and she repositioned the mech.

She sighed heartily, pushing a sizeable volume of air through her oral vent.

Not a single solar cycle passed without her being reminded of the Orsis Incident.
Every trunk line failure and loudly creaking joint served as sensory memory forcing an involuntary recall of the sights and sounds of that short, chaotic moment in time. True, some of the memory data had been corrupted, but she could still remember shambling toward the groundbridge on battered legs, body wracked with pain.  She could even remember the flash of light and powerful impact of the missile as it tore through her back-plate and cockpit like an axe through flimsy sheet metal.  She could recall the fuzzy grayness of partial system overload as her processor was forced to handle all of the data from her mesh receptors and internal sensory array… She could feel all of the screaming metal burns, the shredded organs, the torn lines hemorrhaging precious energon…

The femme’s body shuddered and she forced herself into a flush cycle to halt the data stream.

She was grateful to be alive. Like a mantra, she forced herself to remember that.
She was thankful for Crossarm’s last moment heroics, overcoming his fears to rescue her from what must have seemed like an apocalyptic firestorm, complete with pools of molten slag and burning, airborne debris.  

She was thankful to Trocar and all the other medical staff that had worked so hard on saving her life, for giving her a sense of value. Had she still been with the Decepticons, she would have been written off as a lost cause, a soldier who had proven her uselessness by getting injured in the first place.

She was grateful, also, that her survival meant a future with her partner, the formerly cantankerous Doctor Ratchet.

For all that her injuries evoked pity in those around her and made her question her usefulness, she truly was grateful for that.

A wistful smile brightened the femme’s face-plate.

Her survival meant that they could laugh about Torian mathematics or talk shop as Ratchet’s processor thirsted for new knowledge.  It meant that they could love as lovers did, energetic and carefree, drinking details with curious fingertips and basking in the radiance of innovation and discovery…

Out of the corner of her optic Io glimpsed the mech in berth three momentarily jerk from side to side. Though all the ‘Bots in the ward were in stasis, this particular patient suffered from damage sustained to his neural conduit and periodically exhibited autonomic responses.

Io’s smile faltered.

It was a difficult case. While she hadn’t performed his surgery, she had read his file. Biomechanic damage was always the most severe, and this mech had received an injury to one of the most specialized parts of all Cybertronian anatomy: the information pathway from the brain module to the transformation cog. Trocar’s notes suggested a high likelihood that the mech would regain basic mobility, but would be plagued with ‘the glitch’ for his entire life and would be unable to transform.

Such an obvious injury was almost as bad as being paralyzed. Both brought with them stigma; society had little place for those who couldn’t benefit it. And though the caste system was little more than a distant memory, those with disabilities were still treated as second-tier citizens, scrabbling to eke out a meager living doing drone work, data entry, or menial surveillance. In a world at war, every hand was needed at full strength. She had even read some cases in which disabled ‘Bots had been murdered by extremists to rid society of its ‘burden.’  

She shuddered. She could have easily gone that way, and it was hard not to consider the possibilities.

Thankfully, she had been spared the worst of the treatment; her energon research was simply too valuable to discard her to the wards.  But the injury to her trunk line and the resulting glitches were a constant reminder of that one, fateful moment…and it was a daily struggle to convince herself that she had value, that her continued work in enerology could, potentially, ease the distress of millions of soldiers suffering from war-borne illnesses.

“I’m back!” A cheerful voice called out from the door, stalling her thoughts.  

Forcing a smile to her lips, the femme turned her head and watched as Ring Cutter made his way across the room to stand beside her.  “Sorry it took so long, but you know how much Lancet likes to hear himself talk.” Despite his friendly demeanor, his optics never stopped staring at the cane held firmly in her right hand.    

“Yeah…yeah, he does,” Io said with a sigh.  She checked the seal on the last regulator before returning to the console to collect her data-pad.  

“Are you ok?  Can I get you anything…?” Ring Cutter asked as she hobbled quickly towards the door.

“I’m fine.”  She replied in what she hoped to be jovial tone.  Further complementing the ruse, she flashed a fake smile over her nacelle.

“Do you need help getting back to your lab?”

“I can manage,” she said, adding an empty giggle and a dismissive wave to the mix.  “Thank you.”

“Oh…alright.” The mech replied, sounding hurt.  “If…I can help in any way…”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be ok.  Ratchet’s lab isn’t too far from here.”

“Oh, but if you-” the mech began, but Io quickly stepped into the hall and pressed her hand against the door-control interface cutting him off in mid-sentence.  Well-meaning or not, pity was pity…and Io hated it.

Fluffing her armor, irritably, she started down the hall.  Thankfully, it was late and the main concourse was deserted save for a lone maintenance drone.  The small, disk-shaped ‘Bot was thoroughly engrossed in his repairs, and paid the femme no heed as she tottered past.

Just as she approached the D3 junction, a familiar voice crackled across her private com. *Io?*

*Hey, Ratchet.* she replied, cheerily.  If anything could lift her spirits, it was the sound of his voice.  There was a tone that he used when they were alone.  It was subtle—like most things involving Ratchet—but there was a silky, almost flirtatious undercurrent to his words that set her spark aflutter.  

But rather than let him know the effect it was having on her, she opted for a coy retort.  *Did you install a camera on my frame when I was recharging, because I can’t help but question the timing of your call.*

A light chuckle danced through her mind.  *I have my ways.*

*Yes, I know.* She intoned as sassily as she could manage.  

Normally, he would have replied with equal taste, but surprisingly his com went quiet.  

*Hey…* she said, gently, all traces of humor gone in a flash.  *Is everything alright?*

There was a pause, then a flutter of static that might have been a grumble.  *Yes…and no,* A second wave of static indicated even more internal disagreement.  *Would you mind stopping by the lab before you retire?*

*I was planning to do that, anyway,* she mused with a slight questioning tone to her voice, hoping he’d bite and explain more of what was bothering him.  

He didn’t, and Io’s lips turned in a frown.

Ratchet was no stranger to introversion, though his attitude toward socialization had changed dramatically in the short time that they had been together, and he often employed silence like a safety blanket.  Still, while he hadn’t become a social botfly, he was always forthcoming with her.

To hear him lapse was, for lack of a better word, disconcerting.

She quickened her pace as best she could and several ungainly cycles later she was standing before the door to his private lab.

The open door.  

She glanced in, slightly alarmed.  Past the organized clutter, her partner sat heavily on a bench awkwardly bent over his desk with his head buried in his arms.  His shoulder-caps were low, practically digging into the mesh of his mantle and back-plate.  

He looked miserable.

She moved as quickly as she could to him, her cane making sufficient noise to wake the dead, but he didn’t turn at her approach. In fact, the only indication that he was alive was their recent conversation and a rhythmic huffing sound emanating from the center of his huddled form that could only be intentionally generated.

“Ratchet?” Io asked, softly, seeking out her partner with a smile and outstretched fingers.

“Hey…” He replied, lifting his head enough to grin weakly at her over his bracer.  Then, just like that, his face-plate was gone, concealed once again within the various panels and plates of his limbs. The huffing started anew.  

Waves of misery buffeted her spark, but she was quick to notice that it was not a misery borne of loss as she had feared.  If anything, he seemed… disappointed.  Whether it was disappointment with himself—a high probability—or with someone or something else, was yet to be determined.

Smiling sadly, Io hobbled a few steps, folded her wings back and behind, and claimed the space on the bench next to him.

The lab was silent for a cycle.  

“Is everything ok?” She ventured, leaning close.  

The old medic sighed, heavily, and pointed to his console.  

Io studied the screen for a moment.  It was an announcement of some sorts, and she scanned the first few lines of information. “The Grand Oratory, in conjunction with The Iacon Society of Engineering Excellence, is set to host the…” Io paused and her optics widened.  She looked at Ratchet as she finished the rest of the sentence.  “The Research in Engineering Symposium?”  Her optics widened.  “The Two-N Divided by Five Millennial Conference?”

A light scraping of metal suggested a nod.  

“But that’s wonderful news!” Io said, smiling and clapping his wheel-well.  “You’re a
medical tech and a groundbridge engineer; you should totally go.”

Another sigh. “Keep reading.”

Io refocused on the announcement, which she quickly realized was a registration page for the conference itself.  Scrolling past presentation schedules and energon account information, she noticed something disconcerting at the bottom of the page where Ratchet would have entered his personal information.  “Registration denied?”  She fixed her partner with a confused stare.  “You’re one of the best groundbridge engineers in the city.  Why would they refuse your registration?”

Her partner muttered something incoherent.  

Io tapped at his shoulder-cap and, after a time, the old medic lifted his chin.  Their gazes met, and Ratchet shook his head.  “I imagine that the block stems from an… incident that happened during the last conference.”

The femme cocked her head.  “An incident involving you, I take it.”

A nod.

“Ok.  Explain.”  

His optics flared briefly before returning to their usual, cool aquamarine hue.  “It was the second to last solar cycle of the conference and I was sitting in on a lecture on sub-spatial juxtaposition.”  He paused and rolled his shoulder-caps, discomfited.  “The lecturer, a ‘Bot about my age named Damper, made several, glaring, mistakes in his calculations.  No one noticed it—or if they did, they didn’t say anything; Damper is the conference founder, after all.”  

Io fixed her partner with a knowing stare.  “Please tell me you didn’t…” she began, but the guilty frown that steadily consumed his face-plate and the sudden wave of embarrassment from his spark told her everything that she needed to know.

She sighed, heavily.  “Ratchet…”

“The errors were so grievous as to be offensive,” The old medic huffed in his own defense.  “He should have been thankful that I pointed them out before he sent the paper off for peer review.”

“And this…correction…” she was sure to emphasize the word.  “Was it tactfully done, say after the lecture in private, or did you make him look like a fool in front of everyone?”

The corner of Ratchet’s mouth twitched and his shoulder-caps lowered to their limits.  

“Ungh…” Io grumbled, rubbing her chevrons.

“Yeah…” his head plunked against his bracer.  “Not my proudest moment.”

“Well, at least you didn’t hit him, or pull on his spire or something else equally personal…”

Ratchet said nothing.

“Please tell me you didn’t…”

“No, no, nothing like that.  Although I think he was ready to hit me from the look on his face-plate just before I was escorted out.” He sighed again.

“You shouldn’t have, but still… I would have paid to see it.” The femme replied with a chuckle that she hoped would goad the old medic out of his funk.

To no avail. He didn’t respond.

Io bit her lip as she considered her options.  Ratchet was the sort of ‘Bot that bludgeoned himself with his failures, no matter how mundane.  He couldn’t help it.  Insecure at spark, he was always second-guessing the work of his hands, hating himself for things that were beyond perfect, and wishing he could somehow do better.  
Unfortunately, such personality traits put her at a loss as to what to say.

She sighed.

They were so, very much, alike.  

As she processed this, her face lit with an understanding smile and she scooted closer and trailed her claws along his shoulder-cap.

Ratchet’s laterals chattered softly against his mantle.  Then, seemingly invigorated by her concern, he wrapped his arm around her nacelles and pulled her into an affectionate hug.

They sat this way for several long moments, saying nothing—it wasn’t something that could be put into words, not when the disappointment was so thoroughly internalized—and slowly, like cable unwrapping from a drum, she could feel the anxiety ebb from his spark. Eventually, his external body also responded to the empathetic stimuli, first as his shoulder-caps lost their tenseness and finally as his ‘breathing’ slowed to a still-annoyed-but-tolerable huff.

About that same time, a lovely feeling of contentment began to flutter about her chassis and Io couldn’t’ help but close her optics and rest her helm against Ratchet’s mantle.  As she did so, her audio-receptors quickly became saturated with a multitude of living sound, clacks, whirs and hisses…all beautiful and suggestive of good health.  An increase in sensory sensitivity and she could also hear the quick double-pulse of his spark deep within his spark chamber.  

“I’m sorry…” She said after a time, and she felt him sigh against her.  

“I know…and I’m sorry to have gotten you involved in any of this.”  He admitted with a shake of his head.  

As she raised a quizzical brow-ridge that he could feel rather than see from their arrangement, he was quick to add: “…all this, my delightful personality-“

She put her hand to his mouth.

“That’s what partners are for.” Io said simply, smiling.  

He paused and his graze grew distant, thoughtful, looking past the silencing finger.  Eventually, he rubbed his chevrons and then looked down at her.  “I just…” He paused and his optics dimmed momentarily as he considered his next statement.  She removed her finger. “I’m glad you came by.”

Ratchet’s expression brightened and he leaned forward to kiss her.  Just as their helms touched, the communication panel on his console began to trill.  

Ratchet drew back slightly and sighed.  “Only Perth would contact me this late in the evening…”

“You’d better answer it or he’ll make you pull a double shift for insubordination,” Io
waved her hand dismissively.

Her partner looked torn.  

It was clear that he wanted to ignore the call in favor of a bit of late-night romance, but, after a moment’s hesitation, he turned toward the console. Ratchet was as selfless as they were made.  The Clinic was still recovering from the Orsis Incident, and their new HMO was a hard-core military grunt, not used to dealing with things at the civilian level.  Ratchet, as the oldest and most experienced ‘Bot in the building, was most qualified to oversee the transition between one governing body—ne Crossarm—and whatever it was that Perth was trying to establish.  

Squeezing her hand, lightly, he pressed the communication button. “Yes?”

“Doctor, report to engineering as soon as possible,” Perth’s deep, accented voice answered.  

Ratchet nodded.  “Understood.  I’m on my way.”  As he climbed to his trods, Io smiled and met his gaze.  “I’ll be waiting for you at home.”

A lopsided smirk graced his features and he squeezed her hand one last time before heading out the door.

As she watched his egress, Io’s optics brightened, thoughtfully, and as his trod-steps faded down the hall, the cogs in her processor were already turning.

She had an idea of how to boost her partner’s spirits…though she could only hope that she wasn’t too late.
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Ratchet scanned the last line of code on his console through narrowed optics.  Everything seemed in place—even the semicolons—but it was always the little things that had a way of messing up a situation. It had taken him the better part of three solar cycles to complete the algorithm, and he could only hope it would shed light on the glitches plaguing G1’s processing core.

It was amazing that they had gotten this far in such a short period of time, cannibalizing enough parts from the remains of G2 to produce an almost stable vortex, but then they had gotten bogged down with glitches in the energon feed. That was always the problem. Building a groundbridge was hard enough. Debugging one made the task feel practically impossible.

And Ratchet and his team felt a lot of pressure for success.

Without G1, the Bay would be down to only one groundbridge. True, the clinic could make due with only one, but Optimus and his soldiers were really hurting without a large, centralized hub to transport troops.    

Shaking his head, he scanned the code a second time, then a third for good measure.
Once convinced that it was free from errors, he pressed a red glyph on the upper right corner of the interface pad to initiate the algorithm, then stepped back to watch his work.

After a few cycles, a series of windows populated his console and the old medic let out a tired sigh.  

No errors detected.

“There’s clearly something wrong…” Ratchet grumbled under his breath, his fingers tapping feverishly at G1’s interface panel.  “What is it going to take to get you to talk…?”

“Do you always engage non-sentient machines in conversation?” A familiar voice queried from somewhere behind him, derailing his train of thought and coaxing his lips into a bright smile.  Pushing himself away from his console, he rose quickly to his trods and turned to see Io standing confidently, less than a mechanometer away, both hands resting on the handle of her cane.  He had been so engrossed as to not hear her approach.

Despite a flood of overwhelming joy at seeing his partner, he scrunched his face-plate into what he hoped to be a serious frown.  “You’re not using your hover-chair,” He scolded, waggling his finger in her face-plate.  “That’s the third time this orn.”

“Oops,” She replied, sarcastically, bringing her claws to her lips.  “Guess I forgot it at home.”

Ratchet knew his partner well enough to realize that she would not consign herself to such a demeaning mode of conveyance if she could get around at least reasonably well on her own trods.  Still, as a doctor, he knew that pushing one’s body too hard after an injury could slow down, or even reverse, the healing process.

Gently, he eased himself into a half-kneeling position so that he could look her directly in the optics.  “I’m only pointing it out because I care about you.”

“I know,” She said leaning into him and wrapping her right arm around his hip-plates.  “And you also know that I’ll still find every excuse not to use it, right?”

Ratchet sighed and nudged her chin with the back of his hand, tilting her head back so that he could meet her vivid, cobalt gaze.  Despite appearing content, there was just enough determination—or, perhaps, defiance was a better word—reflected in her optics that he couldn’t help but smile sadly.  “If not at the clinic, than at least promise me that you’ll use it between here and home.”

“Perhaps,” She said, drawing out the word and cocking a hip for good measure.  “But only if you stop pestering me about it.”

Ratchet’s smile broadened and he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist.  “I will.”

Io matched his expression.  

“Not that I’m complaining, but why are you here?” The old medic wondered against her mesh.  “My shift doesn’t end for another eight groons.”

Smirking, the former Decepticon pointed at his console.  “You really need to check your messages more frequently than once a solar cycle.”

Ratchet walked over to the computer, and after closing at least a dozen windows he was surprised to see a single message from Io, dated the previous evening.  Face-plate warming, the old medic lowered his head.  “I wasn’t ignoring you, I promise,” He said, regretfully.  It was a shameful thing, really, to get so wrapped up in a project that you wound up discounting the one ‘Bot that you cared about above all others.

Io waved her claws, dismissively.  “You’re not the only one who gets caught up in your work, se’vei.”

A lopsided smile claimed Ratchet’s face and Io couldn’t help but giggle.  

“So, what was in the message?”

The femme’s own smile broadened, mischievously.  “Just something about your shift ending early, today.”

Ratchet was taken aback.  “What?”  He shook his head as if to clear away a mess of cobwebs.  “Perth would never have authorized such a thing, especially not with G1’s glitch issue unresolved.”

“Oh, he did,” Io leaned over her partner’s bracer and tapped the interface pad to open the message. “See for yourself.”

Brow-ridges scrunching in confusion, Ratchet turned toward the screen and read the message aloud. “’Permission hereby granted to Ratchet of Iacon to be temporarily relieved of duty so as to attend…’” He paused, shook his head, and re-read the rest of the message three times before sputtering  “’…The Research in Engineering Symposium!?’”  Ratchet’s head snapped around so that he could goggle down at Io who was still lazily draped over his bracer smirking up at him like a pampered turbo-fox.  “But…but…HOW?” He managed after a time, shaking his head.  He couldn’t have been more surprised by this turn of events even if Io had spray-painted herself purple and rejoined the Decepticons.

“They wouldn’t allow you to register,” she mused, playfully, poking at his medial plate.  “But I could sign up just fine.  And every package holder is allowed one, unregistered guest.”  Her right brow-ridge cocked, slyly.  “Can you guess who I chose to take with me as my ‘plus one?’”

Ratchet’s processor ground to a halt and for a spate of about two cycles only his optics could move, shuttering rapidly as he tried to process exactly what had just happened.  

And how.  

And why.

“And if you’re wondering how I got Perth to OK your release…well, you can thank Powerglide for that.”

“What?”

Io nodded.  “Turns out, Perth—military hard-aft though he might be—follows the aerobatics circuit very closely.”  She smirked and waggled her finger.  “Powerglide and I have kept in touch over the stellar cycles and it was no problem to procure a data pad signed by every member of the Crimson Valors.”

Again, Ratchet’s body could only manage another round of blinks and a halted. “But…the groundbridge…?”

“I relayed your conference woes to Torque and he agreed to cover the rest of your shift.”

“That’s right,” A third voice added.

Torque, the clinic’s chief engineer, was standing behind them, all four arms crossed over his mantle.  A sly smile was stretched his face-plate and his yellow optics flickered with amusement.  “Just promise me that you’ll be on your best behavior,” He quipped, giving Ratchet’s bracer a friendly knock.  “I don’t want to hear about how you burnt the place down, or some such nonsense.”   He flashed the stunned medic yet another bemused grin before turning his attention to the wounded groundbridge hub at the other end of the Bay.

“This is…” Ratchet tried, still finding it difficult to speak.

Io laughed and squeezed his hand.  “We should get going.  You’ve already missed half a day of the conference.  If you want…” Io’s voice cut off as Ratchet finally came to his senses, leapt to his trods, and scooped up his unsuspecting partner into an exuberant hug, laughing all the while.

“I can’t believe it!” He managed after a time.  Then, holding her at arm’s length, he spun her in a circle then pulled her close enough for their helms to meet in a passionate, organic kiss.  Truth be told, he still found that particular style of ‘kissing’ to be primitive and unsophisticated, but he was too ecstatic to care about social norms and/or speciocentric preferences.

“Well…” She managed after they’d parted, face-plate darkening in a blush.  “I should try to sneak you into more conferences.” Torque was either too engrossed in his work or too honorable to notice.

The older medic merely smiled and pressed her against his medial plate in a much more controlled hug, fingertips caressing the edges of her wings.  “Thank you…” He said softly, resting the bridge of his nose-plate against her mantle.  “Thank you.” He repeated, and Io couldn’t help but reciprocate, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck and stroking the dorsal surface of his helm.

“You’re welcome, sweet spark,” She said softly.

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“So, Valence and I were absolutely stumped on this polysoval resolution problem, right; no answer in sight.  We had just about given up when he happened to spy this stupid doodle that someone had etched into the countertop.  Valence paused for a moment…and then he got this really, really deep look in his optics.  Suddenly he runs for the mainframe, arms flailing like he’s got his wires crossed, right.  Don’t I find him tapping out this insane equation that BOOM! Solved the problem by introducing three variables to the second tier of the Urs-alti Rational Complex.  I mean, c’mon; it was so simple.”

A round of laughter caused Io to refocus and take a heavy sip of her beverage, basically liquefied sodium borohydride with some palladium thrown in for flavor.  It wasn’t necessarily the best intoxicant she’d ever tasted, but it was free, so she wasn’t going to complain.

More laughter cut the air, and Io couldn’t help but reconsider the small group of engineers that had been carrying on with one another for just under a groon.  They were a friendly sort, enthusiastic about their discipline, but not overly obnoxious.  If anything, they seemed like they were just starting out in the engineering world, and were doing what they felt they had to in order to get noticed.

One of them, the ‘Bot that had been speaking, would glance at Io from time to time with a welcoming smile, almost as if trying to entice her into joining their conversation.  It was a polite gesture, far more than she expected from a bunch of engineers, and she smirked at him, just as politely, over the lip of her cube and pulled heavily to banish him from her thoughts.

She was alone, sitting comfortably in a large, plush chair in the main atrium of the Grand Oratory.  Here, removed from the main hustle of the conference, ‘bots of every size and shape could be seen relaxing with their peers.  Further adding to the collegial atmosphere was an elaborate bar serving non-energon based refreshments, much like the one held lovingly in her claws.

Sighing, contentedly, she adjusted her wings against the back of the chair and allowed her optics to wander around the open space.  The Grand Oratory was an impressive structure, second only to the Hall of Records in size and grandeur.  Though much of the atrium had been cleared to make space for poster presentations and the bar, the ceiling was still a massive, holographic collage, displaying real-time images of the sky from various locations around the world.  The energon fountains were intact as well, and if there weren’t so many ‘bots loitering near their shallows, she would have waited for Ratchet over there.

At the thought of her partner, she smiled.  As much as she loved him, and as much as this was his day to relax and have fun, a second lecture on “tier articulation in gyroscopic platforms” would have bored her into stasis.  

Io drained the last bit of drink from her cube, but before she could even pull it away from her lips, a flying, service drone appeared, fluttering its wings and motioning towards the empty cube with its tiny, clawed appendages.

Cocking a brow-ridge, she handed off the container.  The tiny aerial ‘Bot did a cute, mid-air flip and then, with an almost artistic flourish of its arms, it mixed another beverage for her before dashing off into the distance to surprise a blue and purple femme leaning against the far wall.  

Unfortunately, focusing on the service drone caused her to unintentionally meet the gaze of the same, young engineer that she’d been trying to avoid.  Realizing this, she tried to hide behind her cube, but the damage had already been done and he excused himself from his colleagues so that he could move closer to her.  “I don’t mean to intrude,” He said politely.  “…but I couldn’t help but notice you over here.”  Smoothing his armor, he inclined his torso in a respectful bow.  “My name is Bolt Rig, but my friends call me ‘Consy’”

Io cocked her head and considered the young mech.  Like most engineers, he was lightly built with red and white armor covering large, exposed sections of protoform mesh.  His yellow optics were small and featureless, and his helm was a stylized triangle with four, curved projections above each audio-receptor.  

“Look, I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but I’m already involved in a relationship.”  She said, lowering her wings, slightly.  

“Oh!” He exclaimed, holding up his hands.  “Oh, dear…I wasn’t trying to put any moves on you, or whatever it is that they call it now-a-days.”  His shoulder-caps slumped and he rubbed his chevrons.  “Primus, I’m such an idiot…”  His voice-box mumbled a strain of static.  “You seem like you’re no stranger to the sciences, and I was wondering if you’d like to join my colleagues and me in some engaging conversation.”

Io blinked, rapidly, and her wings lifted back into their usual position.  Despite having lived with the Autobots for some time now, trust was still a difficult thing for her…especially when it came to mechs.  And she had misjudged this one badly. “I appreciate your consideration, but I’m not an engineer…”

“Really?” He wondered, and like lightning, two of companions were at his side looking mildly astounded.

“We rarely get non-engineers attending these things.” One of them, a mostly blue mech, exclaimed.  “They think it is too ‘boring.” He chuckled lightly as if that was the most preposterous thing he had ever heard.

“What do you specialize in?”  A red and orange mech queried, taking the seat next to her.

Io drew back a bit.  She wasn’t scared so much as she was unsure about why a group of engineers would care about a self-professed, non-engineer in their midst.  “I used to serve as a shield at the Clinic, but...after I was injured, I revisited the energon research that I began in Nova Cronum, namely applied caranology.”

She held up her cane to emphasize her point. Subconsciously, she figured that her disability would have turned the mechs off as it had so many others, leaving her to her peace, but to her surprise they completely ignored it, focusing instead on her words. In fact, as she finished speaking, they looked genuinely impressed.

“Is that so?” Another voice added, this time belonging to a fourth engineer, a mech with four arms and an almost gaudy green-and-blue color scheme.  This individual was definitely the oldest and most mature of the group, having remained near the bar after the others had moved to engage Io, and it was clear from the serious gleam in his optic that he’d been in the system long enough to have lost most of his youthful exuberance.
The mech extended one of his hands which Io shook. “Recall of Kaon, professional alchemist and t’varnologist.”

Io smiled despite herself. T’varnology was a sub-discipline of enerology and one practiced by a select few. It was however, closely related to caranology affording them a basis for discussion. Further, while she didn’t know this ‘Bot by name, the fact that he was from a city now controlled by the Decepticons suggested that he too had escaped as she had; the fate of Nova Cronum was well known. She felt herself relax.

Recall indicated a chair next to hers and she gestured for him to sit.

The conversation began gently. They started with pair modulation, a simple topic often used by researchers to gauge one’s mastery of The Fundamentals. Both proved amply qualified. The other mechs looked on with understanding, a small cohort of scientists on equal footing.

Then Recall increased the stakes by delving into quantum folding during energon activation.

Io smiled for a second time.

Maybe these conferences aren’t so bad after all, she could hear Ratchet quip. She leaned forward in her chair and responded enthusiastically with brief discourse on Flyp’s Law of Energon Partitioning. The younger ‘Bots started giving confused looks as their ‘elders’ shifted into topics beyond them, but they were ignored in the sheer pleasure of scientific discourse.

Recall and Io lunged and parried, respectfully testing each other’s knowledge. Decanting phenomena transitioned to polyhexene dissolution in liquid engex. Line failure as a result of energon polymerization became the relationship between t’vre color and energon waveforms.

As the breems passed, the conversation shifted periodically to the development of their research interests and their disagreements with the Decepticons. While Io did not share all of the ‘details,’ she related her tenure at the Institute in Nova Cronum and the influence of her formers. Recall, contrary to his current career path, started out by engineering a pathogen-resistant coating that could be applied to most non-living objects. It was just before he had chosen to flee that he had taken the three younger mechs under his tutelage. At being included in the conversation, they beamed with pride and recounted the short days of their youth.

Io had had several more cubes delivered by plucky service drones and the conversation was in full swing. Finally they had reached one of her secret passions and were engaged in an animated debate on the ethics of tri-valence brewing…

“How dare you?!” A voice snarled out of nowhere, and suddenly a small, unfamiliar ‘Bot elbowed past Consy in a fuming rage.

The young mechs backed away quickly, as if someone had thrown a Praxian vitose into their midst, but Recall merely looked stone-faced.  It was then that Io realized that this prim and proper Autobot had to be the notorious Damper, even though she had never actually seen or met him.  He was a mostly white bot, with tightly-pressed, beige panels crowning a narrow faceplate.  His lips were drawn into a grimace of rage that might have terrified her on a bad day, but instead only served to make him look like an angry space-hamster.  

“Excuse me?” Io said with a healthy heap of disbelief at the sudden intrusion.

“You… you ruined this entire convention!” Damper practically shrieked, so shaking with rage that his head-plates made annoying chattering sounds as he regarded the seated femme.

At his accusation, Io couldn’t help but feel her face fill with warm energon.  In fact, Recall’s sudden interest in her face-plate could only mean it had perceptibly darkened, but the audacity of Damper’s tone made her hard-pressed to restrain herself. “How dare I?” She said, her voice suddenly very angry. “I have been sitting here carrying on a polite conversation before you rudely interrupted it.  How dare you?!”

But he was undeterred.  “As conference organizer, it is my job to ensure that things run smoothly.  After all the problems of the last convention, I had to develop new rules to do just that.  But you!” He prodded her medial plate with a trembling index finger.  “You circumvented the rules!  And it would seem that you did so Intentionally, as if to spite me and everything that this conference stands for!”

“And just what did I do?”

“You invited…him.”

Recall cocked a questioning brow-ridge while Consy and the others exchanged confused looks.  

Io, on the other hand, knew exactly who he meant, but she wanted to hear him say it if only to annoy him further.  “I’m sorry, whom?” She flashed him a look of obviously false innocence.

His face-plate darkened and his tiny, blue optics narrowed to slits.  “You know exactly whom.  Ratchet!”

An evil grin claimed Recall’s lips and Consy rocked back on his trods and whistled.  The others settled for looking shocked.

Io waved her claws dismissively.  “Your ‘new rules’ allowed me to bring one, unregistered guest…and I chose ‘him.’”  She made sure to accentuate her already sarcastic delivery by bending her fingers high over her head in a distinct set of danger quotes.

“That is hardly the point.” Damper huffed, stamping his trod like a belligerent sparkling.  “He was expressly forbidden from attending.”

Io shook her head.  “From registering yes…but I checked your database:  he was never, officially banned.” Then, fixing the angry mech with one of her legendary stares, she added. “And why would you forbid him? He’s an engineer at spark and a good one at-”

“Because he’s a pompous, arrogant piston-rod who thinks of himself above his station!” he spat, cutting her off.

Io thought about punching him. Really, she thought about caning him, but she had thankfully relaxed enough during the earlier conversation that she had positioned her cane just out of easy reach against the small table to her left.

It had been a long time since she had been goaded to such anger in a civilian setting, and though she knew exactly what would happen to her if she hit him, she was sorely tempted.  Even beyond the criminal ramifications, for a moment, the realization of how such an altercation would probably undo a lot of the progress she had made in recovery, did little to calm her.

But then a wave of foreign concern washed across her spark.  The feeling could only have originated from Ratchet meaning that he was close enough to sense her distress.  This knowledge was enough to stay her hand, and she looked at the older ‘Bot coldly.  “Well, if your research wasn’t so puerile you wouldn’t have to be corrected by someone of the ‘lower’ caste.”  

Damper’s armor flared. “Err… how… why you…” He sputtered face-plate dark and optics glowing with fury.  

Io smiled sweetly and then deliberately positioned her cube to hide his face before she took a sip. The other ‘Bots stared on in amazement.  
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Ratchet looked over at Io, sitting awkwardly on the curb next to him. Too low for her to position her leg comfortably, she kept shifting her pelvic plating and repositioning her cane across her legs. True, she had been spared the forceful ejection onto her aft that Ratchet had—and it still smarted—but the older mech could tell by the wave of humor suffusing his spark that she could take any amount of discomfort in exchange for the vindication she felt for her partner. And they were partners, in this as they were in everything else.

Ratchet couldn’t help but chuckle again. “You’re something, you know that?”

“As you’ve told me several times,” she replied, considering him with a faceplate-splitting grin.

“I just can’t believe you had the audacity to say that to him.”

“I learned from the best.”

“And you got banned with ‘the best,’” he added with a feigned rueful shake of his head.  Then, smiling in a way that he reserved only for her and her antics, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to his side.  “So, na’veh…now that we’ve got the entire evening to ourselves, what would you suggest we do?”

Io’s smirk softened and she rested her helm against his mantle.  Her claws drew lazy swirls across his mesh. “You decide, sweet spark.  I mean, I sorta ruined your fun...”

“Nonsense. I certainly enjoyed the conference, but this has made it truly… memorable.”

She chuckled. “Any place you have in mind?”

“Well,” The old medic mused lifting his head.  “I would point out that it’s only a short drive to Maccadam’s, but since I’ve been banned there for life…” He chuckled almost pridefully.  “There’s a place on sub-level seventeen that I used to frequent when I was younger, The Platform.  It’s a bit seedier than Maccadam’s, but it would do as a substitute, I suppose.”  Looking even more cheerful, the old medic met her questioning gaze.  “Want to get overenergized?”

“Only if you think they have insurance enough to cover us.” Io quipped with a hearty laugh.

Ratchet responded in kind and lifted the smaller medic to her trods.  Then, with an almost flirtatious smile, he transformed into his alt-mode, an orange-and-white cargo vehicle, opened his rear canopy and flashed his hazard lights for her like a ‘Bot half his age.

Energon and curbside service…Io couldn’t help but marvel even as she pulled herself up into the welcoming space.  Once sure that she was situated, and after a few playful raps on his undercarriage, Ratchet started off down the road, and the two of them quickly disappeared into a veritable sea of jostling alt-modes.

-Fin-