The Newbie

Solarflare stepped back hastily, embarrassed at both split-second reactions. “Mirage! I’m so sorry -- are you ok?”

The spy leaned back against the wall, gingerly rubbing his tender headgear. “Ratchet and Wheeljack weren’t kidding when they said your wings packed a punch,” he replied ruefully.

She dipped her head and reached behind her, manhandling the errant wing back into place. “Got any duct tape?”

Mirage started to reply when Sunstreaker poked his massive black head around the corner of the rec room door. “Ah-ha!” he exclaimed, sauntering forward. “Sleeping Beauty has decided to rejoin the land of moving parts. C’mon!” The warrior’s hand shot out faster than Mirage’s eye could follow and wrapped itself around Solarflare’s upper arm. “Everyone’s been waiting vons to see you.”

Golden optics wide, Solarflare shot a pleading look at the spy as Sunstreaker blissfully began to tug her into the room. Mirage pushed himself off the wall, holding up a hand, “Ah, Sunstreaker --”

The yellow warrior paused, one hand on his hip, the other curled around Solarflare’s arm. “Great jumpin’ Primus, Mirage,” he snorted. “Ease off, man, you’ve had her to yourself for three fraggin’ months. Share, will ya -- or didn’t they teach you how to share in snooty city?”

“Wha--?” Solarflare unconsciously released her talons, digging them into the floor panels. Sunstreaker looked down at her with palatable disdain. “What do you mean?” She looked from warrior to spy, searching for an answer.

A rude puff of air exited Sunstreaker’s vents. “Mirage sat in the repair bay for three months by your spark cradle,” he said at last, if the admission pained him deeply. “Now, come on -- I’ve got a twenty Energon-chip bet with Jazz that Brawn can’t out-drink Sides.” Without another word, he succeeded in hauling his unwilling companion into the rec room.

Mirage spun around and stormed down the hall, pausing only to uncharacteristically hammer his fist against the corridor wall in frustration -- several times. For good measure, he hammered a dozen times more. Throwing himself into a corner, he drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Laying his chin on his forearms, he silently cursed himself for being such a fool. It was only a matter of time, he reasoned, before she wouldn’t want to have anything to do with him; it was a story he’d seen played out so many times in the past with the mechs and femmes he had called friends. For all his wealth and prestige, most only hung around with him until he served them no more purpose.

Did his comrades really think he enjoyed being alone? In the deepest part of their spark, did they think he didn’t want to join them, have fun? He stayed away because he didn’t want to get hurt. Sighing, Mirage shook his head. With Alina, he felt he’d finally broken the chain; he was beginning to see the light. He was happy, he was content -- by Primus, he was even forgetting Cybertron.

A slim black hand, more delicate and refined than his, touched his arm. Pulling himself out of his misery, Mirage looked up at a pair of glittering golden optics. “Alin-- Solarflare?”

“You didn’t tell me you sat vigil for me,” she said quietly, squatting down on her haunches, arms clasped tightly around each other, keeping her wings firmly clamped.

Mirage sighed and relaxed his posture, sliding one leg along the floor. “You’re my friend,” he told her. “I had to.”

Her pale pink lips curled in a surprised smile. “You know, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you call me that. I’d been thinking of you as my friend for months, but I didn’t know you felt the same. I thought I was just relief from the stress.”

The sinking feeling in his processor slowly abated as he took in what she was saying. Before he could reply, she patted his arm and stood up. “Come on, you should see Brawn -- it’s really funny.”

Getting to his feet, the spy smiled to himself. Perhaps the chain was broken. Laughing, Solarflare tugged at his wrist, pulling him to the rec room where Brawn was standing on a table, singing show tunes, completely drunk.

It was with some trepidation that the newly-named Solarflare found herself standing outside the door to Optimus’ office the next day. Sleep hadn’t come easy for her the night before. Ratchet had her use a spare recharging berth in the repair bay until she was regulated her own quarters. The medic had presented her with a few items that they had managed to procure from her house before her parents had descended upon it in their grief. The thought of never coming into contact with her family again had brought the full weight of what had happened crashing down on her; cuddling her old worn bear -- which was little more than the size of her hand now -- she sat there in the darkness, with only the light of Ratchet’s instruments lighting the massive room, and had cried out her loss and sorrow. Afterwards, mentally and physically exhausted, she slipped the thin cable into a recessed port in her side as Ratchet had shown her and drifted off into what the Autobots called “offline”.

Now she was on the threshold of her new life, her new identity as an Autobot soldier. Her wings quivered with nerves, threatening to burst upwards and back at any moment. She’d already had the unpleasant experience of coming “online” that morning and spontaneously transforming. Half-way. It had taken Ratchet and Wheeljack a half an hour to manhandle her back into robotmode.

Drawing in a deep breath, feeling the ventilators in her chest cavity expand infitessimally, she lifted a hand and pressed the buzzer. Almost immediately, the panel slid open and she found herself staring across the room at Optimus’ great bulk sitting at his desk. The Autobot commander set aside the data pad he was looking at and rose to greet her.

“Mirage tells me you have changed your name,” his deep voice, with its hint of a drawl, began. “To ‘Solarflare’.” He drew her in and closed the panel, indicating that she sit.

Forcing herself into position, Solarflare looked across the metallic desk as Optimus lowered his bulk into his chair. “Yes -- er, aye -- sir,” she spluttered.

Optimus waved a blue hand in dismissal. “You can save the ‘sirs’ and ‘ayes’ for the battlefield, young lady,” he reproached gently. “We’re all on familiar terms here. Now.” He picked up the data pad. “You were an … editor, am I correct?”

She nodded. “I prepped documents for publication. Often, I dealt with the submitters.”

Prime folded his hands. “Does that mean you are good at communicating?”

Solarflare found her optics flicking back and forth between his hands and that unperceivable battlemask. Did he have a mouth behind that, or was it just vocalizer slits? “Fairly adept,” she admitted.

“Good.” He sat back and regarded her thoughtfully. “I had a talk with Prowl and Jazz the other night about what we should do with you. You are aware that we are at war with the Decepticons and by taking our symbol, you pledge yourself to our cause and will fight for it.”

“Yes. I am well aware of the implications.”

“And you still agree to it?”

She sighed, looking down at her hands, flicking her claws in and out for a moment before making optic-contact with Prime. “Yes, I do. I was given this body for a reason, and I intend to use it as it’s supposed to. I will fight.”

“You are an intelligent, mature lady, Solarflare,” he said at last. “I will not be asking you to fight -- not yet,” he said, looking at her from under the vent in his headgear. “I will have Wheeljack train you how to operate Teletraan-1. We need someone well-versed in communication on the Ark.” Lifting his hand, Optimus rubbed the back of his head in a rare show of embarrassment. “I’m afraid that while we rotate the duty, there is simply no way for me to assign someone to the position permanently.”

“And you want me to be that person?”

Optimus nodded. “Yes, once you are trained, you will become our Communications Officer.”

She sat back, taking it in. After a moment, she smiled softly. It appeared she wasn’t going to be sitting around useless after all. “Sounds good to me.”

Behind his mask, Prime smiled back. Reaching into a drawer, he pulled out three Autobot decals. “Then follow me, Autobot Solarflare.”

The ceremony was brief, but everyone not on patrol duty filed outside to watch Optimus Prime attach the three Autobot symbols to the avian femme Solarflare’s chest and outer wings. Mirage watched proudly from the middle of the group. For the first time, he felt a rightness and joined in the cheering as Optimus lifted her hand high in the air.

Those first few weeks were spent learning everything that there was to know about the Ark and the surrounding units. Wheeljack was impressed that she took to Teletraan so quickly; he was also amazed at the ferocity in which she seemed to attack a task, going at it single-mindedly until it was accomplished. Optimus was impressed as well and proclaimed her fit for the job of Communications Officer.

Early one summer morning, Solarflare awoke to see a large black shadow looming over her bed. Scrabbling, she lashed out with a taloned foot, only to have it grabbed and her entire person hauled off the berth. Landing with a clank on the floor, she found herself pinned by a heavy foot planted square on her chestplate. With her weapons’ relays still offline, she could do nothing more than rake at the leg with her claws.

“Hey! Cut that out!” The foot was promptly removed and Solarflare was jerked upright by the back of her neck. Sunstreaker’s cold blue optics bore holes into her own.

“You attacked me!”

Casually, the golden warrior tossed her back onto her bed, sniffing in disdain as she bounced on the padding. “Of course I attacked you,” he said, turning around and pulling a chair back for him to sit on. “I had to see how you’d react.”

Solarflare leaned back, ruefully rubbing the back of her neck. “Oh, so that’s how it is, huh?” she replied, voice laden with sarcasm. “Gee, ever think about just saying, ‘Hey, Flare, let’s spar?’ ”

Sunstreaker spun the chair around so that he could lay his forearms on the back. “Since when have I ever played by the rules?” he asked, a smirk curling at the edges of his lip components. “I’ll answer that for you -- never. But, now I see what I have to work with, and I admit, I’m relishing the challenge.”

Solarflare scowled. Just when she thought she was getting used to the Autobots’ various quirks, Sunny defied them all. “You’re a real winner, Sunny,” she muttered, running her hands up and down her chestplate to check for cracks. The golden Lambo was heavy -- heavy-bodied, heavy-footed. “I don’t know whether to be honored or affronted to be your ‘pet project’.”

“Someone has to do it, and I have the time. Besides, none of these clowns can teach you like I can.”

Solarflare arched an eye ridge. “Is that so.”

Sunstreaker leaned forward, poking her in the chest with a bulky black finger. “Listen up, newbie, I don’t dally with just anybody. You should be thankful to be in my presence.”

Her wings twitched at the insult. But she also remembered being told that Sunny and his brother didn’t pull punches with the feminine gender. Still. “I’ll buy some incense and burn it for you, O mighty Lambo.”

The cold blue optics glittered, feral. Solarflare braced herself for the inevitable when Sunstreaker shook his head and grinned, changing moods like the wind. “When do you go on duty?”

Flexing her talons, she eyed him. “I’ve got the day off. Wheeljack and Perceptor are reformatting the Comm Station for me.”

“Excellent. Now, if you’ll come with me --” He stood up and kicked the chair to the side, not concerned in the least about cleanliness. From her position on her bed, Solarflare eyed the tall golden warrior. She had to learn to fight some day; Optimus had only given her a few months’ reprieve from battle -- after that, he expected her to charge when called upon.

“Fine,” she replied sullenly, sliding off and pointedly returning the chair to her desk. Sunstreaker pounded the door open and strolled down the hall, Solarflare jogging to keep up with his longer stride. They rode the elevator down to the lower level of the Ark, three floors above where the artillery and the storage hold were.

To her immense embarrassment, the gym held Trailbreaker, Smokescreen, Tracks, and the entire Aerialbot contingent. She hung back in the doorway until Sunstreaker realized that she wasn’t following him and turned around. Scowling, he took her by the upper arm and practically carried her to the unused sparring ring. Just as she suspected, the others stopped what they were doing and watched curiously. Shuffling uncomfortably, she looked around, noting the various non-energy weapons on the wall and the punching bag. Her crest quirked and she held up a hand, neatly catching the long metal pole Sunstreaker had thrown at the back of her head.

“Whoa,” the others breathed simultaneously.

Solarflare drew the pole around to her front and looked at it, wondering how the hell she had sensed it coming. The reaction had been purely instinctual at best. What other wonders did this form hold?

Behind her, Sunstreaker grunted. “Not bad.” He had his own pole and spun his entire hand around, making it whistle shrilly. With a flick, he had it held before him. “Now, we get to work.”

Sunstreaker made her work -- hard. By noontime, her armor was banged and bruised, but she learned. He didn’t make her conform to his style of fighting -- which was basically attack head-on with everything he possessed -- rather, he watched her movements and instructed her accordingly. When they sat for an Energon break, he held out a data pad.

“Plug in your schedule. I want to see you down here as often as possible.”

Joints squeaking, she complied, handing it back to him. Sunstreaker looked at it, his lips curling downward. “Target practice with Prowl and flying lessons with Powerglide?” He snorted. “You’ll learn nothing from them.”

“On the contrary, I think she can learn a great deal from me.” They looked up to see Prowl looming over them. “This is more than you can ever claim, Sunstreaker.”

The yellow warrior waved a negligent hand. “I prefer my own methods.”

Prowl nodded. “Oh yes, I know them well. I have ten readers full of your ‘methods’.”

Sunny grinned and preened. “You’ll have to let me see them sometime. I like to relive the glory days.”

Prowl opened his mouth to retort when he actually saw the condition Solarflare was in. “Great Cybertron!” the military strategist exclaimed. “What did he do to you!”

Sunstreaker tossed back the remaining Energon in his cup and stood up. “It’s nothing, Prowl. She’s fine.”

“I’m taking her to Ratchet.” Prowl leaned over and grabbed Solarflare by the arm. She blinked; what was it with these mechs hauling her around by her appendages? Standing up, she brushed Prowl off. “I’m fine,” she spat, surprising herself with the hiss that issued from her vocalizer. “Will you people stop grabbing me already? I’m not some fragile glass ornament, you know.” She had to stop herself from saying “I’m not human anymore.” Setting her cup down, she turned to Sunstreaker. “Let’s go. I want to try that disarmament move again.”

With a indolent wave to Prowl, Sunstreaker followed. The strategist folded his arms, completely blown. A cultured chuckle issued from the air to his right; a second later, Mirage materialized. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”

Too stunned to speak, Prowl could only nod. Draping an arm around the other’s shoulders, Mirage patted him. “It’s ok, Prowl, it happens to the best of us.” For the first time in his life, Prowl had to agree with that sentiment. The analyst and spy watched as Solarflare and Sunstreaker climbed into the ring and armed with their staffs, launched into another round. It was something else, observing those two: small, slim, grey-white-black Solarflare, with wings attached to her arms, going toe to toe with sleek, golden Sunstreaker -- a warrior to the core of his spark.

A cheer went up among the Autobots as Solarflare twisted gracefully, slipping her staff under Sunstreaker’s and at the same time, taking his legs out from under him with a well-placed sweep of her foot. Planting one taloned foot on his chest, she tapped her staff at the base of his throat, looking for all the world like a mountaineer reaching the top of Mt. Everest.

“How’s that, Master?” she asked impudently.

Sunstreaker rumbled and pushed her out of the way. He stood up, craning his neck to check his reflection in one of the mirrors that lined the room. Glancing over his shoulder, he smiled. “You’ll do, Padawan. Now, go see Ratchet. You look awful.”

With a grin, she slipped under the ropes and popped up by Prowl and Mirage. “Didja see?” she jabbered excitedly at the spy, hopping from one foot to the other.

He grinned back. “That I did. You did well, very well indeed. Now, let’s see Ratchet, shall we?” He let her go first, pointedly avoiding body contact. As they crossed the threshold, one of Solarflare’s wings disengaged and smacked Mirage in the head. The spy tipped backwards, much to the amusement of the others who laughed uproariously as he fell down. Solarflare spun around, hands to her mouth, hovering like a mother hen. Her unruly wing spun with her, knocking hard against the impressive bulk of Optimus Prime.

“Whoa there,” the commander chuckled genially. He bent down and straightened out the errant appendage and helped Mirage to his feet. Looking Solarflare up and down, he remarked, “Session with Sunstreaker?” When she nodded, he took in the broad smile on her face and deduced it had ended particularly well, which was rare, considering who Sunstreaker was. “Well, don’t let me keep you from where you’re going.” Leaning down, Prime waggled a finger in front of her nose. “Watch those wings, young lady.”

Throwing a crisp salute, Solarflare grinned. “Aye, sir!” And practically skipped down the hall, Mirage following at a more placid pace, hands behind his back.

Smiling behind his mask, Prime walked into the gym. “Well, it seems Solarflare is adjusting well.”

Sunstreaker, who was cleaning the equipment, replied without looking up. “Yeah.”

Knowing that he wouldn’t get anything else out of the yellow warrior, Prime folded his arms and glanced around the room. “What do the rest of you think?”

Tracks leaned up against the wall. “I find her to be pleasant company. Even if she appears to have an affinity for the delinquency.”

Sunstreaker looked up then, glowering; Tracks merely leveled the warrior his most urbane scowl and Sunny turned back to his work. Trailbreaker shrugged. “What I can say, Prime. She’s fitting in well, she does her work as well as any of us.”

“But will she be able to fight?” Fireflight interjected. “She won’t have proved herself until I see her kick some Decepticon aft.”

Slingshot shouldered him. “Are you daft? She just showed us she can fight.”

Fireflight rolled his optics. “Sparing isn’t fighting. I reserve judgment.”

“You watch, Fireflight, she’ll save your aft,” Silverbolt noted, chuckling.

Optimus shook his head, and, optics twinkling, left, leaving the Aerialbots to their squabbling.

Later that evening, a repaired Solarflare wandered outside and, slipping into her avian mode, perched on a nearby rock. The hum of the exterior security cameras increased as they detected her presence and the femme had the distinct impression that Red Alert was behind them, watching her. The paranoid mech had proclaimed her a liability from the get-go and was constantly in Optimus’ aural tract about it. Solarflare snorted and waved at the camera with one foot; as if she would do anything to jeopardize the people who saved her life. But, Red being Red, he would never grasp the idea.

It had been two months since she’d been awakened, over five since the accident. In the cold and lonely nights, she often wondered about her family, cried a little too. The personal effects the Autobots had been able to secure for her helped a little, especially her little Charles, that ratted old teddy she slept with in the crook of her arm. In her off hours, she spent time redecorating her room, which was surprisingly large for a warrior’s berth. A few murals here and there, a desk and a comm unit that was connected to Teletraan-1 and the Internet; she even had a collection of readers with novels downloaded on them, courtesy of Optimus and Hound. They were mostly Westerns and historical fiction, but she figured a few trips to the library would build up her collection.

Yes, she had considered going back -- but not to the one where her existence as a human had ended. She wouldn’t let herself get phobic about libraries, but that one just held too many painful memories -- literally.

Looking up into the sky, she watched a hawk cry and gyre about. Her plating twitched, her wings fluttered against her back. Sliding an optic over to the camera, which was still focused on her, she made up her mind. Opening up those troublesome black-white-grey pinions, she carefully engaged her boosters. The slim turbines lifted out of their concealed flaps along her back and settled in position. Getting to her feet, she thought and instantly, the boosters burst into life. Powerglide had told her that it would become as instinctual as transforming; Solarflare had to smile at that. It was one thing to transform -- it was a whole new matter to fly. Increasing the power, she rose into the air as smooth as silk, bursting into the sky joyously. Instantly, the cameras focused on her -- all five of them. Dipping her inner pinions, Solarflare cavorted by, extracting glee from the knowledge that Red Alert was hopping up and down behind his desk.

Whatever instinct she now possessed took over and she angled herself towards the city. Optimus never gave specifics as to where the Autobots were not allowed to go during their off-hours, only that they check in if they were going to be gone longer than a few hours. Other than that, she was free with her time, to go where she pleased.

Accelerating, Solarflare slitted her golden eyes in pure pleasure; this is what she lived for -- the unrestrained nature of flight, the utter bliss she felt as the wind rushed past her face, filled her lungs and Energon pump with exuberance. She was FREE.

Swirling on the wing, she tipped sideways, cart-wheeling, free-wheeling. No matter how clumsy her wings might be in base-mode, she was unerring in movements now. Some time during her body’s construction, Ratchet, Wheeljack and Perceptor must have added essence of avian, because she never felt as in control as she did when she transformed.

Her antics soon brought her streaking over the city. The lights were just coming on, making the area shimmer with an ethereal air. Opening her beak, she let loose a pure avian cry -- the scream of an eagle. Evening shoppers glanced skyward, craning their necks up to watch her flit across the darkening sky, blending in with the shadows as they deepened. She waved to them with a taloned foot, grinning when young children waved back.

Down to the heart of the city and back she went, all within ten minutes. On her return, she spied a carnival in the park; her Energon pump lifted at the sight and she spun down. How she missed the carnival! Cutting her boosters, she glided the rest of the way in, much to the delight of the fairgoers -- once they figured out that she wasn’t a Decepticon. She hovered briefly, using the power of her metallic wings to keep her aloft as the humans cleared a sizable space for her to land. Once on the ground, she transformed: first, her wings lifted high and her raptor head snapped back; her chest opened up, folding along the seams to tuck at her spine. Her humanoid head with his spray of grey feathers emerged from its containment unit between her shoulder struts, arms unfolding from where they had been encased by the chestplates. Lastly, her lower torso torqued around, tailfeathers splitting on either side.

The crowd “Ooo’d” and “Ahhh’d”, pressing forward to hesitantly touch her legs. Solarflare chuckled; it was funny, watching people act like this. She tried to remember how she had treated Hound the first time she had met him, and if she got the details correct, there wasn’t any heavy petting involved.

“Are you an Autobot?” one little girl cried, jumping up and down.

“Stupid!” the older youth next to her, most obviously her brother, snapped. “Can’t you see her symbol?” A strange look crossed his face. “Hey -- you’re a girl!”

A smile stretched across Solarflare’s face. “The last time I checked, yes, I’m female.”

“We’ve only seen male Autobots,” someone in the crowd called out.

“Now you see me,” she replied; with a wave, she started walking, making sure to watch where her feet were going. Part of her realized why Red Alert didn’t like too many humans traipsing in and out of the Ark -- they asked stupid questions. They followed her at a distance, watching her every move. Like a woman in full control of her femininity, Solarflare added a hip wiggle, strolling down the path in high fashion.

“What’s your name?” another called out.

“Solarflare,” she responded, wandering over to the elephant rides. The great grey pachyderms saw her coming and trumpeted. A low chirp escaped her lips, soothing. The gelded bull eyed her, his ears flapping against his great head. She chirped again and he settled, the other two soon following suit. Purring in amusement, Solarflare passed them by, heads above the tall, gaily-striped tents of the carnival. She’d never had so much fun!

Her wanderings brought her to the midway and she lamented for a brief moment not having the proper size to play the games. Flipping her wrist up, she checked her chronometer; it was getting late. As she turned to go, she heard someone hailing her. “Miss! Autobot miss!” It was one of the gaming vendors.

“Yes?”

“Take this, please.” He held up an oversized brown bear with an immense red bow.

Leaning down, she took the bear, marveling that it was just the right size. Puzzled, she looked at the vendor. “Why?”

He merely shrugged and turned to a young couple waiting for their turn at chance. Solarflare stood there, taken completely by surprise. She tried to leave the bear on the counter, but the vendor would have nothing of it. Finally giving up, she put the bear in subspace and bounded down the lane, transforming in light of the much smaller crowd.

It was completely dark when she got back to the Ark, gliding all the way into the main bay before transforming back. When she got up to the bridge, Jazz was sitting by Teletraan’s main computer, swiveling back and forth in his chair, watching a rock concert on the screen.

“Checking in?” she called to the saboteur.

He spun around, face splitting into a massive grin. “Well, baby doll, good evening to you! And what were you up to tonight?”

Pulling the bear out of subspace, she hugged it close. “Oh, I went for a flight.”

Jazz chuckled. “Oh, did you now.”

“Yup. Goodnight, Jazz.”

“Night, little lady. Sweet dreams.”

Oh, she sure would, Solarflare thought to herself, clutching Cavalier tightly to her chest. Things were looking decidedly up.