Mr. Blue Sky

[Arthur Morgan]

Skywarp's sleek violet and obsidian jet mode sliced through the wide azure skies of Opealon, leaving a trail of shimmering vapor in his wake. Below, the endless expanse of crystal-clear ocean glittered under the sun's harsh glare, interrupted only by the rare floating boulder or island, drifting aimlessly among the wispy, cotton-white clouds.

Even the stark natural beauty of this world, a world that seemed practically made for flying, couldn't shake the haunting memories that weighed on Skywarp's mind.

The shrieks of phantom kaiju echoed in the seeker's audials even now, accompanied by the deafening, titanic clash of fellow mecha battling to the death. And above all, he could still hear the sickening crunch and shattering of his wing-mate's spark chamber as it was crushed to glittering, tinkling shards in Megatron's iron fist; the recorded echo popping up in his processor again and again, like a fragging virus.

But that was then. This was now.

And right now, Warp was a mech on a mission.

His engines purred in a steady, determined hum as he scanned the relentless swell and crash of the deep blue waves far below, his heavy metal frame tingling from the salty sea spray. An intermittent ping, erratic and distorted from the vast stretch of Opealon's ocean, was his only guide—an unsteady buzz, a signal singing across his sensors that seemed to move and flit about as vigorously as the sparkling, white-capped breakers raging beneath him.

Still, no matter how dodgy or weak it was, it was a signal, and Warp was dead-set on pursuing it.

Every so often, the seeker would swoop low enough to tear through and startle a flock of seagulls circling above some island or another, causing a cacophony of panicked squawks and fluttering feathers to fill the air, the little prank momentarily distracting him from the serious mission at hand. But it was only a temporary diversion, and eventually Warp would subside, cruising along and returning to his endless scanning, scanning, scanning...

As day waned into night, the sun began its slow, meandering descent, painting the wavering horizon with an incandescent fusion of amber and crimson. The ocean below mirrored the fiery palette of the sky, rippling and undulating waves of molten gold stretching out as far as the seeker's scanners could sense.

And sure enough, just as Skywarp thought his tanks might be about to burn dry... his scanners picked up a faint, metallic glint among the waves. A flickering and silvery beacon, almost painfully vivid under the fading glow of dusk.

"Thank Primus," grumbled Warp, thoroughly annoyed that it had taken him this long to pin down the source of the flickering signal—TC's signal. His vocalizer crackled like garbling static around the words, having not been in use for at least mega-cycle.

Reinvigorated, Skywarp pushed his engines to the limit, the roar of his afterburners reverberating across the sky as his jet body hissed above the waves like an obsidian arrow. His optical sensors focused with a razor-sharp intensity on the horizon-line, the setting sun's reflection making the tiny speck of metal in the distance glimmer and dance, like something bobbing atop the waves.

Skywarp's scanners honed in on the object, his focus narrowing.

It almost looked like...

A boat?

 

[King Shark]

Creeeeak.

The rocking chair always creaked. It creaked with every pendulum back and forth. It was not old, however. Thundercracker had to wonder if the chair had been manufactured that way intentionally, if the very character of the chair had been deliberately punctuated with a subdued creak in order to give it some flavor.

It was one of his favorite parts. His entire home was an aggregate construct of lateral boards in the shape of a boat punched with support beams topped off with interlacing logs that formed a large log cabin. The outer shell of the structure was metal, a blend of different ore that offered buoyancy primarily with a dash of protective reinforcement. These things were splendid marvels of human engineering; they were not on par with the engineering behind his own intricate body reconstructed post obliteration though it was, but they were impressive feats nonetheless.

And yet the rocking chair.

That splendid body of his clung to the hull of his floating home fastened with interlocks so large they could nearly function as independent tunnels. Every once in awhile TC got down there to scrape the barnacles from his own chassis, but he was largely content to live out his days as a holomatter projection. Some fascinating tinkering on behalf of the folks at Syntech had granted him life - the sensations of touch, sight, sense, smell, hearing, and even taste all bundled up into a physical manifestation! What couldn’t those rascally meatbags do?

A ping in his system startled Tyler C. Racker, sending a thrill up his spine. He planted his rubber boots firmly on the deck to stop his chair from rocking and turned his head, guided by the radar in his mind linked so cleverly to the Cybertronian body beneath the water’s surface.

He could see the familiar glint of moonlight on chassis before he could make out the growing shape of Skywarp’s jet form hurtling closer from the horizon. He moved fast, which was to be expected, because that son of a bitch loved moving fast. The faint blip of his signal grew to a shrill whine in Thundercracker’s head, and with a grimace, TC was forced to jam a pinky into his ear and wiggle it around to relieve the pressure.

When the jet pulled up, all flashy Seeker frame trimmed in violet and slashed in obsidian, it slowed with an unnatural suddenness unique to the synergy between a Cybertronian’s processor and body. Racker shielded his eyes against the brilliant light of ‘Warp’s thrusters then watched as his old, old friend began to twist and turn with the speed and aptitude of a total nerd blasting through a rubix cube until he reshaped himself into his root form and dropped right out of the sky.

He landed with a heavy thump on the deck which lurched the entire boat towards the water and sent it rollicking on the ocean’s surface so hard that Thundercracker was nearly tossed body from his chair which in turn had begun to slide back and forth towards port and starboard with the vessel’s pitching and yawing. He yelped throatily and leapt from his chair which scattered ash from the pipe dangling from his lips across his lap. Hastily Thundercracker brushed himself off, jumping from foot to foot, and nearly slipped on a puddle of water that had splashed up through the rocking. He bit his lip and grounded his footing.

“Pits take you, Warp, you’re gonna capsize my damn-!”

Warp hunkered down and loomed forward, impossibly massive to Thundercracker who had grown so used to putzing around in a holomatter body. The Decepticon’s massive optics shuttered to a near close and narrowed their aperture to the size of a pinprick, so intense was his inspection of the holomatter projection in front of them.

“It really is you,” Skywarp said breathily. “They put you back together! And you’re– wearing chest waders? Without a shirt?”

Indeed he was. Tyler C. Racker grinned and slid his thumbs through the straps of his big, rubber chest waders, boots attached, which covered only half of a chest that looked like wrinkled, tanned leather.

“You bet I am,” Racker boasted proudly. “Pretty much all the time, when I’m not punching the ol’ timecard with the girlfriend, if you know what I mean.”

“I manifestly do not know what you mean,” replied Skywarp, recoiling. “I don’t understand. Why would you wear those,” and he gestured at the entirety of TC. “- in order to stand on a boat? Aren’t those for, like, splashing around in water?”

Thundercracker frowned, then spit on the deck.

“That’s not important right now,” he replied. “You know what is important, though? How did you find me?”

Skywarp stood up to his full height which towered above even the cabin of the vessel and slashed his faceplates with a big smile.

“Easy,” Warp said, winking an optic. “I searched the surface of the ocean ceaselessly until I picked up a blip of your signal. I mean, I’ve had to stop and gas up, and I’ve split off into some sidequests, but l never gave up hope. I know you. I know a soft-chassis wimp like you wouldn’t go off to die and leave your girlfriend and your dog to fend for themselves. I was ready to stake anything on you putting together a contingency plan.”

Racker nodded sagely, stroking his long chin.

“You don’t live to be as old as I am without getting your ducks in a row,” he agreed. “I’d set aside my winnings to rebuild the ol’ scrapheap, and tossed in a little extra to make a full fledged holomatter body. No more projection. I’m a hundred percent au naturale, baby. A hundred and eighty pounds of rippin’ steel and sex appeal. Yep, you’re looking at a man who’s got it all, warp.”

He gestured at the cabin behind him and grinned.

“A boathouse?” asked Warp, raising his brow plate.

“A boat home,” corrected Thundercracker.

“And the girlfriend? And the dog?”

“Well, Marissa’s inside. She was probably sleeping before you tossed us around like a salad with that landing. Buster’s at college. After the whole Megatron thing, a bunch of folks donated, like, a shit-ton of coin. She’s finally living her dream. She’s finally gone away to pursue her education. Honestly, I couldn’t be more proud.”

“Your dog is roaming around on a college campus unsupervised?”

“She’s got an RA,” scoffed TC mockingly. “Honestly, Warp, you’re such a relic. You need to get with the times, daddio. Now, come on, shrink yourself down into that weird little catfish girl and follow me into the cabin. I’ve got a lot to show you.”