I just knocked this off in under two hours, completely spontaneously. The train of thought that led up to it is so convoluted I don't understand it myself. Ah well. Setting's unimportant; it could be the late second-season cartoons, or the comics after issue 24. Enjoy!
Something to Do
Back to Rob's Pile of Fanfic
It was not a very realistic design, really. It was
far too small. And it was the wrong color. And it
featured mounted weapons that would never be seen on
its prototypes. And on top of that, it wasn't even a
very _good_ design. Earthen space shuttles were
tremendously, hopelessly primitive craft, and all the
advanced tech in the world couldn't save them from
the fact that they just weren't a very sophisticated
design. Not by Blast-Off's standards, anyway.
But when Blast-Off had spoken to his leader about
getting his vehicle form re-designed, all he'd gotten
in response was a rant about "limited resources" and
"critical energy shortage." So, for now, he'd have
to deal with being trapped in a discouragingly crude
form.
He did have to admit that it got the job done. But
it was just... so... _limiting!_
Such were the thoughts that flitted through Blast-Off's
mind as he floated in orbit above Earth. Even they did
not really hold his interest for long, however. Like
everything else up here, he'd done it all more times than
he could count. Blast Off's automated guidance systems
handled most of his chores for him, feeding updates that
scrolled across one corner of his field of vision as the Earth
drifted by, far below him. The end result was that he had
more time for introspection than any sane being would ever
want.
+++Viewtrex report+++
+++Approaching sector 14+++
+++Coordinate with visual scans+++
Blast-Off's optical circuitry zeroed in on the
planet below him, picking through the myriad clouds
that drifted across the surface. Continents, cities,
lakes, deserts, forests... all far below him; all
amazingly tiny. He spotted the southern edge of the
Mediterranean Sea, Italy projecting into it a bit
further north. A quick reflective energy pulse
confirmed his altitude, and position. And his duties
were complete for the next twenty minutes or so, till
he entered sector 15.
And there was nothing to do till then.
Oh, sure, he _could_ have listened in on the
communications that were being bounced off of him.
As the Decepticons' orbital relay platform, he was
responsible for making sure that field reports made
their way back to headquarters, and that orders
handed down made it back to those field units. But
that had long ago ceased to interest him. "Observed
security measures at human coal-burning fuel plant
for 6 hours. Returning to fall-back point Alpha."
"Engaged Autobot patrol at 07:21:41. Patrol
retreated with minimal damage at 07:24:38. Resumed
patrol pattern, 7:24:51. No damage incurred. 922
energy units expended." Blah blah blah. Staring at
the planet below him was dull, but it beat listening
in on the mundane doings of his comrades down below.
If anything interesting had happened, the emergency
frequencies would instantly alert his sensors and
he'd tune in. But emergencies were very, very rare.
This job was tremendously boring... and he was the
only Decepticon that could do it. What a thrill.
+++Viewtrex report+++
+++Unidendified contact+++
+++Bearing 4-4-53, closing 8000+++
+++Recommend course change to 9-9-00+++
Hmmm, now _this_ was unexpected.... Blast-off
focused his hyper-keen vision ahead, searching out
whatever had wandered into his space, ready to shoot
it down if need be. But that was unlikely. His
orders were to avoid conflict if at all possible.
That meant he couldn't even amuse himself by shooting
down the humans' communication satellites.
His vision panned slowly back and forth, till at
last a small infrared signature returned. His
optical range magnified it instantly, revealing --
A paint chip! Hmm!
Blast-Off waited till the last possible moment
before thrusting himself the tiniest degree to one
side. The minuscule bit of space debris whizzed a
few yards past him. Even though it would probably
not harm his ultra-strong armor plating, it would be
foolish to take the chance.
Anyway, dodging it was something to do, for a few
seconds at least.
He drifted onwards, looking up, down, ahead,
behind. Nothing. A distant speck drifted past the
opposite way, a human satellite he'd known would be
there long before his sensors reported it. Primus,
how much longer...?
+++Viewtrex report+++
+++Approaching sector 15+++
+++Coordinate with visual scans+++
Finally! The most interesting part of his trip.
He ran the perfunctory position check, finding the
Persian Gulf below him and bouncing another pulse off
of it. But his attention was elsewhere, eagerly
anticipating.
He waited... and waited... any second now...
+++Priority Viewtrex report+++
+++Contact bearing 4-4-48+++
+++Abnormally low detectability range+++
+++Probable Autobot+++
+++Recommend go to combat status+++
At last! Blast-Off bled energy into the twin ion
cannons that were mounted on his wings, and prepared
his thrusters for action. He scanned ahead,
searching along the vector his on-board computer had
given him. There -- a tiny speck, dimly lit by the
distant sun, starlight glinting off metal. An
Autobot, the mortal enemies of the Decepticons.
Blast-Off sent out a range-and-position pulse,
establishing a target lock on the incoming object.
His sensors felt it as a similar pulse reflected off
of him, his target acquiring his range and position.
Then nothing for a moment.
He sent out a second pulse, at his usual carefully
measured intervals. One every two seconds. The
combat manual prescribed increasingly frequent pulses
as one drew nearer, to prevent jamming and ensure
accuracy. He didn't do so. Two seconds, no faster.
He sent another pulse, and felt one hit him. Two and
a half seconds, for his foe. A daring opponent.
The object ahead became a discernible disk,
acquiring a definite form and shape and bits of
coloration. Blast-Off's targeting pulses continued
to resonate out, every two seconds -- no faster.
+++Priority Viewtrex report+++
+++You are within firing range+++
+++Engagement recommended IMMEDIAT--
Blast-Off didn't bother listening to the rest.
Stupid Viewtrex system. What did it know about
military duty in space?
He could see the enemy clearly, now. Still sending
out his pulses every 2.5 seconds. Growing closer and
closer, larger and larger. But still not quite as
big as Blast-Off.
They were so close now that they were within short-
range radio wave distance. And that was how Blast-
Off chose to communicate.
"Greetings, Cosmos!" he said grandly to his target.
"Hi, Blast-Off," the green Autobot replied. Both
of them fired retrothrusters, slowing down. Both
continued to send out targeting pulses, each at their
own slow, measured pace, as they drifted closer.
"You are late," Blast-Off observed.
"Had to drop altitude for a little surveillance.
Oh, and I left you a present on bearing 4-4-57,"
Cosmos said.
"The paint chip! How generous of you," Blast-Off
said. "Wherever did you get it?" No sane space
warrior would dare scratch his own armor -- it made
re-entry unnecessarily dangerous.
"Junked satellite. I passed it during my
surveillance run."
"Interesting. You erred, however. It was on 4-4-
53 when I found it."
"I must be going senile," Cosmos said.
"You _are_ an Autobot."
"Let's not start on that again," Cosmos said. They
drifted past one another just then, only a few
hundred feet apart.
"Some other time, then. Farewell, Cosmos."
"Later, Blast-Off."
Blast-Off switched off his radio and targeting
pulses, taking note as Cosmos did the same. He fired
his thrusters, coming back up to full speed and
resuming his orbital course. And he called up a log
file.
"Delete Viewtrex time record 044.232 to 044.249."
+++Viewtrex report+++
+++Time records deleted+++
"Manual log entry follows: Time record 044.232.
Minor course adjustment to avoid Autobot contact.
Resuming patrol pattern. Status normal."
+++Log entry recorded.+++
Cosmos had stopped to do some surveillance work, and
there had been a junked satellite nearby. Blast-Off
could probably use that information to figure out
where he'd been and what he'd been looking at... but
what would be the point? Sooner or later Cosmos
would find out about it. That would shatter the
delicate trust between the two of them. And having
Cosmos around was more important to Blast-Off than
gaining some trivial bit of military knowledge.
Blast-Off stared ahead, faced with several hours of
boredom before he met up with Cosmos again. As
always, he vaguely wondered what his fellow
Decepticons would think if they knew about his
conversations with his Autobot counterpart.
As always, he didn't care. They were down there,
with things to do, people to talk to, places to see.
He was up here, alone, in the middle of nothing.
And what did _they_ know about military duty in
space? Precious little. But Cosmos knew. He had
to deal with it too. Blast-Off would never admit it
aloud... but it was good to have a friend of sorts up
there.
And even better to have -- even if only for a
moment -- something to do.
****************THE END***********************