Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one: only myself, the computer, and possibly the plot. The Transformers belong to Hasbro, although they prefer to claim that they own themselves.
Dune Runner: prods author
And Dune Runner in particular wants it made clear that I don't own him. This has no relevance to the fic, so don't worry too much…
Edit: Grr, I almost forgot to add this in, as it should have been from the start: preliminary thanks go to Cobalt for beta reading this for me.
Dune Runner: holds up sign reading 'Beta readers apply here: she needs you.'
Get out of my head, you.
Scraping BottomThe day could only be described as peaceful; at least, it could pass for peaceful in a certain light, if you didn't look too closely. It was definitely calm in the sense of having clear skies and a relative absence of wind, and in having proved, thus far, to be remarkably short of violence, property damage and general troublemaking.
The forest itself was not peaceful, of course, because to be peaceful it would have to be dead, and sterilised, and quite a lot of other things to boot. Sideswipe had started to find patrols like this depressing, because he'd initially been impressed by Earth, and had taken enough of an interest to read up on the ecology. And it was disheartening to find that the forest fires you kept trying to prevent were actually fairly good for the forest as a whole, and that every creature you saved meant another one went hungry, and anyway it was all going to be extinct in a few million years or so . . . no, what was that about periodic mass extinctions? . . . a couple of thousand years, at best.
So while sometimes Optimus or Smokescreen or one of the others would comment on the trees or the flowers or even, for Primus' sake, the birds, Sideswipe tended to edge away from conversations like that, if only to get his mind off tannin and pollination and evolutionary arms races.
He also tried to ignore the birdsong around him, which was all very nice and good up to the point where you found out what it meant.
"I don't get it." Hot Shot hadn't stopped staring into the valley below since he'd been handed the binoculars. "What's he doing?"
Sideswipe didn't bother to look again. "Nothing."
"Yeah, but why?"
Sideswipe thought about this. "Well, we've got three choices . . ."
"And what are they?" Hot Shot didn't turn to face him.
"He could be involved in some underhanded Decepticon scheme that we don't know about, or he could just be sitting there, knowing we're watching him and happily confusing the-"
"Watch it," muttered Nightbeat, beside him.
"-Confusing us." Sideswipe looked innocent as Hot Shot glanced at him. It wasn't hard.
"Right . . ." The technically-more-senior member of the scout patrol looked back through the binoculars. "So what's the third choice?"
"That he could just be out enjoying the sunshine."
Hot Shot gave the younger 'bot a look which illustrated his complete lack of any sense of humour at that point in time, and then returned his glare to the Decepticon below.
It wasn't fair, really. Sideswipe had gone on patrol for a chance to spend some time with his friend and get out of the base. He hadn't planned on meeting Tidal Wave apparently doing something similar. And now Hot Shot was annoyed and Sideswipe was feeling the edged traces of sarcasm in his own voice. It was probably the birdsong. All the alarm calls put him on edge.
Besides, Tidal Wave wasn't doing anything . . . well, wrong. He was just sitting on the lake below like a very heavily armed, very empty battleship, which, to be fair, he was. But they'd been watching for half an hour now, and he hadn't moved, let alone transformed or fired on them. Unless he hadn't seen them, but then why didn't he get on with whatever dastardly activity he should, in theory, be engaged in?
"So . . . what do we do?"
Hot Shot considered his options. "We need to get a closer look."
"Right." Sideswipe looked at his friend, then at the equally bright-coloured Minicon beside him. "Er . . . maybe I should go?"
Nightbeat sniggered. "Yeah, Sideswipe. You're stealthy enough to put the whole base on alert every other night, after all."
"Hey!" Sideswipe was indignant. "That only happened twice!"
"He has a point, though," said Hot Shot. "I'll go."
"What?" said Jolt.
"What?" said Sideswipe.
"You've got to be kidding me," said Nightbeat.
Some time later, a very familiar, very noisy and very yellow form stumbled, crashed and, intermittently, cursed its way through the trees to the lakeside.
The others watched him from their position, although 'watched' was probably too sedate a word for the two Minicons, who were almost radiating mirth.
"Silent as the moving funfair, stealthy as the loaded muck-spreader, swift as the rampaging combine harvester, he creeps towards his unsuspecting prey…"
Sideswipe lowered the binoculars from his optics. "Stop it, Nightbeat."
Nightbeat tossed him a salute. "Stopping it, sir."
Sideswipe shook his head and looked back through the binoculars, trying to keep track of the situation below. He was sure that the three of them were ready to rush to the rescue if things took a turn for the worse, he just wasn't sure that they'd be much help, or even that things could get any worse. Behind him, he heard whispers.
"Your turn, Jolt."
"OK, here goes: His hapless victim, powerless to defend against the impending attack, is surely no match for the mighty predator, the result of millennia of military training and practised idiocy . . ."
Hot Shot glared at the silent warship for a minute, and then gave up. It's hard to win a staring contest when one end has no face or expression and may well be asleep.
After a moment, he picked his way along the shore, scanning the stony surface for any hint of disturbance. To his credit, and considerable gratification, he did find something: a human-sized tool that might or might not have anything to do with the Decepticon presence in the area. Hot Shot examined it with suspicion, turning it over in his hand as though he thought it might go off.
Eventually he came to the conclusion that it really was the simple bit of metal and plastic that it appeared to be, and scrambled back up the slope towards his waiting friends after shooting no more than a further glower at Tidal Wave.
After a few minutes, the breeze carried the faint sounds of someone - or several someones - warping out.
Stormcloud poked his head above the surface by the warship, ready to duck if he had to. "Are they gone?"
"Gave it up and cleared out," confirmed Ramjet, landing above him. In response to this news, the other two members of the Sea Team came up to see for themselves, or at least for a chance to look at something other than what they were facing.
Stormcloud sniffed, partly from disgust but mostly out of disappointment. "Didn't give us much trouble, did they?
Waterlog surfaced and clapped him on the back with a chuckle, incidentally shoving the other Minicon underwater. "Ah, we'll get another chance to give those land-bound Autobots a good seeing-to."
"Yes, we have a stauncher foe to face, at present." Oceanglide sighed, gloomily considering their chances of having this whole business sorted by nightfall.
"If you'd let Tidal Wave deal with them, we could have done something worthwhile." Stormcloud glared at him, a rumble of agreement from the Decepticon accompanying his words.
"Oh, yes, indeed," sneered Oceanglide, and directed a half-mutinous, half-stern stare at the larger Transformer. "Well, forgive me my audacity, but I am at present devoid of any inclination to spend any longer than is absolutely necessary in endeavouring to rid you of those . . . things simply because you transformed and spread them over even more of your hull or even got them under it. So you are going to sit there," and he was shouting now, "and you are going to wait, until every last one of those miniature monstrosities is picked free, got it?"
Tidal Wave didn't audibly answer, but he didn't need to. His silence was an affirmation of consent all on its own, although he was perfectly capable of indicating anything by his silences, up to and including a craving for steamed broccoli. That he'd most likely never want to was beside the point.
"Humph." Oceanglide turned to his fellow Minicons. "Any questions?"
"Yeah." Stormcloud was entirely put out about having being pushed under the water, even if he was used to voluntary immersion. "Aren't these things supposed to have dropped off on their own by now?"
"Yes, but do you want to wait any longer?" Oceanglide privately lamented his plight, and then turned to look up. "Come down here and get working, Ramjet!"
"Oh, I would, Oceanglide, and gladly, too," the little flier called from atop his perch on Tidal Wave's bulk, "but I regret to report that the Autobots did, in fact, strike a minor blow against our cause." He translated for the uncomprehending faces below him. "One of the blighters made off with my scraper. But don't let my exclusion spoil your fun," he added. "I wouldn't dream of taking this nautical task out of your capable hands."
Oceanglide snarled an incoherent reply and submerged. Surely this couldn't get worse: in his opinion, things had hit rock bottom. Waterlog eyed Stormcloud, who was turning his scraper in his hands and chanting slowly to himself. If he'd been human, he'd have been taking slow, deep breaths.
"Cheer up, shipmate," Waterlog ventured, "we'll get through this."
Stormcloud's expression was stony as he looked up at the other. "Just as long as I never have to look at a barnacle again."
Waterlog laughed as he tugged the other 'bot down. "Come on, then, let's get scraping and get this over with. Why don't we show these shellfish who the real terrors of the deep are, eh?"
A groan issued over the radio from Oceanglide. "What now?" asked Stormcloud, who was already depressed.
"By all the energon worth paying for, I hope that's not a limpet I'm seeing . . ."
The end.
Author Notes: I've wanted to do something involving Tidal Wave and barnacles for a while. I can't remember where I heard the idea of bringing ships into freshwater so that the barnacles would drop off, and I have no idea if it's still done. Presumably it works, but apparently not fast enough for the Sea Team. ;) He probably doesn't suffer from them, but then again, he might.
Sideswipe has not had luck with me. Now he knows what birdsong means: his mind is probably warped beyond repair, poor boy… (If anyone is planning on saving the world, I advise them to take a good look at it first and see if they're still so sure.)
Yes, it was short: who's complaining? On the other hand, it might not be worth resting easy just yet, with the way the Adventure Team have been complaining . . .