shadow_vector | Misadventure

G
G1....ish?
Cosmos, Tracks, Prowl
jalaperilo wanted some Tracks this morning. She didn't say it had to be *good*. Wrote this a while ago.

“Oh!” Cosmos squeaked, stepping back from the mech his thoracic ring had just bumped into.”Sorry! I’m sorry.”

The white and blue frame in front of him whirled, and he saw the bright red face of Tracks, glaring down at him. Cosmos withered. “Be,” Tracks said, his accent so crisp it cut, “more careful.”

For a moment, Cosmos was staggered. Tracks. The Tracks. You know, the hero. Here, in a simple orbital hub shuttle. “I will! I definitely will.” He bobbled his head. “And, sir. It’s an honor to stand next to you, sir.”

An eyeroll, and an impatient huff, before the broad back got turned again, the taller mech moving down the narrow aisle to find his seat.

Cosmos supposed he deserved it. You know. Big war hero, he probably got jostled by fans all the time. Mech deserved his privacy. Cosmos edged down, looking for his own seat, clutching his loading chit in one plump hand, careful to give Tracks his space.

He twisted his way down the aisle, looking for seat 8B. Six…seven…eight….oh. Tracks glared up at him from 8A. Cosmos held out his seating chit, like a shield.

“Hnnnph,” Tracks muttered, scooting to the far side of the seat, grudgingly, as Cosmos perched, gingerly, on the seat. “You again.”

“I’ll be quiet,” Cosmos blurted. “I mean, I know you probably don’t want to talk about stuff…and…stuff.”

“I don’t,” Tracks said, turning his head to the window moodily.

[***]

The whole ship rocked, jolting Cosmos from where he’d been dozing, clinging to the far armrest. The lights flashed and flickered and then died, fizzling. The crowded cabin burst into sound, yelps of fear, clattering limbs, querulous demands, as the sound of the engines whined to silence.

“Meteor strike,” Cosmos blurted, immediately. He’d plotted the shuttle’s course, mostly as something to do; he knew the planetary fields they were due to cross. It was a rare chance, running afoul of a meteor cloud. His cortex retrieved the data, figuring in duration of the trip. Another impact, the shuttle tossing to one side. He found himself flung across Tracks’s chassis.

“Let me up,” Tracks said, pushing him off. Cosmos scrambled away, apologetic, stuttering an apology.

The ship’s aisle was a mess—limbs thrown across, a few of the seats broken from their boltings. Cosmos had nowhere to go where he was out of Tracks’s way. He quivered for a moment, before deciding, clutching at a seat as a third impact rattled through the ship. Someone had to get the engines working. And Cosmos wasn’t a hero, but he knew spaceships. He was one, after all.

He began wading through the crowd, his round shape sliding over the squarer armor plates of others, as he whispered a stream of apologies: “Sorry! Eep! I’m sorry. I-is that your foot?” He was so intent, picking his way up to the cockpit, that he didn’t notice Tracks trailing behind him until he reached the cabin door. Tracks. Following him. Cosmos swelled up with pride. He was useful!

...kind of.

[***]

“I can handle it,” Tracks frowned down at the smaller mech. He tore the control panel aside, slapping at the alarm telltales that blinked a startled yellow over his gleaming armor.

Cosmos subsided, stepping back. Tracks probably could handle it. He was, you know, Tracks, after all.

“I-if I can help with anything…?” he offered, meekly.

“I have told you,” Tracks said, sharply. “I can handle this.” The engines complained to life again, breaking their auto-shutdown.

“Okay.” Cosmos moved to another panel, figuring he could work on just silencing the alarms, cutting the strobing ‘hull breach’ lights. At least he could do something, right? Maybe not save the shuttle, but it would help Tracks concentrate.

He felt the ship shudder, underneath him, the attitude thrusters kicking on, making the wounded shuttle lurch heavily to the left. Tracks’s red-armored face was taut with concentration, gripping the control column. He looked…super heroic, Cosmos thought. Exactly how a hero should look: strong chin, blazing optics, sleek lines, just radiating competence. While Cosmos was the opposite: short, round, and, well, he didn’t even have a chin!

It would be unfair, Cosmos thought, if it didn’t fit. He wasn’t a hero type. So he wasn’t jealous, not really. And he was really glad someone like Tracks was here to step up when they needed him.

“Hnnnn.” A sound of frustration, this time, the space between the optics ridging with concern. Funny how when Cosmos made that expression, his face looked all scrunched up: Tracks managed to look heroic and determined.

The ship groaned, as though the metal of the engine mountings protested against the sharp turn Tracks was forcing it into. Cosmos called up the proximity scan, nearby asteroids showing up as tumbling green dots on the monitor. “Th-this way,” he said, dragging a finger along the screen.

Tracks’s optics flicked to the screen. “We’ll run into something.”

“No,” Cosmos said, then twitched back. “I mean, if you calculate their speeds, this one,” he poked one of the dots, “will be to our starboard already by the time we get here.” He'd flown through dozens of asteroid fields. After a while, it was kind of fun, zipping among the tumbling, dead stones. Like playing tag or hide and seek.

Just...all by yourself.

“Your fault if we crash,” Tracks muttered, but Cosmos could feel the ship begin to slew, slowly, back to the track he’d indicated.

“We won’t,” Cosmos said, feeling a surge of confidence. “Spaceflight’s what I do.” He wasn't all by himself this time, and the shuttle was far bigger than he was, but Tracks was in the pilot's chair. Things couldn't go wrong.

A brusque nod, the optics never leaving Cosmos’s round finger, tracing the slow line on their way to safety.

[***]

Prowl himself greeted the shuttle as it limped into dock, waiting, immobile and important, as the dockers rolled in a replacement debark ramp in place of the one that had been crumpled into slag by one of the impacts. The passengers tumbled out, faces tight and grey with the grimness of survivors, breaking around Prowl like a river.

Cosmos found himself trailing behind Tracks again, the last to leave. Tracks paused in the doorway: Cosmos could hear the wave of applause, but all he could do was lay a palm on the hull of the ship. “Good ship,” he murmured. “Got us here safe.” Asteroid strikes weren’t its fault. And it had held together, engines obedient and responsive, getting them home on the last of its power.

“Tracks.” Prowl’s voice floated up to him. “Excellent work.”

“Someone,” Tracks said, and Cosmos could hear the plush, plummy voice, back in control, “had to do something.”

“They were lucky it was you.”

Cosmos edged to the ramp, the halogens of the hangar bay dazzling him for a moment, optics accustomed to the dark of the power-crippled ship. Just a straggler, he thought, edging down the narrow ramp. The ramp wasn’t designed for someone as…round as he was, and he had to concentrate on tilting his frame hard to one side to manage to reach the steps with his short legs.

He bumped into something: Tracks’s hip, and squeaked in mortification.

“Actually,” Tracks said, and Cosmos felt the warmth of a hand on his shoulder, bringing him around, “they were lucky it was us.”