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Better Halves	By : sefiru Category: Transformers > Transformers: Animated > Crossovers Views: 8853 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers and make no money on this.

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Better Halves
A Transformers fan fiction
By Sefiru
Summary: (G1, TFA) a space bridge experiment ends up connecting to an unexpected place.
Disclaimer: I don't own it and I make no money. Ba weep gra na weep nini bong.
Pairing(s): Optimus Prime/Prowl, Optimus Prime/Prowl
Warnings: NC-17, stickyfic , cross-continuity, language, violence
Shozurei : I find that sort of thing is best left to the imagination … or fanart .
KyuKoneko : you can bet Prowlsaved pictures of Sentinel's expression.
djsaj : hey, being a hero doesn't mean being a goody-two-shoes ^^ my favorite scene is the one where Optimus cuffs Sentinel in his own stasis cuffs. ( and yeah, I know about the capitalization typo thing. I'm usually in a rush, so these things slip through.)
Hecate_19: not writer's block, at least not much …
GabrielC : OP/P for the win (and yes, you did review before ^^)
Man, this chapter was hard. Writer's block, plus the lack of creative energy that made me miss the last update … and then suddenly it all wants out and it's now 1:30 am. ^^;
***
Chapter 11: Prime vs Prime
***
     The hatch closed behind Prime's party with a resounding clang. Silence reigned; bots glanced at each other as if they didn't quite know what to make of the situation. Inferno was the first to voice his confusion: "What kind of idea is this? It's not likely that anything will happen, but still …" murmurs rose around him, to the general effect that their Prime was one of a kind and simply sharing a name with him did not change that. Optimus was only half listening.
      He was busy implementing an idea he'd come up with the previous day. Up until now, his knowledge had run, barely noticed, on the section of his processor allocated to various social software, where it had to share resources with several other applications. Now he partitioned one subprocessor and an attendant slice of memory solely for that program. Self-editing was a fiddly business, but he was going to need this. He entered the parameters. He updated his registry. The program loaded to its new location, ran … and the past, the present, and the future unfolded before him.
      "What was Prime thinking?" Red Alert was saying.
      "It's a test." The certainty of Optimus's tone was so like his counterpart that the other bots were startled into silence again.
      "A what?" Bumblebee said finally. "And why couldn't he leave Prowl or Jazz here to run things?"
      "Because they're in on it. Don't you see? Prime would have found some excuse to leave base today if that warp thing hadn't happened." And as he'd proved last night, he could practically read Prowl's processor; no way that Prime would hand him such an information source. Optimus sat on the med bench, planted his chin in his servos, and thought. The test would be of both him and his counterpart; each could easily predict his own actions if placed in the opposite position, each had an identical amount of information about their differences to seed his knowledge. The first layer of what is Prime up to? was trivial to determine. "He won't do anything to actually damage us or the base, but Jazz must have rigged this place with traps. One wrong move and blam , pink paint all over everyone."
      "Your side uses the pink paint too?" Red Alert said irrelevantly.
      "Oh, yeah. And I assume our objective is to find and remove the paint bombs without getting hit." He saw the other bots relax slightly; a tactical exercise, familiar territory, if a slightly bizarre execution.
      "So what now?" Sunstreaker asked sarcastically. "Do we go do that maintenance that Jazz assigned?"
      "Primus, no! Think about what you just said."
      "What, that Jazz – oh."
      Optimus nodded. He started to access Teletraan-1's logs, but cut himself off at a new burst of knowledge. His lip twitched up; this was going to be fun. "Red Alert, you keep your own copies of the base's sensor logs, right?"
      "But you can access them from Teletraan-1's command channel."
      "And so can Prime," Optimus pointed out, which made his audience give him several strange looks.
      "Isn't that a little paranoid?" Bumblebee said.
      "I'm in the middle of a tactical exercise trying to outthink Optimus Prime. Wouldn't you be paranoid?"
       That seemed to get the point across. Red Alert left to retrieve his backup files, while Optimus continued his processing. Once the pattern included Prime delegating tasks to Prowl and Jazz, his results got a little fuzzier – but then, he had assistance of his own. "Bumblebee, you're familiar with how Jazz works, right?"
        "I sure am. I know all the kinds of places he likes to stick those paint mines of his."
       Optimus scrolled through the list of predictions he was accumulating. "Well, this time, they won't be where you think – they'll be opposite those spots, set to hit you in the back."
      "The better to catch someone who knows where to look," Bumblebee agreed eagerly. "This is going to be interesting." He collected a couple of other scoutbots and, after agreeing on a comm channel, went off to start the search. Starting with the areas that Jazz had oh-so-conveniently assigned for maintenance. Shortly thereafter Red Alert returned with his logs; the input log, in particular, confirmed that Prime had set Teletraan-1 to trigger an emergency drill if certain files were accessed – among other things. Just in case, Optimus sent a team to the engine room to keep an eye on things.
       < we've found them, Optimus, > Bumblebee called over the comm. < And you were half right. >
       < Oh? >
       < The paint bombs are in pairs; one where I thought it would be, and the other one opposite, like you said. They're each set to go off if the other one is tampered with. >
       "Clever." So, Prime suggested a change to Jazz's usual method, and Jazz added a layer of cunning of his own. The pattern was becoming clearer. And what was Prowl's place in this, besides getting his bolts screwed out? … Ah. "I think I need to take a look at the science labs. Those of you who were supposed to do the maintenance, go and get started once Bumblebee marks the paint mines."
       The two Lamborghinis grumbled, but did as they were told. Leaving Ratchet to mind the main cabin, Optimus took Red Alert and Inferno and headed for the labs. There, he knew, he would find some intricate logic puzzle which, when solved, would give him a stop code to restore Teletraan-1 to normal … or would it? The pattern hung between two possibilities, each equally complex. At the same time, Optimus's Spark link was flaring with the sensations of battle – his counterpart had encountered Decepticons . But there was no time to worry.
       He came around the final corner leading to the science labs – and stopped in his tracks, causing Inferno to collide with his back. "Do either of you have a long stick or something?"
       They both shook their heads, perplexed. Optimus sighed and took out his axe; he flipped it around, retreated around the corner of the wall, and reached out with the back end of the handle. Fut-fut-fut-fut-fut-fut-fut-fut-fut – he pulled back his axe handle, which was now coated with pink. Cautiously, he stepped back out and saw that the entire corridor was splattered with paint.
      "Whoa," said Red Alert. "They're not messing around."
      "Actually, they are." Optimus strode down the hall and opened the door without checking it – after all, this was a test of predictive software, not reasoning. The door wasn't trapped. Inside, Perceptor was working over a breadboard rig festooned with colored wire.
       "Ah, there you are, Young Optimus. Your objective is on bench three." Optimus stepped towards it, but was interrupted by the sudden blare of an alarm.
      "Fire in sector H1-N1," announced Teletraan-1.
      < The Pit? All I did was unplug a filter, > Sideswipe sent at the same time. Of course – the next round of the game.
      "I'm on it," Inferno said, and rushed out of the room. Optimus didn't stop him; the fire wasn't real, but he knew that the detectors would have to be iced to stop the alarm. Besides, he'd set it up like that once himself.
       The puzzle was a board for the Earth game of Go, half covered in black and white counters. Five additional counters of each color were lined up along the edge.
       "Fire in sector R2-D2."
      < Is that going to happen every time we change a part? >
      < We get all the dirty jobs. >
      < I'm working on that, > Optimus told the twins. He studied the game board; it seemed to be wired to something. "Red Alert, can you check this out?"
       The security bot studied the object, prudently not touching it. "Your suspicions are correct, it's wired to a paint bomb. Moving any of the counters will set it off." So how was he supposed to get to the code? Unless … the spread of counters on the board was the code. But how to decipher it? He pondered. It wouldn't be an alphanumeric code, that would be too simple. A pointer to a longer string, then, such as .. a quote from the Covenant of Primus. He remembered that Prime kept a copy in his desk.
       < Gears just got splattered! > Inferno's yell brought him out of his musing.
      < What, a paint bomb? >
      < No, it looks like he's been shot – >
     Knowledge crashed through Optimus's processor. "Mirage!" He hadn't left the base with the rest of the away team. < Heads up, everyone. Mirage is participating in the exercise. > And that changed things considerably; it was time to act. "Come on, Red Alert, I've got an idea."
      "Why does this not give me a good feeling. "
      Optimus went to vehicle mode and rolled for the area where Bumblebee was working. He was deliberately fast and noisy, making him look careless. He knew Prime had instructed Mirage to go after him – he wanted the stealth bot to be overconfident, as his pattern suggested he could be. Mirage's hologram was good, but not as good as Prowl's; a tiny bit of flicker, a slight active energy trace, was enough to give him away. Only for a fraction of a second at a time, but that was enough. Optimus only needed to be sure that he was present. And when he knew that Mirage was in the right position, he shot his grapples at a pair of the paint bombs that Bumblebee had found. He triggered both of them, and an outline of pink paint appeared in the hallway. Mirage dropped his hologram a moment later.
       "Gotcha," Optimus told him.
       "You got yourself, too," Mirage pointed out. Optimus's servo and forearm had gotten caught in the splatter.
       "It's just a flesh wound," he said.
       " … What?"
       Optimus shrugged; he didn't feel like explaining right now. "Go get cleaned up. I've got a few more things to take care of."
       "Fire in sector WD-40."
       < Will someone make that thing stop? >
      Optimus walked towards the base commander's office, contemplating the puzzle. It wasn't any form of Cybertronian language, he was sure. So, human? He started running pattern recognition through the various human languages. Abruptly, a lateral memory connection activated, bringing up a human writing system, rather than a language. Braille? Characters represented by dots, of course … from there, it was a simple matter to convert the human characters into their Cybertronian equivalents and find the text reference. He didn't need to look it up; it just so happened to be one of his favorites as well.
       "In the darkest hour, there will be a light," he keyed into Teletraan-1's console. The computer responded,
       "Congratulations. You have completed the parameters of the tactical exercise Double Prime. However, you must still complete the assigned maintenance tasks."
       Optimus grinned.
***
Fun and games!
In the next chapter: Prowl and Optimus (the TFA ones) have a reunion, Magnus does exposition, and Sentinel is an aft.
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- 11
- 12
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Better Halves