#harmless to them really and completely inactive in mechs

[earthsparked]

You’ve never been this sick before. You’ve had tonsillitis as a kid, typical flus and colds, a memorable bout or three with bronchitis and, of fucking course, came down with covid a couple times. None of those illnesses were like this. Something has gotten inside your head.

You make a quiet noise of complaint as what feels like cold metal surrounds you, painful against your hot skin, even through the blanket wrapped around you. You feel so cold, but you’re sweaty and dizzy. The world isn’t right. Everything’s too big and bright and moving wrong. Your head’s stuffed full of cotton and you’re not thinking right. And there’s a voice you don’t know, rich and deep, with a strange modulation to it you can’t place.

Sorry, little one, but your internal temperature is creeping past the danger zone for your species with no signs of stopping. Much higher and you’re risking processor damage. Don’t be afraid, we’re going to help you.

A machine sort of noise and rush of air, with a very quiet addition you don’t quite catch. I hope.

You are too sick to do much of anything except feel horribly confused, weak, and cold. You flinch away from the light, its brightness like ice picks into your head. There’s another voice snapping something about photosensitivity, dim the slagging lights. The brightness fades, but even in the dim twilight you don’t really want to open your eyes. Everything hurts. You just want to go home.

There’s a hushed argument, and then something very large moves over you. In your delirium it registers as if you’re swimming deep underwater, and a pod of whales has come to say hello.

‘S illegal. Getting me in trouble…caught. You’re mumbling to the whales. You’re not ever supposed to approach wildlife. Even if you always dreamed of meeting them.

That rumbling voice sounds so tired, so sad, that you feel bad for it.

Are they conscious? Are they trying to communicate with us?

A pause. The other voice speaks. There’s a sense of something big hovering directly over you. You can feel it somehow, even with your eyes closed, like feeling a current in the ocean.

No, I don’t think so. Their brain activity is alarming compared to baseline. But who in the Pit knows? Organic processors are a mess to begin with, let alone one infected with something this species has never encountered before.

A big blue whale-song, mournful. We never should have come here. What have we done, Ratchet?

The other, more gruff voice. Also sounding tired. We couldn’t have known that the debris brought a contagion planetside until it happened. Don’t panic just yet, Prime. So far, they’re the only one directly exposed. We got them in quarantine as soon as Nurse Darby realized something was wrong beyond the usual illnesses. It was just bad luck they happened to come across the contamination before we could clean it all up. There’s no reason to believe it can jump from human to human yet.

There’s a pause, and the first voice is even quieter.

Will they live?

There’s more motion. Beeping noises. You must be in a hospital. Yes, you remember that much. Going into the ER late one night after the Tylenol wouldn’t touch your fever, which had come on suddenly.

I can’t make promises, you know that. I don’t know much about this contagion. I didn’t even know it could behave this way in organics when it’s harmless to us.

He sounds frustrated.

But I was fine, the groggy thought drifts up from the depths of your mind. Everything is slow and dark and cold, a thousand fathoms deep.

I was fine, I went out doing my volunteer work. And then I got sick.

You don’t remember meeting your doctors. There might have been an ambulance…you think? Flashing lights, sirens. A woman’s worried voice, low, as she adjusted the IV in your arm. It’s what is making you feel so cold, you decide, and with all your frail strength begin trying to grab and wrench it out.

An immediate shuffle around you, and the grumpy whale reaches out and stops you. You push weakly at its rubbery flipper. It’s a whale, a humpback whale you think. You have about as much chance of moving it as you do lifting an ambulance.

Eh-eh-eh! None of that, now. You pull that out and neither of us will enjoy me trying to put it back in. Optimus, hand me the - yes, thank you.

You whimper softly and cry out as you find you can’t move. There’s things touching you - seaweed, wires, tangling you. Everything’s cold.

There. Sorry, human, but we can’t have you hurting yourself. …why am I even talking to them, they’re not going to remember any of this.

You huff and decide very hard to remember this just because you were told you wouldn’t. You forget a minute later what it was you were trying to remember, and start thrashing around against the seaweed. The beeping gets louder, more painful.

Can’t ever make anything easy, can you?

What are you doing?

I’m going to use the medication June left to sedate them.

But didn’t she say that could -

Yes, but - well, look at them!

Look at who? You wonder, as you fight off the tangling seaweed. You should find the surface. You need to breathe. You’re starting to feel scared. You can’t breathe.

The humpback whale is distressed. Somehow you can feel it, you know it. If they were a mech I could put them in stasis, keep them from suffering like this. This is cruel, Optimus. I - I don’t know.

He sounds defeated, angry. So tired. You reach out past the seaweed to try and pet him, because if the whales are going to insist on hanging out, you might as well earn that huge fine for touching the wildlife. Your sensitive palm makes contact with cold, hard skin, almost like it’s absorbed all the ice in the ocean. There’s a feeling of surprise, and silence, and then something crashes like a wave in the distance. There are big booming sounds. Those waves slamming into rocky, echoing caverns.

Watch them a moment. I’m going to consult with June. Do not let them tear that IV out. Comm me if their breathing gets worse.

The big blue whale is back, filling in the absence of the humpback. It catches your hand in its massive flipper, then brushes your wet hair out of your face. You had always heard whales were impossibly gentle despite their enormous size. You hadn’t quite imagined they could be this dexterous, though.

I’m sorry this happened to you. You did nothing wrong. You and so many other innocents, harmed because of us.

You squeeze his flipper, you think, but things are getting very hazy.

Please live. There is so much more to the universe that you deserve to get to see. I don’t know if you can hear me, but don’t give up.

His voice, even full of pain deep as the bottom of the sea, is comforting. You don’t want him to be so sad. But that’s what whalesong always is, isn’t it?

The humpback comes back. He’s doing something with the IV. You had no idea whales knew how to do that. You didn’t know they could be white and red, either. Don’t tell Ahab.

June says to increase the dosage and keep giving fluids. The tests she’s running show this formulation should drive out the infection, but…

But?

…but not without…impacts.

What kind of impacts? …Ratchet?

We can’t be sure. This is all highly experimental, Prime, we’re working off of practically nothing. June thinks it’s doing something to their central nervous system. We don’t know what, yet. It’s going to be a race to see what gives in first: the infection, or their vital systems.

A rumble, contemplative. At least they seem to have calmed. Their heart rate is down to almost normal.

For now. A pause. If they recover, we can’t keep this one. Fowler can find somewhere to stash them, I’m sure.

Silence.

Oh, for - Optimus! We’re not running a xeno-zoo!

Let us wait and see if that is even a conversation we will need to have, old friend.

Disgruntled feelings like poprocks in your mind.

…fine. Oh.

Oh?

Their fever has come down two-tenths of a point. That’s a start in the right direction. Let’s get that oxygen mask on and see if it helps. Of all the gasses to breathe, they had to pick one of the most flammable. Who even designed this fragging species? I want a word with them.

The whales are singing, and you decide it’s not so scary down here, after all. It reminds you of that song. You wheeze out a few words.

Beyond th’ sea, somewhere…waiting…

Hush. Rest, now. Big blue, biggest animal ever on earth. And for some reason, it cares about you.

You fall asleep under a blanket of seaweed, and eventually the ocean doesn’t feel so cold. You’re part of a pod, swimming slowly compared to them, but swimming all the same. And at least you’re not alone down in the dark. Maybe when you wake, you’ll get to see them breach the surface, leaping into the warmth of the sun. Maybe you’ll get to leap with them.