Chapter 1

Ratchet’s Illness

Deep inside, Bertha’s spark was hurting something bad. She was told to report into the Main Earth Autobot Base, which meant she was seeing the “big guy”. Sprocket had told Bertha that Optimus Prime wasn’t as scary as she thought; but he was a hero, and deserved respect, and therefore respected others.

“But he’s a hero. That’s just it,” she sighed to herself, optics dimmed in the bright, artificial lights. Sprocket turned to her. “Bertha…you worry much too much. You need to learn to relax. Think of the good days ahead of us. We’re retiring soon. We have a place picked out for us back on the Moon Base. We’ll have a real recharging dock, instead of those portable ones.” Bertha wasn’t so sure she wanted to retire; but her civic duties here on Earth were finally over. She was positive that Sprocket was smiling underneath his face-plate; why was it she could not feel happy?

“Where do you think everyone is?” Bertha cooed. A shrug. “You know how it gets round here, Berth; this is the Main Base. We’ll be seen shortly. Oh, here--I hear someone!”

Indeed; around the corner popped a yellow robot that neither of the two retirees had met before; yet they’ve seen his face around these parts before, it seemed, when they first came to Earth. He zipped past them, winking. “Sunstreaker!” roared the uneasy chief medic, Ratchet, who was chasing the yellow bot, huffing and puffing. He slowed. Sprocket felt a twinge of unease come over him. He didn’t do well with medical officers; all that time in the Decepticon death camp back in his heyday gave him bad memories of what doctors were capable of.

But Ratchet didn’t seem so formidable right this moment; he bent over, resting on his haunches. “Is that who I think it is?” he called, looking over his shoulder. “Commander Sprocket?” Sprocket shifted his weight nervously.


“Ratchet. Long time,” he said. “This is my friend--” “The name’s Bertha. They call me Big Bertha. I was an understudy for you once. You were giving a lecture the day I graduated.” Ratchet smiled as he got to his feet.

“You seem a little winded, sir,” the nurse’s aid in Bertha came out in her voice. “Nonsense,” Ratchet said. “Sprocket, I’m ashamed of you.” His voice was playful, but somehow very serious. “I’ve gotten reports of your medical history. Lost your dental plates around Christmas time. The occasional glitch. Forgetful memory…” Sprocket was much older than his fellow Autobot, yet he couldn’t bring himself to put the doctor in his place.

“Bad gas, too,” Bertha said. “Bertha!” He turned to her, his faceplate twitching. “Well, it’s true! You just recently put a filter in to help you digest your fuel.” Sprocket eased up slightly, understanding what she had meant now.

“You’re due for a checkup,” Ratchet said, scratching his head. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me? Anyway, the med bay’s down this way.” Getting up, he noticed that his colleges did not follow.

“It’s just….well, sir, I retire in a month. I’m  destined for the Moon Base. My time here on Earth is done. I was waiting to get my debriefing papers.” Bertha slid her glistening robot foot across the floor, antsy. She wouldn’t mind putting off her meeting with the Prime, really, but she was scared that if she did, Optimus would be very upset.

“No problem. I’ll get him on the comm. after we fix mister Subaru here up a bit.” The red and white bot turned, making gestures for them to follow.

“Ah, slag,” Sprocket said softly. “Well, c’mon, Berth. Here we go.” “But I am worried about him, Sprocks,” The nurse in the white, nondescript femme was really coming out. “His optics looked kind of cloudy.” Sprocket sighed. “He’s just overworked; exhausted himself,” he said. “He’ll be fine. Trust me; he’s not the kind of bot who likes being told he needs a fixer up.” Shrugging, (something she had picked up from being with the organics,) Bertha followed suit. “Whatever you say,” she said.