Tales of the Parodyverse

Happy Birthday, CSFB!, and welcome home tomorrow - and here's a story from him too


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HH posts a Boxleitner production he's been holding onto for a special occasion
Wed May 28, 2003 at 12:09:09 pm EST
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I'm a hazard to myself
Don't let me get me
I'm my own worst enemy
It's bad when you annoy yourself
So irritating
Don't want to be my friend no more
I wanna be somebody else ...
- Pink, "Don't Let Me Get Me".

Optimus Prime sighed, as his cool blue optics studied the images that flashed on the viewscreens before him. "An invasion of Earth, you said."

"From Technopolis, yes," Ultra Magnus confirmed, skimming the text that scrolled on the datapad in his hand as he spoke. "Perceptor detected the signature energy activity from the interdimensional translocations on a standard long-range scanner sweep, and Blaster monitored the transmissions from the planet's communications systems long enough for us to determine the exact nature of the situation. It's not good, Optimus."

Prime turned his head to meet Magnus' gaze. "How much longer do they have?"

Magnus averted his optics, and shook his head. "Before the humans of this universe are defeated by the humans from Technopolis? Optimistic projections give them a few Earth hours more, if that. Factor in the delay between the time those signals were sent and the time we received them here on Cybertron, and for all we know, this war could already be over."

"These people are our friends," Prime growled, his metallic voice grating harshly. "They stood by our side, when we wound up stranded on their planet, and they chose, of their own free will, to aid us in our cause
against the Decepticons. I would no sooner leave them to perish by themselves then I would willingly abandon a fellow Autobot on the field."

"Then what would you propose we do, Prime?" Magnus retorted, boosting his own volume level in response. "I don't question that we owe the humans a debt of gratitude for their committed allegiance to us, but the fact remains that we have a war of our own to attend to, on this planet. If we waver in our resolve, we run the very real risk of giving the Decepticons the opportunity they need to overtake Cybertron entirely. Even if we could
spare the personnel for such an undertaking, our Energon reserves are so depleted that we would only be able to send a complement of two or three troops over to Earth on the spacebridge."

"No," Prime corrected, waving his index finger in front of Magnus. "Not three, and not even two. Just one. So long as we send the right one down there, a single soldier is all we should need to help our human allies tip the scales in their favor, against the forces of Technopolis."

Magnus considered this suggestion, and then groaned in protest, once he realized which specific candidate Prime was suggesting. "Optimus, you can't be serious. Not her! She's the worst! She's temperamental, undisciplined, insubordinate, and totally incompetent at successfully completing any mission that requires even the least measures of forethought or common sense. If we're going to dispatch one of our junior people to the scene, why not send somebody who's a bit more responsible, like Bumblebee?"

Prime nodded in acknowledgement. "Bumblebee's a sturdy trooper - better than most of us tend to give him credit for - but you know as well as I do that his main specialty is espionage, not sabotage. No, what we need is somebody who can hit the ground running, get in quick, do the maximum amount of damage with the minimum amount of resources, and then burn rubber back out of there as soon as possible. Face it, Magnus. We need her."
_____

"I never win first place," the female Autobot in the fluorescent orange, neon green and day-glow yellow armor sang to herself, her shapely polished hips swinging from side to side as she danced to the beats that blared from
the stereo speakers in her audio sensors, "I don't support the team, I can't take direction, and my socks are never clean ..."

She was so caught up in chorusing along to her music that she never noticed Hot Rod approaching from behind her, grinning and gazing at her swaying, shiny backside. "Teachers dated me, my parents hated me, I was always in a fight, 'cause I can't do nothing right ... every day I fight a war against the mirror, can't take the person staring back at me ..."

"Nice chassis, punk rock chick," Hot Rod smirked, delighting in her split-second expression of surprise, before she paused play on her CD carousel and whipped her head around to glare at him through the narrowed
lenses of her neon green optics. "I wish I could offer some similarly complimentary comments on your taste in tunes, but why you would choose to listen to that Terran fleshtrash noise remains beyond me."

"Nobody asked you for your opinion, Limp Rod," Glitch shot back, upset at having her momentary privacy intruded upon by the presence of this ignorant, arrogant, chauvinistic, flame decal-sporting, showroom model racecar.

Hot Rod chuckled condescendingly, and caressed the side of her cheek with his fingertips. "Hardly limp, especially when you're around to turn my
ignition switch on. Take me for a test drive, and I'll give you the off-road ride of your life, baby 'bot. What I've got under the hood is most than most females can even attempt to fit inside their sockets."

Glitch slapped his hand away, and curled her pursed lips into a hostile smirk. "Arcee already told me all about the size of your stick shift, but she also said how you had some trouble getting it out of neutral. I've
heard that most males can get themselves stuck between gears sometimes, if they've revved their engines too much beforehand, but I'd always thought it was the sort of thing that only happened to the older models."

"Enough!" Springer interrupted, as he physically interjected himself between the two Autobots before either one could escalate their conflict any further. "Hot Rod, muster up with Kup and Blurr - night shift duty section just got pulled to stand watch and run border patrol on the outer edges of the Decepticon-held pocket territories near the hub cities. You'll all be briefed on the basics and scheduled into a rotation once you get there. Glitch ... lock it up and follow me, please."

"It's not my fault he was being a tool," Glitch muttered petulantly, her mouth fixed in a sulking pout. "You're going to yell at me, aren't you?"

Springer shut his optics tight, and pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensor to ease the tension of the impending stress headache that he could feel coming on strong. "I should be yelling at you both for behaving in such a persistently stubborn and immature manner, but it would seem that none of us have the time to spare. Autobot Glitch, you have hereby been recruited to serve as a member of the costume-clad corps of crime-fighters -
known locally as 'superheroes' - that populate the planet Earth, and to join in their defense and protection of their home and its inhabitants from the beings and forces based out of the dimension of Technopolis, as well as from any and all other peoples or powers that might seek to unseat or subjugate the largely free and self-determining societies that exist on the Terrans'
world. This reassignment in station comes directly from Optimus Prime himself."

To be continued... in Untold Tales #111


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