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While Carly wasn't an artsy person, she still liked to go to exhibitions every now and then. Especially when there was a gallery opening where she didn't have to pay an entrance fee and even got some champagne out of it.
And Spike of course, as the obligatory man at her side, was always dragged into it.
“Honestly, it's staring at things that look like a 3-year-old had painted it, and then discussing whether it's an elephant because the artist used pink and blue, or whether it's an image of snowflakes playing tag in the Sahara desert,” he complained to Bee, who always had a sympathetic ear open for his friend. “And then there's all the socializing” he grimaced. “'Oh, you're the friend of those robots, what are they called again? Orthobots?' and 'My, what a talented painter, his works are so expressive'! Gah, I can't stand it!”
Bee beeped sympathetically and quickly accessed the internet to see how bad Spike's plight was this time. There were currently three different exhibitions in Portland, but only one opening within the next week. It took little effort to find a sample or two, and he had to whistle at the photo-realism of the paintings. Well, at least when viewed in the miserable resolution the art gallery provided.
He did a double-take though because 'Little B in Chilenean Andes', a strangely colored rock formation in the middle of lush temperate rain forest, parsed as something completely else at first.
A bit alarmed he looked up the artist, one Suni Flitzer. There were quite a few art forums singing his praise, but there was absolutely nothing about the man himself to be found. No name, no address, no nationality, and especially no picture. Apparently, he was a very reclusive newcomer who liked his art to speak for itself. The most Bumblebee found was an art review, but it didn't shed much light on things.
The new and upcoming talent Suni Flitzer has an outstanding eye for photo-realistic airbrushing. His compositions, exclusively landscapes with a focus on caves and mountainous regions, vibrate with color and detail, down to the last leaf of any plant he comes across. Marum Hampton, professor for South American botany at Princeton, has given the paintings his full approval: “'Little B in Chilenian Andes' portrays several species of coniferes that only grow in northern Chile, and the fauna is equally ecologically correct,” says the professor. “And all the other pictures I have seen have similar realistic detail. Even without the titles, the locations could probably be narrowed to within a couple hundred kilometers just from that alone.”
All the more striking is it then that amongst the photo-realistic detail, selected pieces are painted in false colors, ranging from a gleaming neon yellow ('Little B in Chilenean Andes') over a deep red ('Brother at Cave of Swallows') to pale blue and silver ('F. Morgana in Abkhazia'). If not for the astonishing level of detail and the correctly depicted surroundings, it would almost be reminiscent of Andy Warhol's prints – Marilyn Monroe being one of his most famous works.
Since the artist hasn't been available for comment, it can only be assumed that he is following a pattern of emphasizing what is important to him: emotions, associations, feelings that are expressed in vibrant hues.
A very interesting contradiction is between the titles that nearly always mention people, and the complete lack of any human life portrayed. It has been theorized that the hues chosen for the alienated sections correspond with the people, but there are only few samples that are portrayed twice, and none three times or more. 'Little B' is always rendered in yellows and blacks, 'Brother' is red with some gold highlights, whereas 'F. Morgana' is blue and silver. It may be how the artist sees them, or it might be an impression of how they see the world around them. One can only wonder, especially since cryptic runes seem prevalent. A hidden message only the artist knows? Or mere decoration?
In any case, they add a mystic flair to the atmosphere and round off the composition in a wholly unconventional way. It will be interesting to see what Suni Flitzer comes up with next.
Bumblebee snorted. Completely useless, the review. Well, except for the probable conjunction of titles and coloring scheme.
His search unearthed a couple more pictures which called up equally ambiguous associations. But once again, Bumblebee couldn't decide whether that was simply a coincidence due to the bad resolution, or indeed something more.
Troubled, he deliberated over whether to bring things to Optimus' attention. If it was nothing, then he'd get teased forever about having such a one-track processor. But if his parsing was correct, then it was quite troubling how such sensitive information could have gotten out. As far as he knew, they hadn't told any of the humans about it. Not even Spike or Sparkplug.
In the end, Bee decided to gather more data by handing Spike a small video eye so that Bumblebee could observe the exhibition closer.
Spike looked at him curiously but let himself be convinced that Bee was interested in art.
The evening of the exhibition, Bumblebee had arranged his duties with Prowl that he could take Spike and Carly to the opening ceremony. And park himself nearby so that he was within sensory range of the video eye.
Tensely, he watched the feed. A garderobe where they took off their coats. Carly talking to an entrepreneur while Spike stood next to her and tried to not seem too bored, sipping at his glass of champagne more often than Bee thought healthy. Another couple of conversations, and Bee was starting to see what Spike hated so much about openings. They still hadn't progressed into the show room with the pictures, and nearly twenty minutes had passed already.
Then, at 8:15, finally the gallery owner invited everyone to the main room, probably to swing a speech or something, but Bumblebee never heard him. He saw the pictures, and it was all he could do to keep from honking his surprise out loud. It was...
He didn't mind seeing himself on display in one of the human newsfeeds, but this was...
Bumblebee rebooted his optic processor, the video eye, and his visual analyzing software three times, but the picture remained the same: his own spike, thinly disguised as a rugged rock spire in the middle of some North Chilean rain forest. It even had that three-by-three pattern of nubs that dotted the upper half of his spike, and both the shading and the hue were so exact that Bumblebee nearly crashed.
When – how in the universe had humans – not even Spike knew –
A horrified look at the other pictures revealed similarly questionable content. While Bumblebee could identify only one other from his own experience, he was quite sure they were equally perfectly depicted.
He had never made the connection that Sideswipe's valve might look like one of the humans' caves, the vegetation growing at its rim a nearly exact depiction of the very fine sensory cillae that made it all so easy to pleasure the red mech. And there was that ridge a little way in, the one on which Bee's nubs caught so deliciously every time he pulled out, and holy slag, he thought he could even see the tiny pits where Side's lubricant oozed out in pearly drops.
Bumblebee couldn't help himself. He just had to look at the other pictures, even though he was quite sure by now that they belonged to mechs he knew. There was a blue and silver spike that was completely covered in glyphs, and if Bumblebee had read them right they were a prayer for maximum pleasure and satisfaction, not only of the frame but also of the spark. From the looks of it, the transfluid line didn't go through the center but in a fractal net surrounding the outside, and Bumblebee wondered what it would feel like to have a construct like that pulsing inside his valve.
Another valve, this one mainly black and silver with small white highlights, had been depicted as a cave with a waterfall. If mechs could blush, Bumblebee surely would have turned a bright red. Because it was only too easy to imagine the water to be lubricant or spent transfluid gushing out, and the entire interior of the cave was glistening with little quartz pieces that reflected the sunlight. Bumblebee wasn't quite sure, but he thought it was a rendition of the electromagnetic spectrum of tiny valve-calipers, small electromagnets that tried to stick to any invading spike and thus increased the friction.
Another rock-spike was completely covered in moss and lichen, and although Bumblebee hadn't seen anything like that before it just had to be a surface completely covered with microfilaments. He shuddered at the thought of how sensitive such a spike had to be.
There were so many shapes and forms, both of valves and spikes, that Bumblebee was sent into a stupor. He had thought his own mod with the nubs was inventive, but judging by the variety portrayed he was actually on the very tame side.
Blearily he pulled himself together, trying not to let the erotic imagery affect him too much. All this still didn't answer the question of just how in the universe humans had gotten their hands on that kind of knowledge.
Belatedly, he listened to the orator. He had recorded the speech for later perusal, and a quick replay brought him up to speed. It kind of echoed the art review he had already found on the internet – nothing about the artist, praise for the perfect technical execution, and no hint that anyone realized just what they were looking at. Surely, as prude as humans were, they would have censored the exhibition otherwise. Or they would have at least mentioned something – anything – along those lines.
But, if they didn't know, how could they have painted something like this?
With a purely mental sigh and not a small amount of embarrassment, Bumblebee pinged Prime. Eh, Optimus, do you have time for a moment? We might have a situation here.
Bumblebee? Prime's voice came nearly instantly. You are with Spike and Carly, aren't you? Decepticons?
No! That would make this situation just about perfect. It's the humans. They got their hands on something I'm not sure they're supposed to have. Nothing dangerous or so, he hastened to reassure, but as far as I know it still falls under things we decided not to share.
What is it?
Bumblebee drew his fenders in tighter in embarrassment. I think I better show you
He sent several snapshots of his video recording, and it was absolutely no problem to determine just how long it took Prime to unpack the files. Twenty microkliks after Bumblebee had sent the package, a satisfying splutter returned over comlink. At least now Bumblebee could be sure he wasn't the only one whose processors parse the pictures that way.
How much do the humans know? Optimus finally asked, more amusement coloring his glyphs than Bumblebee would have expected.
They don't seem to understand the pictures, Bumblebee had to admit, which makes it all the more curious how they were created. I tried to find out more about the artist, but he is very reclusive and can't be contacted.
Prime actually made a noise that could be interpreted as a snort. No need for that. Actually, I am surprised that you haven't made the connection yet. You know him, too, quite intimately at that. Otherwise you wouldn't be amongst the pictures. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Bumblebee, I will see what I can do to minimize the damage. Just carry on like you have and don't mention this to Spike or Carly. Optimus out.
Bumblebee out.
Bumblebee knew the artist? 'Quite intimately at that'?
A cascade of set operations sprung into being in his processors. There were only so many who had seen his interface equipment, and none of them were human. If he intersected the set of mechs he had interfaced with plus the set of medics, with the set of mechs who would dare commit something like that and the set of those who had the artistic skills to pull it off, there was only one candidate who remained.
He wasn't even surprised at the outcome.
Bumblebee groaned silently to himself. He should have caught on from the artist's name alone. 'Flitzer' was a German word for someone who was very fast, but also for someone who ran through a public place with no clothes on. A streaker. And 'Suni'... Well, he wasn't going to comment on that.
Sunstreaker. The mech had the reputation of being easy enough of a lay, but the thought that the yellow twin had interfaced with all those mechs...
The video eye was still sending its feed, showing Bumblebee just how many different paintings there were. So far, not a single spike or valve had been repeated, and Spike had already passed by more than thirty pictures.
Gah.
Bumblebees circuits were starting to spark from all the interesting shapes that he was sure would feel so good. Especially the one called 'Offier P at Stakkholtsgjá, Iceland', the one with the black and silver waterfall cave. But who...
Bumblebee took in the name, accounted for Sunstreaker's humor that apparently translated their typical Autobot names into something more human-like, and came up with a mapping that was as eyeopening as it was horrifying.
Bumblebee himself had been renamed 'Little B'. 'Brother at Cave of Swallows' definitely was Sideswipe, but then it started to become... interesting.
The blue and silver spike with the transfluid lines running on the outside belonged to a 'F. Morgana', probably short for 'Fata Morgana' or 'Mirage'. 'Boss at Volcanic Vents' was a thick, ridged red and blue spike with a deep grove at the end – Bumbelbee really didn't want to think about that he now knew what Optimus' equipment looked like, but there was nobody else Sunstreaker would ever call 'Boss'. Well, Prowl might have been a contender for that title, too, but Prowl matched much better with the sleek black and silver valve of 'Officer P'. To think that Bumblebee had been drooling over Prowl of all mechs...
Bee could match about half the Ark to Sunstreaker's nicknames, and there were still some paintings left over. 'Not-Boss at Volcanic Crater'. 'Hoshi Cry & Co. at Lena River'. Maybe he should broaden his search criteria?
If they weren't Autobots, then there was only one thing they could be: Decepticons. Going by Sunstreaker's naming convention for himself, Starscream was thinly disguised as Hoshi, Japanese for 'Star', and 'Cry'. His company could only be Thundercracker – a long, thin spire held completely in dark blue – and Skywarp – a gnarly spike that had a thick bulb near the root. Question was: when in the universe had Sunstreaker managed to frag Megatron? Because that was the only viable option for 'Not-Boss' that Bumblebee could think of. And he really wondered how Sunstreaker had liked the interface, because the volcanic crater had a plethora of inward-facing spikes that didn't hinder thrusting in, but which would make pulling out very... interesting.
By the time Spike left the exhibition, Bumblebee considered himself very educated in all shapes and forms Cybertronian interface equipment came in, and he was left charged and bothered by more than a few of them. Not that he would ever tell Spike of it, not even when both he and Carly marveled over the new seat heating mod Bumblebee had apparently gotten when they hadn't looked.
With a small shiver, Bumblebee started his engine and took off with his passengers. He'd have to find time to take care of his... problem, soon. Then again, maybe 'problem' was a bit of an exaggeration, because dealing with it was going to be very easy – he definitely had enough material to jack off to for the foreseeable future.