[TFP] Critical Mass - Chapter Fifteen
Nov. 14th, 2015 02:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Critical Mass
Universe: Transformers: Prime Season Two AU, Event Horizon 'verse
Characters: Autobot and Decepticon Ensemble
Description: New allies have come to assist, but Optimus is still missing, and other matters have complicated the fight against the Decepticons. Time draws ever short as the war races toward an inevitable conclusion.
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Chapter Fifteen
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Thundercracker wakes him from recharge with the message, picked up from a higher frequency than Megatron tends to recognize. Soundwave might find it, if he's bored and randomly shuffling through the comm waves, but Starscream doubts it. They have more important things to worry about.
The Autobots want to meet. They want to make a deal. They want to discuss ridding the universe of the scourge that is Megatron.
“You see,” Starscream purrs as he hands Thundercracker back the datapad. “Goods things do come to those who wait.”
“You're going to take the meeting?”
“Of course I am.” Starscream precedes Thundercracker out of his makeshift berthroom and leads him back to what they are calling their command center. “I've learned the value of cooperation. And they would serve well as distractions when it comes time to take Megatron down.”
“Then you're going to betray them.”
“Betray is such a strong word.” Starscream's wings twitch, betraying his glee. “For now, we seem to want the same things.”
He feels more than sees Thundercracker's frown. “I didn't come here to befriend Autobots.”
“No.” Starscream pauses and turns to look his trine-mate in the optic, though he makes no attempt to touch the shriveled bond they once shared. “You came here to see an end to the war while we still had a population left to save.”
Thundercracker stares at him. “And you honestly think we plus a handful of Autobots are enough to take down Megatron?”
Starscream smirks. “Yes.” It helps, he thinks, that they may just have a trump card somewhere in the wilderness. If he can make contact, than they will have an ace up their sleeve, that no one, not even Megatron, will expect.
“And I thought Skywarp was a moron.” Thundercracker huffs a ventilation and pushes past Starscream without breaking stride. “Let's get this over with.”
By the time they arrive in the control room, Onslaught and Blast Off are already present. Starscream suspects Thundercracker had called them the moment he detected the message. An unfortunate consequence of this being less than a dictatorship and more of a democracy. Well, needs must.
“Is this part of the plan?” Onslaught demands.
“I always suspected we would need the Autobot's assistance,” Starscream answers as he moves to the monitor to compose a confirmation. “Though I assumed it would be us begging the favor. All the better that they came to me first.”
“You don't think they'll be suspicious when you show up with allies?”
Starscream shrugs. “They may be angry that I lied but then again... I am who I am.”
Thundercracker snorts a ventilation. “That you are. What about this trump card?”
Starscream presses a button to send the message and then pulls up another image, one alongside their continuous attempts to locate the Autobot base. Something that may prove to be unnecessary.
“Airachnid.”
Onslaught hisses a ventilation. “That techno-organic freak? What would we need with her?”
“She has her uses.” Starscream chuckles to himself. “And she's fallen out of favor with Megatron. She can't leave Earth, not since the human destroyed her ship, so if she wants to get off this planet, she has few choices.”
“She is one femme against an army of Vehicons and Eradicons,” Blast Off rumbles. “What use is she?”
“We'll find out,” Starscream replies and sends off the communication.
Now, to find himself a spider.
0o0o0
There's no point in continuing this farce, Knock Out thinks. So why is he still the one charged with making sure Orion Pax aka Optimus Prime is fully fueled and functional?
Megatron's tossed his berthwarmer into the brig as though he is attempting to forget his prisoner exists, but Knock Out has still been tasked with keeping him properly maintained. The war could be over in a flash if Megatron would only do the one thing he refuses to do. For all that he claims to hate Optimus Prime, he has yet to strike the final blow.
“Methinks someone doth protest too much,” Knock Out mutters to himself and then rolls his optics. Clearly, he's been spending too much time on the human internet. He's absorbed far more of their culture than he ever intended.
Knock Out strolls into the Nemesis' brig, now occupied by two Autobots, though he's not here for the new arrival. That one is Ricochet's responsibility.
Orion Pax is sitting on the floor, arms resting over his drawn out knees, his optics dim as though deep in thought. He doesn't notice Knock Out's arrival, which is positively criminal, so Knock Out cycles his vocalizer to get the Prime's attention.
“Time to refuel,” he says, watching as the once Prime unfolds his long limbs and rises to his pedes, exhibiting a grace that has probably been trained into him by this point.
“I would have thought Lord Megatron would revoke my refueling rights,” Orion says as Knock Out keys open a small portion of the bars to hand Orion his cube.
Knock Out rolls his shoulders. “Guess he has a soft spot for you.” He looks Orion over, noticing that dents and scuffs that had resulted from his moment of rebellion. “And he'd be ecstatic if you changed your mind.”
“About?”
“Decrypting the Iacon Database.” And returning to his berth, though Knock Out is prudent not to add the last part. He might find himself without a spark, courtesy of Lord Megatron. He's not one to let his weaknesses show.
Orion finishes the cube and hands it back to Knock Out. “No.” He steps back from the bars, making no attempt to escape as any proper Decepticon would. “I will not allow my skills to be put to Megatron's questionable use.”
“If you say so.” Knock Out shrugs and turns to leave.
“Why do you follow him?”
He pauses, half-turning back toward the brig. “What?”
Orion is watching him now, with a gaze that reminds Knock Out of Optimus Prime. “Why did you become a Decepticon?”
The frag? Since when is Orion getting personal? Or is he looking for an answer for himself?
He smirks. “I wanted to be on the winning team.”
Orion inclines his helm. “You're not loyal to Megatron then, but yourself.”
“If you want to put it that way...” Knock Out narrows his optics. “What does it matter to you?”
“It doesn't.” Orion lowers himself to his bunk, but his gaze never leaves Knock Out's. “I merely believe there is more to you than that.”
“Hah. That's why you're in there and I'm out here.” Knock Out flicks a hand in dismissal. “And if I were you, I'd seriously consider how loyal I was to a bunch of mechs I don't even know.”
Orion says nothing further and Knock Out leaves the brig as fast as his pedes can carry him. He doesn't spare the other prisoner a glance though he had felt the curious optics watching him.
Maybe he can convince Ricochet to take over Orion as well. That creepy mech is always looking for some reason to impress.
Knock Out steps out of the brig, unable to shake the sensation of Orion watching him. He shakes his helm and activates his comm. Surely Ricochet will agree.
0o0o0
The location Starscream selects is disturbingly close to their base, Prowl notices with a frown. He wonders if it is by accident or design. Knowing Starscream, it is probably the latter. He's making a statement, perhaps implying that he knows where the Autobots have made their berth.
They may have to move. Though he doesn't think Agent Fowler will be all that receptive, it may be the only choice they have. If Starscream knows, the chance of Megatron finding out doubles. And this they can't afford.
Starscream had allowed him two other Autobots, should he think he needed the backup. Buried in that graciousness is a sly dig at Prowl's courage and self-pride. But he's not too proud to admit that he doesn't trust Starscream and will bring up as many Autobots as he can spare.
Ratchet had argued to come. He'd been vetoed by everyone short of Miko before Prowl could form so much as a logical refusal.
Perceptor volunteered to take his place. Prowl had reluctantly agreed. He knows their history, Starscream and Perceptor, but if there's an inkling of good to be found in the treacherous Seeker, perhaps Perceptor is the one who can draw it out.
Bluestreak, too, is here, twitchy as his modified optics scan the underbrush for a possible ambush. He's been more skittish as of late, a behavior Prowl blames on Jazz's absence. As much as he disapproved of their relationship, they were good for each other.
Except for times like this.
But skittish though Bluestreak may be, there is no mech more alert. It borders on the edge of hyper-vigilance. When it comes to Starscream, that may not be a bad thing.
Somewhere out in the woods is Prowl's mate, concealing himself. He makes no sound and is on radio silence, but he'll be there, should they need.
“Starscream's late,” Bluestreak says, pacing to the other side of Perceptor before he moves back to Prowl's flank.
Prowl narrows his optics, gaze turned upward. “I'm sure he'll arrive precisely when he means to.”
“He does have a penchant for flashy entrances,” Perceptor murmurs and tries to pretend interest in the datapad he's brought along. Of them all, he's the most restless, his plating fluttering over his protoform like feathers in the wind.
“I hear something.” Bluestreak tilts his helm, optics narrowing as he peers at the sky.
Prowl has learned to trust his ward's senses. He follows Bluestreak's gaze, straining his own sensors until he finally picks up on what Bluestreak had heard: engines.
“That doesn't sound like one,” Perceptor says as he tucks away his datapad and gives them an askance look.
“No, it does not. Bluestreak?”
“Yes, sir.” Bluestreak drops to one knee and has his sniper rifle out from one ventilation to the next. He aims, peering through the sights. “You say the word and I'll take them out.”
“Wait.” They can't afford to be shooting humans out of the sky. Prowl has to have confirmation of threat before he can order a dispatch.
They don't have to wait for long. The sound of engines gets closer until two aerial forms come into view, one of them definitely Starscream. The other is similar in design, perhaps a bit bulkier, but with a different paint scheme.
“I thought Starscream was on his own?” Perceptor asks as Prowl gives Bluestreak the signal to stand down.
“That is the lie he fed us,” Prowl replies and he presses his lips together as the two Seekers transform and land twenty feet away, wings twitching as they settle back into place.
“Oh. Am I late?” Starscream asks with a smirk that suggests that he knows just how annoyed he has made the Autobots.
Prowl cycles a ventilation. “You have company.”
“Yes, well, I do have my ways.” Starscream gestures toward his companion. “This is Thundercracker. He's part of my team.”
“You have a team?” Bluestreak asks, his optics rounded with surprise. Small wonder. It shocks Prowl that anyone is willingly following Starscream, especially when their Decepticon brands speak of an allegiance to Megatron.
“He has associates,” Thundercracker corrects with vocals so deep even Bulkhead would be envious.
“Are we here to discuss a daring rescue or what to call my team?” Starscream demands, his tone a bit too testy. Perhaps all is not cohesive within Starscream's camp.
Prowl inclines his helm. “You offered a plan and an opportunity. Now, we need to get aboard the Nemesis but to do that, we need to find it. Can you help us?”
“It depends.” Starscream crosses his arms over his chestplate. “What are you going to offer me?”
Prowl cycles a ventilation and tells himself he is not betraying everything the Autobots stand for. “A truce.”
“Really? How interesting.” Starscream tilts his helm and shares a quick glance with Thundercracker. “What's that worth to me?”
“You can help us stop Megatron,” Perceptor says before Prowl can form any words. His tone is left offer and more pleading. “And then we can all go back to Cybertron.”
Thundercracker huffs a ventilation. “What a prize that is. Have you seen our planet? It's a barren wasteland.”
“We can rebuild,” Perceptor offers, his tone still soft and his gaze focused on Starscream. He doesn't have optics for anyone else. “If we work together.”
Starscream makes a low noise of agreement in his chassis. “A truce,” he repeats as though considering it. “Meaning, we don't shoot you, you don't shoot us, and together, we take down the Nemesis. Or at least depose Megatron. And rescue your poor Prime, I take it.”
“Yes,” Prowl answers. “It's a fair deal. Do you accept?”
Starscream half-turns away from them, his posture casual but the hiked nature of his wings suggesting otherwise. He asks something of his fellow Seeker, inaudible to the waiting Autobots, and they discuss in soft tones.
Perceptor, Prowl notices, watches them with an almost eerie intensity.
“Fine,” Starscream announces as he turns back toward them, a grin on his faceplate. “We accept. Give me some time to make some arrangements and we can storm the Nemesis.”
Prowl frowns. “We have information that suggests too long of a delay would be ill-advised.”
“I need a day, Prowl. Not a year.” Starscream waves a dismissing hand. “Don't contact me. I'll contact you.”
Before he can formulate a response, both Seekers shift to alt-mode and blast into the sky, trees bending in their wake. Prowl cycles a ventilation and palms his faceplate. To say that is regretting this truce is an understatement.
“Do you think he'll come through?” Bluestreak asks, his door panels finally shifting to parade rest rather than high alert.
“I think that Starscream's ambitions outstrip any hatred he might carry for us,” Prowl replies, and he contacts Mirage, letting his bond know to rejoin their team before he calls for a ground bridge. “In the meantime, we have an infiltration to plan.”
0o0o0
“Papa, I've gots a scratch.”
Ratchet looks up from his scrapped-together console to peer at his youngling. Tracks is currently standing in front of Sunstreaker, holding up his arm and pointing imperiously toward a barely visible mar in his finish. The act is made more comical by the fact Tracks is about Arcee's height, so two-thirds the size of his genitor.
Sunstreaker sighs and dutifully examines the scratch. “Don't listen to Sideswipe. Call me Genitor.”
“I likes Papa better.”
“And reboot your English module.”
Tracks' lipplates form a stubborn moue that makes Ratchet chuckle, though he hides it behind his hand. He knows that look, Primus does he know that look!
“I doesn't need to.” He wiggles his arm in Sunstreaker's hold. “Fixded it!”
A warning rumble vibrates through Sunstreaker's chest. “That sounded like a demand.” He peers at his offspring. “I remember a conversation yesterday about manners.”
Ratchet's vents wheeze as he struggles to hold in his laughter. Sunstreaker? Chastising someone about manners? Dear Primus if only Prowl could see this.
Tracks, suitably chastened, sighs a ventilation. “Sorry.”
“What do you say?”
“Please, Papa.” And he looks up with bright, soulful optics that break down Ratchet's willpower every time.
He swears Sideswipe taught him that.
It works on Sunstreaker, too. Because his authoritative look fizzles to nothing and he pulls out a buffing pad with his free hand and gently attends to his sparkling's arm. “How'd you get scuffed anyway?”
“I think you can blame your brother for that,” Ratchet offers, reminding his mate that he is still here and bearing witness to this moment of epic cuteness. “They were play-wrestling earlier.”
“He was teaching me to fight!” Tracks announces proudly.
Sunstreaker gives Ratchet a sidelong look. “Isn't he too young for that?”
Ratchet shrugs. “Anything to make him tired enough for a nap.” It's the only peace they ever get. Tracks is endlessly curious, and while that isn't unusual, it presents something of a problem when he's large enough to reach anything and everything, especially the items that can do him harm.
After all, this is a military base not a daycare. Tracks requires constant supervision until he processes all of the new stimulus and recognizes what is safe and what is not. At a week-old, he's not fully capable yet.
Sunstreaker sighs but gives his full attention to their youngling. “There. Good as new.”
Tracks beams and throws himself at Sunstreaker for a hug. “Shiny, shiny!”
Ratchet feels a pang of loss as he watches them. Knock Out had been like that. Every time he received the tiniest scuff, he would insist that Sunstreaker fix it for him. He would loudly point out a spot that Sunstreaker had missed. It had become a game between the two of them.
He misses that, misses Knock Out.
Ratchet frowns and tries to turn his attention back to what he's working on. He's tried not to dwell on the mistakes he's made but it's hard when he looks into Tracks' smiling face and remembers Knock Out's smile.
Sunstreaker nudges him across the bond, a pulse of understanding, and Ratchet takes comfort in that.
He still hopes that it's not too late to make amends.
0o0o0
Finding a femme who doesn't want to be found is no small task. Especially when that femme is Airachnid, known for creeping around in the shadows and stalking her prey. There is little love lost between them, but they have one thing in common – a mutual hatred for Megatron.
Or at least, Airachnid should now considering he tried to offline her with a pair of cronies.
Airachnid could be anywhere on Earth. Starscream knows this. He also knows that it is impossible for her to have left the planet. Spaceships, unfortunately, are in short supply. Starscream's own is sapient; no way she could have acquired Blast Off.
But, sly minds think alike, and so it's back to the warehouse that Starscream returns. He suspects Airachnid wouldn't have gone far. Great hunting grounds, he thinks. And the area is a honeycomb of tunnels and mines.
And, Starscream remembers, there's an old Decepticon mine nearby. The perfect place for a scavenger who is injured and running low in energon to go. Industrious Cybertronians would be able to find the tiny scraps deemed too useless to strip-mine.
Starscream should know. It's what he would have done had he not found the shuttle in the Harbinger and managed the harrowing trip back to Cybertron.
The mines are as dark and dank as any other mine the Decepticons have plundered. Starscream frowns, plating drawing inward. He dislikes mines less because he is a Seeker and more because Megatron tried to offline him in one, and he narrowly escaped being trapped in said mine. The fact that that he's walking into multiple-limbs of danger does not escape him either.
Something skitters in the dark behind him. Starscream's optics narrow but he keeps going. Whether it is Airachnid trailing him or something organic native to this planet, he doesn't know. He subtly tries to scan without looking, but whatever it is, is too fast to pinpoint in the dark.
Something clicks and chitters, echoing in the narrow tunnel. Starscream's plating crawls. That is most definitely not organic. And it's not Airachnid either.
He whirls around, arm raised and missile primed to fire. Something large rises like a darker shadow, still chittering, with an optical band similar to the Vehicons. But it is far too large to be one of those drones.
He's not taking any chances. Starscream fires, the light of the missile briefly filling the tunnel before it explodes in the faceplate of what's stalking him.
An Insecticon?! Here on Earth?!
A grating, high-pitched growl fills the tunnel before the Insecticon shakes off the missile and comes charging toward Starscream.
Time to go.
He turns on a heelstrut, fires another missile for cover, and takes off down the tunnel. Rock rains down on him as it explodes, perhaps finding it's target, perhaps not. Insecticons are not so easy to kill.
He doesn't get far.
Starscream goes down under the weight of something much larger, much sharper, and much more aggressive. He shouts, tries to wriggle out from beneath the Insecticon, but it has more claws than he does.
He flinches, waits for the final blow, thrusters spitting fire.
He waits for a blow that doesn't come. The Insecticon grabs him up as though he's nothing more than a toy, pinning his arms to his sides, and then carries him deeper into he tunnels. Starscream twists and turns, thrusters spitting fire, but the Insecticon's claws are like durybillium manacles.
He's stuck, but he's also not offline. Whether or not this is a good thing remains to be seen. Starscream tries his comm and gets static in return. Lovely.
Something glows up ahead. Starscream squints into the dim, which grows into a large cavern, filled with more chittering and rustling. It's... it's an Insecticon army! What the frag?
“Well, well, well.” The purring vocals drag Starscream's attention to the left where click-click-click of multiple pedes announce Airachnid's arrival. “Look what the bug caught sniffing at my door.”
Starscream snarls. “I demand that this creature put me down at once.”
“Of course,” Airachnid purrs as she performs a minor transformation, spider legs vanishing into bipedal mode.
Starscream squawks as the Insecticon abruptly loosens its grip and he crashes to the stone floor. Of all the... He growls to himself and pushes to his pedes, brushing the grit from his armor.
“Your welcome party leaves much to be desired,” Starscream says, eying the femme warily.
“That's what happens to those who aren't invited.” Airachnid flips a hand at him. “Especially those who are supposed to be dead.”
He folds his arms over his chestplate. “One could say the same thing about you.”
“I'm harder to kill than I look.” Airachnid tilts her helm, optics glowing a baleful purple. “You have one minute to give me a good reason not to let my dear friends tear you limb from limb.”
Around them, the hordes of Insecticons chitter in unison as though agreeing with her. It's creepy, is what it is.
Starscream looks around, unable to count the sheer number of Insecticons. And does he see more pod-like objects in the distance? This is a Unicron-spawned Insecticon nest!
He laughs. “Oh my. Blast Off was wrong about you.”
Airacnhid's optics narrow. “What are you talking about?”
Starscream gestures to the entire breadth of the cave. “You're not one femme. You're a femme with an army.” He pauses to grin. “And I think we both know an effective use for such an army.”
Airachnid's fingers twitch and suddenly a large hand encloses on one of Starscream's wings with just enough pressure to stretch the limits of what he can bear. Warning flashes through his processor and pain ripples through said wing.
“Oh,” Airachnid purrs. “Was that all? You just want me to help depose Megatron.”
“Not precisely.” He winces and looks at the enormous Insecticon hand gripping his wing. This... is not part of the plan. “Though considering our glorious leader has tried to kill both of us, I would have thought a little revenge would be of interest to you.”
“It is. But not when it's attached to you,” Airachnid hisses the latter.
Starscream's wing creaks alarmingly.
“I can find the Nemesis!” he blurts out in a bit of a panic. He needs that wing, frag it. “Which I know you are incapable of doing. And I am in contact with the Autobots.”
The grip eases.
“Really.” Airachnid, unimpressed, strides closer, peering into his faceplate. “You, the mech who would be king, defected?”
He barks a laugh. “No. I am using them for my own ends. As surely as they are using me. Just like you and I can make use of each other. Especially your army.”
“What's in it for me?”
The grip lifts away from his wing and Starscream flicks it out of reach, daring to put some distance between himself and his Insecticon guard. “Transport off Earth to wherever you want. And the pleasure of taking Megatron's spark.”
Airachnid's engine rumbles a low sound of pleasure. “You drive an interesting bargain, Starscream. But how do I know you won't betray me as you are so keen on doing to your lord and master?”
“Because as far as I know, you've never killed anyone I value.” Starscream circles around the pseudo-heliformer. “And together, we can accomplish anything.”
He pauses in front of Airachnid, failing to gauge her field or her expression. He can only guess what she's really thinking.
“Very well,” Airachnid says with a slow curl of her lips. “Tell me what your plan is and I'll tell you whether my friends and I will participate.”
Starscream smirks.
Hook, line and sinker.
0o0o0
They chat. It is not as though there is anything else to do in the dim and loneliness of the brig.
Smokescreen tells him parts of the war Orion has missed. Orion tells him what he knows of Earth and the war effort here. They become friends, as much as is possible down here, and the only break in their routine is when Ricochet dances down to bring their allotment of energon.
Orion's only worry is for the hour Megatron makes his presence known. He still wants the Iacon Database decrypted and as long as Orion refuses, he'll rely on Smokescreen.
What he doesn't know is that Smokescreen can't. He is a graduate of the Autobot Academy, not a data clerk.
Orion fears that when Megatron returns for Smokescreen and learns that he is not of use, he'll execute the Autobot. Which puts his own refusal in a quandary.
Orion startles at the sound of pedesteps. It is too soon for it to be Ricochet. He dreads to think that Megatron has gathered another Autobot prisoner.
But no. It is Megatron and though he's not alone, Orion recognizes the mechs beside him: Dreadwing and Soundwave. For once, Megatron does not spare Orion a glance, his sole attention focused on Smokescreen, who drags himself off his bench.
“To what do I owe the honor?” Smokescreen asks with a smile that is less confident than he could have hoped.
Dreadwing strides forward and keys open Smokescreen's cell, gesturing the Autobot to exit. “It is time to earn your keep, Autobot.”
“Really?” Smokescreen offers a nervous laugh as he steps out of his cell. “How can I... uh... be of service?”
“We will show you. Come.” Dreadwing slaps a massive hand on Smokescreen's shoulder, nearly toppling him. He pushes the Autobot ahead of him, and Soundwave takes up a position on Smokescreen's other side.
Megatron, however, lingers.
Orion chooses to think it is for a reason. “Did you want to speak to me?” he asks, careful to keep his tone nonthreatening.
“Have you reconsidered your stance?”
“I apologize, but I have not.”
“Then no, Orion, I did not.” Megatron turns to face him, his expression as unreadable as before. “I find it curious that you betray me time and time again.” He stalks closer to the bars, looming without trying. “Primus has cursed me with your presence.”
He cycles a ventilation. “I don't think that is the case.”
“Then fortunately for you, Orion, I do not live or die by your opinion.” Megatron turns away from him, a sharp spike in his field the only betrayal to his inner turmoil.
Orion watches him go. “Smokescreen can't decode the database.”
“You'd better hope you're wrong. Because if he can't, he's of no use to me,” Megatron tosses over his shoulder. And then he's out of sight, leaving Orion alone in the dim dark of the brig.
There's a rattle in his vents, a trembling in his plating. Orion works his intake and retreats to his bunk, sinking down onto it. He stares at his hands – the hands of Optimus Prime if Smokescreen is to be believed – and wonders if he's made the right choice.
****
a/n: This is either the second to last chapter or the second to second to last chapter. LOL. I'm not sure if chapter sixteen is going to be split up or not yet as I'm not certain if it's missing something. I'll figure it out by the next update though. :)
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
Universe: Transformers: Prime Season Two AU, Event Horizon 'verse
Characters: Autobot and Decepticon Ensemble
Description: New allies have come to assist, but Optimus is still missing, and other matters have complicated the fight against the Decepticons. Time draws ever short as the war races toward an inevitable conclusion.
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Chapter Fifteen
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Thundercracker wakes him from recharge with the message, picked up from a higher frequency than Megatron tends to recognize. Soundwave might find it, if he's bored and randomly shuffling through the comm waves, but Starscream doubts it. They have more important things to worry about.
The Autobots want to meet. They want to make a deal. They want to discuss ridding the universe of the scourge that is Megatron.
“You see,” Starscream purrs as he hands Thundercracker back the datapad. “Goods things do come to those who wait.”
“You're going to take the meeting?”
“Of course I am.” Starscream precedes Thundercracker out of his makeshift berthroom and leads him back to what they are calling their command center. “I've learned the value of cooperation. And they would serve well as distractions when it comes time to take Megatron down.”
“Then you're going to betray them.”
“Betray is such a strong word.” Starscream's wings twitch, betraying his glee. “For now, we seem to want the same things.”
He feels more than sees Thundercracker's frown. “I didn't come here to befriend Autobots.”
“No.” Starscream pauses and turns to look his trine-mate in the optic, though he makes no attempt to touch the shriveled bond they once shared. “You came here to see an end to the war while we still had a population left to save.”
Thundercracker stares at him. “And you honestly think we plus a handful of Autobots are enough to take down Megatron?”
Starscream smirks. “Yes.” It helps, he thinks, that they may just have a trump card somewhere in the wilderness. If he can make contact, than they will have an ace up their sleeve, that no one, not even Megatron, will expect.
“And I thought Skywarp was a moron.” Thundercracker huffs a ventilation and pushes past Starscream without breaking stride. “Let's get this over with.”
By the time they arrive in the control room, Onslaught and Blast Off are already present. Starscream suspects Thundercracker had called them the moment he detected the message. An unfortunate consequence of this being less than a dictatorship and more of a democracy. Well, needs must.
“Is this part of the plan?” Onslaught demands.
“I always suspected we would need the Autobot's assistance,” Starscream answers as he moves to the monitor to compose a confirmation. “Though I assumed it would be us begging the favor. All the better that they came to me first.”
“You don't think they'll be suspicious when you show up with allies?”
Starscream shrugs. “They may be angry that I lied but then again... I am who I am.”
Thundercracker snorts a ventilation. “That you are. What about this trump card?”
Starscream presses a button to send the message and then pulls up another image, one alongside their continuous attempts to locate the Autobot base. Something that may prove to be unnecessary.
“Airachnid.”
Onslaught hisses a ventilation. “That techno-organic freak? What would we need with her?”
“She has her uses.” Starscream chuckles to himself. “And she's fallen out of favor with Megatron. She can't leave Earth, not since the human destroyed her ship, so if she wants to get off this planet, she has few choices.”
“She is one femme against an army of Vehicons and Eradicons,” Blast Off rumbles. “What use is she?”
“We'll find out,” Starscream replies and sends off the communication.
Now, to find himself a spider.
There's no point in continuing this farce, Knock Out thinks. So why is he still the one charged with making sure Orion Pax aka Optimus Prime is fully fueled and functional?
Megatron's tossed his berthwarmer into the brig as though he is attempting to forget his prisoner exists, but Knock Out has still been tasked with keeping him properly maintained. The war could be over in a flash if Megatron would only do the one thing he refuses to do. For all that he claims to hate Optimus Prime, he has yet to strike the final blow.
“Methinks someone doth protest too much,” Knock Out mutters to himself and then rolls his optics. Clearly, he's been spending too much time on the human internet. He's absorbed far more of their culture than he ever intended.
Knock Out strolls into the Nemesis' brig, now occupied by two Autobots, though he's not here for the new arrival. That one is Ricochet's responsibility.
Orion Pax is sitting on the floor, arms resting over his drawn out knees, his optics dim as though deep in thought. He doesn't notice Knock Out's arrival, which is positively criminal, so Knock Out cycles his vocalizer to get the Prime's attention.
“Time to refuel,” he says, watching as the once Prime unfolds his long limbs and rises to his pedes, exhibiting a grace that has probably been trained into him by this point.
“I would have thought Lord Megatron would revoke my refueling rights,” Orion says as Knock Out keys open a small portion of the bars to hand Orion his cube.
Knock Out rolls his shoulders. “Guess he has a soft spot for you.” He looks Orion over, noticing that dents and scuffs that had resulted from his moment of rebellion. “And he'd be ecstatic if you changed your mind.”
“About?”
“Decrypting the Iacon Database.” And returning to his berth, though Knock Out is prudent not to add the last part. He might find himself without a spark, courtesy of Lord Megatron. He's not one to let his weaknesses show.
Orion finishes the cube and hands it back to Knock Out. “No.” He steps back from the bars, making no attempt to escape as any proper Decepticon would. “I will not allow my skills to be put to Megatron's questionable use.”
“If you say so.” Knock Out shrugs and turns to leave.
“Why do you follow him?”
He pauses, half-turning back toward the brig. “What?”
Orion is watching him now, with a gaze that reminds Knock Out of Optimus Prime. “Why did you become a Decepticon?”
The frag? Since when is Orion getting personal? Or is he looking for an answer for himself?
He smirks. “I wanted to be on the winning team.”
Orion inclines his helm. “You're not loyal to Megatron then, but yourself.”
“If you want to put it that way...” Knock Out narrows his optics. “What does it matter to you?”
“It doesn't.” Orion lowers himself to his bunk, but his gaze never leaves Knock Out's. “I merely believe there is more to you than that.”
“Hah. That's why you're in there and I'm out here.” Knock Out flicks a hand in dismissal. “And if I were you, I'd seriously consider how loyal I was to a bunch of mechs I don't even know.”
Orion says nothing further and Knock Out leaves the brig as fast as his pedes can carry him. He doesn't spare the other prisoner a glance though he had felt the curious optics watching him.
Maybe he can convince Ricochet to take over Orion as well. That creepy mech is always looking for some reason to impress.
Knock Out steps out of the brig, unable to shake the sensation of Orion watching him. He shakes his helm and activates his comm. Surely Ricochet will agree.
The location Starscream selects is disturbingly close to their base, Prowl notices with a frown. He wonders if it is by accident or design. Knowing Starscream, it is probably the latter. He's making a statement, perhaps implying that he knows where the Autobots have made their berth.
They may have to move. Though he doesn't think Agent Fowler will be all that receptive, it may be the only choice they have. If Starscream knows, the chance of Megatron finding out doubles. And this they can't afford.
Starscream had allowed him two other Autobots, should he think he needed the backup. Buried in that graciousness is a sly dig at Prowl's courage and self-pride. But he's not too proud to admit that he doesn't trust Starscream and will bring up as many Autobots as he can spare.
Ratchet had argued to come. He'd been vetoed by everyone short of Miko before Prowl could form so much as a logical refusal.
Perceptor volunteered to take his place. Prowl had reluctantly agreed. He knows their history, Starscream and Perceptor, but if there's an inkling of good to be found in the treacherous Seeker, perhaps Perceptor is the one who can draw it out.
Bluestreak, too, is here, twitchy as his modified optics scan the underbrush for a possible ambush. He's been more skittish as of late, a behavior Prowl blames on Jazz's absence. As much as he disapproved of their relationship, they were good for each other.
Except for times like this.
But skittish though Bluestreak may be, there is no mech more alert. It borders on the edge of hyper-vigilance. When it comes to Starscream, that may not be a bad thing.
Somewhere out in the woods is Prowl's mate, concealing himself. He makes no sound and is on radio silence, but he'll be there, should they need.
“Starscream's late,” Bluestreak says, pacing to the other side of Perceptor before he moves back to Prowl's flank.
Prowl narrows his optics, gaze turned upward. “I'm sure he'll arrive precisely when he means to.”
“He does have a penchant for flashy entrances,” Perceptor murmurs and tries to pretend interest in the datapad he's brought along. Of them all, he's the most restless, his plating fluttering over his protoform like feathers in the wind.
“I hear something.” Bluestreak tilts his helm, optics narrowing as he peers at the sky.
Prowl has learned to trust his ward's senses. He follows Bluestreak's gaze, straining his own sensors until he finally picks up on what Bluestreak had heard: engines.
“That doesn't sound like one,” Perceptor says as he tucks away his datapad and gives them an askance look.
“No, it does not. Bluestreak?”
“Yes, sir.” Bluestreak drops to one knee and has his sniper rifle out from one ventilation to the next. He aims, peering through the sights. “You say the word and I'll take them out.”
“Wait.” They can't afford to be shooting humans out of the sky. Prowl has to have confirmation of threat before he can order a dispatch.
They don't have to wait for long. The sound of engines gets closer until two aerial forms come into view, one of them definitely Starscream. The other is similar in design, perhaps a bit bulkier, but with a different paint scheme.
“I thought Starscream was on his own?” Perceptor asks as Prowl gives Bluestreak the signal to stand down.
“That is the lie he fed us,” Prowl replies and he presses his lips together as the two Seekers transform and land twenty feet away, wings twitching as they settle back into place.
“Oh. Am I late?” Starscream asks with a smirk that suggests that he knows just how annoyed he has made the Autobots.
Prowl cycles a ventilation. “You have company.”
“Yes, well, I do have my ways.” Starscream gestures toward his companion. “This is Thundercracker. He's part of my team.”
“You have a team?” Bluestreak asks, his optics rounded with surprise. Small wonder. It shocks Prowl that anyone is willingly following Starscream, especially when their Decepticon brands speak of an allegiance to Megatron.
“He has associates,” Thundercracker corrects with vocals so deep even Bulkhead would be envious.
“Are we here to discuss a daring rescue or what to call my team?” Starscream demands, his tone a bit too testy. Perhaps all is not cohesive within Starscream's camp.
Prowl inclines his helm. “You offered a plan and an opportunity. Now, we need to get aboard the Nemesis but to do that, we need to find it. Can you help us?”
“It depends.” Starscream crosses his arms over his chestplate. “What are you going to offer me?”
Prowl cycles a ventilation and tells himself he is not betraying everything the Autobots stand for. “A truce.”
“Really? How interesting.” Starscream tilts his helm and shares a quick glance with Thundercracker. “What's that worth to me?”
“You can help us stop Megatron,” Perceptor says before Prowl can form any words. His tone is left offer and more pleading. “And then we can all go back to Cybertron.”
Thundercracker huffs a ventilation. “What a prize that is. Have you seen our planet? It's a barren wasteland.”
“We can rebuild,” Perceptor offers, his tone still soft and his gaze focused on Starscream. He doesn't have optics for anyone else. “If we work together.”
Starscream makes a low noise of agreement in his chassis. “A truce,” he repeats as though considering it. “Meaning, we don't shoot you, you don't shoot us, and together, we take down the Nemesis. Or at least depose Megatron. And rescue your poor Prime, I take it.”
“Yes,” Prowl answers. “It's a fair deal. Do you accept?”
Starscream half-turns away from them, his posture casual but the hiked nature of his wings suggesting otherwise. He asks something of his fellow Seeker, inaudible to the waiting Autobots, and they discuss in soft tones.
Perceptor, Prowl notices, watches them with an almost eerie intensity.
“Fine,” Starscream announces as he turns back toward them, a grin on his faceplate. “We accept. Give me some time to make some arrangements and we can storm the Nemesis.”
Prowl frowns. “We have information that suggests too long of a delay would be ill-advised.”
“I need a day, Prowl. Not a year.” Starscream waves a dismissing hand. “Don't contact me. I'll contact you.”
Before he can formulate a response, both Seekers shift to alt-mode and blast into the sky, trees bending in their wake. Prowl cycles a ventilation and palms his faceplate. To say that is regretting this truce is an understatement.
“Do you think he'll come through?” Bluestreak asks, his door panels finally shifting to parade rest rather than high alert.
“I think that Starscream's ambitions outstrip any hatred he might carry for us,” Prowl replies, and he contacts Mirage, letting his bond know to rejoin their team before he calls for a ground bridge. “In the meantime, we have an infiltration to plan.”
“Papa, I've gots a scratch.”
Ratchet looks up from his scrapped-together console to peer at his youngling. Tracks is currently standing in front of Sunstreaker, holding up his arm and pointing imperiously toward a barely visible mar in his finish. The act is made more comical by the fact Tracks is about Arcee's height, so two-thirds the size of his genitor.
Sunstreaker sighs and dutifully examines the scratch. “Don't listen to Sideswipe. Call me Genitor.”
“I likes Papa better.”
“And reboot your English module.”
Tracks' lipplates form a stubborn moue that makes Ratchet chuckle, though he hides it behind his hand. He knows that look, Primus does he know that look!
“I doesn't need to.” He wiggles his arm in Sunstreaker's hold. “Fixded it!”
A warning rumble vibrates through Sunstreaker's chest. “That sounded like a demand.” He peers at his offspring. “I remember a conversation yesterday about manners.”
Ratchet's vents wheeze as he struggles to hold in his laughter. Sunstreaker? Chastising someone about manners? Dear Primus if only Prowl could see this.
Tracks, suitably chastened, sighs a ventilation. “Sorry.”
“What do you say?”
“Please, Papa.” And he looks up with bright, soulful optics that break down Ratchet's willpower every time.
He swears Sideswipe taught him that.
It works on Sunstreaker, too. Because his authoritative look fizzles to nothing and he pulls out a buffing pad with his free hand and gently attends to his sparkling's arm. “How'd you get scuffed anyway?”
“I think you can blame your brother for that,” Ratchet offers, reminding his mate that he is still here and bearing witness to this moment of epic cuteness. “They were play-wrestling earlier.”
“He was teaching me to fight!” Tracks announces proudly.
Sunstreaker gives Ratchet a sidelong look. “Isn't he too young for that?”
Ratchet shrugs. “Anything to make him tired enough for a nap.” It's the only peace they ever get. Tracks is endlessly curious, and while that isn't unusual, it presents something of a problem when he's large enough to reach anything and everything, especially the items that can do him harm.
After all, this is a military base not a daycare. Tracks requires constant supervision until he processes all of the new stimulus and recognizes what is safe and what is not. At a week-old, he's not fully capable yet.
Sunstreaker sighs but gives his full attention to their youngling. “There. Good as new.”
Tracks beams and throws himself at Sunstreaker for a hug. “Shiny, shiny!”
Ratchet feels a pang of loss as he watches them. Knock Out had been like that. Every time he received the tiniest scuff, he would insist that Sunstreaker fix it for him. He would loudly point out a spot that Sunstreaker had missed. It had become a game between the two of them.
He misses that, misses Knock Out.
Ratchet frowns and tries to turn his attention back to what he's working on. He's tried not to dwell on the mistakes he's made but it's hard when he looks into Tracks' smiling face and remembers Knock Out's smile.
Sunstreaker nudges him across the bond, a pulse of understanding, and Ratchet takes comfort in that.
He still hopes that it's not too late to make amends.
Finding a femme who doesn't want to be found is no small task. Especially when that femme is Airachnid, known for creeping around in the shadows and stalking her prey. There is little love lost between them, but they have one thing in common – a mutual hatred for Megatron.
Or at least, Airachnid should now considering he tried to offline her with a pair of cronies.
Airachnid could be anywhere on Earth. Starscream knows this. He also knows that it is impossible for her to have left the planet. Spaceships, unfortunately, are in short supply. Starscream's own is sapient; no way she could have acquired Blast Off.
But, sly minds think alike, and so it's back to the warehouse that Starscream returns. He suspects Airachnid wouldn't have gone far. Great hunting grounds, he thinks. And the area is a honeycomb of tunnels and mines.
And, Starscream remembers, there's an old Decepticon mine nearby. The perfect place for a scavenger who is injured and running low in energon to go. Industrious Cybertronians would be able to find the tiny scraps deemed too useless to strip-mine.
Starscream should know. It's what he would have done had he not found the shuttle in the Harbinger and managed the harrowing trip back to Cybertron.
The mines are as dark and dank as any other mine the Decepticons have plundered. Starscream frowns, plating drawing inward. He dislikes mines less because he is a Seeker and more because Megatron tried to offline him in one, and he narrowly escaped being trapped in said mine. The fact that that he's walking into multiple-limbs of danger does not escape him either.
Something skitters in the dark behind him. Starscream's optics narrow but he keeps going. Whether it is Airachnid trailing him or something organic native to this planet, he doesn't know. He subtly tries to scan without looking, but whatever it is, is too fast to pinpoint in the dark.
Something clicks and chitters, echoing in the narrow tunnel. Starscream's plating crawls. That is most definitely not organic. And it's not Airachnid either.
He whirls around, arm raised and missile primed to fire. Something large rises like a darker shadow, still chittering, with an optical band similar to the Vehicons. But it is far too large to be one of those drones.
He's not taking any chances. Starscream fires, the light of the missile briefly filling the tunnel before it explodes in the faceplate of what's stalking him.
An Insecticon?! Here on Earth?!
A grating, high-pitched growl fills the tunnel before the Insecticon shakes off the missile and comes charging toward Starscream.
Time to go.
He turns on a heelstrut, fires another missile for cover, and takes off down the tunnel. Rock rains down on him as it explodes, perhaps finding it's target, perhaps not. Insecticons are not so easy to kill.
He doesn't get far.
Starscream goes down under the weight of something much larger, much sharper, and much more aggressive. He shouts, tries to wriggle out from beneath the Insecticon, but it has more claws than he does.
He flinches, waits for the final blow, thrusters spitting fire.
He waits for a blow that doesn't come. The Insecticon grabs him up as though he's nothing more than a toy, pinning his arms to his sides, and then carries him deeper into he tunnels. Starscream twists and turns, thrusters spitting fire, but the Insecticon's claws are like durybillium manacles.
He's stuck, but he's also not offline. Whether or not this is a good thing remains to be seen. Starscream tries his comm and gets static in return. Lovely.
Something glows up ahead. Starscream squints into the dim, which grows into a large cavern, filled with more chittering and rustling. It's... it's an Insecticon army! What the frag?
“Well, well, well.” The purring vocals drag Starscream's attention to the left where click-click-click of multiple pedes announce Airachnid's arrival. “Look what the bug caught sniffing at my door.”
Starscream snarls. “I demand that this creature put me down at once.”
“Of course,” Airachnid purrs as she performs a minor transformation, spider legs vanishing into bipedal mode.
Starscream squawks as the Insecticon abruptly loosens its grip and he crashes to the stone floor. Of all the... He growls to himself and pushes to his pedes, brushing the grit from his armor.
“Your welcome party leaves much to be desired,” Starscream says, eying the femme warily.
“That's what happens to those who aren't invited.” Airachnid flips a hand at him. “Especially those who are supposed to be dead.”
He folds his arms over his chestplate. “One could say the same thing about you.”
“I'm harder to kill than I look.” Airachnid tilts her helm, optics glowing a baleful purple. “You have one minute to give me a good reason not to let my dear friends tear you limb from limb.”
Around them, the hordes of Insecticons chitter in unison as though agreeing with her. It's creepy, is what it is.
Starscream looks around, unable to count the sheer number of Insecticons. And does he see more pod-like objects in the distance? This is a Unicron-spawned Insecticon nest!
He laughs. “Oh my. Blast Off was wrong about you.”
Airacnhid's optics narrow. “What are you talking about?”
Starscream gestures to the entire breadth of the cave. “You're not one femme. You're a femme with an army.” He pauses to grin. “And I think we both know an effective use for such an army.”
Airachnid's fingers twitch and suddenly a large hand encloses on one of Starscream's wings with just enough pressure to stretch the limits of what he can bear. Warning flashes through his processor and pain ripples through said wing.
“Oh,” Airachnid purrs. “Was that all? You just want me to help depose Megatron.”
“Not precisely.” He winces and looks at the enormous Insecticon hand gripping his wing. This... is not part of the plan. “Though considering our glorious leader has tried to kill both of us, I would have thought a little revenge would be of interest to you.”
“It is. But not when it's attached to you,” Airachnid hisses the latter.
Starscream's wing creaks alarmingly.
“I can find the Nemesis!” he blurts out in a bit of a panic. He needs that wing, frag it. “Which I know you are incapable of doing. And I am in contact with the Autobots.”
The grip eases.
“Really.” Airachnid, unimpressed, strides closer, peering into his faceplate. “You, the mech who would be king, defected?”
He barks a laugh. “No. I am using them for my own ends. As surely as they are using me. Just like you and I can make use of each other. Especially your army.”
“What's in it for me?”
The grip lifts away from his wing and Starscream flicks it out of reach, daring to put some distance between himself and his Insecticon guard. “Transport off Earth to wherever you want. And the pleasure of taking Megatron's spark.”
Airachnid's engine rumbles a low sound of pleasure. “You drive an interesting bargain, Starscream. But how do I know you won't betray me as you are so keen on doing to your lord and master?”
“Because as far as I know, you've never killed anyone I value.” Starscream circles around the pseudo-heliformer. “And together, we can accomplish anything.”
He pauses in front of Airachnid, failing to gauge her field or her expression. He can only guess what she's really thinking.
“Very well,” Airachnid says with a slow curl of her lips. “Tell me what your plan is and I'll tell you whether my friends and I will participate.”
Starscream smirks.
Hook, line and sinker.
They chat. It is not as though there is anything else to do in the dim and loneliness of the brig.
Smokescreen tells him parts of the war Orion has missed. Orion tells him what he knows of Earth and the war effort here. They become friends, as much as is possible down here, and the only break in their routine is when Ricochet dances down to bring their allotment of energon.
Orion's only worry is for the hour Megatron makes his presence known. He still wants the Iacon Database decrypted and as long as Orion refuses, he'll rely on Smokescreen.
What he doesn't know is that Smokescreen can't. He is a graduate of the Autobot Academy, not a data clerk.
Orion fears that when Megatron returns for Smokescreen and learns that he is not of use, he'll execute the Autobot. Which puts his own refusal in a quandary.
Orion startles at the sound of pedesteps. It is too soon for it to be Ricochet. He dreads to think that Megatron has gathered another Autobot prisoner.
But no. It is Megatron and though he's not alone, Orion recognizes the mechs beside him: Dreadwing and Soundwave. For once, Megatron does not spare Orion a glance, his sole attention focused on Smokescreen, who drags himself off his bench.
“To what do I owe the honor?” Smokescreen asks with a smile that is less confident than he could have hoped.
Dreadwing strides forward and keys open Smokescreen's cell, gesturing the Autobot to exit. “It is time to earn your keep, Autobot.”
“Really?” Smokescreen offers a nervous laugh as he steps out of his cell. “How can I... uh... be of service?”
“We will show you. Come.” Dreadwing slaps a massive hand on Smokescreen's shoulder, nearly toppling him. He pushes the Autobot ahead of him, and Soundwave takes up a position on Smokescreen's other side.
Megatron, however, lingers.
Orion chooses to think it is for a reason. “Did you want to speak to me?” he asks, careful to keep his tone nonthreatening.
“Have you reconsidered your stance?”
“I apologize, but I have not.”
“Then no, Orion, I did not.” Megatron turns to face him, his expression as unreadable as before. “I find it curious that you betray me time and time again.” He stalks closer to the bars, looming without trying. “Primus has cursed me with your presence.”
He cycles a ventilation. “I don't think that is the case.”
“Then fortunately for you, Orion, I do not live or die by your opinion.” Megatron turns away from him, a sharp spike in his field the only betrayal to his inner turmoil.
Orion watches him go. “Smokescreen can't decode the database.”
“You'd better hope you're wrong. Because if he can't, he's of no use to me,” Megatron tosses over his shoulder. And then he's out of sight, leaving Orion alone in the dim dark of the brig.
There's a rattle in his vents, a trembling in his plating. Orion works his intake and retreats to his bunk, sinking down onto it. He stares at his hands – the hands of Optimus Prime if Smokescreen is to be believed – and wonders if he's made the right choice.
a/n: This is either the second to last chapter or the second to second to last chapter. LOL. I'm not sure if chapter sixteen is going to be split up or not yet as I'm not certain if it's missing something. I'll figure it out by the next update though. :)
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
