Reprise: n. a repeated passage in music
vb. to repeat a piece of music or performance
Dustmaster had seen many graduation ceremonies at Quintus Prime College of Young Scientists over the years, but somehow, none felt as difficult as this one.
He swept his gaze from the stage now, where he was reading his annual graduation speech, and took in the rows of young, aspirational talents looking right back at him. This vorn had proved an excellent turnout for Quintus Prime College, with at least five hundred mechs from the scientific class. He peered down at them now – all slimly built, petite, armed with microscopic lenses, scalpels: the appropriate alt-modes to truly understand the subject. Dustmaster himself was a magnetometer, and proud of it. Having the right alt-mode, the aging Headmaster thought, helped.
Which was why Starscream was Dustmaster's personal processor ache.
His optics fell upon the jarring blot seated unescapably in his line of vision, noticing without really wanting to the perked, out-of-place wings, the tough, militaristic build and the self-satisfied little smirk on dark faceplates.
Now, Dustmaster was not a Functionist – at least, he did not believe himself to be one. No. For all his age and experience, he thought himself surprisingly liberal: a proud advocate of equality, freedom of choice, and freedom from discrimination based on alt-modes. Of course, a mech's Primus given Spark and alt-mode dictated a large part of their identity and who they were to become, but there were, naturally, other factors involved too.
(What those factors were precisely, he would struggle to answer, but the belief was there, and that was all that mattered.)
Starscream, however, seemed to take it upon himself to challenge his Headmaster's liberalism at every turn.
To Dustmaster, it really didn't matter that his unruly pupil was a Seeker, a flier, or a member of the militant class who had enrolled by chance on a short-lived project to promote flexibility between castes. The old mech had been very supportive of the whole ideal, or else he would never incorporate the programme into his own school. No, Starscream's altmode was surely not the issue.
The Headmaster glanced down at his script, pausing to scan the remainder of it with an increasingly heavy Spark.
"And now," he announced, with a gravity in his voice not suited to the occasion, "we must commend, as usual, the top students of this already extremely talented year, many of whom will be proceeding to study at Cybertron's finest Science Academies. When I read out your designation, please come up to the stage and collect your award."
A smattering of polite applause. Dustmaster sneaked a quick glance over in the direction of his most undeserving pupil, and saw that the other's smirk had only grown wider.
No. The issue did not lie with Starscream's alt-mode, or class, at all. He thought firmly to himself. The issue was that, despite all his liberalism, the Seeker truly was different from all the other, natural-forged scientists – an anomaly in all senses of the word.
"… We begin with Torrent, for his wonderful project proposing the existence of an eighth part of the electromagnetic spectrum…"
When the applause died down, a tall, thin mech shuffled awkwardly to the front of the stage, snatching the award from Dustmaster's absent digits with an almost frightened air, but the Headmaster was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice.
Starscream defied all expectations. Despite his reluctance, Dustmaster was forced to concede that the Seeker had been one of his brightest pupils – quick to grasp and apply concepts that would befuddle the most learned professors, with a sharp optic for details and a brilliantly critical mind. The sheer intelligence he possessed – for a mech of his class, anyway – was unnerving, and Dustmaster shuddered to admit that he could not even imagine how Quintus Prime himself - one of the original Thirteen! - could surpass this talented, young mech.
"… Astroscope, for his recent publication of a paper in conjunction with some of the top researchers in the field of Mini-con theory…"
And yet – and Dustmaster had to emphasise to himself that he was not a Functionist, what he had to say was simply true – certain aspects of the Seeker's… conduct must arise as a result of his primal, militant nature. There was simply no other explanation for such behaviour in the old Headmaster's mind. Starscream, despite his scientific prowess, was a constant source of uncontrolled barbarity. Professors reported him to be 'condescending, rude, and with a complete disregard of established rules', and among peers, too, he was friendless. Dustmaster could not even count the number of times he had received complaints about Starscream using derogatory slang towards his non-flier classmates. And then there were the reports of vandalism, the bullying, the fighting…
The old Headmaster paused now, taking in a deep cycle of air as he frowned at the final name before him:
"… And finally, Starscream. The first scientist of military caste to graduate from our esteemed Quintus Prime College, indeed any college, and not only graduate, but to do so with flying colours –" he paused a little to process the pun with a humourless smile, " – with an unprecedented perfect score and an offer to study at Cybertron's leading science institution, the Iacon Academy of Science and Technology."
His words fell in silence. Unlike with the previous designations, this one was met with no applause, no praise, not even the slightest pretence of respect. United by a similar sense of injustice and indignation, the entire college fell into collective, cold judgment, as though they were watching a robbery unfold, an honour unfairly stolen from where it rightfully belonged.
Seemingly unperturbed by the unfriendly atmosphere about him, Starscream pulled himself proudly from his seat and sauntered on to the stage with a bright smile on his faceplates.
Somehow even more irritated by this, Dustmaster extended a slow servo in an obligatory handshake, his digits clenching unconsciously around the prize in his palm at the thought of relinquishing it to so undeserving a mech. "Congratulations, Starscream," he growled, his vocaliser rough with the effort of forcing out these words.
But to his astonishment and further outrage, the Seeker simply ignored him. As he climbed up the stage, Starscream walked straight past his ancient Headmaster and stopped squarely before the microphone.
"I would just like to say a few words," he announced in an unexpectedly cordial tone to his equally unsuspecting audience, "before I accept my award."
The alarm bells in Dustmaster's helm were already screaming with a vengeance, but he could only stare, paralysed, at the shadow of his pupil's winged form silhouetted against the spotlights concentrated upon him.
"I just want to say," said Starscream, with great poise and elegance, "I have had a wonderful time here at Quintus Prime College with its supportive staff and peers. I know I would not be standing before you all today, as a humble military-class bot, if it wasn't for the incredible hard work of all my professors and Headmaster. So the first thing I want to say to you all is: thank you."
Stunned silence. A murmur rose among the student body, who now wondered whether they were all trapped in a collective dream.
"No, no. Really," Starscream laughed, raising his hands to silence his awed audience. "Believe me, I am aware of my history here, and I know many of you will harbour ill feelings towards me. The truth is, you have all been a part of my education, and your guidance have been, shall we say, invaluable. The lessons I have learnt here, I will never forget…"
He paused, and, if Dustmaster really had tentatively allowed himself to believe that a miraculous change had awoken in his most disruptive student, then the illusion shattered completely in that single moment.
The Headmaster watched, too late to intervene, as Starscream gripped the microphone in a sudden frenzy of emotions, his faceplates twisting abruptly as he turned, once again, into the vile, uncouth scoundrel the old mech had always believed him to be.
"… Here, I've learnt just how shallow, bigoted, and prejudiced a society can be," the Seeker spat, crimson optics smouldering like the Pits themselves. "Yes. You. All of you. Swanning about in the comfort of having been randomly assigned an alt-mode of a 'higher' caste, as if you're not just here by random good luck! Scientific class? Don't make me laugh! There's barely a scraplet worth of intelligence between the whole lot of you. Prestigious college my aft! You're all part of a broken, corrupt system. You're not worth the slag you can be melted down into…"
And the abuse rolled on and on, growing increasingly graphic and violent in description as the speaker on stage grew more and more passionate about his cause. Dustmaster could feel himself trembling – he had been Headmaster for vorns, and never in all his life had he experienced such a blatantly disrespectful challenge on everything he had ever stood for. As the disturbing words continued, each syllable enunciated with sharp cruelty, something in the old mech finally snapped.
Summoning all the oppressive rage which he, too, had been accumulating in his chest, he cycled in a deep breath of air:
"Starscream! ENOUGH!"
This mighty roar – the first authoritative sound to come out of this little old mech for many vorns now – coupled by the clatter of an empty award falling from his grip, finally silenced the Seeker, if only momentarily.
Starscream paused in his speech, tilting his helm lazily back so that his taunting, burning optics met his Headmaster's.
Dustmaster could take it no longer.
"You," he pointed a trembling digit in Starscream's direction, quite forgetting in the moment that the optics of the whole college was watching him, "are a disgrace to this college. Never in all my vorns of service have I had the misfortune to encounter a mech so utterly ungrateful and unpleasant as you, Starscream! I have welcomed you here, taught you with as much dignity and respect as any of my other students, and this is how you repay me?!"
The Seeker was silent, and Dustmaster suddenly found that he could not find it in himself to stop – an impulse he would never forgive himself for later. "Ever since your arrival," he persisted, coolant flying from his lips, "you have been nothing but trouble. Endless torturing and haranguing of my staff, of my students, not to mention the inexcusable damage and vandalism dealt to the college's properties! It's clear that the sickness of brutality and violence can never be cured from a militant mech. You will never be a scientist, Starscream, no matter how hard you try!"
The outburst left him temporarily breathless, his fans cycling furiously as he glared at the insolent flier before him. The heat of the moment left him not quite unable to process exactly what he had just uttered.
But then he saw it – the slow, smug smile spreading slyly across Starscream's faceplates, and he realised too late what he had done.
Starscream turned to face the silent student body. "And there you have it," he commented, lowly. "Functionism at its finest. I rest my case."
Dustmaster felt his whole frame turn cold as his former student finally stepped back from the microphone, and turned to look at him one final time. "Keep the award, sir," hissed the Seeker, sweetly, his vocaliser soft with saccharine danger. "Who knows? I may come back some day to relieve you of it."
With that, leaving both his Headmaster and his fellow peers stunned, Starscream leapt deftly into the air and transformed, engines roaring, and the roof of the Great Hall - usually reserved to open the College's great telescope - unfolded just in time for the jet to escape through the gaps. He tore his way across the darkening skies with all the confidence of a mech who knew there would be none could follow.
But still, the Seeker's terrible laughter was left ringing long after his departure.
Starscream knew for a fact that this was not the first time he had told this story, but he thought Skyfire probably didn't notice anyway. As he recounted his iconic tale of slagging off his entire college on stage, his research partner was watching him with appropriate admiration, which pleased the Seeker immensely.
"… And then he said some slag about how I would never be cured from the 'sickness –'" here, he pulled a face in a grotesque imitation of his former Headmaster, "'– of brutality and violence' because I was a Seeker. He told me I'd never be a scientist, and that was exactly what I wanted to hear."
He strutted towards the front of the laboratory, wings arched high as he clutched at an imaginary microphone and gestured, with great pomp and triumph, towards the equally imaginary Dustmaster. "'And there you have it,'" he declared, with a heroic puff of his chest, "'Functionism at its finest. I rest my case.'"
Turning his helm, he smirked down at Skyfire as though expecting applause, and was somewhat miffed when the shuttle did not oblige.
Still, spirits undampened, he settled himself back at the counter and tipped a carefully measured container of grey powder into a boiling flask filled with heated Energon. "The rest, as they say, is history."
"Were you punished?" asked Skyfire curiously, and Starscream interpreted this tone to be one of awe and respect. He had always suspected the good-natured shuttle to be the obedient type; the ones who always asked for permission every time they needed the lavatory.
The Seeker grinned with unabashed pride. "Of course not. It was graduation. There was nothing they could do about it then. Since I was no longer under their care, I could say whatever the frag I pleased."
He thought of Dustmaster's wizened faceplates, optics popping wide with rage and horror, and couldn't help but burst into harsh laughter again.
Skyfire did not join him, and Starscream assumed it was because the shuttle was still marvelling over the events of the story. Once the Seeker had managed to stifle his chuckles, his partner asked: "Had you planned this for long then?"
"Oh yes," the Seeker answered immediately, his optics bloodthirsty. "Almost from the day I enrolled. The only reason I kept quiet until then was because the corrupted administration kept enforcing punishments every time I did say anything. All that slagging censorship." His voice had dropped to a growl at this point, and he was stirring the bubbling liquid with venom. "They used to limit my energon, give me curfews, keep me separate from the other students… They made me write lines, for frag's sake. All that sparkling slag – for discipline, they said. I had to let them know, somehow, that I wasn't buying their Functionist lies."
As the bubbling grew ever more frenzied, the Seeker diverted his attention to a little burner beneath the flask, and adjusted it meticulously so that the flame flickered a bloody red that matched his optics. Suddenly, it occurred to him that his companion was questioning because he was not as impressed with his story as much as he should have been, and turning to glare at the other mech, he demanded: "You know what I'm talking about, don't you? The higher castes are always filled with rabid Functionists."
"Yes…" admitted Skyfire, with a heavy voice, but Starscream didn't like the hesitancy. His friend was looking thoughtful. "But you said yourself you did pick fights with some of the other students."
"Only the ones that deserved it," said Starscream, dismissively waving his servo. "That was all part of the same ploy. I wasn't going to stand for that kind of rampant prejudice, so I made an example of a few of them." He scowled when Skyfire looked sceptical. "Look, I never started any fights myself, alright? That rusting old senile just chose not to believe me every time."
"I'm just saying," said Skyfire, neutrally, as Starscream's wings flitted in righteous indignation, "it doesn't sound as though you were perfect yourself."
At this, the Seeker's optics flashed, and his demeanour became tense and aggravated. "What do you mean?" He challenged, his voice rising in cold, abrupt fury. "I was their top student. My score was unprecedented in the history of the college, possibly the whole of Iacon. It was perfect, Skyfire. Look at me! I'm in the Academy of Science and Technology – I was three mechs out of five hundred! What more could they possibly want?!"
He was getting quite excited, his wings pulled taut and high over his head, but Skyfire remained cool and unprovoked, his optics focussed only on the Energon steaming before him. Or perhaps, thought Starscream nastily, he's just too ignorant to recognise his own offensiveness.
But Skyfire was oblivious to the Seeker's malicious thoughts. "Academic achievement has no relation to personality," said the shuttle, frankly. "You made sure they would dislike you anyway, didn't you?"
… That was true. Starscream mulled over this notion and let his wings relax, his temper fading as quickly as it had flared. It felt better now that his control of the situation was acknowledged – the instigator, not the victim. "I don't need their high opinions," he huffed. "You've been through it yourself, Skyfire. You know exactly what I mean."
The shuttle seemed reflective, some kind of heavy sadness shrouding his expression, but presently he shook that off and fought to maintain his principles.
"I still think the graffitiing seemed a bit far."
"Oh, I only did those when I was drunk."
Now Skyfire allowed himself a chuckle and Starscream smirked back at him. "What? It was fun. Artistic. Just because I want to be a scientist doesn't mean I have no appreciation of the arts."
His partner shook his helm, but did not press him any further. Satisfied, the Seeker turned his full attention back on to the flask before him. Carefully, he removed the flame, lifting the container into the air so he could examine the contents for its colour and transparency. Then, gingerly, he lifted it to his lips and took a delicate sip.
"… Mmh. Perfect. Even better than last time," he commented a moment later, looking pleased with himself. "You want some? The flavours are exquisite, if I do say so myself."
Skyfire pushed himself off his elbows and gently pushing the proffered flask away. "No thank you, I'm going to meet my friends at the bar later." He paused as he surveyed the state of the lab, littered with all manners of distillers, pipettes, and empty Energon cubes. "You should really stop cooking high grade with our lab equipment anyway. You know we have an inspection tomorrow."
"Yes, yes. It will be fine. Everything will be clean by tomorrow, I promise," said the Seeker, lazily taking another much more generous swig. "I'm all prepared – just leave the talking to me. The Senate will be delighted anyhow with the new 'biological weapons' –" he scowled in disgust at the phrase, "– I have for them."
"Oh, yes." Skyfire nodded, remembering. "The Outliers."
Starscream's lips quirked over the edges of his flask. "You know, I am surprised that you don't have any issues with this," he remarked amusedly. "You're always so worried about the ethics of things."
"Because it's an important part of being a scientist," Skyfire replied calmly, looking his friend in the optics. "And because I'm in charge of the Biomechanical aspects of this project, after all. It's even more important to me that whatever life form I come in contact with is not harmed."
"Well, I would spare you the horrors of your own field of expertise," remarked Starscream sarcastically, "but I'm simply not fond of Biomechanics, and by chance, it seemed to be what you enjoyed best. You should be grateful I gave you this opportunity to feel useful."
"Not fond of Biomechanics?" His partner teased good-naturedly, unable to resist this opening. "Not much of a perfect student then, are you?"
The Seeker glared at him, but there was no real spite in his optics. "I just don't like it, that's all," he shot back in defence. "It doesn't mean I'm not good at it."
Skyfire laughed, and Starscream's own faceplates relaxed into a small but genuine smile at the sound, one which he hastily buried under another gulp of high grade. "Anyway," he said by way of distraction once he had finished, "like I said, I have everything prepared for tomorrow, so even you can stop fretting for a few cycles." He paused for a moment to check his internal chronometer, then added: "You should really head over to your little ground-pounder friends anyway, or they'll think you've turned into another condescending flytoy who only hangs out with other fliers now."
"Don't call –" began Skyfire exasperatedly, before wisely giving up the battle as a lost cause. "Alright then," he conceded instead. "I'll leave you to it. See you later, Starscream. And thank you."
"For what?" said the Seeker, this time genuinely baffled, but the shuttle simply smiled, and waved.
A/N: Merry Christmas! This is my first multi-chapter fic in a while, so... yeah. I'm probably quite rusty, so do let me know what you think! Reviews are always appreciated. Thank you for making it this far! :)