Title: 2 in 1
Continuity: G1
Character(s): Starscream, Optimus Prime, Megatron
Genre: drama/angst
Rating: T
Warnings: mentioning of violence, swearwords, slavery. darkfic
Summary: The war ends. What comes after?
Disclaimer: the usual.
Note: "normal speech" , "comm line speech" , ::bond or gestalt bond speech:: , character's own thoughts
Klik/nanoklik - equivalent of seconds
Breem – equivalent of minutes
Joor – equivalent of hours
Orn – equivalent of days
Groon – equivalent of months
Vorn – equivalent of years
Prologue
Optimus Prime stood at the command deck of the Ark, gazing at the starscape as it streaked by on their mad dash towards their home. Back to Cybertron, after so much time, literally millions of vorns – it wasn't easy even to contemplate, much less to actually imagine what their home planet looked like these orns. They had so little contact with it, lacking a space bridge and mostly even shuttles. Earth and human culture was almost more familiar than the long-lost civilization that they used to have. Some of the younger bots never even lived in the Golden Era that preceded the war and thus never knew what it was like, how Transformers lived when not in war.
For them fuel was plain and simple energon, and the only variations to it were low-grade medical and a crude, home-brewed high grade to get overcharged on. They had no idea how many dozens of kinds and types of energon was manufactured for different tastes and credits. All types of solid sustenances were a thing of the past, from oil-cakes till gelled energon confections. All they knew about free-time was what Earth had to offer and none of the long forgotten Cybertronian sports were kept alive by anyone – nothing that wasn't considered as practice for fighting. And of course no mech has seen a sparkling for as long as the war went on and the last neutral groups had escaped to parts unknown in the endless universe.
They lost so much while warring for ideals, equality, dominance or supremacy – or by the end mainly for surviving. They lost most of what they started the war over and even the hypothetical winner would have very little to enjoy in the gutted planet with zero resources and hardly survivable conditions. Hardly anything material and even less ideological for the winners; the war that demanded survival at all costs crumbled away all that used to be noble in both their causes. Optimus Prime often had such breems when he did nothing but doubt in himself, in his soldiers, in the cause they represented, in the ideals that they used to uphold.
Were they still worthy of winning the war and be the ones dealing out justice? Were they still capable of being fair and just to the defeated enemies? What would be fair and just in that situation, what should they do with the remaining Decepticons if the need ever arose to make that decision? He wasn't sure and he hardly ever dared to share his doubts either. They all committed terrible things, with no exceptions. Take a few million vorns, add survival in it, mix well and you get shameful decisions inevitably. Did it matter what some of his soldiers said, that the Decepticons were more cruel, more deceitful, more ruthless? Was it a matter of black and white or rather the shades of grey? You did kill or you did not. That seems so easy to decide. But when you factor in self-defense, extenuating circumstances, a greater good, compelling circumstances and so on… they it all became shady and uncertain.
Not that gazing out of the window ever helped, Optimus mused sarcastically in himself, no more than it did on Earth. He lived from orn to orn, making the decisions as they came by, relying on the whispers of the Matrix the best he could, listening to his officers and friends whenever he could, doing what seemed best when the problems popped up – and hoping that Primus still thought them worthy of bearing the name of Transformers and give his blessing to their continued existence. Sometimes it was enough. Sometimes though… it was harder to believe in.
When Optimus Prime and his small group of Autobots took off to return to Cybertron, neither of them dared to think that they were going to see the war ended. It has been fought for so long that there were hardly anyone in either of the armies who actually remembered how to live in peacetime. The Neutrals were all gone to hiding, the Empties deactivated, the planet itself scarred, despoiled and polluted, the cities all gone; only a few fortified bases and outposts showed on the surface that there were still some life left. Under the cover of darkness noxious smoke billowed towards the sky from the burning ruins and in exchange acid rain came down to melt the rubble into the tortured ground. It was nearly at the end of their almost unlimited tolerance, even with billions of vorns of engineering that honed their systems to perfection.
Even the Autobots who hasn't seen the conditions here knew that Cybertron was barely livable and not only because of the lack of energon. The war eviscerated the planet completely and as the Ark descended towards the unseen surface, towards Ultra Magnus's base in the former Iacon region, Optimus Prime could only hope that their plans could succeed and end the war, before their whole race descended into a self-induced extinction. They lived long, but being a technical civilization, they couldn't live forever without industry, energy and resources, all the while fighting with the conditions they had on Cybertron.
Earth was full of those necessities and that's why both sides wanted to gain control of its sources for so long. Humanity was a faintly annoying bystander in that struggle at worst, untrustworthy allies at best; for whatever Humans thought of their role in the eons old conflict, neither side truly considered them as a significant factor. Their planet, yes. Their Sun and the energon it produced, yes. Their hardly even touched resources in metals and manufacturing, yes. Even their workforce by the more callous ones, mostly in the Decepticon camp; Optimus Prime firmly stood by the original Autobot tenets and while he, too accepted that Earth was a resource not to be wasted, its intelligent beings had the right to live free.
And so they descended towards their home-planet, the Ark and the shuttles packed full with energon and necessary metals, parts and manufactured goods, risking everything on the chance their contact promised. The oldest of the 'sleeping' agents that no other mech, only Jazz remembered, the one that hasn't made a single report in a few million vorns contacted them a groon ago. Megatron is facing more serious infighting than ever before, the message said tersely, Shockwave and Soundwave formed a faction within the army, the Seekers and some gestalts another and Megatron was forced to abandon Earth to deal with his own lieutenants. Come within three groons or so and you can overcome the infighting factions one by one – or the weakened winner if you are late.
It sounded too good to be true. Nor did most Autobots believe to this suddenly appearing secret agent whom neither of them knew. But Ultra Magnus took the risk of contacting them too; a message capsule travelling in real space, undetectable by the ever-spying Soundwave arrived shortly after the secret agent's news and him, they believed. The Decepticons left Earth indeed and Optimus Prime ordered the Ark freed from its stony prison, repaired and made spaceworthy again; shuttles being built and packed to the brim with energon and materials. The Humans were left with a promise – in time we'll return, hopefully friendly, thanks a lot for everything and good bye.
Plans were made, based on the scant information about the Decepticon factions and Ultra Magnus's forces. Prime, Prowl and Smokescreen hardly recharged any during the mad dash through the galaxy; during their time on Earth, Cybertron continued on its blind course, careening from the push of one gravitational field to another, getting further from Earth's solar system all the time. Plans were made, tentative, hesitant as to what to do if, or rather when they won – with the planet and with the Decepticons. Not many of them wanted to see them deactivated, but none wanted things to return to their pre-war state, with the class inequalities and caste system. Even the most vengeful Autobots knew that that would be a sure-fire recipe for another rebellion and war in the future, even overstepping the moral dilemmas and ethical considerations.
Descending among the space trash that encircled the planet, Optimus Prime mused on the bridge of the Ark alone for the last time. All his Autobots were ready in the cargo holds and by the other exits, bristling with weapons and determination, waiting to act as soon as they touched down. They made sure that no spying satellites or accidental neutral traders took the news of their landing to either Decepticon faction. They made sure that none of them even suspected that the Autobots knew about their infighting. They made every precaution that any sane mech could think of – and borrowed some more from Red Alert too – to ensure success.
And still, Optimus Prime was uneasy. He has been uneasy for quite some time, but as absolutely nothing supported his suspicion, he was forced to put aside his doubts and act. He would have put it down to his indecision and hesitancy to act aggressively, if not for the Matrix. The artifact has been shooting vague warnings towards his consciousness – nothing concrete, nothing he could act on, only a vague disquiet clamoring to him from through the ages and ancestors, that he couldn't use. The comm line opened, Prowl wanted him on the landing deck and he had to put aside the unease. He had made the decision and now must act. The time was too late for musing and consternation. With a last glance to the starfield that glowed softly behind them, Optimus Primes traversed the corridors and joined his mechs in preparation.