This is a what-if story, with the "what-if" in question revolving around Soundwave being a "medic of the mind" who is bound by a telepathic version of the Hippocratic Oath. There's an alternate ending in the chapter following this one.
Soundwave knew it was going to be a long day when Starscream came to his office complaining of "Error 887: The memory cannot be saved because of a fuzzybool NRG Fault in one the following lines: 2,888,242,971,937; 98,210,982,702,738; 89,649,161,937..."
Soundwave's official title was "Communications Officer." This mundane designation was a euphemism that concealed his actual role as chief of the secretive three letter agencies that made up the Decepticon espionage apparatus. Yet the title also had an element of truth: Soundwave really did handle all the communications for the Decepticons on Earth. He monitored the INTGACOM channels that linked Earth to Cybertron; schemed to intercept Autobot transmissions; blocked and cleared the airwaves during field operations; performed ongoing surveillance of the humans' telephone and internet system; and maintained the antennae and satellites that connected the Decepticon base with the rest of the empire. A final, less glamorous duty, was IT support. It fell to his lot to keep the network up and provide technical support whenever the ship's computer started cursing in Swahili.
The hardest part of being IT manager was troubleshooting the Decepticons' minds. Transformers were—at least in part—computers. Their memories were stored as atomic bits in an encrypted molecular drive which was continually backed up to a decentralized cloud. Their thoughts and feelings were pulses of light and twitches of subatomic structures that sent encoded information from one section of the processor to another at speeds inconceivable to lesser minds.
But it was the personality program that differentiated a true Cybertronian from a drone or cybernetic animal. Fantastically complex self-learning algorithms for "courage" "intelligence," "affection" and other qualities served as masters over the orchestra of light and atoms and numbers that danced together to form each transformer's "consciousness." A mech's mind had to be constantly protected against the triple threats of hackers, viruses, and Autobot spyware.
Soundwave offered Starscream a chair and shut the door. No sooner had he turned on the privacy field than Starscream complained, "I hate Megatron so much. When I kill him, I'm going to petition Prime for a Peace Day so that we can all celebrate his demise together."
Starscream's brutal honesty did not shock Soundwave. When people first met him, they were guarded, fearing exposure of their innermost self to the scrutiny of a telepath. But after he had fixed their first bug, they realized that a.) their secrets were gone for good, and b.) nothing awful had happened. And thanks to the Technopathic Oath, nothing ever would.
The Technopathic Oath was as binding and sacred to telepaths as the Hippocratic Oath was to physicians. It forbade Soundwave from harming the individuals who opened their minds to him for healing. More than that: it forbade him from disclosing the contents of a patient's mind without their uncoerced permission.
Of course there were always rumors that he had blackmailed this or that individual, or even planted false thoughts and installed viruses, but he liked to think that the gossip had the credulous, overanalyzed quality that was the earmark of conspiracy theories.
Starscream had known Soundwave long enough that all pretenses between them had vanished. As Starscream began his rant, Soundwave listened patiently. He already knew everything that Starscream was going to say—including some roughly sketched out ideas for the assassination attempt—and Starscream knew that he knew it. But the Seeker didn't care. He just wanted to be listened to without interruption. Soundwave was good at listening.
As Starscream blathered on, first about Megatron, then about the awful day he was having (it was all Megatron's fault), Soundwave entered the appropriate encryption keys and opened the contents of Starscream's mind. He glanced briefly at Starscream's recent memories and saw that the Seeker's recital of the day's events was grossly exaggerated and positively crammed with self-serving omissions. Soundwave brought the matter to Starscream's attention by replaying the Seeker's own memories with a healthy dose of skepticism thrown in.
It's poetic license, Starscream thought. An irritation file that had seen much use that day was retrieved from the Seeker's emotional cache. The target_name variable had been changed from "Megatron" to "Soundwave."
As you say, Soundwave said. He allowed the Seeker to perceive his amusement, with a reassuring touch of affection to disarm Starscream's growing annoyance.
Starscream's response to the brief sensation of affection was, as always, a rather pathetic hope for more. The Air Commander's life was a textbook example of loneliness at the top, a situation which had only worsened after he had torpedoed his almost-friendship with Megatron, prompting the rest of the command staff to disassociate themselves from him. The lack of constant attention was getting to Starscream.
But Soundwave had learned over the eons to be sparing with his affection. The sensation of direct emotional affirmation was a new and heady experience for non-telepaths, and the effect was only amplified by the fact that patients tended to perceive themselves as being loved for who they truly were at last—because, after all, Soundwave was the only one who actually could see them for who they truly were. It was unfair, but Soundwave often found himself placed in the role of a kind of judge. Feeling themselves transparent, his patients bombarded him with conscious and unconscious questions, like, "Am I really likable, deep down?" "Why does every femme leave me?" "Listen, I did something bad once, but..."
Sometimes Soundwave thought that half the "bugs" that patients reported were merely excuses to tell him about their real problems. Femmes tended to become romantically attached to him, while mechs began to show him an awkward favoritism that only confirmed the ideas of those who viewed him as a blackmailer. Worst of all, there were those patients who became hypochrondriacs, continually turning up in his office with imaginary complaints. The cleverest ones would even use their technical know-how to create bugs in their own systems, then erase the memory of their deed so that he wouldn't know they had done it. Sooner or later he caught them, and at that point he would refer them, as gently as possible, to a nontelepathic IT specialist. Despite his best efforts, he had still been stalked for years by patients obsessed with the desire for emotional connection.
Soundwave often regretted the addictive side of mind-to-mind contact, but at the same time he knew it was an indispensable tenant of ethical telepathy. In fact, unconditional acceptance was a key part of the Technopathic Oath: "Every patient has an unconditional right to basic empathy, acceptance and comfort." While affection might be addictive, the effects of not giving it were far worse: patients could leave a session with a newfound belief that they had been seen, known for who they truly were, and judged unworthy of compassion. The shame, distrust and hatred that inevitably sprung from such a belief was toxic to patients and telepaths alike.
So Soundwave listened as Starscream complained that no one would listen to his brilliant ideas, and even his own wingmates were against him. Beneath it all, the Air Commander still felt profound humiliation that he had begged for mercy at Megatron's feet; he wondered if the others were right in accusing him of cowardice, and dreaded that it might be true.
Soundwave said nothing, merely providing an occasional reassuring brush. A calculating part of Starscream's mind noted when the brushes occurred and tried to correlate them with the words he had been speaking at that moment. The flyer reasoned that once he understood what triggered the brushes, he could focus his efforts on getting more. Starscream didn't realize he was doing it: the desire to seek approval was universal, and the analysis-predict-control cycle was deeply written into Starscream's programming.
Soundwave had learned to watch for such cycles as signs of budding addiction; what he saw thus far was normal, at least within Starscream's typical range of behavior. He was careful to give affection only at times when it would not provide reinforcement to the algorithm Starscream was trying to build.
Are you ready to begin? he asked.
Whenever you are, Starscream said.
Focusing himself, Soundwave drew the threads of Starscream's mind together in his hand for closer examination. Despite the emotional neediness, Starscream was always interesting to work on. Soundwave could appreciate the beauty of things others found mundane or merely functional: An elegant mathematical proof. A well-designed machine. A complex harmony. A fine mind.
Starscream was blessed and cursed with programming that was unique among a billion. Thoughts bounded quickly back and forth in his processor, spawning hundreds of branching ideas that extended out in long chains as Starscream pursued multiple competing ideas to their logical conclusions. The speed, length and complexity of the chains was an indication of intelligence.
But intelligence was common enough at the top of the command hierarchy. What really made Starscream unique was the totally undisciplined manner in which the chains formed. The flyer believed that he followed the scientific method to get his results, but this was only a lie he told himself after he had figured out an idea using his own methods. Soundwave found a certain fascination in watching the chains sprout and veer off in unpredictable directions as a dozen ideas formed, some sound and some bizarre, and began to compete with each other. Starscream provided a level playing field for the ideas, refusing to cull the oddballs as another mech might have. It was the foundation of his reputation for unconventional thinking.
When logic hit a dead end, the chain would pause, then flash forward as Starscream made an intuitive guess. Few realized it, but intuition was almost as important a factor in the Air Commander's decision-making as logic—sometimes more important. Starscream did not consider it illogical to know something without knowing why he knew it.
As Soundwave watched, the chains derailed abruptly. Starscream had just remembered another thing that annoyed him about Megatron, and now his anger returned in an intense flash. Feelings controlled Starscream completely. He could switch emotions in a second, and each new emotion was as powerful as the one before. When frightened he would do anything to preserve his life, and was called a coward for it—yet the moment the terror dissipated he would leap right back into the situation that had terrified him so much before. The utter lack of self-management would have been a fatal flaw were it not his emotions came in intense flashes and disappeared just as quickly—at which point the Seeker's logic returned and resumed command as if nothing had happened. Indeed, the chains were already reforming, now in a new, murderous direction. It was not the kind of trait that Soundwave would have wished for himself.
Starscream's unique mental configuration had enabled him to rise to the top, but it had also isolated him. There were few minds he could relate with, and fewer still who could understood him—a problem that Soundwave had experienced himself. But he had the companionship of his cassettes and his relationships with other telepaths; Starscream was alone. Soundwave reflected that the telepathic connection was one of the few moments where the Seeker experienced the understanding that others took for granted.
He reviewed Starscream's error logs and initiated a system wide scan for foreign software.
I didn't want to waste your time, so I did a scan before I came, Starscream said helpfully. The results are in my memory, if you look. In the back of his mind, he waited for praise.
Verification: necessary, Soundwave replied. Scan results were commonly forged.
"If you say so," Starscream said, forgetting to think instead of speak. As a lie, he added, "I was just thinking that we both have work to do, so I wanted to help get it over with quickly." Actually, Starscream would have been happy to prolong the session for hours if it meant being at the center of Soundwave's undivided attention.
"Understood," Soundwave said.
Starscream secretly congratulated himself on monopolizing an hour of Soundwave's time, while simultaneously congratulating himself for being so considerate as to do a scan before bothering Soundwave with his problem. The Seeker saw no incongruence between the two thoughts.
As the scan ran in the background, Soundwave checked the lines of code in the error report. It took him almost a half hour of puzzling before he found a common thread: all the lines had been deprecated during a recent software update meant to detect sleeper agents.
Soundwave did not believe that Starscream was a sleeper agent—if he was, the war would have lost long ago—but the coincidence still struck him as significant. The now-obsolete lines code referenced several areas devoted to Starscream's higher functions. This was not abnormal in itself, except for the fact that the code also accessed some unknown modules stored in an encrypted partition of the Seeker's memory. The partition was characteristic of sleeper agent programming, since it could not be opened or even seen by Starscream directly.
Still, the mere existence of a partition didn't mean that Starscream was an enemy spy. The partition might contain classified information that Starscream was only allowed to access under special circumstances; there was also the possibility that it was used for embezzlement, pleasure programs, love notes from his secret mistress, or other activites Starscream would prefer to hide. The Seeker certainly had the technical skill to conceal such things from him. It wouldn't be the first time Soundwave had seen him try.
Still, to address Starscream's error, he was going to have to look inside the partition. After a short struggle he unsealed the encryption wrapper and examined the contents.
A jolt of surprise shot through him. It was as though he had entered a dark room, turned on the light, and found himself staring directly into the optics of a person who had been standing there in front of him. Inside the compartment was another Starscream—part of one, anyway.
For several moments, Soundwave gazed at what he had found, trying to understand the implications. It was now clear that the deprecated code had referenced several dormant personality routines stored in the partition. These routines didn't match the ones in the main personality program Starscream was running. It seemed this was a side of Starscream that even Starscream didn't know about.
The routines had their own small memory allocation, which was kept separate from the main storage. There were only a few hours worth of memory stored; Soundwave opened the files and quickly played through them.
The opening memory gave Soundwave an immediate idea of the circumstances under which the partition had been created. There was a palpable sense of despair permeating the Seeker's mind, and Starscream's thoughts revolved tightly around the events of the crystal shaft mission, or the "Skyfire Incident," as it had become known. Somehow the partition had come about as the result of that incident. Had Starscream literally locked away the part of himself that hurt?
He followed the chain of thought-memory to its next outshoot, a burst of desperate, all-consuming, all-controlling emotion—and stopped, startled. The memory revolved around him. A desperate grab for something that would relieve the pain.
Soundwave found himself remembering how Starscream had come to him with a major error after the Skyfire Incident. He had suspected at the time that Starscream simply wanted consolation for Skyfire's "death," and now he found he had been right. It had been within the bounds of acceptability to provide some small comfort to ease Starscream's distress, and he had done so carefully so as to avoid creating a dependency. At the time it had seemed to work: Starscream had recovered and all had returned to normal. Except for the partition.
Soundwave explored the hidden memories and pieced together what had happened. After his first success, Starscream had continued making fake errors. At first, the Seeker had hidden his involvement in the error-making through simple one-time methods. He would "forget" his involvement until the error was fixed, then place a note with the sleeper key "remember 19898724" in a spot where he would find it again later. After the troubleshooting session with Soundwave was over, Starscream would eventually stumble over the note and trigger an algorithm that would restore his lost memories.
Initially the system had worked well enough. But after the first few sessions, the Seeker had become paranoid—and rightly so, for Soundwave himself had begun to suspect that his patient was developing a case of hypochondria. It was then that Starscream had made the leap from merely hiding memories to actually hiding a part of himself.
Starscream had correctly surmised that he could not allow the extent of his growing dependency to become known—for such things would eventually manifest themselves in his personality program even if the memories themselves were hidden. Simultaneously, the proud flyer had been ashamed of himself for wanting Soundwave's empathy at all. Caught between the two pulls, he had developed the idea of making the partition into a separate, semi-independent branch of his personality that would activate only after incidents that might be expected to produce errors, i.e. software upgrades, battle damage to his processor, etc. The reactivated partition-Starscream would think through the problem of creating a nonsuspicious error, tinker with the main Starscream's programming, cover up his tracks, then put himself into dormancy again till the next error. The main Starscream, unaware that anything had transpired, would "discover" the bug and reap the rewards of Soundwave's attention and approval.
Soundwave had to admit the solution had a certain elegance: it allowed Starscream to be as dependent as he wanted, yet maintain a guileless pride in his own self sufficiency. After all, the errors weren't his fault, or so the main Starscream believed. What did it matter if fixing the problems meant getting a little pleasant attention on the side? Main-Starscream had never lowered himself by asking for it, and did not perceive himself as needy.
Alt-Starscream, on the other hand, bore the full burden of self knowledge. The few hours of that he existed thus far had not been enough for him to reconcile his inflated self image with his conflicting needs, and he felt ashamed of what he viewed as an inacceptable weakness. His only thought was to hide himself at all costs, for the thought of exposure, humiliation, and rejection terrified him.
In truth, Soundwave would not have tried to break Starscream of his empathy addiction immediately; he knew that if not done slowly, a rejection could shatter what little self esteem a patient possessed. Still, he could not allow the situation to continue. Not only was it unhealthy for both Starscreams, but it was also causing problems like error 887. (Error 887 actually was a real error—partition-Starscream had decided that it would look too suspicious if main-Starscream experienced an problem after every upgrade cycle, and reluctantly decided to sit this one out. Unfortunately for alt-Starscream's plan, his partition had been programmed by main-Starscream in a fit of depression, and the result was hardly main-Starscream's best work. 887 had done the scheme in.)
The simplest solution to fix the error would be to delete alt-Starscream and remove the deprecated lines of code. If Soundwave did so, main-Starscream would remember nothing of the errors he had created or the unmet needs that had driven him to become a hypochondriac. Both error 887 and the problem of Starscream's addiction would be solved at once.
On the other hand, Soundwave was not sure that deleting alt-Starscream was justifiable under the Technopathic Oath. Starscream had given him permission to fix error 887 in the best way he knew how, but he knew that the Seeker hadn't intended to sanction the destruction of part of his personality. But could alt-Starscream truly be considered a part of main-Starscream? The alt-persona was not a full-fledged personality, but only a few "add ons" that main Starscream wanted to have on the table. Alt-Starscream could not exist without the processor resources provided by main-Starscream, whereas main-Starscream could get along just fine without alt-Starscream. Yet if alt-Starscream was not a whole person, it could certainly be said that he/it was a (detached) part of main Starscream's very essence.
Soundwave decided he needed Starscream's input before continuing. But which Starscream? He was fairly certain that main-Starscream would simply delete the alt-program without waiting to understand what it entailed; the very existence of alt-Starscream would appall him. Yet before main-Starscream had severed his connection to alt-Starscream, he himself had once been alt-Starscream. It might even be argued that alt-Starscream was the more true version of the two, for he knew alone all the facts of the matter, whereas main Starscream had been kept in the dark. If main-Starscream were truly aware of alt-Starscream's contributions to his personality, Soundwave doubted that the Seeker would be willing to let Soundwave remove him so willingly. Yet there was no way to truly express the partitioned Starscream's nature to main-Starscream in words.
The final thought sealed Soundwave's choice. He could not let main-Starscream make an uninformed decision, nor could he let the discussion continue without the consent of Starscream's entire personality, alt-Starscream included. He would have to merge the forked personality into the main branch.
Soundwave steeled himself.
Starscream, he said, please remain calm while I activate a latent section of your personality.
"What?" Starscream asked, breaking out of his litany of complaints about Shockwave.
By way of explanation, Soundwave activated alt-Starscream.
There was a moment of bewildered awareness as alt-Starscream/main-Starscream realized where he was and how he had gotten there. Then a shock of horror went through him.
"N-no, it's not—I mean, it's not you're thinking!" he cried. "It's just that I—I—It was, uh, an experiment to see if I could somehow fool the new sleeper agent protocols that they were developing, so I—I—"
Soundwave found himself oddly reminded of the first (and only) time Rumble had tried to lie to him.
That is untrue, Soundwave said quietly, and Starscream fell into stricken silence. The Seeker's mind crumbled away from him, trying to shroud itself in encryption that they both knew was transparent. When he had "hidden" himself, Starscream drew into a tight, hard knot of fear and waited to be cast away just as he believed Skyfire had cast him away.
Reluctantly Soundwave reached out to comfort him. He had done as much before when Starscream had come to him after losing Skyfire, though he would have been more careful if he had known how the small kindness would be received.
Starscream embraced the sensation with desperate hope. Did the encryption work? What does he know? A dozen chains of thought began to form as the Seeker searched for a way, any way, to keep Soundwave from cutting him off.
I'm not going to cut you off, Soundwave said.
He doesn't know! thought Starscream.
I do know, Soundwave corrected.
The forming idea-chains ceased abruptly as Starscream became aware that his thoughts were unprotected. All the Seeker's mounting confidence broke, and he drew back into himself despite the ongoing affection Soundwave was giving him. Soundwave increased the emotional warmth by a few degrees. He waited patiently until Starscream adjusted to the situation.
What are you going to do to me? Starscream asked at last.
You asked me to fix error 887, Soundwave replied. Your partitioned self is the cause of 887.
I'll recode it! Starscream cried. I can fix it easily! You don't need to do anything, I'll take care of it.
The error is not the issue. You cannot continue like this, Soundwave said.
Why not? Starscream demanded. I, I'm your superior. I can order you to help me. I do order you to help me!
I took an oath to do no harm, Soundwave reminded him. You cannot continue like this.
Harm? What's the harm?
You have become reliant on me for your basic needs, Soundwave replied. A wave of shame flashed over Starscream, but the Seeker stood his ground defiantly.
So? What of it?
Technical support is not an acceptable substitute for the friend you have lost, nor can it satisfy your desire for others' acceptance.
The words were too much for Starscream's self delusions to bear. He snarled out, "I don't need anyone. N-not even you! And not Skyfire either!"
You know you are lying.
"No! You are!" Starscream cried. "You're the liar! This is all just a trick to manipulate me!"
Starscream had long believed that the best defense was a good offense. There was no point in answering Starscream's wild accusations, so Soundwave didn't bother. He simply waited silently until Starcream began to rationalize.
I know you think I've grown dependent, but what proof do you have of that? I think it's all just a way for you to get out of your work.
Soundwave shook his head. You damaged your own programming to provide a pretext for meeting with me.
So what? I was careful not to do anything serious.
You excised an entire section of your personality. Was this not serious?
I didn't get rid of it completely, did I? Starscream said. See, here it is right now.
Soundwave realized that he should have known better than to expect any admission from Starscream in his current state. The Seeker would ignore the evidence and deny his problem for as long as he could.
Whether you admit it or not, the problem remains, Soundwave said. We must discuss how to deal with it.
How can we discuss how to deal with a problem that doesn't exist?
If you wish, I can delete the partitioned part of your personality.
"No!" Starscream shouted aloud. Don't touch me!
I will not modify your programming without your consent, Soundwave said. However, the current situation cannot continue. If you do not wish your program to be modified, then we must seek an alternative solution.
Like what?
I can teach you how to create stable, mutually beneficial relationships like the one you formerly enjoyed with Skyfire.
At the mention of his friend's name, Starscream recoiled in reflexive anguish. He hated me!
That is because you shot him, Soundwave said patiently. He resisted the temptation to elaborate on the damaging effects that trying to kill one's friend had on a relationship.
I didn't mean to, Starscream said wretchedly. The sad part was that it was half true.
As long as I have known you, you have had difficulties of this sort. What happened with Skyfire was merely one more example of a pattern that has continued for millennia with your wingmates, colleagues, and commanders. I offer you the chance to start over again and learn the behaviors that will help you build lasting relationships.
Why can't I just be friends with you? Or do you hate me too?
The dichotomy was obviously designed to manipulate. Soundwave answered simply, How would you go about being friends with me?
The question surprised Starscream, and he squirmed. For all that the Seeker had used him as an emotional prop for months, there had been no outward difference in their relationship.
Well, I would, uh, do things for you, Starscream offered.
So you seek to exchange services for my friendship? Or goods, perhaps? Money?
I didn't mean it like that, Starscream said.
You did mean it like that, Soundwave replied. You no longer understand how to build a friendship.
So what you're saying is that nobody likes me.
Soundwave knew that Starscream was deliberately misconstruing his words. Ignoring the bait, he said, You must decide on a course of action. Since you do not wish your partitioned self to be deleted, I offer you two choices. One, we can maintain our current relationship, where you concoct false errors to seek my attention. However, I will modify your experience in such a way as to prevent you from continuing to emotionally depend on me.
Starscream felt uneasy. What do you mean, exactly?
I will remove the incentive for your dependency. Soundwave cut off the trickle of affection he had been providing.
No, no, I don't want that! Starscream cried. Bring it back!
Soundwave complied. Then I offer you the second choice. I will teach you how to develop enjoyable friendships that will satisfy the needs you have been trying unsuccessfully to meet through your partitioned self.
Will you take away the— Starscream struggled for a word to describe the warmth he was trying to grasp onto.
Yes, Soundwave admitted, but slowly.
That's not fair, Starscream said. Chains of thought began forming again as he began searching for a third alternative, some way to make Soundwave change his mind.
Whether you believe it is fair or not, you must choose.
Starscream began to feel trapped. Why? he demanded. Why can't you just keep doing—whatever it is you do. I can pay you if you want, as much you like. It's your job to maintain my systems and that's exactly what you'd be doing.
The situation cannot continue. You must decide.
Starscream made a noise of frustration. The idea of being cut off was unthinkable, yet the thought of trying to build new friendships filled him with dread. He remembered what Skyfire had said to him, how Megatron had "betrayed" him, and how everything had turned into bitterness.
"No one will ever like me," he said, and for once he believed he was telling the whole truth.
You alone decide whether or not that will hold true in the future.
"It's always been true. It will always be true," Starscream said. "Even you never really liked me, did you? It's all just a part of the job."
Soundwave could not deny it. He could work with Starscream; he could understand Starscream; he admired Starscream's mind—but he did not like Starscream. He had provided the empathy out of a sense of responsibility, as he would have for anyone.
Lying was a form of manipulation, and forbidden by the Oath. He chose to remain silent instead. So did Starscream, though inside the Seeker died a small death.
"I guess I'll get back to work," Starscream said after a moment. "I'll probably just delete the partition." He stood abruptly and walked out.
Soundwave watched him go. The mental connection between them thinned away as the distance grew. Before the other mech's mind disappeared completely, he felt alt-Starscream die. Main-Starscream strutted confidently off.
Shutting off the privacy field, Soundwave sat and listened to the silence of the mind realm. He felt the sudden need to examine whether his conduct had conformed to the Oath. Had he coerced, deceived, manipulated or deliberately harmed Starscream in any way? He reviewed the appointment, weighing what he had said and done, and how Starscream had responded.
At last he was left with the fact that he had not broken his oath. Error 887 had been resolved to the patient's own satisfaction.
So then why did he feel like an Oath-breaker?
The End