Title: Future in the Making: Arc One
Continuity: 2011 Movieverse - Patronus AU (Written with Femme4Jack, who helped with many parts of this fic)
Pairings, Characters: Autobot Ensemble, focus on Chromia and Ironhide
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Summary: Ratchet returns to Mars, with problems and new questions for their future
Notes: This is a new story arc that connects to the "To Build a Future" series. In theory, it also connects to all of Patronus-verse, but continuity errors may creep in from time to time. Mentions of the Hatchlings exist, and some characters evolved from those. Pipes and Swerve were used to replace Hoist and Grapple from "To Build a Future" after I realized the continuity error I made in part of "To Build a Future". Non-explicit relationships, including human/mech. Explicit mech/mech scenes. Consent issues in Chromia's arc, as she is between a rock and a hard place when offered a choice.
There were two factors hindering Ratchet's ability to make certain Scion survived the newest upgrade. One was that Path Finder was in orbit and would be landing soon. The other was that Megatron was most eager to get the four Autobot prisoners off the planet as official exiles.
This led to a very unpleasant experience on Ratchet's part, because there was no way he was subjecting Path Finder to those tempers. While Pipes and Swerve seemed like they were slowly coming around to the concept of peace, having not even known that the pronouncements by Megatron were actually the truth, Chromia and Grimlock both considered him a treacherous enemy.
Not trusting Hook to induce medical stasis on the pair, yet incapable of slicing the firewalls completely by himself with both so fully guarded, Ratchet had turned to Blaster for help. The mechling was surprisingly easy-going and mellow for a Decepticon, but Ratchet was slowly realizing that the mechling had been as indulged as much as a symbiont. Once Blaster proved to be of a mature spark and processor, that relationship was going to turn ugly in Ratchet's opinion.
It left Ratchet a little ill on his tanks as he left the brig at Blaster's side, both Chromia and Grimlock in full stasis for the trip back to Mars. Forcing a mech into stasis they dd not choose was never his preferred method of dealing with problems. He did not have long to get it under control as Megatron peremptorily summoned him to the throne room.
It was a room that Ratchet had avoided this trip, too much a reminder of the despotic nature of his current host. He was, however, quite surprised to enter and see not one throne, but two, as was proper for the hall that should have been receiving supplicants of the population. Megatron sat in one, while Scion kept guard at the honor point. The empty one was inscribed with the glyph for the ruling Prime and remained empty.
Starscream was not in sight.
"Ratchet," Megatron began. "You will leave us soon, and I have a mind to know just what you think of Cybertron and the efforts here."
This was the point when Ratchet almost wished his former life as a politician was on tap for the actual skill of talking. Whatever he said here might spark the tyrant off, or worse. Yet Ratchet had never been one to hold his voice, and looking at Megatron, taking in that no one but Scion was present, he felt as if that was exactly Megatron's intent.
"It's a lot better than I anticipated," Ratchet admitted. "Gotta say, those mechs out in the city? Even the Autobots, for the most part? They think you're handling the effort real well. And maybe they're right, but you've got a lot to overcome, both in yourself, and with those still around you, if you expect the whole of my people to ever wish to come here and live under your rule." It was honest, positive and negative, and he waited to see how it set with the Protector.
"And that, Scion, is why I always did enjoy getting the medic riled up enough to speak," Megatron told his protege . "He's blunt and honest."
Scion flicked his wings; he was under a debt to the medic, and did not like the feeling at all. Time and distance would solve that problem.
"Very well, Ratchet. When you tell my brother of events here, make certain to tell him I am using his lessons in compassion well," Megatron said with a wry twist of his mouth. Ratchet wasn't certain of that message, but he would bear it nonetheless.
"Tell me, Megatron, did you specifically send for me because you already knew?" Ratchet asked.
Megatron laughed. "I knew Optimus would send you or Wheeljack. Either one would be capable of figuring it out quickly, without my intercession."
"So what tipped you to the glitch's plans this time?" Ratchet needed to know, and hoped that it would spill the reason of why. Starscream, despite having been Megatron's first adherent, had been the downfall of Megatron's plans more than once.
Megatron snorted at the medic. His secrets were his own to keep, after all. The voices at the temple were for him alone, until everything was in position. "Let us just say that Scion was too much like the one I patterned him on."
"He carries it a little better," Ratchet said, just to dig in at Starscream, even if the glitch wasn't there to hear it. Scion visibly straightened his wings in pride.
"On a more serious note, Ratchet. If either Grimlock or Chromia act against my rule here, or against my brother's there, I will not show mercy again," Megatron informed the medic. He had read over the interrogation Soundwave had conducted, and dismissed the constructors as tools. "They are very much a threat to Optimus Prime."
Ratchet nodded brusquely. "Neither one's in their right processor. Prime can handle them." He prayed his confidence was correctly placed, for Ironhide's sake.
"We shall see." Megatron then flicked his talons in dismissal, and Ratchet took it for the escape he needed. Soon, he would be headed home, sure only of the fact that he was far happier on Mars than he could be on Cybertron.
Blaster found the space-former's mind easy to cloud, having come aboard as part of the team transferring the prisoners to her holds. Path Finder thought all of the team doing so had left, not noticing as Blaster settled in alt mode in a hold near the prisoners. With luck, Ratchet would not explore until they were en route to Earth's system, and he would make his escape.
The entire affair with the prisoners had the communicator questioning his existence. It was not that he was ungrateful to Soundwave for what he had been taught. More, it was the very fact he did feel that gratitude. Maybe it was from reading the Autobot Blaster's bio-data, or the imprint Soundwave had given him of the more personal encounters between them. Either way, Blaster had slowly realized over the half-vorn of his existence that he was far more... friendly than the average Decepticon officer.
Ratchet's warning about Soundwave had shaken his core, confirming what he suspected. The senior officer would tolerate him for now, but even Scorponok felt Soundwave was a threat to him in the long run. Added into that caution, Blaster had realized there might come a day when Megatron would prefer that no witnesses to his moment of mercy at the temple remained on Cybertron.
Once he had processed all of that, and then talked it out with Scorponok. his decision had come easy. He would leave, finish maturing among the Autobots who were said to be more open to the good emotions, and then decide his path from there.
The moment they broke from FTL driven flight, Ratchet reached to communicate with his Prime on a tightly bound frequency, blocking out the rest of the cohort from knowing he had returned.
::Optimus, I need you to insure Ironhide remains on Earth once we arrive at Mars,:: Ratchet informed his leader. ::There is a situation we need to deal with first. And you probably want to send Arcee away as well.::
::Understood, Ratchet. I am relieved that you have returned. Do you... require any repairs?:: Nothing in Optimus Prime's posture would have betrayed his sudden mixture of relief and alarm, but the nearest human member of his cohort paused at her work station and turned toward him with a look of concern. He gave her a gentle look, a slight shake of his head for her concern. She was, always, so aware of him, in the way that a dedicated consort needed to be.
::No. You, a security detail, and do not bring Mikaela to meet us when Path Finder lands. I think the medical stasis will hold, but she affects our kind strangely.:: Ratchet let his amusement for that fact come through. Trust the humans who had mutated to have unusual abilities on the very beings who caused the mutations. ::Two stasis-bound Autobots, in exile from Cybertron now, two more who are able to move on their own that should not go back for a long time, and... a stowaway. Of them all, I'm vouching for the two alert 'Bots, and the stowaway.::
::Understood, Ratchet.:: Prime closed the link, and readied himself for the eventual reveal on Ratchet's mystery. He chose three of his stronger fighters to accompany him, telling them all to be vigilant, and heed whatever Ratchet told them.
Finding Blaster had scared a vorn off Ratchet's existence, he was pretty certain, fearing Decepticon retaliation either for the rust-bit's 'abduction' or Blaster actually being a saboteur sent to extinguish them all. Blaster had made it clear he was there of his own free will, a time delay message had been left to explain his disappearance, and that he earnestly did want to learn new things.
"There's Esperanza," Ratchet said to the stowaway, symbiont, and the two Autobot construct class mechs, while simultaneously transmitting the glyphs that made up the Cybertronian designation for the city. The lights and structures of the clearly Cybertronian-style settlement revealed themselves as Path Finder made her approach deeper into the Valles Marinares. Ratchet watched the young mech carefully for his reaction. As cautiously impressed as the medic had been with Megatron's efforts, the Autobot outposts of Lilx on Earth and Esperanza on Mars were home to him, places where he had been able to indulge his interests beyond what had dominated his functioning ever since since onlining from his reformat.
"The designation for this city is understandable, but why did you name the outpost on Earth for a word that means 'dirt'?" Blaster asked.
"It's... both a joke and an homage to a Seeker who sacrificed himself for that planet, and the language is that which was originally spoken in that area before it was conquered by another group," Ratchet explained, recalling fondly the efforts Jazz and Mikaela had put into deciding on a name for the base and embassy they'd built at Mt. Saint Hilary.
"Oh." Blaster considered that, and wondered if studying another race's warfare history would help him put his own into perspective. There were so many opportunities now, away from Soundwave's teaching, and things he had picked up in his few incursions into the city around the palace.
"It looks like Hoist and Grapple's work," Pipes said cautiously, having been conferring with his partner rapidly over comms with expansions and improvements he could already envision for the settlement built into the walls of the massive rift.
Swerve was in agreement. It would be good to build, and have it truly meant to be a monument of peace without the terror of Decepticon handiwork looming over his helm.
"I'm sure they're going to be glad to have more of their class joining them," Ratchet said as he watched something flicker in both their fields, something he knew to be hope.
Path Finder cleared her voice to catch their attention. "Ready for touch down? Still getting used to the variance in gravity compared to my home-world, and that of Earth."
"Bring us in, Path Finder," Ratchet responded, his frame shifting to clamp to the seat while the others did the same. Despite her warning, the touch down in the brightly lit hangar built directly into the cliff face was completely smooth. Ratchet gave Blaster another sidelong glance as Optimus came into view, waiting for them to disembark.
Optimus was waiting with Hot Rod on his right, Springer and Sandstorm just to the sides and front of them. The youngest of the waiting party was looking as antsy and pent-up with energy as he always did, but then Hot Rod was still adjusting to the fact Optimus Prime had taken him under wing to learn the mechanics of leadership. Springer, as professional as he always was, took in the Decepticon symbol marking Blaster as they exited Path Finder with Pipes and Swerve behind them.
"The two in stasis are in the forward hold closest to the ramp, Optimus," Ratchet told his Prime. "Do I have one Pits-ridden, glitch-taken tale for you."
"I am sure that you do," Optimus replied, one hand grasping his cohort mate's shoulder. "Welcome to Esperanza, Pipes and Swerve. I am pleased to see both of you functioning," Optimus greeted the two Autobots first, knowing that Ratchet would wish to introduce the mech who was not known to him. "Hot Rod will show you to your quarters, and I will speak with you personally once I have received Ratchet's report and you have had an opportunity to refresh yourselves and recharge. Sandstorm, have First Aid and Grapple assist in transferring the two in stasis to Medical."
"You got it," Hot Rod said cheerfully, bouncing over to shake hands with Pipes and Swerve, who looked beyond perplexed at the custom.
"It's a human greeting ritual on meeting new people," Springer explained to the pair. "Be thankful he's out of his love affair with bowing."
"Oh." One after the other, they took the offered hand, awkwardly, before following Hot Rod out of the bay.
Sandstorm commed for assistance as ordered, going inside to see who the pair were.
The whole time, Ratchet was just watching them, soaking up Prime's resonance, needing it to steady himself. He then looked up at the leader, before turning his body toward Blaster. "Optimus, meet Blaster, Soundwave's protege , and one of the mechlings closest to full upgrade from Cybertron," he said very neutrally, using the full glyph that indicated Blaster had been named in honor of their own fallen comrade. "And he's the cheerful keeper of Scorponok, too."
"I am honored to meet you, Prime," Blaster told him in the full, high language of court.
"The honor is mine, Blaster. A new generation is a sign of great hope and comfort to me. I am pleased that Scorponok has found such a worthy partner." Optimus transmitted glyphs along with his formal greeting acknowledging that the symbiont's former partner was also one who was 'worthy' and 'respected'. "I am sure we have much to discuss with one another, but if you will allow Springer to show you to your quarters for now, I must take Ratchet's report."
"Of course, Prime." Blaster continued to use the glyph that meant the office and holder of it, a more formal designation than utilizing the name glyphs would have implied. Blaster turned to inspect the rotor-class Autobot, and listened to all Scorponok knew of the mech. Considering that Scorponok had originally partnered a rotor-class, that turned out to be quite a bit.
"Come on, mech," Springer said lazily. "Tell Scorponok not to scare you with anything about me. I'm full on for the peace we're building," he reassured.
Watching them walk out, Ratchet had the distinct impression that Blaster was going to be audial-deep in learning all he could of everyone new for at least a breem. The mechling's spark was solid; of that, Ratchet was certain.
"Your office?" Ratchet asked with a steadying hand out on Prime's frame, more worn out by the trip than he ever dared show on Cybertron.
"My quarters," Optimus corrected him, guiding and partially supporting him as they headed in that direction. He was well aware that Ratchet had injuries that were plated over, but not repaired and only partially healed. "You can give me your report from the berth. Though I'm tempted to have First Aid repair you first."
Ratchet scowled. "He's about to have his hands full enough. Knock Out patched the worst of it under my supervision." He did not protest the change of venue though. "Arcee and 'Hide on Earth? Or did you just send her off to the human outpost?"
"Ironhide was already on Earth, assisting Ultra Magnus in a training operation which happened to coincide with Annabelle Lennox's due date," Optimus said, letting amusement color his tone despite his concern both over what Ratchet would be reporting and his own condition "I sent Arcee to the human outpost."
They entered a lift that took them deeper into the settlement. With no human present, it moved far faster than would have been comfortable or even safe for an organic life form.
"I'm glad you didn't have to fabricate a reason to get him off planet, Optimus. Knowing him, he would have gotten suspicious and balked." Ratchet leaned against the lift wall. "I brought back two dangerous Autobots, Optimus. Maybe even dangerous to us, and that's not just Megatron's parting warning ringing in my processor."
::Chromia,:: Optimus commed rather than spoke as they walked the corridor toward his quarters, putting the pieces together as to why it had been particularly important for Ironhide to be as far away as possible. The door slid open, and they entered the comfortable, spacious suite that felt like such a luxury to the Prime after so many vorns of existing in war. "I thought she was deactivated. We all did."
Ratchet went straight to the overly large, even for Optimus's frame build, berth, and proceeded to make himself completely comfortable. He would rest most of his systems while he reported, he decided. "I'm not sure how she survived. We had Arcee's eye-witness account, and we had the confirmation in the bonds severing." He sent a wave of compassion to his leader for that other loss on the same day. "From my initial scan, I'm betting the outpost they were on was salvaged by Junkions, and she wasn't as deactivated as we thought, but critically close to it. After all, we all lost Jazz's bond initially, and we were right there with him when he nearly deactivated."
"Ironhide's as well," Optimus said, remembering all of the lost bonds far too vividly, for all that the two recent near losses had been fully restored to them without the bonds fully severing. It had been with a great deal of trepidation that Optimus had allowed Ratchet to go to Cybertron. Cohort-losses were still far too close a reality to him. He pulled a cube of fuel out of his subspace and handed it to the medic. "Tell me what happened, or would you rather share the memory files?"
Ratchet snorted. "I'll share the memories... after I tell you why that slagger called for me or 'Jack to come there!" His voice rose in amusement at the reason he'd been away from his people. "You met Blaster. Hook had one too, calling him Longarm. And there were others, at least two broods younger than those two... and the one I was called for. Seems Megatron decided to fill the holes in his command by training up replacements." The medic's optics were wickedly bright. "Even the treacherous viper of a jet."
Optimus sat down next to Ratchet on the berth, the sound of his hydraulics smooth after forty years of relative peace. "This... does not truly surprise me. He is as empty without his anchor as I nearly was. And considering who we are all but certain donated the code for the first brood..." Prime's voice trailed off in regret. So many times he had spared Starscream, unable to take from his brother the dysfunctional, but anchoring bond both Decepticons would have denied being present, but which Prime could sense even through the weak bond his Lord High Protector had once rejected with him.
"Scion, the mechling's designation, granted to him by Megatron himself, was as much like that glitch as could be, outside of the fact he really did worship the ground Megatron walked on. Problem was, and somehow Megatron knew it, the original glitch's spark hadn't completely given out on existing. Kind of like Sunstreaker, but no anchoring body? Megatron didn't trust Hook to handle it in a way that left him both his traitor and the promising rust-bit, which is why he asked you to send me or 'Jack." Ratchet snorted. "Way I see it, Megatron plans to use them both to foil one another, and expects them to work together against whatever Soundwave or Hook is plotting."
Optimus realized as he listened to this bizarre turn of events that very little surprised him any longer, after all of the strangeness he had experienced even before Earth, but especially since he and his cohort had arrived in this system. That Starscream would have what the humans called a ghost, who would cling to the promise of embodied existence, almost felt expected to him, as though the Matrix would predict nothing less. Sparks, he knew from the meditations he had once had connected to the AllSpark, never truly extinguished from all dimensions of reality, though some held on to their energetic patterns more tenaciously than others. "I take it you were successful then? Megatron had better hope the two do not ever decide to team up against his own rule rather than foiling one another in their own plots."
"They loathe each other," Ratchet promised Optimus. "And yes. I would have liked to stay to be certain Scion's upgrade was holding well; I had to splinter his spark to give Starscream's new frame an anchor point for his energies, but everything else meant I needed to come home." He took a deep breath, then snaked his data cables out. "I can't even say all of the rest. So... just let me jack in and show you."
"Of course," Optimus replied, spiraling open the required ports and extending his own cables with the relaxed ease of cohort. "But then you will let me take a look at your damaged systems and make a determination whether to have First Aid attend to immediately, or after you recharge. The others can remain in stasis until you are fully attended to." Implicit in the words was the promise that Prime would use all his skills as cohort-mate and lover to make sure that recharge was deep and without interruptions, if needed.
"Pushy," Ratchet groused at him, but he slid home the connections, dropping his firewalls around the necessary memory segments, showing his Prime everything from landing to leaving, with all of Ratchet's own extrapolations from what he'd experienced. While the incident with Chromia had shaken Ratchet, Megatron listening to Ratchet's demand for mercy had staggered him far more than he had truly processed yet.
Optimus took it all, and simultaneously using his own energies and intimate knowledge of the medic's systems to sooth and relax with the reminder that he was now with cohort, safe and cared for by a tightly knit circle of sparks who would help deal with whatever aftermath came when Chromia onlined. ~Perhaps he truly has changed, and our cautious hope is not a false one,~ Optimus mused as he continued to renew his connections with the medic. ~And perhaps fortuitous that Ironhide has very few of his memories of Chromia intact,~ he added.
For himself, Optimus was not certain which of the two Autobots in stasis caused him more concern, should they truly be unable to come to terms with peace. Both Chromia and Grimlock were warriors who could cause significant havoc should they continue to refuse the terms of the treaty with Megatron, and Optimus knew that if he had to offline them to ensure that peace continued, he would, but with the deepest of regrets and real harm to his own spark. He held those thoughts carefully behind his own firewalls, however.
~She didn't know he lived; it hit her hard, might be the angle I need to use on her,~ Ratchet commented even as he felt every system nudging more fully toward true recharge. ~And I'll believe in Megatron when the humans prove the fat guy in the red suit is real.~ He let that be flavored with light-hearted amusement, though, knowing how much Prime wanted to believe they had made the right choices that long gone day in the aftermath of Sentinel Prime's destruction.
~With all we have seen, would humans proving the existence of Santa Claus surprise you?~ Optimus asked, his own amusement filtering through their bond as he continued to purposefully deepen Ratchet's relaxation. It would not even take an overload to make the medic fully rest, though Optimus was certain that had it been the anchoring partner rather than himself, that step would not have been skipped. The question that lingered behind his own firewalls was whether Chromia would truly accept that Ironhide, as he was now, was the same warrior she bonded with so long ago when his cohort was forging their alliance with the dangerous femmes.
~Prob'ly not,~ Ratchet slurred, before he gave up and continued the orderly shutdown he needed. Later, there could be a good overload or three to defrag the mess out of his system. For now, rest.
It was the blaring of warning sensors that finally drew Prime away from Ratchet, and had both scrambling to get to Operations. One of the first things that Wheeljack had done when it became clear the Autobots were remaining in the Tellus system was to rig an outlying warning system of satellites. That system was now sending the Autobots into a frenzy.
"So much for a peaceful homecoming," Ratchet said wryly as he made certain his paint wasn't too obviously scuffed by his Prime's 'ministrations'.
"It would not be a normal cycle if the universe failed to note a change in our lives." Optimus rubbed out a small streak of chartreuse on his arm, his long strides making Ratchet jog to remain at his side.
They slid into Operations just as Wheeljack silenced the alarms and pulled up the sensor readings on the big display. "Holy stars and protons!"
The sensors were registering a protoform hurtling toward their planets, approaching across the elliptic and hailing from a quadrant that had not been explored in many, many millennia. The reason Wheeljack was considering far more profane words, though, was the sheer size of the protoform. It was the largest Cybertronian anyone in the room had ever seen... and that was worrisome.
"Is it answering the hails?" Optimus asked.
"It is, but I can't make the replies out. Trying to pull Kup up on the Earth link," Wheeljack told him. "If that mech can't translate, we're dealing with something ancient."
"I thought Kup was," Ratchet grumbled.
The communication speakers crackled a little, interference from the incoming protoform evident. "Security Director Kup here. What d'ya need, 'Jack? Or is this about the fact everyone down here is convinced there's an Ellie? inbound."
"Earth Level Extinction Event," Wheeljack translated, having heard that before. "It's a protoform, Kup, but massive. And not speaking any of the dialects I am familiar with."
"Patch it," Kup told him helpfully.
Wheeljack threw the communications down to Earth, and they all heard Kup's involuntary static buzz as he processed it. "What?" Wheeljack demanded, aware Prime was listening and still watching that approach.
"That's high-court Cybertronian from my days as a grunt in the Security Forces on the frontier!" Kup exclaimed. "Wheeljack, that's a colony specialist, one of the city-mechs!"
Silence reigned supreme at both ends of the communication link in the aftermath of that announcement, while the Mars side of it watched the proximity counter steadily shrinking.
"Kup, please tell the mech welcome for us, with an encouragement to seek Esperanza instead of Lilx. We do not need to disturb Earth's governments, after all." Optimus Prime could not tear his optics from the display, as the protoform of what had been only a legendary concept - a city-former - closed the distance to their new home.
"I will," Kup said, before using the link to Mars to broadcast a greeting through on Prime's behalf. He knew his glyphs were rusty, but the prototype's angle changed toward a decidedly Martian vector. "He says his name is Metroplex, and he existed on a colony world that lost its population to cataclysm. He's only recently come out of stasis from the damage and seeks to reunite with his race. He sounds very lonely, Prime, and if I remember the colonials right, he's going to have lingering processor trauma. They're kind of like Symbiont-controllers, in how they bond to those that live within their protection."
"We've got experience with trauma of the loss variety," Ratchet answered grimly. "Kup, any data files you can toss me, I'll take them."
"Ultra Magnus is prepping an upload; he lived on a colonial world more than I did, after all."
"Tell him thank you," Optimus replied. "Should I go meet him?"
Kup communicated with the incoming protoform, then chuckled. "He says not to move from there, Optimus. He's scanning for an entry point. Apparently, he likes the design of Esperanza, and is going to burrow to the power source to begin his assimilation? from there."
"This is going to be really, really awesome," Wheeljack said, finials flashing happily.
"Assimilation?" Prime asked.
"Since there is an existing city, Metroplex is going to socket himself to it, and improve the facilities, so to speak," Kup answered. "It will grant him the mass he needs more quickly than if he were to form an entirely new habitation."
"We'll be living inside another mech?" Ratchet asked in fascination.
"Well... They don't usually go bipedal like we do, but yes," Kup answered. "Send Springer back, would ya, so I can come up?"
"An excellent idea. Both Springer and Hot Rod will come down so that you and Ultra Magnus may return here," Optimus Prime said, a hint of an order in that, so Magnus would not balk.
"Understood. Earth out, Prime."
The comm-line cut, and then those in Operations watched as the protoform streaked ever closer, braking slightly, reforming into something made for penetrating the ground. The quake temblors activated at the first contact, trying to keep the city and base as stable as they could while the protoform burrowed down to the power level, worrying them all for just a few minutes. Then the shaking was over just as all the power in the base dimmed.
When it came back up, the lighting was filtered to more closely simulate the light patterns within Cybertron's buildings in all areas that the humans did not frequent. The environmental controls did not change, as Wheeljack announced the database was being processed at a rapid rate. The needs of the humans were apparently taken into consideration as the colonial specialist adjusted to the city he was snaking his tendrils into.
"Greetings, Optimus Prime. I am Metroplex, as I believe Security Director Kup has explained. It will take me some time to fully connect and extend my nanites through the city, but I have acquired a solid patch to the power and data grids." The richly resonant voice came through only the speakers in Operations. "I hope to be of service to you and this colony."
"It is our honor to meet you, Metroplex, and we are most grateful to know you are willing to join with our city here." Optimus was, to say the least, overwhelmed by the development.
"It feels good to know some of our kind still have need of me," Metroplex told him in a soft but pained voice.
"Welcome home, then, Metroplex," Optimus told him sincerely.
"Yes home," the colonial mech agreed contently.
Optimus was sitting on the floor when Mikaela got in from helping Ratchet do a diagnostic on the giant protoform that was slowly becoming part of the city's core power room. She knew that was never a good sign, but when she had left him he had already been thoughtful. She had half been expecting to find him like this. Granted, currently she and Ratchet were the only cohort members on Mars, and Ratchet had only just returned, so it was actually an overdue moment.
"You're thinking too much, which just proves Jazz's point that he shouldn't go Earth-side when 'Bee and 'Hide are already down there," she pointed out.
Optimus chuckled, but made no move to get up from where he was sitting, his knees up, elbows on them, and arms crossed in front of him. "Considering the tangled history of the femmes is something best done both in privacy and all at once."
Mikaela sprawled on the berth, laying on her stomach so she could watch him. "Tell me? So I understand better?"
"The femmes were a class that rivaled the Seekers in just how sophisticated and advanced their systems were, compared to the more generic classes of Cybertron. They were created far more rarely than any other class, and always migrated to one particular city after framing." Optimus contemplated how much of the secrets he should share, but then he recalled how well Arcee and Mikaela had bonded in their own way. It would not hurt to share secrets from a long lost city, not with Mikaela. "The city was at the center of a rift-valley, considered by some to have the purest free-flowing reserves of energon known on our planet."
"Ratchet said the wild energon was already disappearing before the war started," Mikaela commented. "Is that related to the fact Arcee said the femmes had also decreased in number?"
"Perceptive," Optimus praised her, his optics sparkling. "Their class were created with stronger sparks and denser frames than their size would normally suggest, because they seemed to be specially crafted for the refinement process of the raw energon. The so-called free flowing reserves existed because of their efforts. Would it surprise you to know their city-state was exactly opposite the location of the AllSpark, on the far side of Cybertron?"
"Not with all the other parallels built into your homeworld and race, Optimus," she answered him.
He nodded, then took a deep breath. "Elita One came to me with the information that the raw energon was nearly depleted from their lodes, and none of their recon efforts had located new ones. She proposed joining forces, and I accepted on a diplomatic basis, as they are warriors without peer. The hope was that we could stop the war soon enough to find new sources of energon elsewhere."
"And somewhere in the middle of this, she became more than just an ally?" Mikaela gently asked him.
His smile was soft, edged in pain, but mostly fond. "Yes. Neither of us expected more than the bond of equals, each with our own people to protect. But it evolved swiftly, as did the mutual attraction between Ironhide and Chromia. Where he has always been guided by the base Guardian principles under his warrior coding, Chromia was not. She was purely warrior, and it drew him in."
"Now she's here, in stasis, and that's going to make waves, since everyone thought she was deactivated," Mikaela finished up.
"Exactly. I must handle her situation before Ironhide chooses to come home. Before Arcee finishes her mission, even, to be kind to them." Optimus did not like that he had so many doubts on salvaging the pair in stasis from their pain and grief.
"Because if they will not accept the truce and remain here among us peacefully, you..." Mikaela followed the line of thought, and was up and over to him in a heartbeat, plastering to his chest after bypassing his arms. "Oh, Optimus."
He held her there, taking comfort in her compassion for the hard choices he faced, and aware, unspoken as it was, that she believed he'd find a way.
Bobby Epps had never particularly wanted to be an astronaut. But then, he'd never wanted part of his world to be destroyed by giant robots, either. He'd resisted accepting a post at Esperanza until the last of his children were grown adults, out of the house, and... most importantly... moving on with their lives, unaffected by the mutation that had crept into his system.
Even with how limited he had kept his one-on-one contact with the Autobots, he was still too entwined with them to escape the long term changes. Once Ratchet confirmed that he had the same cellular level repairs going on in his body, Bobby decided the only place that would suit him was Esperanza... for one reason: Monique.
Everyone knew that for all Bobby had traveled the world and kept a marriage working despite his frequent absences, he'd missed his wife through a lot of his time in the Army, and then later as the Autobot's field agent. His mercenary experiences had been too lucrative to walk away from, supporting his larger than average family, yet the driving goal in his mind was to make a life where he and Monique grew old together.
When he learned that growing old wasn't going to be that easy, he all but fell over himself to get Monique in with the big guys, exposing her to them as often as he could, and prayed.
Maybe it was the fact that Monique loved kids, and neither Mudflap nor Skids seemed to be in any hurry to mature fully, but she found working with them in Esperanza as a first-contact team to help newly arrived, damaged Autobots a very fulfilling new career. Bobby settled in to handle the human side of security in Esperanza. The close contact with the twins - and with Jolt, who was still their protector - ushered in the changes Bobby had been praying for, and he got to revise his dreams to a very slow process of growing old with Monique.
Now, as chance would have it, it seemed that they not only would be living among the Cybertronians, but within one as well. Bobby had seen an awful lot in his life, but this one was almost too strange for him cope with. Privacy already meant something different to the technologically advanced species with sensors that made even his own changed senses seem dim. What would privacy mean when Metroplex's nanites had extended throughout Esperanza and subsumed the formerly non-living city?
Then there was the fact that Metroplex would, if he understood correctly, form a bond with all of his residents that was something between Ironhide's Guardian bond and that which the new young mech from Cybertron had with his symbiont (and wasn't that terrifying-looking bot a blast from the past Bobby was going to have a hard time getting over). What would that mean for himself and Monique? They'd certainly been close with various Autobots, but they had never bonded in the way Will, Sarah, Mikaela and the Witwickys had.
He wasn't sure whether he was reassured or concerned by the fact that the Autobots seemed to be as confused and fascinated as he and Monique were. Ratchet had apparently admitted that he thought the City-formers were a myth.
Resisting the urge to simply ignore the new developments for the present, Bobby opted to meet his questions head on. Sitting in a lounge in one of the sections of the city he knew the city-former had already incorporated into himself, he cleared his throat.
"So, Metroplex, been wanting to welcome you to our little corner of galaxy. I hear the boss bot is sure excited you've come."
There was a moment as Metroplex filtered the linguistic data through the vernacular cyphers, to be certain he understood all of that correctly. Many of the human languages were complex, with words that held multiple meanings as versus the transmitted glyphs that solidified what was meant via shadings and upticks of data.
"I am grateful for your welcome, Robert Epps, called Bobby by your friends, and holding the position of civilian security director. It is good to no longer be alone and deprived of the ability to express my core function."
"So, you've been alone a long time, I take it?" Bobbye asked, then grimaced at the question. If the Autobots had doubted the existence of mechs such as Metroplex, obviously the city-former had been alone longer than Bobbye had the context to understand.
"It was a very long quiet," Metroplex told him, voice gone solemn and slightly pained. "To hear so many voices congregating once more in peace was a joy to me."
"I'm glad to hear it. So many have made it here who've been alone too long, and I get the feeling that even the most unsocial mechs really need to be with others." Bobby was quiet for a moment, figuring out just how to go about waking what he needed to. "Have you... if you don't mind me asking... had multiple species living in you before?" he asked hesitantly. He again found himself squirming at just how awkward the question felt.
Metroplex considered, accessing his expansive memory banks. "Not so many species of differing origins. The colony I was with last was all robotic, though from varied colonies. Cybertronians do evolve once they leave Cybertron, adapting to their new worlds, and eventually become something like a new species. I see Seaspray is listed among Optimus Prime's numbers; he is one such case." Metroplex paused again, and then there was a faint laugh. "I am enjoying the variety. The imported non-sentient species have a way of tickling as they explore."
At first Bobby almost stiffened, thinking that humans were the "non-sentient" species Metroplex was referring to, but then realized just how many places Monique's talkative Siamese got into on a daily basis, some of which were really a challenge to get him out of.
"Man, that has got to be weird, but then again, I wasn't sparked to have a whole population living in me."
Metroplex adjusted the chair so that it was slightly more comfortable, and then dispensed a drink that was commonly ordered by Bobby nearly at his fingertips. "You are curious about how I function, and the long-term effects, are you not?" He could read that much, based off his downloads of Ratchet's guide to homo sapiens.
Bobby looked at the coke with pleasant surprise, and settled into the chair in a more relaxed way now that the city-former had introduced that rather awkward topic that he was dancing around. "If you think I'm curious, just wait 'till Monique corners you. But yeah... the changes we got working close to you big guys took all of us by surprise, mechs and humans alike. Not that I'm complaining about having a few... a lot more years, long as I got my lady with me, that is."
"I can only presume that the nanites I exude will boost the changes made in your race, due to that long-term effect," Metroplex stated. "I must maintain those who seek shelter within me, assisting their own self-repair as much as I can. It is part of a colonial's duty to ward off exterior damage from toxic environmental factors, and since your species breathes by necessity instead of for effect, system cool-downs, or immediate need of combustion, those nanites will work to repair interior damage as well."
Bobby almost spat out the drink he had just taken at the thought of breathing in parts of the giant cityformer, but then remembered a ninth grade biology lecture about the exchange of molecules that was constantly happening between living and even non-living things, and the fact that he likely received a dose of nanites every time he was in contact with one of the mechs. "Guess that means I've got a lot to thank you for, big guy. Probably will be some unexpected consequences, though, if the past is anything to go by."
"Potentially. If laws of conservation take over, I predict a decreased fertility in those so affected, as long life and quick reproduction are not mutually conducive to a stable society." Metroplex studied more of the files available on the biology of the native species. "A factor your world has not yet taken into consideration, I see."
"Oh, Monique and I are done with a capital D, no matter how long our bodies decide to stay fertile," Bobby said with a laugh, recalling the exhaustion of raising four kids, and he did not deal with even a tenth of the load Monique had, given how much he'd been away. "Not sure how we humans are going to figure that one out. Seems like we wait for good ole mother nature or war to make the difficult choices for us. There are far kinder ways we humans could handle it, if folks would stop being so afraid of nanotech and genetic advances. Those in the know aren't real pleased with the changes in those of us who've been working close, though."
"It is not uncommon for a parent species to be unnerved and afraid of the offshoots it creates as evolution and mutation creep in. But you will have our protection, and this planet is now a haven to your branch of humanity and its allies, given your close ties to my species," Metroplex reassured.
Bobby had a gut feeling that the safety and well-being of his residents was something as deeply important to Metroplex as his children's and Monique's had always been to him. There was just something in the gentle and assuring tone, and it made him wonder what the city-former was like when he was roused by dangers to those who inhabited him. A shiver passed through him when he recalled the times he'd seen Optimus Prime truly roused and protective.
"Prime's said the same thing to us, a number of times, and given that we have citizenship now, I've got no worries," Bobby commented. "So... given my duties around here, anything I should know about how to best work... and live with you? Other than keeping our cat from getting stuck places he shouldn't be?" Bobby knew Monique would throttle him if he didn't ask about how to be a polite resident.
"Live. Love. Be?" Metroplex said, after cycling through the English language and the cultural uploads provided by Jazz and Bumblebee. "As for duties, I would say continue as you have, but feel free to call upon my drones for assistance. I am always passively listening for my name, and using it, or coming into an area designated as a core location, activates my active attention and memory recording."
"So... you aren't actively aware of everything happening in you? Guess that would get to be a bit much." Bobby inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe knowing that, he'd be able to forget they were inside a living being when he and and his lady were making love. Monique had admitted that she found the opposite idea sexy as hell in a way he didn't even want to think about.
"Certain conditions also trigger my awareness. My drones can call my attention as needed. But most of my observations are spooled to memory banks that require a passcode from at least two officials and my consent to access." Metroplex paused, then let out a brief burst of musical tones, his equivalent of a thoughtful sigh. "The Prime and his designated Protector for these worlds must create a list of authorized officials, and a new code soon."
The last perked Bobby's interest even further. Not much was said, even to the changed humans, about how the relationships between Optimus and his former enemy had shifted, except, perhaps to Mikaela. They knew the two were in contact, though. It was not a topic most of the humans in the know were particularly comfortable with, given the sheer amount of suffering that mech had caused their world. "Designated Protector, huh? I'm not sure I've ever heard Prime use that title for anyone in this system. We sort of think of him in that way... to be honest."
"A Prime can only nurture; one must defend as well, if the wounds are to heal," Metroplex responded.
Bobby wasn't sure what to say to that, and finished his Coke as he thought about it. Optimus Prime had been defending since long before human civilization, but Metroplex had memories going back far beyond that. He nodded thoughtfully, wishing he could be a fly on the wall when Metroplex brought up that particular question with the big bot... who didn't seem so big any longer, come to think of it.
"If you have further questions or requests, feel free to inquire," Metroplex said. "However, your consort unit is en route to your quarters, should you wish to meet her in good time today."
Bobby smiled, and gave the wall behind his chair a gentle rap with his knuckles as he stood up, though he could just have easily patted the chair. "Thanks, big guy. Look forward to talking with you more. And same goes here. Humans can be pretty baffling. If you've got any questions, feel free to ask me or Monique, or Mikaela's a great choice, too."
"Ratchet had mentioned Mikaela is a special case among you." Metroplex sounded intrigued. "I will keep your offer in mind. Your consort seems a likely choice, given her function here."
"That she is, and I know she'll enjoy talking with you," Bobby said, wishing he knew where to look as he took his leave, not that he was actually leaving. "Catch you later, Metroxplex."
The isolation bay had been prepped in advance by Red Alert. Optimus Prime walked in, a remote unit for rebooting from stasis in his hand. He would not risk Ratchet being present, nor could he risk being hardwired into another mech with the abilities that the femme class had held. Elita One had been equal to him in nearly all ways; Chromia had been her right hand in all efforts and was thus not to be underestimated.
Taking care as he did so, Optimus found Chromia's mediports and connected the remote unit. It fed in a trickle charge of current and preset commands to cause Chromia's system to reboot while he waited at a respectful distance. He kept his fields tight to his frame as he did so, blocking out memories of stolen moments when he and Ironhide were able to be with their consorts during those early days of the war. This would be an interview between a Prime and a Cybertronian, not Optimus and a friend.
The femme's weaponry and shields were fully online before her optics blazed to life, not surprisingly to Prime, but he made no move and she sat up to face him with a wary appraisal.
"You may disconnect the remote, Chromia. I have sustenance as well, for you, once you are ready to ingest it." While the 'energon' they used here in the Terran system was not truthfully energon as they knew it, Ratchet, Wheeljack, Que, and others had modified and manipulated the various sources of energy available to produce a liquid fuel that satisfied most of their needs. Energon donations were still used, though, from healthy mechs for those who had suffered severe injuries or who reached their space on the verge of stasis lock from starvation. That had been all too common in the earlier years of the peace.
"Am I a prisoner?" Chromia asked, even as she plucked the cables from her ports.
"Pending the outcome of this briefing, possibly," Prime told her, without dissembling or attempting to lie to her.
Chromia laughed harshly. "You gave up on even learning to lie, didn't you, Optimus?"
"That has no bearing currently," Prime answered her. "What is of importance is whether I can trust you at large, when your position toward Ratchet leaves me hesitant for sake of the safety of the Cybertronian people." The noise she made could only be termed vulgar, but then, she and Ironhide had matched too well at times, Prime reminded himself. "Chromia." He instilled all of his authority in that one use of her designation, trying to pull her around into something approaching open.
"Slag off, Prime. You betrayed us all when you accepted terms with that pit-spawned, glitch-ridden wreck!" Chromia snapped out at him.
"I did not accept terms," Prime informed her. "I gave them."
"Then why is he on Cybertron?" Chromia demanded. "Why is our home world overrun by Decepticons?"
Prime shook his helm. "Bluntly, he had more mech power to begin setting it right, and I was not going to let him destroy the sentients of this system to plunder it, gain resources, and return to his ways of conquering while we Autobots used all of our own on our home world."
Those calm, even words held a logic that Prowl would have been proud to hear, no matter how poorly it set with Chromia to admit it. This system was apparently rich enough to support their kind in numbers, given how few Autobots had come to Cybertron under the peace that supposedly existed. How much of that peace was truthfully an unwillingness to fight and not just a need to regroup?
"He gets to slaughter our people, my class, and get away with it?" she asked, clinging to her righteous rage.
"You think the extinction of our race that would have resulted, probably by this point in time, would have been worth continuing to fight, when we had a solution to end the war on?" Optimus countered, still cool and careful in his words.
"Lies."
"Eighty three percent of the allied and colony worlds have failed to answer diplomatic overtures, either due to lack of resources, or annihilation. Current numbers of the Cybertronian-derived population scattered through the galaxy is estimated at only five to six percent of pre-war numbers." He surged forward, so he was nearer her to make his point with optic to optic contact, having found it was an effective technique to adopt from his organic partners. "Tell me again we were not on the verge of extinction!"
Chromia reared back from him as those numbers fell into place. Some of those colony worlds had been thriving with adapted Cybertronian lineages. A few had even produced synthetic versions of energon that were nearly indistinguishable from that produced by Cybertron and its inhabitants. To hear how few of them, how few of the mechs survived
"How many classes are down to one survivor because of him? Or worse?" she demanded, trying desperately to hold on to her anger, for it was her fuel.
Optimus Prime stepped back, canting his helm slightly. "Ratchet told you of Ironhide and failed to mention Arcee."
The effect was immediate. This time it was not anger lancing through all her fields, but grief and worry, and the tiniest shred of hope. "I cannot feel her," Chromia said, anchoring on that factor as a chance he was lying, yet Optimus Prime did not generally deign to lie. Jazz did that for him, when needed.
Prime pulled a cube from his subspace compartment, handing it over, pleased when she numbly accepted it in her shock. "She was severely damaged, but managed to escape the experiments performed on her. It caused the hard-light projections she had been capable of to become true splits from her, making her quite unique. Unfortunately, the two were destroyed in the final battle against the Fallen. It took her much time to recover, and thus she was not at the final battle against the Decepticons. But she exists still. She is currently on mission in the human's Science Outpost on this world." He fixed his optics on her face once more. "She gave us the report of your deactivation. And Elita's." Even this far removed from it, Optimus Prime's voice shook with the great emotion behind it. He had never meant to fall in love with the femme leader, only meaning to pledge a political bond.
She'd taken his spark more fiercely than Megatron's blade.
"My frame was discarded," Chromia said. "I never found anything of hers, once I had been salvaged."
"Junkions?"
Chromia nodded, fists clenching. "I hate them," she admitted. "I got free, though, sorted as much of my memories out as I could, and got myself to Cybertron. Only it was broken, and Megatron held power."
"The data and images he sent back to me did make me second guess myself, on my decision for us to remain here. However, other species were noticing this area, and that was our fault as well." Prime forced himself not to think about any wild hopes for Elita One's survival. He'd been granted two escapes from death's grip in the form of Ironhide and Jazz. "Once I had space-faring Autobots here, and the working communication bridge, we settled for sending materials and energy harvested here."
"That's where the extra rations came from," Chromia commented, clearing up one mystery. She then firmed her resolve. "I want Arcee."
"Do I have your word to stay in here in our settlement, and maintain peace, no matter who you encounter?"
Chromia shook her helm. "Leave me in here, Prime, until I have seen my cohort mate. Then I will choose."
Prime let her feel his wish for peace with her, as well as his distaste for imprisoning her. "As you wish. I will recall Arcee immediately." He took out a second cube and left it for her, before going to do just that, and to be available for when Path Finder returned from Earth with Kup, Ultra Magnus, and William Lennox.
Ironhide lounged indolently as the ship slowed for landing, stroking a hand along her decking from his place on it. "Still thought you were pulling my plugs, back then," he told Kup. "But, guess you weren't, since we're coming to meet one," he added.
"I'm still wrapping my head around an entire city being one of you guys. And what's this Deputy Protector nonsense?" Will asked on the heels of Ironhide's comment. He was rather glad he had been able to pry his wheeled partner away from Annabelle and her family, new as the baby was. Will was betting it had more to do with Path Finder being their ship home, which meant Ratchet was back from his mission to Cybertron.
Kup made a snorting noise from his own seat, where he'd made Ultra Magnus be his back rest, to the more stuffy officer's protests until he'd realized he was not going to win against the senior member of his cohort.
"Time was, a colony got a pair of dedicated leaders, same as Cybertron, and only one step below them," Kup said. "Metroplex must remember that. Logically, if Prime's here, and rust-bucket's there, then Prime's got to have a Deputy Protector, and supposedly rust-bucket would have a Deputy Prime on Cybertron. As such, you get to help set the keys to the city, so to speak."
"Why me?" Will asked.
"You're a representative of the native life form," Ultra Magnus answered. "But you are also a warrior, which is a criteria for becoming a Protector. As Prime's cohort already, you were the most logical choice, given the ties Prime is intent on building between our species."
"Even if people see us as freaks? Or subversive agents? Puppets?" Will had heard all the shouts and anger and fear concerning those of the humans that had been changed by continuous exposure to spark energy. It wasn't like he or the others could hide the lack of aging. Hopefully, though, his little girl's research would help ease those tensions. She was a cellular specialist, somewhere between a biologist and a Cybertronian engineer, looking to unlock the secrets of what spark energy actually did to the humans it affected.
"You still manage to handle the government capably," Ultra Magnus told him. "And while the sentiment is there, no one has protested our embassy in quite some time."
"Not since we sent that fleet from Regula packing," Kup pointed out smugly.
"Maybe if I just look on it as a promotion, like when I was in service, it will stop seeming too big for me," Will told them.
"If it comes with a raise, I want some of that high-end wax Sideswipe's been using," Ironhide teased his partner as Path Finder set down careful as ever. Will swatted him, lightly, and then unbuckled from his seat.
"Buy your own, penny pincher." He rested a hand on the bulkhead of the ship. "Thanks, Path."
"Of course, Will. It's always a pleasure," Path Finder told him, even as the three Autobots commed their own gratitude to her formally. She preened at them in reply; it was nice to be able to be so useful to those who were closely related to her kind.
The four returning from Earth stepped off their conveyance and out into the bay to find Optimus waiting. None of them missed the brief flicker of annoyance that flicked through Optimus's fields on Ironhide exiting last. That put Will on guard, and Ironhide straightened to look at his Prime with a frown.
::What? You didn't expect me to stay there when I saw who was picking us up? What's wrong with Ratchet that you didn't tell me he was home?::
The demand assaulted Optimus before he could fully shutter his processor's workings from his old friend, and the flicker of worry was too much for Ironhide to ignore, pushing deeper into the cohort link.
::Slagging, overgrown nanny-bot!:: Ratchet growled at being contacted by Ironhide though it, before he processed that Ironhide was on planet. ::Do you ever do what you're supposed to, Ironhide?::
::What in the PITS is going on?:: the warrior demanded, even as Optimus spoke out loud.
"Will, good to see you again. Kup, Magnus..." The leader ignored his warrior for the moment as Ironhide and Ratchet locked into arguing mode with one another via the cohort frequency. He took the hands of both the elder pair of Cybertronians. "I hope Hot Rod and Springer settled in quickly from being sent back down."
"Those two!" Kup's affectionate exasperation came through clearly.
"Springer will keep Hot Rod in line," Magnus told them both, as they fell in to follow Prime once he had lifted Will up to his shoulder.
Ironhide followed, looking vaguely rebellious but obeying whatever decree Ratchet had put in place. That let Prime show them all around, so they could grow accustomed to the changes Metroplex was making in the city, before he took them down to the focal room Metroplex had created for communicating most directly with him.
"Merciful mech, but this is gorgeous," Kup whispered as they entered the room with its shining, reflective surfaces and the orb suspended from the ceiling, well out of reach of even Prime or Magnus, but visible and scintillating.
"Greetings, Director Kup. Force Leader Ultra Magnus. Guardian Ironhide. Protector William Lennox. And Optimus Prime." The voice pulsed into them all as fully as the thick fields of the mech they inhabited did. Will slowly realized the orb was actually Metroplex's spark chamber, and it filled him with even more awe.
"Nice to meet ya," Kup said, resting a hand on on of the walls before the floor shimmered and adequate chairs formed for each of them. "Ain't you just a hospitable mech."
"I try," Metroplex told him with a rumble of pleasure.
They each took a seat, Optimus letting Will down so he could walk to his seat upon a raised portion of the floor under his own power, and watched as a sixth chair and mech image formed for them to focus on. Optimus took in the others' reactions, having witnessed Metroplex's hospitality protocols before now. The mech in the sixth chair looked stiffer, built more like Kup in its blockier design, but it was obviously a rendition of Metroplex's self on a scale they could all interact with.
"Now, shall we set in place the security measures we need to be certain all stays safe?" Metroplex asked kindly, the mech-holo form projecting a sincere wish to safeguard them all.
"Let's do this," Will agreed, pushing aside awe, pushing aside Optimus's choice to make him his co-leader, in order to protect those he cared for a little bit better.
Monique wasn't home yet when the door sounded, and Bobby got himself off the couch to answer it. He kept looking back over his shoulder at the game, blessing Wheeljack for setting up a relay signal to catch Earth's television, even if it was out of date by the time it got to Espera... Metroplex. Bobby chided his own head, getting the new designation locked in as he opened the door... to see his best friend standing there.
"Man, Path would get back on my day off!" he complained, before throwing open his smile and arms, a quick bro-hug and back-pounding to welcome Will in. "Come on, man. You've got to check out the latest brews we've made down here."
"Trust you to have an in with the brewery," Will laughed at him as he came in, looking around. "You and Monique really have settled down, haven't you?"
"I forget, you just come Tee Dee Why up this way. Man, I live here now, and to be honest? I ain't missing nothing from Earthside." Bobby whipped his head around on a motion out of the corner of his eye, just in time to see the game winning throw. "YES!"
"Even got cable. Want to know who wins the championship?" Will teased, settling into a chair as Bobby went to grab a brew for them both.
"Nah, man. We've got our own betting pools up here, and it wouldn't be fair." Knowing the outcome of a bet took too much of the fun out for Bobby's tastes. He came back, handed his buddy a bottle made out of local glass, then dropped onto his couch. "How's it feel to be partnered with the Big Guy? That's why they brought you up here, right?"
Will sighed out loud. "I'd rather go back to changing diapers," he admitted. "Feels like a ton of weight, even if its mostly formality."
"How is the baby, and her baby?" Bobby asked, to give Will a chance to unspool on a topic less stressful.
"Annabelle's already back to work, and someone in the gaggle of eggheads is on baby duty most of the time," Will said. "I know she was raised with rather open ideas on family, but I'm still getting it through my head that even if I had the right to a shotgun wedding, I have no idea which one is the baby's dad. They all claim the baby girl for their own, even the other women, in that bunch."
"Different generation, man," Bobby said with a snort. He was rather glad none of his own had saddled him with a grandkid yet. "All the rave to do a contract instead of get married, I noticed. Have to look over the applications up here as part of my job."
Will laughed; they both knew they hated paperwork, even if it was all electronic now.
"Seriously, you dealing?" Bobby asked.
Will considered, and then nodded. "Yeah. Hard not to, when you can lean on his shoulders."
"Amen to that."
Arcee reported directly to Ratchet as Prime had ordered, having sped home from the humans' Science City. She barely noticed the change in Esperanza, focused on just why her Prime would make such an odd order with no details beyond 'Ratchet will explain'. As Ratchet had still been out-system when Arcee left, it made the puzzle larger than ever. Had Ratchet found something important on Cybertron? Was there need to form a squad to deal with something on the home-world?
"Ratchet " Arcee's voice trailed off as she was met with his hand, and noted the intense look of argument on his expressive faceplates. She only had to wait a few moments before Ratchet sagged in relief and focused outward.
"Ironhide was being his usual difficult self," he said by way of explanation. "Now, Arcee, I appreciate you coming quickly. I have to ask you a very serious question, one that none of us have typically asked in the aftermath of Chicago."
That made Arcee stiffen, and she fell back on her warrior protocols. She had not been there for that fight, still here in the secret Autobot outpost to heal from the damage done when her replicants were destroyed. "Sir?"
Ratchet flipped all his passive scanners into recording mode, well aware they operated below the threshold of most Cybertronian awareness. It would help him sort out her responses. "How do you feel toward the peace we are in? Will you support your Prime's choices, no matter what, in maintaining that peace?"
Arcee hesitated, then firmed her fields and stood tall. "As my Prime would have me do, I will follow his goals of peace, so long as it fits within my own ability to believe in the process, and support his efforts, as long as they do not abridge the freedoms he espouses to believe in for all sentient beings."
Ratchet wanted to grin at that answer, seeing a future in politics for this femme. It was carefully worded, and would have made Optimus hug her for the answer, had he been present. He had business, though. "While I was on Cybertron, there were those who did not know of the peace, or perhaps they saw it as a surrender, or whatever. They were not ready to accept the war was over, and had taken measures to bring down Megatron." The glint in Arcee's optics was understandable, but Ratchet shook his helm. "Much as I loathe the mech, our peace rests on him holding back his own, and letting the war die through separation of our people. What the Autobot rebels intended would have placed Soundwave in charge - or worse - and reignited the war. Likewise, had Megatron retaliated with his full wrath, we might have faced the same, a factor he chose to heed, sparing the rebels."
"And how does this apply to me?" Arcee questioned.
Ratchet plunged in with the answer, prepared to help support her if necessary. "Chromia was their leader."
She did not lash out or have a breakdown of processing capability at his revelation. That was a good thing. That meant at least one of Chromia's ties was a sensible being.
"Chromia I could have sworn But then, you saved Ironhide, and the twins." The femme refused to face the idea she had not known. After all, she had not been in a position to check on the fallen femme after it happened. She did not want to dwell on those memories, not after all the Autobot mechs had done to try and work her past the experiments. "You said 'had Megatron retaliated' "
Ratchet flicked a reassuring glyph of acknowledgment to the young femme. "She's in isolation for now, but has requested your presence, before she chooses her path from here. You understand, Optimus is in a very hard place right now? He has always respected your class, revered the bonds between us and Elita One's cohort. Now, he must, for all our survival, do all he can to keep the peace."
"I know." Arcee had been instrumental in several captures of Decepticons that refused to admit the war was done, despite the fact Megatron had decreed them free game if they attacked the Autobots or Earth. However, Prime was the kind to use deactivation only as a last resort, or he had been, and was finding that part of himself again without the pressure of war on his frame. "I will help Chromia find peace," Arcee promised Ratchet, her scans fluctuating in a way that made Ratchet flinch inwardly. It was the same solemn promise Jazz had made long ago to protect Prime from the worst of the war as long as he could.
"May reason prevail," Ratchet told her, flipping the location and security codes to her via an encrypted channel. She did not waste time, going to see one of the femmes that had donated code for her to exist. That left Ratchet free to go find Ironhide, who had accepted being banned from medical with all the grace of Annabelle at five years old being told she could not have Ironhide at her sleepover.
Ironhide, despite his hot anger, could not help but appreciate the changes he was finding throughout the city formerly known as Esperanza now that Metroplex had subsumed its systems into his own. Especially the far more fully equipped practice range where he was currently turning targets to slagged piles of molten metal. He had been briefly concerned that his activities would damage the mech he was inside (a reality so beyond the scope of his own lateral processing he had never once considered the fables to be true), but Metroplex had assured him that the range was well shielded and did not contain any form of sensors that would transmit pain to the cityformer's myriad decentralized processors.
That had Ironhide briefly considering how much Annabelle would enjoy talking with the newest Cybertronian in the system, but even the gentleness brought out by the thought of his charge and her new offspring could not settle his temper.
With his concern for Metroplex set aside, Ironhide had put the range through his own kind of workout, but even the smoking, bubbling piles of slag that had once been moving targets were not enough to settle his current anger toward the two Pit-spawn pains in his circuitry he had been cohort with the longest.
He had been aware of broken bonds, and had little reason to believe them to be anything other than forever lost. He was fortunate enough to have his primary cohort intact, and missing only one member. Now he found out that a bondmate he had practically no memory of had survived the near-deactivation that had severed the connection, and it was quite possible she would face stasis or deactivation before it could be reforged.
The Pit take them all, and the Pit take him for having crippled himself by losing his frame and core in the first place! He spat curses as he demolished another round of targets. There were still far too many vorns upon vorns of memories he lacked.
He knew he could make a difference, and instead he was forced to stay away. If anyone could convince Chromia that the time for war had come to an end, it would be the warrior she had bonded with in an apparently rare connection outside of her class. There were so few of any of their kind, and Prime, in deference to human fears, showed no inclination to create in the manner the Decepticons were engaging in with such fecundity. They could not spare capable mecha, and Primus-slag it all if he was going to allow an opportunity to reforge a lost bond pass him by.
He had just locked on another set of targets when the door slid open. Recognizing the field that entered, he ignored it completely, and instead let all the anger in him coil deep in his systems before he released it through the brutal force of his plasma cannon, a replica only recently completed of the one he had lost even before he'd lost his frame. The kickback sent a fiery surge through his systems that matched his seething anger.
"Being angry over it all isn't helping anyone," Ratchet informed him, staying well clear of the violently-oriented warrior. "By all rights, Arcee is the one who has most reason to pull Chromia away from her pain, and start her on the path to recovery." Though Arcee accepted the companionship of Jolt and his wards, and she was friendly to all the mechs, she was alone, and had never forged another bond, beyond the light one she and Mikaela had found in partnership.
Ironhide gave no reply as he finished off the current round of targets. If Ratchet hadn't already been gone for so long, he would be tempted to simply exit the range and find somewhere else to let off his steam. But Ratchet had been gone, and this was not the reunion he'd had in mind.
Instead he un-subspaced his cleaning kit, disconnected his plasma cannon, and sat against the wall to service it, refusing to look at his anchor. He was half inclined to let rough interfacing and his spark explain what he had no desire to give words to. He knew he was being, as Annabelle liked to say, a brat, but slag it this had made him angry.
He didn't speak until Ratchet had moved closer, to stand in front of him as he quietly and methodically continued his work. "Not that slagging stupid," he muttered. "Of course Arcee needs to be first. Last of their cohort, for Pit's sake. But if she's unsuccessful? If I had still been on Earth, ignorant, I wouldn't even had a chance. Wouldn't have even known."
"Do you have so little trust in me? In Prime? Yes, we both would have spared you the pain, if we could. But to do so spares you the choice as well." Ratchet let his disgust for Ironhide's hurtful accusation to flow through both their bonds and his voice. "She can't feel Arcee. Even on the same planet. Her bonds were severed fully. You... did not let that happen. And I am afraid of the effect it will have on you, to see her, to speak to her, to be in that room, if your attempt to find that link fails. But you would have had a chance to try and persuade her. No matter the pain."
Ironhide did not allow his internal flinch to show as he absorbed Ratchet's words, and even more so, the hurt that was far worse than the normal indignation. Slag it, he was not designed for such complicated emotions. "How can I feel hurt when I hardly know who she is?" he all but growled out, the true source of his anger making itself known, and it was not directed at either of his cohortmates. "Slag it! I have a single datafile on her, and it is your memory of her and Elita One when Arcee onlined, not even one of my own."
Ratchet was silent for a long time. He let Ironhide clean the weapon, and merely stood there, but Ironhide could feel turmoil under the quiet. The medic was struggling with his own lack of ethics versus his need to protect and nurture his loved one. Finally, Ratchet moved so he could actually see Ironhide's features, and show his own, letting the mobile faceplates betray shame.
"After your reaction to Prowl's disappearance, I could not bear to feel that raw, gaping loss in you again, and asked or bullied silence from the others about the femme cohort and their impact on your life."
Ironhide went still, suddenly blocking the bond tighter than anything Ratchet had felt since the reformat. Then his engines revved and he was standing, reconnecting his cannon with smooth, practiced movements before taking a single step toward the medic, the fury of his fields colliding with Ratchet's own. But before advancing another, he whirled and turned back toward the range, advancing to position and activating another round of targets, taking them out and avoiding the tracers from the simulation in a series of coordinated blasts, ducks and leaps. With the bond so fully blocked, it was not clear who the fury was directed at.
Ratchet watched for a moment, then left Ironhide to his form of coping, shoulders and helm both sloping downward in the most human expression of self-loathing that anyone could remember seeing the medic have. He had wanted to protect, and had instead made a costly decision in selfish desire. Watching that fallout now was more pain to him than anything but the moments just after the loss of a mech, bonded or not, could bring to him.
Chromia rose as she detected someone about to enter the isolation cell, not wanting to be caught in the vulnerable position of meditative prayer. She turned as she rose, and saw the less bulky version of herself step inside with her, sealing the door carefully before actually looking Chromia's way.
Neither femme immediately had words for the other, each appraising in their scans and visual recording of the other. Arcee saw that Chromia's midnight blue frame had taken more damage over the intervening years than just that which Arcee had thought meant Chromia's destruction. The self-repair protocols were either undernourished or compromised, much like Megatron's had been for so long, if those uneven welds and mismatched chromatics were anything to go by. Chromia saw that Arcee had a far more guarded posture now, and there were lines in the faceplates that never went away, stress of losing integral pieces of herself as well as isolation from all others written there.
"Not such a bitling at all, now, are you?" Chromia finally said, breaking the uneasy silence. It was the gentlest tone she ever used, and had always been reserved for the young one of their cohort, or Elita herself.
"There have been events," Arcee evaded. She didn't like to remember the experiments. She still didn't feel whole, no matter it had been over half a vorn since her other selves were destroyed in the battle against the Fallen.
"So there have."
Chromia sat down on her berth at one end, the invitation clear to Arcee. After a moment's hesitation the younger femme came ad sat down near Chromia, not touching.
"I believe in Prime," Arcee blurted when the silence they fell into started to weigh too heavily on her. "He's done so much for us, held everything together, and given so much of himself to preserve our species!"
"Calm down, bitling. I'm certainly not going to go one on one with the only mech in all of Cybertronian history to fully integrate Protector and Prime upgrades," Chromia reassured her.
"And Seeker, now," Arcee said, ducking her head as she felt like the awkward young femme all over again.
"Do tell. Tell me all of it, little one, and spare nothing. I cannot face an unknown world with decisions made on half-intelligence. It's not as if that medic has ever been good at talking to me."
Arcee laughed. "He's not great at talking to much of anyone, to be honest." Arcee considered offering a shared data connection, but the security risks, to both of them, stilled the offer before it came out. Verbal reporting would have to do, and of necessity, Arcee's report began on the day she watched her cohort die.
It was not going to be easy, but it had to be done.
Ironhide arrived with his tempers locked down for the moment. He had his processor set in the calm of post-battle violence, just as Arcee was leaving the isolation cell. He locked up, across the corridor, as he saw the deep blue frame of the femme within, and felt the dim resonance in his spark. Reforged in a new frame, with only a smattering of memories of this being in the form of snapshots and reports of her from others, yet his spark still knew. Just as his spark had pushed him to reclaim his bonds with his original cohort, it knew that femme was supposed to be his partner too.
Her optics locked on his, and her motion was impeded only by Arcee physically interposing herself at the door to the cell, a wordless noise of protest issuing to stop the stronger femme from leaving her cell.
"Ironhide." The designation was uttered as a half plea, half denial of reality.
"Chromia." Ironhide made himself move, patting Arcee's shoulder to calm the young femme. "Lock me in with her, Arcee."
Arcee could only comply, even as she hoped she was doing the right thing. A comm was sent to Prime and Ratchet, as she coded the cell shut on the pair of warriors.
Arcee wound up in one of the meditation rooms, as anger was not the proper way to release her emotions, not with all that was riding on Chromia choosing peace. To go to the range felt like hypocrisy when she had wound up begging Chromia to let the past go enough to focus on making a new life among the self-exiled Autobots. She could have found Jolt, or even taken time with Prime himself, but there were too many data tracks to process right now for the addition of someone else's thoughts.
She settled in the center of the artificial crystals, their facets shining mutely with inner lights, and sent a command to the media array to bring up her favorite music and light program, noting the array responded to the communication with more personality than usual. That keyed the briefing she'd received en route from Wheeljack, and she surveyed all the details of this mech called Metroplex to distract her, temporarily, from Chromia.
"Sorry I'm not the best of company, Metroplex," she said, once she had it in place. "You don't mind if I settle in and just process?"
"Of course not, Arcee. It is good to make your acquaintance, and should you require anything, please feel free to ask." The rich voice was even deeper in resonance than Prime's, Arcee noted. She rather liked the pitch, and the entire room felt cozier with his animus around her. It seemed to fit her needs exactly, and she gave herself over to the process of analyzing her talk with Chromia, knowing on the base level that she was well-kept and protected in here.
Chromia watched the mech in the cell with her, noting the differences in the lines of the frame, in the way the energies flowed, and most of all in the restraint being shown. Ironhide had never been one for great thought or pause in emotional meetings. Logic dictated that this being, despite the name and similarities, was not the Ironhide she had known and loved and fought with so long ago.
It hit her harder than knowing 'Hide had been destroyed, harder than having Arcee come close and not be able to feel her vibrancy along the silent cohort bonds. Only the loss of Elita One, at this point, was tearing at her spark with more daggers than knowing this being in front of her was not her Ironhide at his core.
"Chromia "
For his part, Ironhide was struggling. He did not have the memory basis for this, and yet his spark was actively aching to be near her and not feel any resonance answering him. He had not felt this torn since he started thinking of Prowl without even knowing the mech's designation or place inside his cohort.
"They tell me you call yourself 'Ironhide'," Chromia answered in the frostiest tone she could muster to cover her pain and loss. It was her way.
It struck Ironhide like a fusion cannon blast. "I amIronhide."
"Hardly."
The tone sparked anger, and anger was one of those emotions Ironhide had to reluctantly admit was his forte. He could brood, he could laugh, he could do any of the various emotions, but he excelled at anger. It was a testimony to so many vorns of existence with so little beyond battle and loss, Sideswipe had told him, being one to share that near-blinding rage that was considered to be a far more Decepticon trait.
"Now you listen here, you sharply-cornered rust bucket!" Ironhide thundered at her. "You don't get to come in here and pick apart the life I've managed to claw back together anymore than we get to question you being who you say you are! Show a little bit of processor power and use your own experience to look at the fact that if a mech slags off and gets a second chance, it's not going to be one-hundred percent perfect to your slagging memories!"
Chromia's optics flared wide as her fields grew aggressively agitated and then she started to laugh, deep and rich as Ironhide fumed. "Maybe I did misspeak, because that was a tirade worthy of my brother-in-arms," she said once the laughter passed. "Yet " She strode closer, hand coming up to cover where his spark pulsed in his chestplates, a grimace settling on her faceplates. "You're as empty to me as she was!"
Ironhide had heard Will use the frame 'lump in his throat' during strong emotions. It was an interesting phrase, but for a Cybertronian, the normal phrase was a 'stutter in my spark', and that was far more adequate to what Ironhide felt as his spark reached and met nothingness. He shifted slowly, his arms coming down to fold around Chromia, and when she made no protest, he folded her closer to himself.
"I don't remember in my processor, Chromia. But my spark does. And I can't let you keep hurting, anymore than I can let you break what my Prime's trying to build. So we're just going to have to work on both sides of it, to help you." Ironhide looked down into her features, as her arms shifted to settle as much around him as she could, the comfort of their squeeze reminding him that she was just as strong as he was, possibly more so.
"What if I can't let go of this burning hatred in my spark?" she asked him. "What if the war is all I am now?"
Ironhide shook his helm. "If you know me at all, you know the answer already, Chromia."
She nodded, then rested her helm on his chest, optics shuttering. Better for him to end it than for it to fall on her creation to take the life from her at last. He would make it as painless as possible, and the very lack of memories would help him see the mercy, rather than lingering on a need to save her, or so she hoped as they moved to sit together.
An entire cycle of Ironhide locked in with Chromia had Ratchet on edge. He knew it was necessary and hoped it went well, even as he dealt with hating himself. He had had no right to withhold such information from Ironhide. He would not let himself spy in the isolation bay either, instead focusing on doing what he could to repair the various damages within Grimlock's stasis-bound system. Even Prime was wary of how to handle that warrior; the powerful mech had contested Optimus's leadership more than once during the long war. Many thought that if Grimlock had not hated Megatron with a fury blacker than deep space, he would have abandoned the Autobots early on for the Decepticon cause.
When Ironhide did emerge from the cell, Ratchet forced himself to continue his work; trying to apologize for his selfishness would not make this any less grave a matter in his lover's opinion, he was certain. Working on what he loved, fixing damage dealt to a mech, was a focus Ratchet needed, and he gave himself entirely to it, uncaring of how much time passed as he did. The fact that Chromia had remained in her cell told Ratchet that the femme still had not chosen peace; he was thankful she was at least an honorable bot.
When he finally left the cell set aside for Grimlock, he had eased his conscience only some, by knowing he had performed his duties capably, and shunted the matter with Ironhide to the recesses of his processor so that he could deal professionally with whatever was to come next.
What he was not expecting when he cleared the door was the clang of dark armor against his own, strong hands gripping his collar plating and shoving him into the wall. Hungry, hurting fields pushed hard into his own. If the lust and need had not been so blatantly apparent, he might have thought he was being attacked.
"Open, slag you, just open," Ironhide growled.
Ratchet had experienced this mood too many times over the eons they'd been anchors to one another. An Ironhide desperate to renew a bond was an Ironhide in serious emotional pain, which needed to be dealt with at the level of sparks rather than words.
Knowing he was the cause of it was almost enough to make him pull away in cowardice, but instead he signaled the door of another cell to open and let Ironhide push him inside even as he parted his plates, his spark feeling like it was both cringing away and reaching out to the call of his mate's simultaneously.
The last thing he expected to feel as they pushed into one another was the depth of self-loathing present in his lover, without a hint of anger toward the medic. It took him so far off-guard that his emotions were lost in the wave of Ironhide's need to be known to him, and then there was only the merge, with all their truths exposed to each other.
Ratchet brought himself back online ahead of his lover, sprawled across the berth in the cell he'd guided them to with Ironhide still molded to him and pinning him down. Normally, that would be cause for a protest and a medical assist to make Ironhide come back up from the overload, but right now, Ratchet was willing to let it be.
Ironhide wasn't angry at him. Ironhide was angry with himself. And all the complexities behind that shift made Ratchet ache for his old/young lover all the more. Ironhide blamed himself for his loss of memories, for having failed to predict that Sentinel had/would betray them. He was enraged at himself for not being as capable as he believed himself once to have been. He felt had failed to take the time to properly integrate more of his lost experience, instead relying, as he long had, on Ratchet to remember for him and share what was most vital.
When he had realized that the sharing of such memories reopened painful wounds of the spark, especially for Ratchet, he had backed off on his requests. However, he had never taken up the slack by scheduling regular time to integrate memories from his core backup that had always been available to him, including the memories of his lost bondmates. And now Chromia could hardly recognize him as himself with their bond so fully missing.
He felt he had abdicated his responsibilities to his own kind because he had not wished to lose any of the precious time he had with his short-lived human charges, even after it was clear they were relatively safe and did not need his constant guardianship. He had favored the present over both the past and the needs the future might bring, sentimentality over capability.
Faced with the fact that Ratchet had deliberately avoided sharing memories of the femmes, Ironhide had responded that he already knew the medic had been avoiding sharing the more difficult files, and had blamed himself for pushing too hard and failing to, in his words, "be responsible for cleaning up the slagging mess that his failure had made."
Nothing Ratchet had shared in the merge was able to ease Ironhide's misplaced anger with himself, despite his attempts. Underlying it all was the sharp pain of lost bonds to individuals Ironhide could not even remember: Prowl, Chromia, as well as members of Ironhide's original cohort and previous guardianships whose files had been lost to the ages before Ironhide began being more careful with his backups. Ironhide's need to affirm his bond with Ratchet and the remainder of his cohort had taken on a razor-sharp edge having met Chromia and experienced firsthand and the absolute emptiness of the bond that should have been between them. Ratchet had not had an opportunity to settle his lover further before Ironhide was overloading both of them hard with the intensity of his need to fully become one in spark.
"You are such a slagging idiot," he murmured in exasperated affection to the unconscious warrior who had him so thoroughly pinned down. Ironhide would come to, and they would talk. The clearest thing currently in Ratchet's mind was that Ironhide needed to understand that none of them had any reason to suspect Chromia had escaped deactivation. Focusing on the here and now was important, because their survival was still dependent on tying off all the loose ends from the war and forging a stronger alliance with a species that was either indifferent, suspicious, or downright hostile to them over their presence.
Mikaela was obeying Ratchet by staying out of Medical proper, but that didn't mean she wasn't curious. Optimus was still fretting over the entire situation, but he was also occupied by enjoying Ultra Magnus's and Kup's and Will's company before they had to return to Earth. Even once they had, that would mean Springer and Hot Rod would be returning shortly after, and Optimus would have things to teach the hyperactive mech, keeping him tied up.
She made her brain steer clear of the imagery that phrase brought her, and turned instead to using the Spec Ops hacks she had perfected to pull the relevant data off the medical servers so she could learn things about the two new Autobots on Mars.
The power outputs off the femme were staggering, was Mikaela's first impression. Grimlock's scans were quick and simple, to the point, as he was locked in stasis. A walking armory that could give Ironhide a run for the money, she decided, before going back to study the scans of Chromia in more depth. Despite the passive nature of the ongoing scans, the way they recorded power output and fluctuation were revealing enough to the woman that had managed to effectively cross-train between Jazz and Ratchet in the last forty odd years.
Mikaela reviewed the initial scans from when Chromia had been in stasis-lock, then compared them to her active power consumption and fuel intake since being brought online. She translated the field data into oscillations, then broke those down on a peak display. The more she studied it, the more convinced Mikaela became that something was very wrong.
"Not Ratchet, not Prime..." she murmured to herself, gathering her files and jetting out of the Spec Ops offices to go find her other favorite medic. While most of Defensor's team was on Earth for disaster relief, First Aid was back in Metroplex, working on learning more cybertechnology. So many Earth countries were legislating the tech in ridiculous ways, but Prime's medics and engineers were bound and determined to make it available to those in need.
First Aid immediately pushed back from his terminal as Mikaela came in, sensitive to the varied chemicals humans exuded in response to their emotive states. He gave her a hand up onto his table, then accepted the small - for him - data wafer she offered him.
"Look those graphs over and tell me what you see?" Mikaela asked him as he slotted them into his reader. She sat cross-legged on the desk, playing idly with the controls of her armor, running diagnostics, while First Aid studied what she had compiled.
"Mikaela, this is a decaying spark chart," First Aid told her slowly, after having gone over it many times. "Output is fading - marginally, yes; but definitely fading."
Mikaela breathed out in a whoosh. "I was afraid of that. So, we have to figure out how to repair it, because I think if that femme learns she's not wired for the long run, she'll try to go out in a bang."
"As contrary to self-survival as that theory is, my reading of Ratchet's profile notes on her psychological index concur," First Aid said grimly. "Why not go to Ratchet?"
The woman shook her head, fingers stilling on the dermal controls for the armor. "He doesn't trust himself where she is concerned, and would always second-guess any failures he made."
The much less-experienced medic did at least understand that, and he pulled up a new session on the servers to start mapping out the known data with his fellow student.
Kup listened as the young Prime - by his own measurement of the ages, at least - explained what had happened on Cybertron that they now had two Autobot prisoners. Ultra Magnus was doing a fine job of trying to offer advice and the whole speech on doing what was necessary to preserve their species, but neither of them were thinking beyond the idea this was solely Prime's burden.
The way Kup looked at it, however, every Autobot in existence needed to be pitching in to help each other get over the war, to get back to what was important. While the whole thing with the femme was very tangled for the lead cohort, there was less at personal stake with the warrior mech. In fact, Grimlock being away from Optimus Prime might be in the very best interest of all their race, given the warrior's attitudes.
"All well and good, Magnus, but the thing Optimus needs now is solid help, not hand holding." Kup's intrusion into the conversation had both younger mechs looking at him in surprise and interest. "We'll take Grimlock to Earth with us."
"We'll what?" came out of Ultra Magnus's vocalizer in the same instant as Optimus spoke.
"That could be very unwise."
"Fah, Optimus! Grimlock's a charger, headstrong and full of ideas, so challenges like the disaster relief teams, rebuilding crews, and the occasional UN-sanction would be good for him. And yes, Stiff-bottom, we will." Between the pet name and the firm tone, Ultra Magnus realized his cohort founder had made a decree that was not going to be rescinded. At all.
"I don't..."
"...have any need to contend with both burdens at once," Kup finished for the young Prime. "We'll keep Springer and the lad down there with us a time. Grimlock will remember Springer from the early days, and you have to admit Roddy's a charmer when he wants to be."
Optimus laughed softly, fondly even. His eventual successor was more than simply charming. "Kup, has anyone ever managed to say no to you?"
Kup gave all appearances of searching his extensive memory core. "Maybe once. I was pretty certain one moon would be enough, but they went and engineered a second one over my protest," he said, deadpan serious... and then all three mechs got to laugh for the joke.
Metroplex had been asked to proceed slowly in integrating Medical, a point he had been willing to concede. Ratchet and the rest of the repair staff were venerated by the cityformer; if they were kept safest of all, perhaps he would never lose all of his inhabitants ever again. Once caution and nagging worries had been overcome though, Metroplex put himself on the path of acquiring that deeply situated area, including the cells that held the waiting prisoners. Grimlock remained in stasis, prepped to go back to Earth.
Chromia remained alone, save for Arcee's and Ironhide's visits to her.
Where Metroplex went, so did his nanites with their intended purpose of augmenting the self-repair protocols of the mech in question. It took time to integrate in each new mech or femme encountered, and femmes had been rare off Cybertron due to their dedicated class-structure and hierarchy when Metroplex was younger. However, there were two examples now to study, and despite being of very similar builds and functions, Metroplex knew there was something very different between them, a difference his systems processed as damage to repair.
Monique helped set a plate back into place for Stakeout, while Fixit worked on the repair. Red Hot was waiting, expecting to be bawled out for the injury as Seawatch tried not to take on the role of lecturer over it.
"Okay. Accidents will happen," Monique said in her patient voice, the one that made children listen harder rather than disappoint her. "Red Hot, I know your reflexes and reactions are very speedy and amped up from so long of fighting for your life. You just have to put a new block into the procedure for powering up. Stakeout, you fully grasp this was an accident, yes?"
"Gotcha," the original leader of this team said, looking at Red Hot with a forced smile.
"Good." Monique stepped back, then up onto the platform she used for supervising. "Let's try again "
To the far side of the rehabilitation center, Bobby and Will leaned on the railing of the catwalk preferred by most humans who worked or observed in here. "She handles them so well," Will told his best friend.
"She's great. Most of the ones willing to come to the rehab program are well, Ratchet calls them scraplets or some other thing. Kids, to us, but kids who grew up in a war. She helps them adjust to being civilian, and find new avenues to pursue." Bobby was proud of his wife's work. "It was actually the twins' experience, being broken down and brought back like that to give her the idea. Getting to know them, and the idea they've been allowed to remain in the exploratory phase since the treaty made her develop techniques to pull other mechs who only knew the war back to that phase."
"Kind of like trying to help the kid soldiers on Earth recover something of how to learn?" Will asked, seeing the corollary in that example easiest.
"Something like." Bobby then looked away from his wife conducting the small team through the exercises to his best friend. "How's this mess with you as the Deputy Protector gonna affect you and Sarah coming up here? I mean, the others are okay, but it's you and her and Mik and Sam that really get it all."
Will shrugged a shoulder. "Sarah's trying to be certain Annabelle really doesn't need her to raise the baby," he half-laughed. "But the position actually applies more to Mars anyway. Prime's made no claim to Earth, for all he keeps pulling our collective asses out of the galactic fire while the UN figures out this whole planetary concept. So guess once Sarah's ready, we'll pack up and come on up to stay. God knows I'm tired of being the bureaucratic go-to boy down there. Sam gets so frustrated, but Annabelle's friend Chip is really picking it up, and there's Faireborn "
"See, time to turn it over to the ones that grew up in this shit, man," Bobby said. "Be damn glad to have some one up here who can't drink me under the table. Sideswipe cheats, I swear. Not like I can taste his cube to be sure it's as potent as my brews," he added with a laugh, eyes going back to his wife at work.
"He cheats," Will agreed, already thinking of the future he and Sarah could have once he officially retired as the UN Chief Expert.
"Whomever did this they were diabolical in the precision of mimicking the process used by Junkions when they salvage other mechanoids." First Aid tried to remain detached, but that euphemism sat heavily on his processor and spark. Mikaela had been told, more bluntly by Sideswipe than any other, that Junkions would rescue a downed mechanoid at the cost of their freedom until all 'debt' had been paid. Often, the mechanoid was given no choice on whether they preferred deactivation.
"But you're convinced?"
It had been four full sols since Mikaela had come to First Aid with the problem. She had switched the armor on fully to accompany First Aid up to the surface lab so they could work in privacy, and relied heavily on the modifications both her own mutations and Wheeljack's experiments had given her to work side by side with him most of that time.
"The femme was sparked off a shard of the spark that once belonged to a Cybertronian, probably the femme she claims to be given timelines. She has the memory core and personality core or she could not have fooled Optimus Prime and Ratchet. The shard, however, had likely ceased to function and was somehow restarted by an as yet unknown process. It was made to expand, but is now in a state of decay. Without in-depth scans of the programming, code, and possible visible inspection of all components, I cannot fathom what other threat she might be, but the tech used to do this is beyond Junkion standards as taught to me by my programming and integrated training units." First Aid looked at Mikaela bleakly. "Hypothesis: she and her comrades, in total or separately, may all be some form of beachhead maneuver by an as yet unknown entity against Cybertronians."
"Yep. You're convinced. We're all fragged," Mikaela answered glumly.
The first thing Blaster had learned on meeting the resident communications expert was that she was a survivor of a Decepticon attack. The second thing he learned was that she had a very hard edge toward him, on learning who his mentor had been. He did not know how to learn more than that, and did not dare ask her directly about the odd way she walked and moved.
Maggie was professional with him, at least, as long as Scorponok was safely tucked away or not present. It had been the sight of the scuttling symbiont that had led to Blaster learning of her hate for Soundwave and his symbionts, though she seemed at ease with most of the Autobots, and even the handful of former Decepticons on Mars. Deep in his spark, Blaster wished he could ease the negativity he caused her to feel. It was enough for him to hope that he could transfer down to Earth, just so she wouldn't be reminded . He caught that idea by its tail, and smiled. Maybe he, and Scorponok, would be less of a reminder if they chose a new form?
When it came down to it, Blaster had enjoyed her company when he could move her to talk about coding and cyphers and electronic evolution of idea sharing. Settling in among the Autobots meant learning how best to work with humans, and Blaster yearned to prove to this brilliant mind that he was nothing like the one who had been given the task of his development.
::Scorpy, what do you think?:: he questioned the lazy symbiont within him.
::Form is no concern. Femme is smart. New start time?::
Blaster had to hide his smile, as the arachnid agreed with him. "Miss Madsen?"
The woman looked at him, still guarded in ways that pained him. "Yes, Blaster?"
"I...I like working with you. You've taught me so much about the communication systems here." Blaster's words stumbled a little in his processor, as he tried to determine how to say it in a way that would not cause more stress. "I would rather go to Earth than continue to cause you unpleasant associations, but what I'd like most is can you help me find a design for myself and my symbiont, one that let you continue to work with me but not always be reminded?"
The femme's face did an amazing contortion of emotions. Blaster wanted to learn those languages too, the ones that relied on muscles and chemical markers. At last, she answered him, just as he began to wonder if he had erred completely. "It's not your fault."
"But it pains you, and as Scorponok said, the form is no concern. I would be honored, to have one so intelligent help me choose my final form. And Scorponok he does not like reminding others of long-gone battles. He wants to start new too."
"Let me think on it?" Maggie answered that, her eyes dark and suspiciously wet.
"Yes, Miss Madsen," Blaster told her, hope in his spark that they would work past the issues keeping them from a true working partnership.
"Mik, you just have t' go and find a mystery when ah'm on another planet?" Jazz asked as the connection clarified and showed him in the control room at the embassy on Earth. She laughed, sitting on top of the table, which was not uncommon when a human was holding a meeting with mechs. Optimus sat in one seat, Ratchet another, while Bobby used the adjustable human-tall chair that raised him up. Ironhide and Arcee had both been advised privately, but Prime would not let them participate in the meeting. Will, Ultra Magnus, Kup, and Grimlock's stasis-bound frame were already loading into Sky Lynx, but only because First Aid had double checked Ratchet's medical findings on the warrior mech. The junior medic had been chagrined to have to do that; Ratchet was far superior as far as he was concerned.
"Jazz, it's my job to keep you on your toes by being unpredictable, and to watch your aft by cleaning up the messes," she answered him sweetly.
"So far we know Chromia is not fully herself, nor was she actually salvaged by the Junkions, though she believes that and did suffer at their hands," Optimus began. "This may or may not be connected to the incursions in our system here. We are dealing with a very advanced race if so, and cannot be certain Chromia is neither a threat nor a spy."
"I maintain that if she has subliminal programming, it is very deeply hidden. All of her actions to date have been consistent with her psyche profile and experiences through the last vorn of the war," Ratchet said.
"And none of us are questioning that, Ratchet," Mikaela quickly said. "The question is, how do we proceed? What if her reason for remaining in the cell is her base programming trying to shield us all from something she only vaguely understands she harbors?"
"What can we learn from finding whatever it is inside her?" Jazz asked, throwing the practical matter out for consideration.
"We have a responsibility to both planets, both species in this system that makes me hesitant to allow Chromia out of isolation. I am aware that we need to explore further, but I do not care to risk anyone with a potential time-bomb," Optimus said.
Bobby cleared his throat. "It's what we do, Prime. First off, we need to look at a factor all of you but Mikaela seems to have overlooked. And I'm surprised at you all for it, especially you, Prime with your speeches on Freedom blah blah blah." Every one looked at him, Mikaela's eyes almost dancing with amusement for his words. "Chromia's acting like herself, right Ratchet? Mik, you said you think she's holding herself separate out of a potential awareness of the danger she is. Seems to me, we need to put her in a solid cell, two way comms, explain the hell out of what we do know, and ask her opinion."
"That could trigger it," Jazz pointed out.
"Could. Then we'd know." Bobby shrugged. "Might not, though, and then we'd have her as an ally to find whatever it really is, instead of fighting us out of sheer self-preservation."
"Let me talk that over with Ironhide and Arcee first," Optimus said after a long moment's consideration.
"And hold off 'til ah'm home," Jazz added. "Ah'll convince Sky Lynx t' kick it in the burners when he gets here, t' bring me back."
"Better you doing the scan code than Maggie or even Blaster. She's got her own problems, and he's too inexperienced," Ratchet agreed.
Hot Rod usually preferred being on Earth. He preferred the solid gravity and thicker atmosphere, loved the noise and bustle. He half-understood why Optimus kept calling him back to Mars, but still thought that was a huge mistake on the part of the AllSpark. Seriously, even Ultra Magnus didn't half-believe that Hot Rod had what it took to be a Prime, code or not.
Or maybe Ultra Magnus did, and that was one reason the senior mech tried hard to push Roddy more. Kup Kup never said much on it, but Kup always had indulged the youngest member of their cohort. Either way, right now, Hot Rod intended to make the most of his escape, and folded down into the Supra he'd adapted for his alt on Earth.
Before he could peel out, though, there was a slam of a door and running feet that were smaller than most of the organics Roddy usually dealt with. He couldn't safely transform, as the small person was soon in his space, and emphatically making it clear with a solid kick at a back tire.
"Open up!"
Hot Rod, responding to the distress, did so, and was soon invaded by none other than Daniel Witwicky, the very late addition to Sam's life. Danny had been born very recently, maybe counting all of five solar revolutions.
"Well, go!" Danny demanded, looking at the steering wheel's insignia.
"You are not one of my authorized human partners, Daniel."
"Don't care. Dad's coming. DRIVE!"
Hot Rod did not have to reply as Sam, Bumblebee, and Carly all piled in via separate doors into the bay. Hot Rod could not help his instinctive reaction to a triple threat, or to the sheer pulse of the child's bio-electric fields wreaking havoc inside his own. The warrior flipped back into mech, handily catching Daniel who squealed happily, and pulling him in protectively against his chestplates.
"Danny you are in so much trouble when I get to you," Sam was saying, walking forward. Hot Rod winced a little; Sam still, years and years later, reeked of the AllSpark's death-knell to those who had not been here when it was destroyed. Hot Rod felt it more than Kup or Ultra Magnus, he'd found out, but all of them that had not been caught in the backwash of it noticed to one degree or other.
"Hot Rod, would you set our son down?" Carly asked politely. She had not expected a pregnancy at a point where she should have been entering the end of her generative cycle, but the youthful extension of life was more than skin deep. She had accepted it, but, like Sam, she had so little time for the child. He was busy as one of the major diplomats between the species, and she was part of the Public Relations team surrounding the tech releases.
"Don't," Danny whispered, pressing tight against the chestplates. "I just wanted to go out and they both said 'no' and I accidentally spilled their drinks."
"Umm no?" Hot Rod was surprised at himself for getting in the middle of this. He knew he shouldn't, but that little run down made Hot Rod think of Kup shielding him from Ultra Magnus's duties for him.
Bee's static burst of surprise flooded out the protest of Sam while Carly got contemplative. Somehow, it didn't seem to surprise Hot Rod in the least when both Ultra Magnus and Kup arrived. He cringed, shoulder panels and the door-wings, as so many called them, both fell with worry for what was coming. He tried to find any way he could think of to put it all at an end, and his processor clicked over the one thing that would make Kup back him on all his feelings right now for the child that had come to him seeking refuge and company.
"He's cohort," Hot Rod blurted.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa . MY son!" Sam said, as fiercely possessive as he had ever been.
Kup looked at the young mech, and the tiny organic peering out of Hot Rod's hands, then rested a hand on Ultra Magnus's shoulder to still any protest from that corner.
"Maybe our son, but not ours to keep, Sam," Carly said. "Let's go talk it over, Roddy."
Metroplex had been honest when saying he did not notice much of daily life in an active way. However, certain conditions would trigger his attention. Multiple high-ranking officers coming to a meeting in a place not considered one of their normal duty places was such a trigger. He had been introduced to Jazz on the arrival of the silver mech, and recognized the spark of a data hacker instantly. Having that kind of threat move toward a project that Metroplex had taken on, with the company of the Prime, the Security Director, and the Chief Medical Officer was worrying to the cityformer.
"Is there any way I may be of assistance, Optimus Prime?" he asked, voice centering near their side before his holo-form appeared, scaled to a height that would not be inappropriate while walking alongside a Prime.
"We have a security issue in the form of the femme in medical, Metroplex. We have a plan in place to cope with it."
"Begging a moment of patience, Optimus Prime, but I request to be better informed concerning this, as I had already noted certain discrepancies and begun to operate in accordance with protocol to correct the deficiencies."
"Do what?" Epps asked, as they all came to a stop to look at Metroplex's holo-form.
"Obviously, as she is a restrained being, I have not actively done more than investigate the damage while laying out plans for how I may fully correct it. At this point, given the decay rate of her spark, I will have to offer her the option of full integration, which would then grant me access to the secondary memory storage units worked through her frame."
There was utter silence, as the mechs and human considered what had just been said. Jazz broke it, cocking his helm a little. "What if what she is, whatever is hidden in those units infected you?"
"Impossible. My memory and processing units are isolated from one another while I am integrating new units, and nothing can spread fast enough to keep various units from throwing the kill switch."
"You can save her?" Ratchet asked, overriding Epps and Prime both with his urgent demand.
"It is my nature to always fix any damage and safeguard my denizens," Metroplex said with patience. "She may not accept the necessity of symbiosis, but every being has a right to choose their own ending, if the alternative is unwanted."
"Wise words," Prime said. "Please, Metroplex, come with us to speak with her."
"We fear you are an agent of a hostile force."
The words slammed into Chromia's processes, bringing up the indignant rage they deserved and triggering other, insidious mechanisms. Reports were coded, energy pooled, and data packets ready to be punched out of this compromised probe.
"No!" Jazz's shout had him and Epps moving to the computer terminals, each seeking to stop the breach of base-security. Jazz could read the spike; Epps was just hearing the climb of energies with his augmented hearing.
Metroplex's holo-form went through the barrier, a swarm of his ever present nanites coming to rest on the form's hands as they reached out to hold the femme's shoulders, creating sensor contact and preliminary paths for connection.
"You feel it," he said as the femme's optics landed on him wildly, showing fear in her defensive posture.
"Cybertron is my home!" she wailed, trying to deny the truth that was sucking her life away to use her as no more than a battery for the betrayal of her species.
"I can stop it. But it means becoming one with me, Chromia. To save your life and stop it!" Metroplex's own distress was evident in his voice.
The energy build pulled the light away from Chromia's optics, but she jerked her helm once, a hand reaching for Metroplex, and he took that as an affirmative. Through the nanites, both those already saturating her frame and the ones he now used on her externals, Metroplex flowed into the femme, letting his holo-form die away as he rerouted the data flow. His energy flooded her spark, redesigning it, making it a healthy shard dependent on the life force of his own. The data packets marked for outward communication and the data on the hidden memory units were dumped into an isolated memory bank and routed to Jazz's attention for analysis. Epps heard the energy build taper off suddenly, and then Chromia, sheathed in a glowing blanket formed of the nanite swarm, collapsed to the floor of the isolation bay.
"She needs recharge," Metroplex stated from up towards the ceiling, too exhausted by the intensive redesign and defusing to focus more carefully. "I hope the data is helpful, Jazz and Robert Epps."
"Oh, I'm sure it will be," Jazz said, failing to use his lazy humanized dialect in the eagerness he had to tear it all apart.
"She's safe?" Ratchet asked.
"She is," Metroplex said. "I have stripped all data, and am currently reconfiguring her to be more accurate to her frame class, while installing the needed power diversions that all symbionts require."
Optimus kept his own words in his processor. Chromia had been forced to that decision; would she truly accept it in the end?
Chromia rebooted to the sight of Arcee sitting vigil with her, and the buzz of Ironhide's fields near her, but out of her sight. She was not in the cell any longer, and she had new status indicators in her HUD. Her frame felt whole, her spark .
With a burst of static she came up to a sitting position, helm swiveling toward Ironhide even as she grabbed Arcee's hand and squeezed.
"You're both here!" Under the verbalization came a torrent of data signifying the depth of connection she was able to feel now. Arcee smiled at that, and nodded, pushing back all the relief and joy and love, while Ironhide rippled his armor plates a little to settle them from the flare at Chromia's sudden motion.
"Metroplex said the links were there. Just muted, because of the overlay that the enemy put in you." Arcee looked at her cohort-mate curiously, to see if Chromia possessed any memory that might be helpful.
"No, bitlet; I don't remember anything between losing both you and Elita One to coming alert on Junkion." Chromia's optics flashed; her hate for the opportunistic race had not died any, and now she had a faceless, nameless enemy to contend with.
Ironhide moved closer to the berth, up behind where she sat as she had focused back on Arcee, and settled his hands on her shoulders. "You know what's been done to you, Chromia?"
The femme shuttered her optics at that question, and truly explored her new sensor set, the connections to something larger than she had ever known before, and the pulse of a new life connected to her own.
~As free as I can make it, Chromia,~ came the thought from her symbiotic partner on the heels of her thinking about the idea she'd traded one prison for another. ~You share your senses and data in exchange for my spark filling yours. You can travel, so long as you return within a vorn or so.~
~You saved my existence, and gave me back the two survivors of my life before.~
~Just as your purpose was to purify the energon, so mine is to nurture. There is no debt.~ Metroplex sent a soothing wave of negation at the concept to his new partner. ~And, you will discover, your purpose has new life in me. It is why all colonies once had one of my kind.~
Chromia's explosion of disbelief made her optics flash open, but it made sense. Every colony had, in its heyday, been capable of producing an energon that was not quite like Cybertron's but adequate to their needs.
"They bleed for us!"
"Chromia?" Ironhide asked, but Arcee received the pulse of data, the realization, directly from the symbiotic femme.
"We will be able to provide again!" Arcee said in joy, hugging the older femme while Ironhide querulously demanded an explanation.
Eventually, they calmed down from the joy of knowing they still existed with a means to do what they had been core-programmed for, and were able to tell him.
Ironhide rested with the heavier medic pinning his legs, data cords lazily retracting. Too many emotions in too short a span, but the 'facing was always a good defrag measure for the warrior, and Ratchet didn't seem to be complaining.
"I'm glad she seems to be settling into this new role," Ratchet told Ironhide, feeling the warrior contemplate just how soon he'd be able to convince Chromia to some alone time. It made Ironhide chuckle, as their rapport let that much spill between them. "And from what you say it's almost like there is a providence reaching out to our lives."
"Chromia and Arcee were already in a tight data-lock when I left; have to think Metroplex was in on it too." Ironhide vented in contentment. "Real energon. And if we can just convince Prime "
Ratchet snorted. "Better look to Hot Rod for that. You know how Optimus views his own coding."
That made the warrior mutter and grumble a few choice curses that Sideswipe had so helpfully taught him to replace the considerable invective that had once been Ironhide's forte. When he wound down, he looked down his frame to the resting medic. "I know my code's broken and patched and horrible. But we've got to start looking forward."
"Even with a new war on the event horizon?" Ratchet asked him, trying hard not to hear the cries and snapping metal of the past.
"Maybe especially so. And those two are the only ones with the full range of code, if we're going to have any hope of resurrecting the various frame classes wiped out during the war." Ironhide nodded for emphasis.
"I want to be watching when you tackle Prime on that one," Ratchet told him, but he let his agreement filter through, as well as his pride in his lover for being so forward thinking now.
"What now?"
The two quiet words made the silver mech look up at the armored human, perched on the shoulder of the mech they both loved, all of them bathed in the eerie blue light of a Martian sunrise. That, more than anything else, always inflamed Mikaela's love of living on an alien planet.
"I keep deciphering the data, the directional burst that it was aimed at, and hope it clicks with anything in the database. Prime here gets to do his usual worrying, since he's so good at it " which drew a laugh from her and an aggrieved vent of air from Optimus "and 'Hide will start recruiting a defense force."
"I will contact Megatron. We both need to be prepared, as she was originally in the vicinity of Cybertron."
Jazz nodded. "Wise mech is wise, to borrow one of those old Earth memes."
"You use them so well." Mikaela pushed off from Optimus's shoulder, using the armor's mobility and the lighter gravity to land neatly in the dust. "I don't like facing a new war, but I'm going to say it here and now." She made sure both mechs were watching her. "Earth's part of this fight. Regardless of the unrest and the fact they don't much like the ones like me who are becoming hybrids, they don't want another Chicago. So keep them in the loop, Jazz."
The spy, saboteur, and Prime's Consort nodded. "I'll work through Ultra Magnus on that. You're right."
"I have no doubt that no matter what this enemy has learned of us, they will be completely unprepared for human ingenuity," Optimus rumbled, feeling more confidence in this unknown future than he ever had leading his people against his brother's.
"Damn straight," Mikaela answered.