Chapter 3: In Which Starscream Deals with Family Matters
It was some relief to realize that Outburst had finished his stitches while he was unconscious, but at the same time, Starscream couldn't help feeling irritated that they had done anything to him without his knowledge, medically necessary or otherwise. Like calling Iacon. They'd had no right to go calling unsolicited assistance for him, and he felt perfectly capable of getting himself home, head wound or no. He made sure to tell them such as soon as his head cleared enough to sit up straight and glare.
Outburst just laughed.
"And like as not have crashed straight into the Sea of Rust on your way," he chortled.
"I could have taken a transport ship," the Seeker huffed. He couldn't have, really, because he needed to be back to Vos in just two hours to pick up Skywarp from school, and the soonest transport wouldn't have gotten him back until almost midnight.
"There's no need to be embarrassed," said Megatron, who was still leaning against the table beside Starscream for some reason, despite Soundwave's incessant reminders that he was now a full hour late to the rally that he was supposed to be running.
"I'm not embarrassed," Starscream muttered, cheeks flushing around the cube of low grade he was nursing.
Someone tapped impatiently on the examination room door, and Outburst called for Knock Out to answer it. Starscream closed his eyes and braced himself. No sooner had the door opened than he heard a squawk of protest from Knock Out and the clack of high heels crossing the tile floor.
"What did you do this time, Screamer?" a femme's voice demanded without preamble.
"Nice to see you, too, Slipstream," he returned without looking at her. He hadn't seen his cousin since he'd first returned to Cybertron, when he'd had to collect Skywarp from her and her mother. The two of them had never been anything like close, despite being only a few years apart in age, and lately he'd found new reason to avoid her.
"Well, do my eyes deceive me, or are you two twins?" the rusty mech on Outburst's table exclaimed with all the gusto of someone who had just found a flock of Praxian lilleths.
"What gave it away?" Slipstream said, grabbing Starscream's face and pulling it next to her own. Identical almond eyes, high cheek bones, and sharp noses aligned for a moment, the only difference being the somewhat more masculine angles to Starscream's features, until he smacked her away.
"Our mothers are twins," he explained, as he had literally tens of millions of times since sparkhood.
"They must both be lovely femmes, then," Megatron remarked, his gaze sweeping up and down Starscream rather than Slipstream. The Seeker frowned, unsure whether to take this as a complement to his mother or an insult to himself.
"Mine is, his was," Slipstream sighed. "Anyway, sorry you had to deal with my cousin. We keep hoping that he'll get a handle on himself one of these days, especially now he's got a sparkling to raise and all."
"My brother," Starscream put in quickly when Megatron's eyebrows shot up. "I'm raising my little brother because someone's mother is too busy being a socialite to do it."
"Why should she? It's not her fault he's an orphan. In fact, if your mom had accepted her invitation to our gala that night, she might still be alive," Slipstream sniffed, and Starscream stared at her with his mouth slightly agape for a moment. She was, in almost every respect, a carbon copy of her mother, and therefore his as well. If she didn't open her mouth, he could almost pretend that they were the same person, but that was always too much to ask for, it seemed.
The awkward silence that had descended on the room was broken a moment later when the door to the examination room opened again, without a knock.
"Slipstream, if you cannot follow instructions, then I will not be bringing you out into the field with me from now on," came another femme's voice, this one deep and musical, even with a touch of impatience in it.
This time, Starscream did turn to acknowledge the tall Grounder who was sweeping across the room toward them.
"Sorry, Director Aerial," Slipstream was saying, her voice suddenly all sweetness and charm. "I was just so worried about my cousin, you know?"
The other femme gave her a look that came as close to saying, "Turbobull scrap" as such a noble face could before sweeping her gaze over the assembled Kaonians.
"So," she said to Megatron, apparently having decided that he was the one in charge. "Would you like to explain to me why one of my investigators is sitting here with three stitches in his head?"
"My good femme, Kaonian doctors have their pride, too. We were hardly going to send him home without stitching him up," Megatron replied, flashing her a slightly crooked grin.
Starscream had known Aerial since long before he'd started working for the Hall of Records (she was a friend of his parents' from all the way back in the days of the Quintesson war), and he in no way thought less of Megatron for faltering a bit under the look that she was giving him now. The gladiator glanced to Outburst, who threw his hands up in a "not my problem" manner, and then to Soundwave, who was busy ignoring the whole scene in favor of testing how far he could bend a tongue depressor before it would snap. Megatron flashed the briefest of glares at him before turning back to Aerial, a slightly more subdued expression on his face now.
"I'm afraid tensions are a little high in our district right now," he said. "And Seekers have never been popular around here except as... Well, they don't get much respect, let's put it that way. In the future, if you need to send someone from your Vossian branch, I would recommend arranging them an escort."
Aerial pursed her lips for a moment, and Starscream could only assume that she was compiling a list in her head of all the 'bots who must have dropped the ball for such a blunder to occur. For now, though, it seemed that her instincts as a cultural investigator superseded whatever else she was feeling, as the next thing she said when she opened her mouth was, "Do the raised tensions have anything to do with these rallies we're trying to investigate?"
"And I'd be more than happy to go into depth about that if you'd be so kind as to send Starscream back here sometime. With appropriate backup, of course," Megatron chuckled, and the Seeker's stomach did a little flip-flop as he realized that Megatron was covering for him. It was supposed to be his job to investigate this area, after all, and the gladiator seemed to have realized that it would do no favors to his career if his boss ended up doing it instead.
Aerial turned and gave Starscream a searching look. "We'll see about that," she declared.
See about what? She sounded like his mother when he asked her for a treat he hadn't earned.
"What if I came to investigate here instead?" Slipstream asked, leaning across the examination table.
"No," Aerial said without looking at her. "How much do we owe you for the medical costs?"
While she and Outburst were arranging the credit transfer, Slipstream took the opportunity to sidle a bit closer to Megatron.
"So," she said, flipping dark hair over her shoulder. "What's a mech like you doing in a place like this?"
"I happen to live here," Megatron replied, regarding her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.
"Well, I suppose real estate must be cheap in the neighborhood, at least. You should give me a tour sometime. I'd love a chance to investigate your quarters—purely for cultural purposes, of course."
"Slipstream!" Starscream hissed, the heat rising in his face as he tugged his cousin away. He couldn't decide whether he was more mortified or jealous of her boldness.
"Oh, loosen up, Screamer," she sniffed, wrenching out of his grip. The pull sent him off balance, and he slid gracelessly from the table, running into Slipstream as he struggled to get his balance. Megatron caught both Seekers before they fell over and righted them as easily as if they'd been dolls.
"As flattered as I am at your interest, I'm afraid my quarters aren't any place for femmes to come visiting," he said, and Slipstream sighed in resignation.
"Well, it was worth a try."
"You two," Aerial called, turning back to them. "Stop making trouble and let's get going."
"She's the only one making trouble," Starscream protested under his breath, and Slipstream elbowed him in the ribs.
Megatron saw them back out to the front of the clinic to wait for their groundbridge to open again, claiming that he wanted to prove that Kaonian etiquette was not dead yet, and when it did, Starscream figured it couldn't hurt to cast just one last glance over his shoulder at the gladiator before he stepped through it. Dark red eyes gazed back at him as Megatron leaned casually against the wall of the building, arms folded across his chest in a way that showed off his thick biceps. He smiled, quirking an eyebrow at the Seeker. Starscream quickly looked away again and let Aerial prod him through the portal. The best things in life always seemed to be just out of his reach.
They came out in the echoing marble expanse of the Hall of Records terminal. Starscream pulled a long cycle of air through his vents, relishing the lack of chemical burn. He'd almost gotten used to it by the time they'd left, but he didn't doubt he'd be feeling it tomorrow.
Aerial raised a hand in greeting to the only other 'bot in the terminal hall—the little Two-wheeler operating the bridge controls—and then rounded on the Seeker behind her.
"Alright, let's hear it, then. Starscream, what did you do?"
He reeled back from her and heard Slipstream snigger slightly. "I didn't do anything!" he protested. "There was just this drunk mech who grabbed me and started yelling, and then someone threw a paving tile at my head!"
"Why did he grab you?"
"Because I walked into him on accident? I dunno. Why would you just assume that it was my fault?"
"I'm not assuming it's your fault, I'm just..." She pinched the bridge of her nose impatiently. "Starscream, I want you to go on leave for a little while," she said after a moment.
He gaped at her. She couldn't put him on leave. He wanted to work—needed to work, needed the distraction from... everything.
Slipstream made a little "uh-oh!" noise, and he rounded on her. "Will you go catalog some datapads or something!?" he snarled.
"I'm an administrative assistant, not an archivist," she sniffed, and then added hurriedly with a glance in Aerial's direction, "Not that there's anything wrong with being an archivist."
"Then go assist with something!"
"You've got next week's assignment schedules to finish before you go home tonight, don't you?" Aerial put in, more diplomatically than Starscream.
Slipstream huffed a cycle of air through her pointed nose before stalking off, the clack of her heels resounding throughout the hall not quite covering Starscream's next words.
"What did I do wrong!?" he demanded, turning back to Aerial.
"I don't think you did anything wrong, Starscream," she assured him. "I just want to find out how you ended up getting sent on this assignment."
"Some idiot didn't do their research right, but I don't see what that has to do with me and my job."
"Two Seekers were murdered in that section of Kaon just within the last six months," Aerial reminded him, lowering her voice. "Any assignments in the area would have been instantly blacklisted for the Vossian branch, but somehow you were specifically requested for this one. I know you're not an idiot, Starscream—think about it."
The Seeker frowned and folded his arms across his chest, starting to see where this was going. "No one cares about the son of a dead Air Commander," he muttered.
It was the one morbid benefit of his parents' death. His father had made a lot of enemies during the millions of years he had served as Air Commander of Vos, and some of those enemies were the sort who thought it wise to do things like dangle the Air Commander's son over a pit of scraplets or threaten to cut his spark out if their demands were not met. It never worked because Air Commander Maelstrom hadn't held his position so long for nothing, but that didn't stop them trying. And it was always Starscream and never Thundercracker because he was the oldest, and therefore considered more valuable, but also because he was much easier to stuff in a box or bag. He had developed a fabulous case of claustrophobia over the years.
But now his father was dead, and the current Air Commander didn't give two slags what happened to him, so he'd thought all of that was behind him.
"On the contrary," Aerial sighed, "there are quite a few 'bots out there who are less than pleased that your parents' deaths were a complete and total accident that none of them can claim credit for. It's possible some of them would like to make a grab at whatever chance they can get to destroy Air Commander Maelstrom's legacy, though I confess this is almost a refreshingly creative approach to the matter."
"I don't see why that means I have to go on leave," he said, hunching his shoulders up a bit. "They could just as easily target me at home as they could on the job."
"Because if this was intentional, then whoever's doing it is at work," she pointed out. "Just for a few weeks. I'll have Jazz look into it; you know if there's anything to find out, he'll find it. And you can use the time to work things out a bit more with Skywarp."
She smiled at the look of surprise that he gave her. "You might never bother to call, but I do talk to Thundercracker sometimes," she explained. "He said you're having trouble adjusting to each other."
"Tell me about it," Starscream groaned. "I never want my own sparklings after this."
He regretted it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He knew that Aerial herself wanted her own sparklings very much, and he also knew that the only one she and her conjunx had ever managed to conceive had died two months before it was due to be born. However, as this was something he only knew because he'd overheard his and Slipstream's mothers gossiping about it once, he could see no tactful way to apologize for the faux pas.
"Well, anyway," he coughed, "I'll, uh... I'll take the leave, if it makes you feel better."
"Thank you," she said, sounding sincere.
"And I'd better be going now, so..." He started edging his way back toward the groundbridge.
"Will I see you at Governor Sweetrock's birthday gala this weekend?"
As a matter of fact, he had been planning to avoid the occasion like a Cosmic Rust quarantine facility. It was bound to be full of mechs and femmes who thought they knew him just because they'd known his parents and who all wanted to offer their condolences on his loss and ask him about how he was getting on and make suggestions about how he could be getting on better. Most of which would probably involve commenting on the fact that he had yet to show interest in taking any of their daughters as a mate.
"I'll be watching Skywarp," he said, reflecting that there might be a positive side to having a sparkling in his life after all.
Aerial looked like she was about to find some way to remove this obstacle for him, and he was saved her good intentions by a sudden tone that sounded from his external comm link. He dug it out of his pocket, and his eyebrows drew together as he saw the frequency for Skywarp's school director flashing across the ID screen.
Primus, this day.
It was a few minutes after the groundbridge had disappeared before Megatron became aware of Soundwave's presence at his elbow.
"What," Soundwave said, with a tad more expression in his voice than usual, "was that?"
"What was what?" Megatron asked, his face all blank innocence.
The screen of Soundwave's mask flickered slightly, and a recording of Megatron's own voice started playing, quoting the line from Song of Solus, followed by the words "...must both be lovely femmes, then."
"Oh, hush! It's not like I was serious," the gladiator huffed, putting a hand over the mask and pushing Soundwave away.
"Suggestion," Soundwave intoned, grabbing hold of the hand on his face before he toppled over. "Megatron researches more modern methods of flirting if he intends to court younglings." There was almost a note of amusement in his voice.
"He wasn't a youngling, and since when were you an expert on the matter?" Megatron demanded, starting to walk away down the street. "Come on. As you've been telling me for the past hour-and-a-half, we have a rally to run. If anyone's still there." Soundwave lingered at the bottom of the stairs for the briefest of moments before following.
In any other city-state, the idea of having an academy just for sparklings would have been laughable (when would there ever be enough of them at one time to make it worthwhile?), but as Seekers had a unique tendency to sync their biological processes on something of a society-wide basis, newsparks came to them in waves instead of the drips and drabbles of other Cybertronian races. So it was that back during the Golden Age, the Vossian Senate had seen fit to create The Academy for Healthy Sparkling Development, where the progeny of high caste Seekers could spend their early days learning basic skills while surrounded by the peers they would later navigate the ins and outs of high society with for millennia to come.
The mech placed in charge of this academy was one Torrent, a scientist of no particular note who still spent the times in between these waves of newsparks lecturing at universities around the planet. Before this appointment, Torrent had always been a lingerer on the fringes of the upper caste, taking far more notice in the goings on of his peers than they ever did in him, and he was resigned to that. What did a scientist need with popularity, after all? But as caretaker to the progeny of the movers and shakers of Vos, he gradually began to find his position shifting.
Many of these youngsters had lingering feelings of obligation and respect toward their old schoolmaster, and were more than ready to show it. Suddenly, he was getting invites to all the best parties, finding crates of the finest high grade sent to his home on special occasions, and there was always a choice seat reserved for him at the theaters and concert halls. Furthermore, his opinions became valued in the political arena, and it seemed that hardly a decision was passed through the Senate or one of the Councils that did not have his word of approval on it.
The fact that he had never imagined a life of such prestige for himself did not prevent Torrent from taking intense delight in it now that he had it, and as time went on, he began to regard each little mech or femme that passed through his care as something of a prized possession, insurance for the continuation of his ease. Each time one of the nobles reproduced, he rejoiced in the knowledge that here was another corner of their society that he could soon expect to gather under his wings, especially when said noble was someone truly of note like the High Chancellor, or the head of the Flight Academy, or the Air Commander, for instance.
It was a pity, really, that Maelstrom's oldest son had ended up a scientist instead of the military prodigy Torrent was hoping for, but the second son seemed to be shaping up well enough and now that he had a third shot... Well. There was a reason that Torrent had not expelled Skywarp from the Academy, regardless of how many parents had suggested in varying degrees of urgency that it was the only appropriate response to his recent behavior. After all, what was dealing with a disgruntled film star or scientist compared to the potential that the sparkling presented?
He should have known that it would only be a matter of time before the wretched little thing pissed off a parent who wasn't so easy to dismiss.
"Do you have any idea how much trauma this is going to cause her!? A young femme's hair is her life, you know! How could you let this happen!?" Senator Liftright demanded, a long braid of light pink hair clutched in her hand like a saber. Behind her, her daughter, Brightsky, was sunk low in her chair, looking bored more than upset as she fingered her freshly chopped locks.
"Senator.." Torrent tried to cut in, but she wasn't finished.
"I want some kind of retribution—no, I demand it! How do you intend to make him compensate for this!?" She swung the braid toward the purple-haired sparkling slumped in another chair, who was picking at the warp inhibitor clamped to his wrist and scowling resolutely at the floor.
Torrent was saved having to think of any answer to the senator's demands when the door of his office burst open and Starscream came storming into the room, splattered in dried energon and wafting the acrid fumes of Kaon in his wake. He spared the briefest of looks in his brother's direction (Skywarp had stopped picking at his bracelet in favor of staring in slack-jawed amazement at this much-more-interesting-than-usual version of Starscream) before drawing up beside Liftright and folding his arms pointedly across his chest.
"Well?" he demanded after several seconds of silence had stretched between them.
Liftright finally stopped staring at him and made a derisive noise in her throat. "I suppose this is what's to be expected when one sparkling is allowed to raise another," she muttered, as though Starscream were not standing two feet away from her.
The usual diplomacy of high society would dictate that Starscream pretend he hadn't heard her and that the two of them continue making passive-aggressive comments at each other for the remainder of the meeting before eventually pretending to come to an arrangement of sorts and parting ways with nothing solved but at least enough points scored against each other to call it a day. It was a game he had played countless times before, but today, he was tired, his head was pounding, he knew he looked and smelled like scrap, and he had already been embarrassed and humiliated beyond what he could normally tolerate in an entire week.
"Senator," he spat, an almost manic glint in his eye. "How is the weather in Praxis this time of year?"
Liftright's eyes widened, then narrowed to almost slits as she tilted her head back to look down her nose at him. Young as he was, Starscream held an upper edge on most in the social games of high society thanks to the combined forces of an overly nosy aunt and an incredibly observant mother, both of whom had always been surprisingly ready to confide things in him. As an avid follower of the nobility's gossip himself, Torrent watched the two of them like a spectator at a lob-ball match, dying to know what could possibly be happening in Praxis. Bribes? Embezzlement? Or something more juicy, like a third player in Liftright's sparkbond?
"You don't frighten me," the Senator hissed after a moment.
"No? Allow me to fix that," the younger Seeker snapped, and Torrent found himself suddenly leaning across his desk in an attempt to get some part of his body between the two of them. As much as he'd like to hear this, the looks Starscream and Liftright were giving each other had made him painfully aware that, current functions aside, both of them came from prominent military families, and some of the decorations in his office were irreplaceable. Not to mention, there were still sparklings in the room.
"Now, now," he said in his most soothing voice. "This is about Skywarp and Brightsky, not... Praxis—" Liftright shot him a withering look "—so why don't we show them how adults settle their differences, hmm?"
Both adults looked like they were about to give him a few colorful suggestions of their own, but then Liftright drummed her fingers on his desk a couple of times, huffed a cycle of air through her nose, and sank into the seat beside her daughter. A moment later, Starscream followed suit. Torrent fixed all of them with a benevolent smile before turning to Skywarp, who was still staring at his brother like he'd sprouted an extra set of arms.
"Skywarp, would you like to start us off by explaining to your brother what happened today?"
Skywarp quickly looked away as Starscream's eyes snapped to him and sighed dramatically. He was well-used to this procedure and had long since discovered that coming out with the truth from the beginning was the least painful course of action. "I cut off Brightsky's hair," he muttered, and then added quickly, "But she asked me to!"
"Did not!" the little femmling screeched at him.
"Did too!"
"Did not!"
"Did—"
Starscream snapped his fingers under his brother's nose, and Skywarp stopped mid-sentence. Torrent suppressed a smile as the image of Starscream's mother doing the same to him surfaced from the dregs of his memory files.
"I only said you could cut a little, butt-brain!" Brightsky concluded, sticking her tongue out.
"Watch your language!" Liftright snapped.
"Well, there you have it: she gave him permission, so no harm, no foul," Starscream put in, tapping an impatient finger on his arm. "Are we done here, then?"
"No, we are most certainly not!" the senator shrieked. "She's a sparkling! She doesn't know what she wants, and even so, she said a little bit, and he chopped off the entire braid! How is that consensual?"
"You'd know better than I."
Again, Liftright's eyes went wide, and this time, they did not narrow.
Oo. Something really juicy was happening in Praxis. Sadly, Torrent's professional obligations prevented him from letting the conversation continue down that path.
"Senator, you and Brightsky are free to leave now," he said quickly.
She looked for a moment like she wanted to protest—doubtless she had some choice words left to throw at her opponent—but suddenly the tension left her shoulders and she rose to her feet.
"I'll see you around, Starscream," she hissed before taking her daughter's hand and pulling her along out of the office.
Starscream muttered something that sounded a bit like, "Not if I see you first," as the door slammed shut behind her, and then turned to Torrent.
"Okay, let's get this over with," he sighed. "What'll it be this time? Letter of apology? Community service?"
"But I didn't do anything wrong!" Skywarp wailed from beside him.
"Then we wouldn't be here, now would we?" Starscream returned.
"You're a glitch head, Star!"
"Use language like that again and I'll wash your mouth with solvent when we get home!"
"Don't you dare! I'll... I'll... throw your books in the pool, aft-breath!"
"Go for it; they're all waterproof."
"Alien face!"
"Midget!"
"Crooked wings!"
Torrent watched the juvenile argument progress without comment; it served perfectly to illustrate the point he was about to make. When Skywarp climbed on top of his chair and Starscream rose to his feet to regain his height advantage, though, the director finally cleared his throat pointedly.
"Skywarp," he said as both brothers turned to glare at him. "Why don't you go wait with the receptionist? I'm sure she can get you a drawing pad if you ask her nicely."
Starscream sputtered protests as the sparkling hopped off of his chair and disappeared through the office door.
"You know he's just gonna think that I'm the one getting punished now, right?" he hissed, and the older Seeker smiled slightly.
"I'm not going to beat around the bush with you, Starscream, because I recall you were always quite bright."
Crimson eyes narrowed, and Starscream slowly sank back into his chair.
"The thing is," Torrent continued, "Senator Liftright is not the only one who has suggested you might be... less than suited to raising your brother."
No response other than a livid stare.
"Now, I realize that you yourself are going through quite a bit right now—"
"There is nothing wrong," the Seeker's voice was icy cold, "with my mental state, if that's what you are implying."
"It is normal to experience some instability after a significant loss, and there are those who think you have not taken sufficient measures to deal with it." As he was not suicidal, Torrent neglected to mention that he was one of these.
"And what right do any of them have to tell me how to deal with it?" Starscream's voice started to rise.
"Look," Torrent said, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible, "if you want to keep custody of your brother, then I suggest you start seeing a family therapist, and possibly a personal one, too. This would convince people that you are at least making an effort, and who knows? Maybe it will actually help."
"Is that all?"
Torrent pulled a holocard from his desk and flicked it across to him. "That's the card for a highly respected facility in the upper East end. They're very confidential."
The younger Seeker scowled at the little rectangle of light for a moment, a muscle twitching in his jaw, before pushing it aside and rising to his feet.
"I'll figure it out on my own," he said. "Good day, Director."
Starscream left the office to find Skywarp had apparently not felt like asking the receptionist politely, and was now kneeling on a chair by the reception room window, busy drawing what looked like mushroom clouds in the fog he had huffed onto the glass. The sparkling turned around with a mischievous grin on his face when he heard his brother come out.
"You got yelled at by the director," he said in a low, gleeful voice.
"I did not. We were just talking about you," Starscream lied. "Now, let's get going. We'll talk more about this when we get home."
"Why do you smell like a dead turbo roach?" Skywarp demanded as he hopped down from the chair, doubtless referring to the scent of Kaon that still clung to his brother.
"Why do you know what a dead turbo roach smells like? Are you a professional turbo roach sniffer now?" Starscream shot back, and the smile slipped off the sparkling's face.
"No," he mumbled.
"Well, you must be if you know that. Huh, roach sniffer?"
"Don't call me a roach sniffer!" Skywarp demanded, voice rising.
"Then don't tell me I smell like one! Come on, let's go." He grabbed the pouting sparkling's hand and began tugging him toward the door, trying to ignore the scandalized look the receptionist was giving him.
