Author Note:- Sorry about the delay. Sadly, my hard drive frazzled out and, at the moment of writing this, all the data saved on it was lost. Most of it, thankfully, was replaceable or backed up; my unfinished chapters of Salvation were neither, so I have had to rewrite most of this.

However, on a brighter note, Illucien deserves a mention because she has drawn me some fanart! I'm really chuffed about that. The link has gone up on my profile page, please check it out if you have the time.

Salvation

Chapter 4

"It's really quite beautiful here, don't you think?" Beachcomber took a moment to stare approvingly over the surrounding city from his vantage point near the top of the live volcano the three Autobots had landed on. At mid afternoon, the sun having slid past its zenith, the white plaster of the houses caught an almost golden light, glowing with ethereal brightness. Earth really was full of surprises. "What did you say this place was called again?"

"Um," after checking through his databanks for relevant information, Perceptor offered an answer, "Napoli, I think it was."

The third member of their expedition, the tall white Cybertronian shuttle Skyfire, looked up, having just transformed after carrying his two smaller friends from the crashed Ark in the American desert. "Really? I thought it was called Naples?"

"Hmm, I think it depends what language you're speaking."

"Well, I'm speaking Cybertronian, what language are you speaking?"

Perceptor went to answer, but then he saw the playful smirk that was lingering on Skyfire's honest face, and he caught himself, realising he was being wound up. He buffeted the larger robot with one grey hand in mock-irritation. "Oh, you big lump, you know perfectly well what I mean!"

"Haha, I got you though." At the gentle tease, both Skyfire and Beachcomber dissolved into hearty laughter. The milder Perceptor was not sure which was more audible, Skyfire's booming laugh, which made the very ground beneath his feet shake, or Beachcomber's deep resonating chuckle.

"Come on," the red-bodied microscope chided patiently, his nervousness dispelling his light-hearted bickering as he started his ascent closer to the crater of the great volcano. The stench of sulphur lingering around his olfactory sensors, becoming more pronounced as he neared the mouth of the volcano, "we'd best get these measurements done, I don't want to be here any longer than necessary. We're at serious risk."

"Risk?" Beachcomber queried blankly as he started to periodically stab measuring devices into the earth as they neared the edge of the caldera caused by a previous devastating eruption. "What risk?"

"We have no military backup. The Decepticons -"

"Aren't a threat to us," Skyfire cut in with a shrug, distracted as he began to rapidly scribble on a datapad that was swamped by his huge hand. "They don't know we're here."

"Won't we show up on their satellite?" Perceptor pressed, knowing full well that the Decepticons knew of the survey and wanting to warn his fellows without telling them of his betrayal outright.

"Doubtful." Skyfire shrugged again. "Their satellite system probably isn't quite as advanced as ours, what with them being underwater and known enemies of the humans. Besides, they'll be focussed on America. Italy is of no consequence."

Perceptor nipped at his lower lip, concerned; they still didn't realise the danger they were in, but he couldn't do anything more to warn them without sounding suspicious. And what was more, he hadn't heard a thing from Starscream since the abrupt cut-off of all communication, both from the bond and their custom-installed link. It was eating his spark with worry.

Because he'd had a sensation not dissimilar to having his arm ripped off, just before the links had been cut. It had been an intense pain detection in his left side, overwhelming but somewhat muted, as though from far away – and then all channelled input had gone dead. Was Starscream -

"Hmm, what do you think, Perceptor?" Skyfire called over, peering down into the crater from the opposite ridge. Perceptor straightened up in surprise; he hadn't been paying any attention to his scientific colleagues.

"Ehm... what do I think about what?" He queried, as nonchalantly as he could. Thankfully, Skyfire just shook his head in amusement, gently chastising the smaller mech for his apparent lack of social grace.

"Honestly, present you with something interesting and you forget all about the rest of us." He chuckled affectionately. "I was asking about siphoning the geothermal energy. That was what you proposed, wasn't it?"

"Oh? Ah, yes, yes, that's right -" Vents humming in mild embarrassment at his own absent-mindedness, Perceptor checked the readings that Beachcomber had gathered and compared it with data in his own recall centres. "Hmm, there's potential for tapping the energy, but, ehm, it could just aggravate the volcano and accelerate the next catastrophic pyroclastic surge."

The analysis was interrupted by a faint but distinct rumble, at first not dissimilar from the seismic disquiet just before an earthquake, yet another phenomenon of this new world. At first, it seemed as though the volcano was greeting them by warning of an imminent explosion, but then it became apparent that the vibrations were from some distance away, coming closer. All three of the Autobots looked towards the west, their sensors pinpointing that as the location the sound was emanating from.

Perceptor's spark sank in his chest. That wasn't seismic activity. Those sounded like -

Engines.

And sure enough, there on the horizon, were five indistinct dots in the air, growing larger at an alarming rate. Beachcomber shouted a warning as the shapes came close enough to be recognised.

Oh frag!

The curse had barely formed in his mind before the first gunfire tore up the side of the mountain. He distinctly made out Megatron's form flying over him, as well as the usual strike force of jets – the dark blue, the dark red and the two black – but Starscream was conspicuously absent.

Heated purple beams singed the sides of his chassis and scattered the dirt at his feet, driving him further back towards the mouth of the crater. He heard an explosion from his right, but could not pay it any attention as he tried to dodge yet another shot, almost falling backwards down the slope of volcanic slurry.

"Perceptor!" Beachcomber was calling out to him, beckoning towards Skyfire – intelligent, quick-thinking Skyfire, who had already had the presence of mind to gather up as much of their equipment as he could and transform into his huge shuttle mode, offering them a quick escape route. But he was too far away for Perceptor to get too – somehow, he had ended up on the opposite side of the crater mouth.

Seeing there was no way he could make it to Skyfire, and not wanting Beachcomber to wait for him, he microscope signalled for the little geologist to get himself to safety as the strike force banked around for another shot at destruction.

All he could think about was getting away from the caldera. The grit was sliding, the footing unsure, and Megatron was apparently taking great pleasure in aiming at the ground by him, just short of his heels, forcing him to keep moving; if this carried on much longer, the scree would give way, and he would fall into the volcano...

And where the slag was Starscream? Why wasn't he here, joining in the attack? Had Megatron -

The microscope dove away from the edge of the cliff, landing running, with the vague intention of fleeing to Syfire, though by now the shuttle had been forced to take off to try and avoid the hostile fire that peppered all around him.

One of the shots singed the white scientist's wing, taking him by surprise and drawing a cry from him as he spiralled downwards, out of control. Perceptor averted his optics from the falling flier and forced himself to keep running as he felt gunfire tearing up the metal at the backs of his legs, Megatron still not aiming to kill.

At the shot that penetrated the back of his knee and pierced through the joint, the weakened metal gave out and he fell, sliding some way down the mountainside before grinding to a halt. The worn igneous gravel scratched at his exostructure, and he hazily focussed his optics down the slope. The city didn't look so beautiful now.

Part of him gave up, right there, as he felt the stones chip into him. He couldn't run any more; all neural relay to his legs was shutting down and his energy reserves were too low. Starscream was dead, there could be no other explanation for his total absence, and he had betrayed his friends and possibly killed them too – had Beachcomber been with Skyfire when he was shot down? Had Skyfire survived the fall?

Primus, he felt so wretched and cowardly. How many times had he sworn to himself that he would be as brave as the best Autobot? That he would make himself as useful as he possibly could for the cause he knew he believed in? And yet he had sold out that very same cause because the fear of losing one Decepticon had overpowered his logic processor. He'd lost Starscream anyway.

It was only part of him that doubted. The rest of him grit his teeth in determination; he'd come too far and survived too much to give up now. Even if his legs didn't work any more, his light cannon certainly did!

He rolled onto his back when he heard something land behind him, a hand flying up to the cylindrical weapon on his shoulder to aim it should needs be -

"Come on, hurry!" It was Skyfire, still in shuttle mode; apart from the carbon scoring on his wings and the blackened hull, he didn't at all look injured. Perceptor stared in surprise, but, before he could ask how his taller friend had survived the nosedive he had been in after being shot, Skyfire was speaking again, rapid and urgent. "We've got to get out of here!"

The hatch to the shuttle's hold opened and Beachcomber, sparking slightly but not badly hurt, hurried out, helping the struggling red microscope to his feet and supporting him into the safety of the larger scientist. Skyfire took to the air as soon as the ramp retracted and the compartment closed. No sooner than his taking to the air was the very spot he had been parked torn up with laser fire.

With a burst from his boosters, the Cybertronian craft sped towards the stratosphere, the surprise action earning him a head start over the pursuing jets, a burning trail of air behind him as he fled the Decepticon ambush.

O

Thundercracker stared impassively at the unmoving figure on the operating table as Hook, muttering irritably to himself, started the gruelling process of repairs.

The light blue jet, rather than joining the strike force, had been left behind at the Decepticon base with orders to guard Starscream. He didn't really understand the logic behind the order.

Starscream didn't need guarding. There wasn't really anything left to guard.

When Thundercracker had, as per Megatron's command, gone to stand guard outside the cell that the merciless leader had dumped his broken lieutenant in, Starscream had barely been conscious, operating more on instinct than on any voluntary action.

It had been shocking, the state that Starscream was in. He was a terrible mess. When Thundercracker had arrived and looked in at him, his optics had widened in disbelief and disgust at the state that Megatron had left his officer. His energon converter had clenched and lurched most unpleasantly; he'd never before seen such an obvious example of psychological torture.

Starscream had been kneeling on the ground, clutching his own dismembered wing to him tightly, his lips resting near the top edge in a gruesome parody of a kiss. He was seemingly fighting down tremours of terror. Perhaps even more disturbingly, the proud, glowing red eyes had gone, replaced by the optic wires spilling down his cheeks like torrents of human tears, dripping with stray rivulets of energon.

At hearing his wingmate's footsteps stop outside the cell, Starscream's fuselage had jerked slightly, he turned his head towards the blue seeker's general direction - though he was off by quite a bit, gazing sightlessly to the left of Thundercracker's actual position as he spoke. His voice had been uncharacteristically quiet, utterly subdued and totally submissive.

"Megatron," he'd whimpered, a sob in his vocal emulator choking his words, "I'm sorry, p-please don't leave me here..."

And, though he held no real like for his arrogant and disagreeable commander, Thundercracker had felt his spark wrench in sympathy at the piteous display.

It was truly sickening - not only at the extremes Megatron would go to when dealing punishment to his soldiers, but at the lengths that Starscream apparently went to in order to invite such punishment. And it was sickening too, seeing the fate of the aloof and proud officer, reduced to such a helpless state...

If Thundercracker had been the type, he would have said to his commander, "I told you so, I told you Megatron was out for your blood,"... but he was not so cruel, and, instead, after as gently as he could telling Starscream that he was not Megatron, silently went about his duty as a guard.

Then, less than a cycle later, while the strike force was still away from the sunken starship, Megatron's voice had come in over the radio, crackling with static but still clear and audible.

"See to it that Starscream is fully repaired, if he is still alive."

By the time that Thundercracker had acknowledged the curt order, lowered the energy bars of the cell and picked his blinded commander up, the other seeker had fully lost his consciousness. Even so, one hand still tightly held that lifeless wing. Thundercracker could not pry it away for the life of him.

Even now, as Starscream lay unresponsive on Hook's operating table, neither the Constructicon nor the seeker could coax the comatose jet to let go of his broken limb. Hook had quickly lost patience with it, unhappy as he was with constantly having to repair Starscream after Megatron's punishments, and had given up trying to force the blue hand open, instead busying himself with replacing the destroyed optics.

Thundercracker stood silently, watching the repairs, occasionally handing Hook a component or device whenever it was asked for. Though he was not at all fond of Starscream, he did find himself wanting to do more to help, if only because he could see, as vividly as if he was still there staring at the grisly scene, the beaten officer kneeling in a darkened cell, hugging his own torn-off limb to him and kissing it as though it was giving him some scant comfort.

The blue jet forced himself to think back to the last time that Starscream had been in a state anywhere near this – that time almost immediately after Skyfire's defection from the Decepticons. It had been said, while the air commander was undergoing repairs, that the state of his aviation circuits was too far gone to ever be fully repaired. Everyone had been certain that Starscream would not fly again. When he had regained consciousness, Starscream had not spoken to anyone for orns – he had just sat and stared at exactly the same spot until the need to recharge had forced him to move.

And yet he had made a full recovery. If anything, he had become even more obnoxious and infuriatingly difficult to be around. That meant there was a good chance of this whole incident also being rapidly forgotten. There was nothing to worry about; Starscream would be back soon, and then everyone would be back to wishing that Megatron would just shoot him through the head and be done with it.

Already, Hook had finished installing one of the new optics and had moved on to the second. Thundercracker tried to stop questioning his loyalty to Megatron. It would not do to be doubted as much as their devious, wayward air commander was.

O

Starscream stared up at the purple of the ceiling above him. The surgical light, which was intense focussed white light, caught it at just the wrong angle, sending a dazzling glared into his eyes, though he didn't really seem to register this as he continued to gaze blankly upwards.

It took him almost a breem to gather his senses together and to fully realise where he was and why he was there.

Then, in one horrible rush, it all came back. Punishment, pain, the penetrating, all-consuming blackness, seeping into his joints, into his mouth, into his eyes, killing him slowly...

He had his sight back, then. He'd survived – not that he really remembered how. There had been someone else there; he distinctly remembered being in someone's arms, though he thought he might have dreamed it, as the memory was hazy and surreal, full of abstract images and that same faceless mech. It hadn't been Megatron. He didn't think it had been any of the Decepticons – but then, he couldn't be sure. He felt sure that he had dreamed it anyway.

The fingers of his left hand closed about something cold and crumpled. Weakly, he brought it up into his line of sight to see what it was, though not once turning his head.

And he recognised it as his wing. It was definitely his wing. But he clearly felt the neural response from both of his wings, connected to his fuselage, so that meant that his missing limb had been replaced too. It was definitely his wing that he held. There were even the three parallel scratches over the Decepticon symbol, put there by an Autobot... by Perceptor.

Perceptor...?

The last of Starscream's processors clicked back into place. Perceptor, the Autobot scientist, brilliant in academia but hopeless in most social interactions.

His pet. His bondmate. The cause of all this punishment. The comfort that he had seen holding him in his blindness. The weakness in his impenetrable defences. The cure for his isolation.

And, undeniably, the only robot who would arch himself deliciously beneath Starscream, the only one who would willingly moan the seeker's name in pleasure, still the only one who would consent to scream on command without having to be beaten into it.

Starscream cringed without a reason.

The door to Hook's medical bay slammed open. Though the seeker still did not turn his head, he could see, out of the corner of his optics, that it was Megatron who stood there, smirking in that way that could chill any warrior to the core.

"I misjudged you." Sneered the gun-transformer, stepping in to the surgery and staring down at his lieutenant, who remained unresponsive. "Using the Autobot as an information source was a stroke of brilliance. I did not expect such a thing from you."

One black finger trailed down a seam on the dark face, for no reason other than to cause discomfort and to assert dominance. Starscream's epidermal metal seemed almost to crawl away from the touch, a fleeting grimace flitting across the grey lips, and Megatron's optics flared sadistically at his successfully provoking a response from his recovering officer.

"You were accurate about the Autobot activity to the east." The tyrant continued. "But I am confining you to your quarters until further notice. You will go straight there after Hook has verified that you are in full working order. I refuse to have such blatant insubordination in my army, Starscream. Let this be a lesson to you. I will tolerate no more of your stupid games."

"... Yes, Megatron." His voice hurt to use, the circuits somehow grating against each other as they shifted back into their proper place after his loud and endless shrieks for mercy, but his survival instinct kicked in and told him that it would only hurt more if he didn't use it.

"As for the Autobot, you are not to meet him without my express permission."

Sluggishly, Starscream coaxed himself to nod once in acquiescence; he couldn't even think of disobeying at that moment.

"You have my orders. Make sure they are obeyed. There will be no more chances." Megatron turned his back and stalked out of the medical bay, leaving his lieutenant lying rigid and still. The seeker gazed unseeingly at the deep violet of the ceiling, wanting a grey hand to run across his cheek in comfort at the same time as fighting down the urge to expel fluids from his energon converter at the thought of anyone touching him.