Chapter 7

Hey Tweedledumb,

Cut. It. Out! Besides, we both know if either of us is Arnold, it's me.

Yeah, I figured you switched some of out paint when I ended up with red biceps this morning while giving myself a touch-up coating you idiot. I'd kill you myself if I was there with you. Luckily, I managed to smooth it out the coloring. A few stripes of your color in that area make for a nice highlight against my own gold, so maybe I'll just maim you when I get back instead or you get here. Seriously, there is no way that half-aft "operation" of yours is going to work. Part of your job while I'm away is to keep yourself in one piece remember. If you don't, if you think you know my anger now, it isn't a fraction of what it will be then. But if a certain security chief and cavalier go offline in the meantime, you know I won't say a word. And you'd better make sure that gun of mine is in working order when I see you again, or I just might keep this piece of junk you call a flare gun for myself.

Y'know who I'm planning to kill? The civilian council and all the slaggin' Neutrals on this base and any slaggin' sympathizers that coddle to them pretending this war isn't theirs! Maybe I should thank you for the red paint actually. I may even keep these new highlights of mine. But I'm sure you want to hear all about how I came to that conclusion. You know how much I hate bad fashion and how red and gold are the height of complementary. In fact, red goes well with just about anything in a way purple never does. But you know what I hate even worse than purple – smeltering pieces of scrap who don't wear a faction symbol at all!

Ultra Magnus's meetings you dread so much couldn't even fill a drop in the smelter pig of slag that is one of Emirate Xaaron's…


From the personal log of CMO Ratchet:

It's times like this I hate my slaggin' job when I want is a good recharge. My days have turned into an endless blur of datapads and repairs. I'm still no closer to making more progress on that new database than I was a month ago and I'm not the only one stretched to the limit. My staff is just as exhausted and Iacon's energon resources are straining to support everyone. Between Autobot forces and Neutral refugees it's only a matter of time before something gives. We need more energy or we're not going to last when the Decepticons try for an all out assault. With Iacon being the last stronghold of resistance, it's also only a matter of time before they attack. So occasionally the tedium of my tiring schedule gets spiced up with a meeting such as the one to discuss that very energy problem, set up by Emirate Xaaron, the Autobot liaison to the Neutral Civilian Council.

The next few hours were spent hearing Neutral leaders make their case while we Autobot department heads listened and gave our own reports about energon allotment and needs. I don't remember half of what they said as I reviewed in my processor all the medical points I had to make for my own report before I spoke. My own tired state made it hard to concentrate on anything else.

It amazed me how many Neutrals still resided on Cybertron as so had left over the millennia to avoid the war all together. Those that were left truly were the dregs of society, the neediest and the most desperate. They truly needed the energon we could provide. But it put none of us Autobots in a good mood to be cursed out for bringing the war upon them with one breath and demanding protection from us the next. Sacred medical duty had my spark going out to anyone, but I still resented the hypocrisy of their statements. War had spread despite our best efforts to contain it. Too often we weren't given a choice whether to fight or die. How these Neutrals managed to avoid it or lived in denial of it truly amazed me sometimes.

Still, I'd seen plenty of humans with the same ability to forget the giant robot battles they'd just seen due to shock. But it feels different back home. It's one thing when we towering aliens bring a war to a world like Earth that the humans have no part in. On Cybertron, it's about our people's future. You'd think the choice of living under freedom of oppression would matter. Then again, for those who lived with nothing to begin with, maybe it didn't seem to matter as much when your only priority is where you will find your next energon cube. Faction, species, they mean nothing when their on my operating table. I will do nothing less than my best for any of my patients. Yet, I can't help believe that the side I have chosen in this war is right and just. The Autobot code and my medical code are one in the same – to protect and do no harm, or if I must, do the action that will save the most lives.

We are here to find a solution and all of us have our varying opinions on the matter, each given our chance to speak. My roommate's viewpoint made himself a center of attention, though perhaps not for the reasons he would prefer.

"I say we let the Neutrals fend for themselves. We own them nothing!"

This set about a series of murmurs around the room. Half the Neutral council was too shocked to protest while the other half were more than willing to do so. Maybe it said something that none of us from theArkwere surprised were surprised by Sunstreaker's suggestion. Approved it? Certainly not! I could see Ironhide's deep scowl and Prowl's neutral expression as he tapped the index tips of his steepled fingers together. But Sunstreaker was giving his report from the point of view of a frontline warrior. Sunstreaker was Sunstreaker and we didn't expect him to be anything else by now. We'd all grown used to it maybe too much as some of the expressions of those from Magnus's had left in charge until our arrival carried expressions much more in line with the Neutrals themselves. Highbrow was the most vocal.

"So you suggest we just ignore our sacred duty as Autobots to defend these bots that need our help? Such an action would make me ashamed to wear my insignia." Highbrow pointed to his Autobot symbol and puffed out his chest to make his point. The words were honest but they held an irritating superior tone letting Sunstreaker know how little he thought of him. From Sunstreaker's ice blue gaze, the feeling was mutual.

"They've had four million years to pick a side." Sunstreaker emphasized each word in almost a growl. "If the Neutrals don't know enough by now to side with us, they deserve whatever the Decepticons do to them. The energon supply of our soldiers and weapons shouldn't be sacrificed on those who contribute absolutely nothing to Iacon's defense!"

There was another round of gasps and protests. The Neutral leaders looked about ready to riot. Sunstreaker smirked as if to get any strong reaction out of bots who called themselves "neutral" was a good thing in his mind. He certainly got a reaction out of Highbrow again.

"Can you believe this talk? He addressed the council room at large. He spread his arms in an appeal to both Neutral and Autobot leaders. Cerebros eyed Sunstreaker warily. Optimus remained unreadable behind his faceplate but his brow ridge creased. "If you really have such barbarian feelings, why don't you just join the Decepticons?"

Sunstreaker's optics narrowed at the insult. The look he gave Highbrow was positively murderous. When he spoke, his voice was low with barely controlled fury.

"Don't ever question my allegiance!"

But Highbrow was either ignorant or didn't care about the warning signs. "How can I not? When only a Decepticon could talk like that!"

"You should be more worried if I fight like one!" Sunstreaker made a motioning gesture with his hand signaling he was ready to engage in combat right then and there.

Highbrow straightened indignantly at the gesture as if Sunstreaker's action only further drove his point home. But he balled his fists ready to retaliate if Sunstreaker attacked as questioning voices started to rise around the room. Slaggin' idiots! I tried to brace myself for the possibility of repair damage as I felt a headache coming on.

"Enough!"

At this, all in the room, including Sunstreaker and Highbrow turned to acknowledge the command of their Prime.

"That means sit down an' shut up!" Ironhide added on his own authority as security chief when some in the room were slow to comply.

Highbrow and Sunstreaker continued to eye each other while many Neutral counselors who'd been on the verge of rioting viewed Sunstreaker warily. Finally, the two returned to their seats, but before sitting, Sunstreaker turned to Prime with a serious look and said, "My opinion was asked for. That's what I gave."

Optimus responded with a respectful nod.

"Besides," Sunstreaker fixed Highbrow with a smirk. "Purple isn't my color. I prefer red." He motioned to his own highlights on his Autobot symbol and biceps, the latter of which I don't recall noticing before. I only remembered a lot of swearing from my roommate earlier that morning, I'd been too busy with my datapads to pay attention.

Highbrow glared but said nothing as her was getting his own stern looks from Cerebros and Hardhead to keep his mouth shut for a while. Sunstreaker remained quiet for the rest of the session as well. Prime assured the Neutrals they would not be turned away. Yet, there was something in Sunstreaker's worlds that rang true that the other Autobots expressed concern over. Could there be anything the Neutrals could do to pull their own weight around Iacon? The subject was long debated just like the energy shortage and while there were many suggestions made, when the meeting was over we were no closer to solving anything than when we'd begun. Slaggin' waste of time. The only thing I'd succeeded in was getting that headache I feared.

A few hours later we got word that another city-state had fallen. I needed to recharge before they came or I wouldn't be of use to anyone. More refugees, both Autobots and Neutrals were expected to arrive before the next solar cycle was out and here we were still debating amongst ourselves. I caught a glance my roommate's faceplate upon hearing the news, a cold and dark mask behind which contained barely restrained rage at the 'Cons. For once, I couldn't help but share that expression. The enemy was getting closer and we were running out of time.


Personal log, MO First Aid:

It was all my fault. I know it was. I mean, Ratchet left me in charge right. He'd been working so hard and he trusted me to run medical during his recharge cycle. The responsibility was mine.

It's gone from bad to worse as far as the number of patients lately. But I guess that's something everyone knows already. But it's worse, really worse. And we've tried to do all we can, we've really tried…I tried…but it isn't enough…there are only so many doctors and only so much we can do…but it still…it was my fault! If Sunstreaker hadn't been there…I really need to thank him again. Without him, it would have been a lot worse. Still, it doesn't change what happened because of my negligence…

When the latest of refugees came in they were upset that we had no place to house them. It was understandable and I couldn't blame them for their anger, but the truth was we had run out of room a long time ago. Many smaller bots had taken to sleeping in the halls. Our soldiers were tripling and quadrupling up in their own quarters. I gave up my own spot in my previous room with my Protectobots brothers to take up a cot in Ratchet had kindly offered in his small office. It allowed me to be right next to the repair bay which I really didn't leave these days expct to recharge anyway. Yet the Neutrals started accusing us of favoritism. Maybe they couldn't understand that there was nothing we could do. We Autobots were supposed to be their hope after all. But hope was another thing we were running low on just like the rest of our supplies.

The waiting room on the other side of the medical was essentially set up s another repair bay for those with what we classified as lesser injuries. When the incident started, Minerva was out there trying to answer questions from a growing number of impatient Neutrals waiting for repairs and check-ups. I could hear the din rising as much as I tried to block it out.

"Please," Minerva said, "we're doing the best we can."

"Well your best isn't good enough!"

"I saw two Autobots admitted less than a few breems ago while we've been waiting here for megacycles."

"I have yet to be seen at all!"

"And they claim to have no favoritism towards their own. What a load of slag!"

"We're not!" Minerva countered. "All bots are being treated in accordance to the seriousness of their injuries. Those Autobots were warriors who received gunshot wounds in the evacuation of your city that needed immediate -"

"A likely story!"

"Greater injury? I have no legs! How is that not considered a priority!"

"You're not leaking." Minerva said. "Your wounds have been cauterized and -"

"I demand to speak to your CMO!"

"H-he's busy," Minerva stammered.

"To busy to see to the likes of us?"

"No, he's – His chief assistant is doing repairs. I'll pass along a message if you like." Her voice was staring to sound fearful.

"Do you have any idea who I am? He'll see me -"

"I'm through waiting too!"

"Hey, who said you get to go next?"

"My injuries are more serious than yours!"

"Let me trough!"

"No me!"

"I must speak to -"

It's my turn!"

"PLEASE STOP!" Minerva tried to raise her voice over the noise, but the mob of Neutrals was not listening. She then screamed and I turned to see them pressing her against the door to medical. They were crushing her! Then the door gave way and the crowd pushed through. Minerva fell lost in their number and chaos. I couldn't see her anymore as the mob rushed in shouting different things all at once.

I can't remember if I was able to say anything at all in my moment of shock beyond calling Minerva's name. I had a feeling any words I could say to the mob would have been lost amid their yelling anyway. I'm ashamed to say I was frozen in the midst of the growing riot in front of me. I'm not a fighter. I don't believe in it and I couldn't fathom this crowd would truly attack in a repair bay. Or would they? I had no idea. They were so angry. It could barely register any of what they were saying now as they all tried to make their voices heard, which only made it more impossible to distinguish any one person speaking. It wasn't until one lone voice managed to raise above them all that there was an astrosecond of silence and I was able to process anything but the mob in front of me.

"What the slag is going on here?" Sunstreaker strode in from the office door that led to the room he shared with Ratchet. He stared down the mob in a way that was scarier than the mob itself, though I'm not sure how that was possible. "The doc's tryin' to sleep."

"Is that what the 'busy' CMO if the Autobots does when there are so many of us in need of repair?" A Neutral in the center of the crowd said, taking a step forward towards Sunstreaker. "We demand that our injuries be given attention at once!"

"You demand?" Sunstreaker cocked his head at the so-called spokesperson. He let out a cold laugh. "What are you going to do? Attack the very medic you need? You're nobody! Take a number and all of you get the slag out now!" he pointed to the door they had busted through, but despite the force of his voice, none of the crowd moved. "How'd you let these scraplets even get in here Aid? First Aid?"

"Minerva…? Minerva!" I still couldn't see her in the crowd. Maybe it was the fear in my voice or the way my optics searched for her, but somehow Sunstreaker was able to figure out what I was trying to communicate as his optics searched the Neutrals for the pink and white medic too. I followed behind as Sunstreaker pushed his way past memners of the crowd who started looking around to the right and left of themselves as well.

"There!" Sunstreaker pointed with a growl at the spot on the ground at the other end of the crowd still near the door."

"Minerva!"

She was lying on the ground, not moving. Parts of her delicate frame trampled from the wounds of a number of uncaring footfalls from an angry mob. Then she groaned and I knew she was at least still online. I wasn't paying attention to anything but my fellow medic as Sunstreaker scooped her up in his arms to carry her to a medical berth. I don't remember anything but the silence from the Neutrals as the crowd parted to make way for us. Nothing sounded at all except the beeps and whirrs and pings of medical equipment when one suddenly changed with the wail of a spark monitor signaling a patient had just gone offline. No! No! No! Who was it? I turned to see the red and blue Autobot I'd been tending just before the mob broke in. His life signs had been fluctuating, one of the two warriors brought in from helping with the most recent evacuation. Gunshot wounds. One was stable for the moment. The other hadn't been responding well to treatment, I'd been trying to fix that when –

I'd gotten distracted. How could I let myself be…but the hypo in my hand with a still unadministered dosage was enough proof of my negligence. But Minerva had screamed… It didn't matter that the dosage wouldn't have reversed the warriors condition only helped ease his pain. My entire frame felt like it weighted eight times more tons than normal as I sank to my knees. I'd failed my patient.

"EVERYONE GET OUT!" I screamed.

I heard Sunstreaker's hissing voice behind me making threats to any who didn't obey. I didn't look back, but by the short time the dead warrior had been removed from the birth and Minerva was lying there in his place with the help of Sunstreaker and the other couple medics on duty, I was finally able to spare a quick glance. The crowd was gone. I was too numb to care. Minerva needed me. My other patients needed me. The red and blue warrior wasn't the only one we had lost since our arrival on Cybertron and he wouldn't be the last.

But I'm the one who's in charge when Ratchet isn't and I completely failed in my duty and my oath. How was I going to tell him? And what if the Neutrals got restless again?

A strong, golden hand clamped down on my shoulder, stopping me from shaking which I hadn't even realized I was doing.

"You just do your job, First Aid. Leave your boos and those scraplet Neutrals to me. That's my job."

I then caught what I could only guess was a smile since I didn't know what else it could be, but it was lopsided and smirking with the promise of violence behind that grin, but strangely comforting as well like a protector. I wasn't sure it was something I wanted to take comfort in, but I found it a little easier to concentrate for the rest of the day.

When I finally ended my long shift, Minerva was recovering, but I still lacked all the parts I needed to repair her properly. She would not be making any repairs of her own any time soon. We would be down one medic when we needed more of them, not less. I returned to the office cot only to find a bottle and I note waiting for me on the desk. The bottle smelled of high grade, the good stuff. But why in the world…I read the note.

I thought you could use this so I borrowed it from Ratch's secret stash. But if anyone asks you didn't get this from me. Understood.

Ss

I'm not much of a drinker. I guess I should have more guilt for consuming it, but I drank the whole thing. I just wanted a few hours of nothing, to forget and sleep.


It was never known who, but somehow word of the near riot reached the audios of both the Autobot command staff and the Neutral council. Prowl was the first one on the scene the next morning to investigate. He scanned the medical waiting room for any signs of anything out of the ordinary or those ready to talk. But no waiting patients said anything. A few stared down the second in command, but most averted their optics. All looked to be in a sorry state. In one corner by the door to the repair bay sat Sunstreaker performing his own kind of guard duty, busying himself with a drawing datapad that he moved his stylus across after careful study of the bots around him. Sunstreaker didn't look up until Prowl stood right in front of him, though the second in command was certain the frontline warrior knew he was there are was choosing to ignore him until Prowl spoke.

"I've been hearing some interesting reports of a near riot yesterday, plus received a few complaints about you being here. Care to comment or explain what you're doing?"

"Helping Ratchet." Sunstreaker handed his datapad over for examination.

Prowl took his time looking it over before giving it back with a satisfactory nod. "This is for when he wakes up I take it."

Sunstreaker grunted a yes, but Prowl had already deduced his own proper conclusion. Prowl then left Sunstreaker to what he was doing and left the waiting room to attend his other duties.


When Ratchet woke from recharge, one of the first things he noticed was the stack of datapads for his planned master database of Neutral medical records was considerably smaller. An odd thing, since he expected the latest wave should have grown it by another stack.

Instead, he examined what was there. This couldn't be right. His database for the new refugees had grown by quite a number of entries though he hadn't done any of it and none of his staff had had time to do this recently as far as he knew so who…he looked over the database entries again. The anatomy blueprints of the new Neutrals on this file all had a familiar similarity to them. Ratchet found himself gazing across the room to the drawing above Sunstreaker's bunk and back down to the database pad. Both were done by the same hand. The CMO found himself baffled but smiling. Considering how much Sunstreaker even hated being in the same room as Neutrals…there were times that Lambo never ceased to amaze him, his gift for drawing dissections as disturbing as it was a blessing. But Ratchet knew better than to ask questions of his new, unofficial staff member.


So brother, now you know why I think some Neutrals won't be missed if a few extra dead bodies turn up in the corridors. At the rate they keep coming in, we lose a few every day anyway. There's just too slaggin' many of them for the docs to save! 'Cause who's going to keep our soldiers alive if they start fallin' apart with guilt? And the Decepticons will be coming for Iacon. I just don't know when. But I'll be on the front lines as always, and no smeltin' Neutrals are going to be backing me up. I'll be scrapped if I'm going to let myself die defending one of them.

Did I mention Prime called me to his office to 'talk?' I'd been expecting it since the latest council chamber meeting, but it turns out Prowl told Primeof the "good deeds" I've been doing for Ratchet and his staff. Looks like Optimus wants my artistic skills for help with a recruitment campaign. He thinks it might bring some more medics and non-combatants into our fold, a solution to some of the impasse with the Neutral council so they "help earn their keep." Whatever, if it helps these scraplets make the right decision to stop being parasites of our hospitality for once in their lives. I just know that can of red paint of yours is going to come in very handy after all.

Prepared to be creative,

Tweedledee-ing my thumbs, because I really, really want to kill some Decepticons soon!

They are comin' Sides. If you want to be here for it, that dumb plan of yours had better work soon (and I still stay it won't). Otherwise, find some other way to lend me your strength so the power of red prevails. Though if the fact that I'm starting to use these bad nicknames too is any sign I'm staring to act like you, Primus help me. Write back soon!


Notes: Enjoy! There is still a ways to go for this fic, but I can finally see the finish line in sight. One more chapter with Sideswipe and then the Decepticon will be showing up with big consequences for our favorite twins. Oh, and Sunny's use of red paint in this chapter if suppsed to be a reference to his new Classics look. The bi-monthly posting schedule seems to be working for me so I plan to stick to it for now. So expect the next chapter late June in time for the countdown to TFCon!