7. Whole
Over the following orbits, I went to learn what I could with my own optics, exploring the city to observe the daily lives of the Decepticons. Like Autobots, they refueled and recharged. They got by on one or two cubes of energon per day. That wasn't life—only survival.
I read the Axis Decree, which had sentenced the defeated Decepticons to slavery, and the resulting slave code. All my life I'd had a sense of what Decepticons should or shouldn't do—speak when spoken to, don't look your master in the optics—but now I discovered just how many things they couldn't do. They couldn't buy, sell, or trade without special permission; they could only gather during certain times of the orn and then under strict supervision; any slave speaking before a group would be executed. In fact, an uncomfortable number of these crimes were punished by execution. There were more model-specific laws—weapons to be dismantled, flight disabled, some of the more formidable alt-modes suppressed, certain abilities removed. The Autobots truly had taken every precaution, right down to splitting up all teams, trines, and gestalts, dispersing them as far as possible.
Decepticons had fuel lines and circuits and plating just like Autobots. Only ideals separated us. Only minute differences in programming or construction set us apart.
I tried to imagine what it must have been like for Starscream, unable to fly, separated from those closest to him… I couldn't. I tried to imagine living on a cube a day, that burning ache in my fuel tank, but I couldn't. I had never lived that way. I had lived an easy life, uncaring of those beneath me, exactly like the Autobots before the War.
This could not go on. Optimus knew it, Starscream knew it, and now I knew it, too. Something had to change, somehow. Prime had too much faith in the Senate. There were some Autobots who believed in Prime's "freedom is the right of all sentient beings" philosophy, but not enough, never enough. The Senate cared nothing for the Decepticons except as free labor. The Neutrals—I knew nothing of the Neutrals, but I'd always looked down on them with only slightly less disgust than Decepticons. How was I to know their opinion? That left only the Decepticons themselves. No one would come to their aid.
Something had to be done. Someone had to do it.
Starscream was the key. He was already preparing for an upheaval of some sort. It wasn't enough to have his servitude: I needed to gain his trust. It wouldn't be easy. Starscream wasn't the type to give his trust lightly. I had to find some way to get well into his good graces.
I had a generous allowance from the Prime, an account full of credits that I hardly used, and a hundred vorns of buildup had left me a small fortune. That left only one problem, but I was counting on Prime's help.
Prime's mask was off when I entered his office. He greeted me, setting aside his datapad. I took my usual seat.
"I'm going to buy some slaves," I told him. Even though my intentions were good, the disappointed look on his face twisted my Spark.
"You don't need my permission," he said.
"But I do need your help." I explained the rest of my plan. By the time I finished, he was smiling.
"I'll do what I can," Prime said. He watched me for a moment. "Only a few vorns ago, you'd never have considered anything of the sort."
I pondered that as Optimus searched the records. I had changed. I couldn't pinpoint the exact date, but since meeting Starscream I had changed, so slowly that I'd barely noticed. I wondered if this was what Optimus had hoped for all along. I wondered if this was what Starscream had intended.
"Here," Optimus said after a time. "Gygax and Praxus. Would you like to download the specifics?"
I uplinked to the console for the rest of the information. "Thank you."
"And I'll take care of everything with the Senate."
I smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, Optimus."
I was faster in my altmode, so I transformed as soon as I was out of the city and pushed myself to top speed, enjoying the wind on my wings. At this velocity, Praxus was three megacycles from Iacon. Long and lonely, especially for a solo flight.
I disliked flying alone. It was part of my Seeker programming. When I flew on my own I was distinctly aware of the gaping void behind me, yearning for wingmates.
I'd never flown across this territory before, so I had plenty to distract me. My altmode had no optical sensors, but I could sense the shape of the land below me, the types of metal and the formations and chasms that covered most of Cybertron's surface. I passed high over cities, not wanting to attract too much attention or send anyone into a panic.
I transformed back to bipedal mode as I came into the city-state of Praxus. It didn't look much like the glittering spires of Iacon. The main city was constructed in a regular grid pattern, unlike Iacon's loops and swirls. The streams of traffic were the same, individuals on the streets and shuttles in the air. The mechs themselves were of Praxean make: short, bulky, made for heavy work. The fashion of the moment was a monochrome color scheme.
I headed for the outskirts. Here dirty, faded mechs worked in lines. Some chopped and pulled metal from the ground. Others carried the extracted metal into a massive building which poured smoke. As I passed over, 'cons paused in their strutbreaking work until their overseers compelled them to continue. It had been a hundred vorns since they'd seen a Seeker in flight.
Upon landing, I was cautiously approached by three or four armed guards. The red sigils on my wings gave them pause. Finally, one of them came forward. He looked like he was desperately trying to hide his terror.
"This area's restricted," he said, attempting to conceal his fear behind a mask of authority… and failing miserably. Praxus was poor, and I looked rich… I could use that to my advantage.
"I have business with Axlerod," I said. "I could go elsewhere, if he doesn't…"
"No, no!" the unfortunate 'bot said quickly. "I'll take you to him right away."
He led me inside the factory. It was blazingly hot and smoky. Seekers' vents were extraordinarily delicate, so I didn't look forward to staying in here for very long. I wished my guide would walk faster.
We went through a door into a corridor filled with clean air and light. I cycled a few grateful intakes, trying not to be too obvious, as the mech showed me into a small office.
Axlerod was a thick-limbed yellowish mech with wheels on his upper arms enhancing his bulk—his altmode was probably a hefty load-bearing truck. He had an unpleasant smile, an oily voice, and twitching fingers. After I introduced myself and my errand, a greedy light came into his optics. I was hard-pressed to hide my loathing. When it seemed too much to bear, I looked out of the window behind him at the leaden sky.
"Looking for a slave," he echoed—he had a habit of slowly repeating my words. "Did you have anything special in mind?"
"I'd like a mech who shares my capabilities," I said.
"A flyer, then?" he oozed.
"A Seeker."
"A Seeker," he pondered, sitting back. "Terrible workers, Seekers… no offense meant… distractible. Not built for heavy lifting… terrible attention span… no offense meant…"
"You sound as though you've had some experience."
"Work crew's no place for a Seeker… no offense meant… get them in the berth, no compare… no off—"
I shot up, optics blazing. It wasn't the first time I'd heard this sort of crass humor, but nobody had ever dared to say it to my face. "I can take my credits somewhere else," I snapped. He raised his hands in supplication, and I sat back down, unmollified.
Axlerod sent for the Seeker and spent the next few cycles giving me unsavory tidbits on keeping slaves in line. With each one I felt a growing desire to purge my tank, and I determined to delete each "tip" from my processor at the first opportunity. Before long, a guard entered with a filthy gray creature barely recognizable as a mech under the grime. Even so, the shape was familiar from Starscream's databursts. He stared right back at me.
Would anybody ever not look at me like they'd seen a ghost?!
"Designation?" Axlerod asked. The guard cuffed the Seeker over the helm to encourage him.
"Skywarp," the 'con answered in a growl.
"Skywarp," Axlerod said, turning to the console and bringing up a file. "A troublemaker. Spends more time in solitary confinement than he does at work. We haven't broken him in yet… but give it time, give it time. Even the strongest will can break under the right pressure."
It felt wrong to haggle over the worth of a fellow mech, especially one who was still in the room. The occasional casual reminder that I could take my business elsewhere smoothed the way somewhat. I parted with a respectable amount of credits.
"And I'll need his thrusters enabled," I added when the deal had been sealed.
"You're letting him fly?"
"Are we supposed to walk back to Iacon?" I replied acidly, finished being polite.
I waited for several breems in the corridor outside the scrap heap that passed for a medbay until Skywarp hobbled out.
"Perhaps we'll be doing business again sometime…?" Axlerod ventured. I gave him my best haughty Starscream glare.
"We'll see." Like the Pit we will, slagface.
As soon as we were out of that building, Skywarp and I took stock of each other. Under the grease and grit, his washed-out purple-and-black paint was marred by patches and weld lines. The metal of his wrists was fractured and dented. Seeing where I was looking, he sneered at me.
"Didn't you hear Slagface? I spent lots of time in the stasis cuffs." He coughed through his vents, which were probably clogged from a centivorn in that smoke. A good flight should change that. "All the beatings in the world won't 'break' me, just so you know."
"I'm not interested in that. Come with me. I'll take you to your wingmates."
Skywarp's mouth opened in shock. I unsubspaced a cube of energon and offered it to him.
"Do you think you can fly to Gygax? Can you transform?"
"Gygax? You said we were going to Iacon."
"Gygax is where we'll find Thundercracker."
It took longer to reach Gygax than it had to reach Praxus, mainly because Skywarp's thrusters were still recovering. I was impressed the city's domes until I remembered that they had been re-crafted by Decepticon slaves.
The warden of the stockade, Surefire, was as opposite to Axlerod as it was possible to be. He stood tall and stern, blue optics shining from a white face. The red Autobot insignia on his chest stood out against his blue armor.
"Designation Thundercracker," he mused, his optics dimming as he perused his processor's databanks. "He's been here for a few decavorns. He was caught skulking after curfew. He's cooling his turbines in here until he gives a satisfactory explanation." He looked at me doubtfully, a hard edge to his mouthplates as he swept his optics across my wings, lingering on the red symbols for several kliks. I'd already shown him the message I'd brought with the Prime's seal. "You're sure he's the one the Prime wants?"
"Certain."
Surefire led the way down the lift tube and through dark passages lined with cells, lit only by dangerous red energy bars. Sullen mechs watched us pass, or rather, watched me pass. Their stares prickled on my wings. How many of them had committed an actual crime, and how many were in here only for a violation of the harsh slave code?
Surefire stopped before a cell. The winged mech inside was only slightly less dirty than Skywarp, faded blue paint peeking out through the accumulated muck. He wore a pair of gleaming stasis cuffs.
"Designation Thundercracker?" Surefire barked. The Seeker looked up, optics glowing deep red. "That's him."
"Excellent," I said. "I'll need his thrusters repaired."
"But he might—"
"Those are the Prime's orders," I snapped, frustrated by the long orn of dealing with these mechs.
None of them quibbled with me after that, but performed the necessary transactions quickly. When Thundercracker emerged from the medbay, it even looked as though they'd hurried him through the washracks, though it would take a thorough scouring to get him completely clean.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice deep and smooth. His optics were equal parts wary and curious.
"My designation is Nova—"
"Who are you?" he repeated. "You look like… but you're an Autobot."
That stung, somehow. "I'm a Seeker. I'm the Prime's ward. Follow me."
We reached the chamber where I'd left Skywarp fidgeting under the watchful optics of the stockade's guards. Thundercracker stopped suddenly. Skywarp flung himself forward, using his thrusters for an extra boost. They collided with a crash, Skywarp landing on top. He dealt a blow to the side of Thundercracker's helm.
"You fragging slagger! I've been so slagging worried about you, afthead!"
"It's not like I could drop in to see you," Thundercracker said. "Get off me, you're filthy."
"I don't care! A hundred vorns and this is how you greet me?!"
Thundercracker grabbed the back of Skywarp's helm. "No," he growled. "This is." He pulled his wingmate down and crushed their mouthplates together. After a klik, I realized I was staring and averted my optics.
"Primus, TC, I missed you," Skywarp gasped when they were done.
"Now get off me."
Darkness had fallen and the moons were up by the time we arrived in Iacon. We transformed as we came in towards Prime's spire. With the others following my lead, it was almost like having my own trine. Part of me mourned the wingmates I might never have.
I saw Starscream waiting on the landing pad. So did Skywarp and Thundercracker. Skywarp gave a wild cry of delight and slammed into him, followed by Thundercracker, and all three of them tumbled wings-over-turbines until they crashed into the wall in a frenzy of hands and wings and excited voices, punctuated by happy clicks and trills when it was too much to process into words.
Finally, they disentangled themselves. Starscream approached me, the strangest expression on his face.
"You," he tried. "Why…?"
"Because…"
I found myself at a loss for words. I didn't often feel the gaps at my sides, but when I did they yawned widely. Instead of saying anything out loud, I clenched my hand over my Spark, Seeker body language approximately translated as "whole," referring to a trine. Understanding glimmered briefly in his optics. Then, unexpectedly, he knelt before me, bowing his head. Thundercracker and Skywarp imitated him in the deepest gratitude a Seeker could express. I felt the circuitry behind my faceplates heating up in embarrassment.
"Get up," I said, flustered. In reuniting Starscream with his trine, I had successfully gained three allies… and perhaps a friend.
