Salvation

Chapter 10

This was no longer tolerable. Starscream – or, more accurately, Starscream's fascination with that Autobot – was becoming a liability, a chink in the well-tended armour of Decepticon security.

More disconcertingly, punishment was not dissuading Starscream from carrying on with his blatant flouting of protocol. Usually a retribution as severe as those Megatron had been visiting upon his deviant officer would have cowed him for orns, maybe even deca-cycles – but not this time. Perversely, rather, if anything, the harsh beatings seemed only to drive him out more.

Starscream was a fool if he thought Megatron had not noticed his frequent leaving of the Nemesis. He was a fool if he thought his master was blind to such – what sort of leader would the gun-transformer be if he was not aware of every time his docking bay was raised without permission, of every time one of his soldiers left without orders to do so? Megatron was far from stupid.

Of course, Starscream could just have been leaving the sunken starship to have some time to himself and think, as he had always succumbed to occasional near-bipolar extremes of mood, but that was highly unlikely. For one thing, the jet despised this planet for reasons that he would not elaborate and longed for Cybertron so feverishly and so openly that his want for home was almost a tangible matter in the air. And if that alone did not throw suspicion on his long absences, the way he had reacted to Megatron's threatening to obliterate the red-bodied microscope had been... most telling.

No, there was no doubt in the tyrant's mind that his lieutenant had been sneaking away to carry on an affair with an Autobot, and, the more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed to be, as Starscream had claimed, a way of cheating information from the enemy. After all, Starscream had continued it despite Megatron's express forbidding of such activity, and his desire to be useful as a spy could not logically extend to his willingness to risk his own neck – and that meant it was a personal attachment. It had to stop.

As simple and effective a solution as it was, and for all the ill feelings he harboured towards his commander of the seekers, Megatron was loathe to have him executed for the sole reason that Starscream was good at what he did. Seldom did one find a warrior who hated life as Starscream did, who was so eager to destroy, who flew with such grace and who fought with such skill, who was so wonderfully intelligent and could actually make suggestions worth listening to every once in a while.

Granted, his arrogance and his power-lust were personality flaws that Megatron would prefer to have ironed out with his cruel indoctrinations into the ranks of the Decepticon elite, but Starscream had clung to his personality, refusing to become a mindless and obedient drone with such resolve that it had driven him to near-insanity. It had left him a wild-card warrior, a bestial force predictable in some ways but unfathomable in others – such as apparently being willing to risk his health to keep seeing a pet from the enemy faction.

But his erratic behaviour and his insatiable longing to wipe the blemish of the Autobot army from the face of the universe made him a dangerous warrior, when he was not foolishly acting upon his designs for leadership. An officer of Starscream's calibre was not easily replaceable.

Megatron did not want to kill him – not yet. However, undeniably, the security breach of Starscream meeting and doing Primus-knew-what with the Autobot scientist had to stop, and sooner rather than later. If word ever got out that the feared Decepticon commander-in-chief had turned a blind eye to such a thing for so long -

Perceptor. That was the scientist's designation, if his memory was not failing him. Perceptor had to be gotten rid of.

Already the inkling of a strategy formulated within the sharp and dark mind of the silver-bodied warlord, who glared unseeingly at a blackened computer screen as he worked through possibilities in his processor. Starscream had to be communicating with the Autobot somehow, otherwise there could be no way they would know where and when to be.

How they were communicating was irrelevant other than that it had to be some sort of private amplified electromagnetic connection. Such a thing was not impossible, as Hook had demonstrated by designing and building those small communicators over a stellar cycle ago. Starscream was not an idiot, despite his frequent attempts to prove otherwise; he could very well have created something based upon the devices that Megatron had forced on him, if he hadn't just recycled the components that his lord had discarded. It made perfect sense.

While he could have wasted time trying to guess the frequency on which these hypothetical private messages were being broadcast, Megatron decided against it instantly. He had the resources at his disposal and it would have been foolish not to exploit them.

"Soundwave." He snapped out in the knowledge that his inscrutable officer was never too far away. Though he was probably one of the more loyal of his warriors, Soundwave could not be trusted as far as he could be thrown – his silence and his relentless gathering of potential blackmail was worrisome at the same time as it was useful. That he was a telepath, even more so.

Predictably, Soundwave appeared without a word next to the silver-bodied warlord. Megatron turned to survey him thoughtfully.

"Where is Starscream?" He asked. If Soundwave was at all surprised by the question, he did not show it, merely inclining his head a slight to the left.

"He is in the bridge, Megatron." The response was curt and monotonous, to the point. Megatron liked that about Soundwave – he never minced his words, never wasted time.

" Monitor him. I want to be notified the instant he becomes aware of any coordinates, understand? Deliver them to me instantly. Dispatch Frenzy to watch over the docking bay controls. I want no one leaving unless I am notifie d first, understand? Oh, and as soon as you have numbers for me, I want a complete block on all radio frequencies in and out of the Nemesis."

With but a nod, Soundwave had released the cassette Frenzy from his chest and both had left Megatron's presence to carry out their orders. Megatron idly ran his fingers along the black bulk of his fusion cannon, anticipating murder.

O

Soundwave returned with coordinates much sooner than Megatron had anticipated; Starscream had been in a foul mood on the bridge, snapping rude remarks and arrogantly dismissing his comrades, and apparently, according to the telepathic communications officer, leaving had been at the forefront of the jet's mind. It hadn't been hard to extract coordinates.

Megatron smirked savagely, dismissing his lieutenant and standing easily in the corridor that connected the bridge with the control room in which the computer terminal to raise the docking tower was housed, laying in wait for his wayward officer.

As expected, Starscream was not long in striding towards him, the expression on his grey face taut and preoccupied, his step showing purpose and determination. At first it seemed that he had not even noticed Megatron ready to stop him, but then his red optics narrowed and the finest visualisation of hatred flickered over his mouth.

"Where do you think you're going?" The warlord asked coldly, placing a foot out in the path of his advancing subordinate to obstruct his way. Starscream sneered and kicked at his master's leg irately.

"Get out of my way." He spat, pushing the larger mech aside.

Despite his assertion that Starscream was neither stupid nor suicidal, Megatron had to admit to himself that the unguarded and fleeting surprise on the grey face as a dark hand closed about his throat and slammed him into the wall was out of place. Starscream surely knew by now that provoking his lord would only result in retribution.

"You will abandon whatever foolish venture you are currently embarking upon immediately," commanded the Decepticon overlord, his voice like ice. "You will return to my command bridge. You will write up a report documenting all recent activity."

"But -"

"Now, Starscream!"

Even faced with Megatron's fusion cannon, Starscream wrest himself away from the grip on his throat, breaking free from his commander's grip and tensing as though ready for a fight. He stared at his master's merciless red optics, and he saw no fear there. "I'm busy, Megatron! Get somebody else to do your paperwork!"

The tyrant allowed himself a humourless smirk; it was a sign of quite how far this fraternising with an Autobot had gone that Starscream was disobeying him so openly for the chance to reach a rendezvous. Casually, and without a second thought, he shot at one of Starscream's shoulder vents, purposefully missing a critical blow, though the heat from the powerful beam still singed the red paintwork. Starscream winced and fell back, snarling.

"Do not make me order you again," he warned, twitching the innate weapon slightly so that it pointed directly at the seeker's grey head.

It was interesting to see the extent of emotions that displayed on Starscream's dark visage whenever Megatron defeated him; each time, the warlord could swear to himself that his subordinate would end up overloading his neural nets purely because it should have been impossible for anyone to go through so many feelings so quickly – hate, rage, terror, humiliation, rebellious insolence...

With bad grace, Starscream sneered – a gesture to silently convey his lust for Megatron's head – and disappeared back down the corridor the way he had come.

And Megatron's face remained unreadable, betraying nothing of the sadistic glee coursing through his circuits, a result of the anticipation of rending living metal mixing with the mirth that he had, without even too much in the way of threats, forced his cheekily disagreeable lieutenant to do a useless, pointless task that was nothing more than a waste of his time...

Now, then. What with Starscream indisposed and unable to communicate that to his Autobot pet, Megatron had laid down his trap. The silver-bodied gun transformer allowed himself a feral, bestial grin, a flick of his glossa over smooth lips as though to wipe away energon that was not yet spattered there. Oh, this would be fun.

O

Although the day had started out so fine, the sun blazing down and warming the panels of his exostructure pleasantly, the skies had become consistently more overcast with heavy clouds the closer Perceptor got to his destination. He felt sure that, any moment, the heavens would open (as the humans so eloquently phrased it) and the rain would hammer down a steady rhythm on his chassis.

Unexpectedly, Starscream was not already present when he reached the hidden lakeside beach, with its multitude of caves and crevices against the small cliffs. This came as somewhat of a surprise, as the seeker was exceedingly fast when he had a mind to be so, reaching supersonic speeds in seconds, and could easily have made two runs between the meeting point and the sunken Decepticon starship before Perceptor was even halfway there. Microscopes, notably, were not built for their speed.

Perceptor was not overly worried about this, however; he had heard nothing through the communication device hidden away in the matrices of his chest, and, going from the last time that Starscream had been in any serious danger, he would surely have been contacted if there was anything so direly wrong.

More likely that Starscream had grown bored of waiting and was visiting destruction on some unfortunate life somewhere nearby. He would saunter towards Perceptor soon enough, reeking of the stench of charred flesh.

Instead, Perceptor leaned back at ease against the cliff face, which petered to a grassy edge and a deciduous spinney not far above his head, and stared down at the sand at the water's edge, where the waves licked gently. That Starscream had settled for such a place to meet spoke volumes – neither partner was partial to coupling in sandy environments, as the rock grains had the annoying quality of penetrating almost every join in the plating, grinding uncomfortably against inner workings, itching and scraping, and sand was almost impossible to clean away. It got everywhere.

Which meant that it was unlikely Starscream was in a mood for sex, and that meant that his temper was dire and foul, for it was only very rarely that he would forsake a chance to trace his fingers and ghost his lips over the quivering, unresisting red body of his Autobot mate.

There was a whirring, a faint but nevertheless distinct humming of turbines winding down after exertion; the exact noise that Decepticon flight systems made as their users landed. Almost imperceptibly, Perceptor brightened up, shaken out of his considerations at the promise of company, taking a few expectant steps towards the source of the noise, waiting to see Starscream appear. If only he had paid attention to detail, he would have noticed that the tread of the newcomer's approaching footfalls was that much heavier than his mate's...

"Starscream?" He ventured hopefully, straining his neck up to catch a glint of silver moving amongst the trees. There was no response; the sliver of metal was gone as soon as he had seen it, so fleeting he questioned if it had been there at all.

Sand crunched behind him. He turned. Silver filled his vision.

A sweeping strike, far more powerful than anything Starscream could ever manage, knocked him from his feet and upset his balance stabilisers, sending him careening to the floor with swirling perception. Shock chilling his circuits, the scientist stared up at his assailant, and felt his spark grow cold with terror -

Megatron. Here.

Primus – it couldn't be possible – how could Megatron have -

And from the look on that merciless face, from the drunken homicidal glint in the heartless blazing optics, the Decepticon overlord's intention was murder. When Megatron wanted blood spilled, people died. Survival? He didn't have a hope...

Perceptor threw himself to his feet, tumbling head-first out of the line of fire of Megatron's fusion cannon as it was aimed at him, feeling the heat as the blast caught his side, the acrid smell of burning alloy assaulting his olfactory sensors. It was only his quick analysis of the gun-transformer's intentions that saved him, for his body was not built for bursts of speed, and his enemy could easily out-manoeuvre him. He felt the fear clawing at him, icy and all-consuming; he was no match for Megatron.

Unlike his most dangerous foe, he was not designed for speed, nor was he programmed to fight. As a scientist, not tailored for war, he was not even really built to survive. Adrenal chemicals coursed through his energon vessels, lending some scant hope to his reflexes, but it still was not enough to guarantee his escaping.

There was a large rock that joined the cliff base with the beach, and the microscope somehow managed to get himself behind it, hiding from his tormentor. He stared desperately at the sky, as though help would come from above, but there was none. Gruff laughter sounded, Megatron voicing his enjoyment at the Autobot's helplessness.

Shivers wracked his chassis, though the logical part of his mind questioned his fear – why was he so scared? Death happened to everyone sooner or later, it was integral part of life... but that didn't mean that he wanted it to happen to him, and that didn't mean that he was unafraid, despite that he desperately did not want to be considered a coward. What living being was there that did not dread termination? And Megatron, Megatron's cruelty was unmatched. Perceptor knew this. He knew it well, harsh lessons scarred into his exostructure.

A purple beam passed over the crest of the boulder he had taken refuge behind. He hid his head in his arms and begged to Primus for deliverance.

He could call for help, he should call for help, he could request back-up from the Ark or, or Starscream, yes, he should get Starscream, Starscream would save him –

No. Starscream was no match for Megatron either. No matter what the jet said about his master fearing him, Perceptor knew that to be just posing. Starscream had the advantage when it came to agility and guile, but for stamina and raw power, Megatron could not be bested. And the Autobots – the only one of them who could possibly stand against the warlord for any amount of time was Optimus Prime himself, and, frankly, Prime had better things to be doing than chasing after a single scientist.

Perceptor nipped at his lip, worrying it unshakeably as he stared down at his trembling hands, unable to keep them still. He was really going to die here, wasn't he?

Then the very least he could do would be to die well. To make the Autobots proud that he was one of them. Hopefully to leave his mark on Megatron, the instigator of all his troubles. To get revenge for everything that had gone wrong...

But he'd never wanted revenge, not even after what Megatron had forced Starscream to do to him. The thought had never crossed his mind, not while he was imprisoned, not while he was semi-conscious in the desert, not while he was recovering his confidence amongst friends in the Ark. Leave vengeance to those who were violent and warlike – he was content to forget (or at least try to forget) and to move on. So he always had been.

"Come out, come out, little Autobot," taunted the tyrant, taking slow steps forward to prolong the rising terror in his victim. Perceptor hardened his resolve, pushed aside his dread – he'd had enough of being made into a toy.

Diverting all power he could to the light cannon on his shoulder, the red-bodied microscope hurled himself from behind the rock. The shot across Megatron's flank caught the silver tyrant by surprise, charring a nasty wound into his left biceps plating.

While he was fleetingly proud of his managing to injure the most powerful of all the Autobots' enemies, he knew that the likelihood of managing to summon the power for another blast was slim indeed; Megatron towered over him, ire flashing in the place of amusement, the desire to prolong the suffering dispersed. Cold ruthlessness personified, powerful and efficient – that was Megatron. Perceptor stared up at death's avatar, paralysed in a terrified, fascinated awe. His mind screamed at him to get away. His body stiffened, the pistons locking and refusing to move.

"You are a liability." Hissed the warlord, the fusion cannon raising to aim at the scientist's vulnerable body. Perceptor tried to scrabble away, but was halted when a light-coloured foot slammed down on his thigh, crushing it into the floor. Despite Starscream's conditioning, Perceptor found himself howling out – the jet was nothing, nothing compared to his master.

A black hand closed around his throat, hauling him upright, and his wide azure optics stared into the bottomless scarlet eyes of his oppressor. He felt the dull impact as the blunt barrel of Megatron's cannon thudded into his torso, he felt the heat as it gathered energy for a killing discharge.

Was this choking, paralysing terror the same that Starscream felt every time Megatron felt need to discipline his air commander? This all-consuming feeling of worthlessness, of defeat, of longing for mercy and seeing no such privilege offered -

The fusion beam passed straight through his stomach, disintegrating wires and controls. The pain was intense, fiery and unbearable. His conscious dwindled, and Megatron's savage grin filled his narrowing scope of vision as the warlord threw his unresponsive chassis to the floor.

O

Starscream landed, kicking at the cliff face in bad temper; Megatron's task of writing up reports had been nothing but a waste of time, grating on his nerves and preventing him from chasing more pleasurable pastimes. What's more, Perceptor hadn't responded to any of his broadcasts. He was almost a cycle and a half late for his scheduled meeting with his Autobot, and he hadn't heard a single request about his well-being. He would have to teach his microscope to be more... attentive.

"Where are you?" He growled out, tossing his head this way and that as the wind picked up, blowing the droplets of water into his optics. He hated the rain, and he wanted nothing more than to be inside somewhere, out of the torrential shower. The sooner Perceptor stopped playing about, the sooner he could be out of this unpleasant sensation as water dripped from his nose. "Come out! I'm not in the mood for your fragging about!"

Something hard and metallic clinked off his foot, and he looked down to see what he had just stumbled over. Faded grey optics, the once-azure glow dimmed to nothing, stared back up at him sightlessly. Perceptor's mouth hung open in a sort of frozen terror, but he was unmoving – the huge and ugly gaping hole through his torso was the likely reason for that.

For a horrified klik that dragged on, Starscream stared down at his partner's body in disbelief, unable to process what he was seeing; it was as though the neural relay to his cerebral circuitry had been cut, for he saw the grisly sight but could not piece together what it was he was seeing. Then, as though galvanised back to life, all visual data suddenly making sense in a fell and sickening swoop, he jerked his leg to kick the microscope's side.

"Get up!" He commanded, accompanying the order with another kick. At the lack of response, he tried again, another kick, another curt command, though his voice higher and raspier, tinged with hysteria. "Get up!"

Panic welled in his stomach at the continued lack of response. Perceptor couldn't be dead – there'd been no tearing pain in his spark, there'd been no feeling at all. Perceptor couldn't be dead, he told himself despite the obvious evidence to the contrary.

"Get up!" It was almost a scream, so high in pitch and loud in volume, punctuated by another worthless kick to the splintered metal of his lover's side. No response.

The rain beat an uneven pattern against the metal of his fuselage.