Author's notes: It was Plato who said only a man who is just can be loyal, but how does that apply in war? When the rules of war are applied, each side has it's own interpretation of what is just and what is wrong, and it is how one relates to these interpretations that the idea of loyalty is established. But who is it that determines which interpretation is correct? And in the end, is it better to be loyal to the cause, or to oneself?


Chapter 12

Only the just are loyal

Terrestrial weather challenged any logic, its caprices ruled by atmospheric conditions, yet in the end they remained caprices still.

From the abrasive heat of the tropics to the eternal freezing of the Poles, an immense variety of temperatures existed, very few pleasant to those created on the artificial planet of Cybertron. But no ecosystem had proven to be as contradictory as the desert, one day an ally and the other an enemy.

Blaster knew the North American desert, but very few times had his circuits had to stand the strong nocturnal cold that shouted to the skies its enmity to any trace of warmth. Despite being a warrior, Blaster was also a communicator; his internal systems were more delicate than most of the Cybertronians and the cold wind was seriously challenging his temperature regulators. Flying for almost an hour using a jetpack hadn't been a pleasant experience either.

Waiting had increased his anxiety. He had stepped over his own footprints on the sand countless times. He chose to spend the time revising again and again the coordinates he had received only a few hours ago in an extremely codified message that had proven to be really hard to decipher.

The nocturnal sounds were also shattering his already fragile patience. Blaster never counted himself amongst the admirers of terrestrial fauna, but in that night of intolerance he found it more disagreeable than ever. He missed the soft mechanical humming of a world created by artificial intelligence and not by organic chance.

He was beginning to disdain this planet called Earth. Yes, the cultures of its human inhabitants were intriguing, their music pleasing to his audios, but the realities that the planet represented cut at his spark like sharpened steel, cold and painful. When war had broken out on Cybertron, loyalties had been a simple matter; as battle lines were drawn the distinctions between 'good' and 'evil' were made clear for all to see, choices were made and fates were decided.

And it had been clear what they were fighting for too… their homes, their cities: physical locations, places of meaning and worth.

But that had all changed when their quarry took to the stars, when Cybertron was abandoned by those first two ships and the lives of others were drawn into gaping mouth of injustice without any thought of consequence…

Blaster stopped his pacing long enough to wipe a grain of sand from his optic before continuing on his pointless journey. When had it all become so blurred, good and evil merging into one so much so that no one truly remembered what they were fighting for? When had the rules changed; when the lives of organic creatures took precedence over those of their own faction, and the thought of gaining resources clouded any idea of returning to Cybertron?

And since when had fear been allowed to condemn one of their own?

His thoughts drifted to Nocturne; the femme who had captured his imagination the very first time his gaze had fallen upon her. It had been so long now; so many millennia… yet he could still hear her softly spoken words as if she were beside him now, still feel that ethereal presence at his side, yearning so desperately for it to be his…

And then he thought of what she was being exposed to in that very moment; the only femme in a base full of despicable mechs, hungry Decepticons willing to do anything to satiate their sadistic desires…

He remembered he had once watched a terrestrial butterfly, fluttering gracefully before his face. He hadn't been on Earth very long, and was still captivated by the biological splendours the planet had to offer. He watched it move from flower to flower, flitting so gently through the air currents, its structure so beautiful and fragile…

And then, out of nowhere, the Decepticons had attacked… and the butterfly, peaceful and delicate, was drawn into the slipstream of the oncoming craft and was thrown aside like a worthless piece of scrap… the assailant completely unaware of its presence. He remembered watching it drift silently to the ground, its tiny body broken and torn…

That was the situation Nocturne was in now. She was that fragile creature.

Blaster clenched his fists, his feet kicking up sand as he paced. She was a scientist, not a warrior, and her beautiful, peace-loving mind… it did not know the horrors of war, the fear and the pain that came with staring death in the face on a daily basis, of firing first to save the physical only to sell the soul. There was no way her fragile presence could withstand what those monsters were doing to her, no way she could defend herself once they set upon her… he knew it in his spark.

He hated the Decepticons; he hated them for who they were and everything they stood for. Yet as he moved in the cold darkness of the desert around him, he couldn't help but challenge his own loyalties too.

Why had Prime insisted on bringing her to this accursed planet, why had he seen fit to expose her to the horrors of a war that should have been abandoned like the homes they had long forgotten? Blaster kicked at the dirt, sending clouds of dust dancing into the night. It was Prime's fault that she had been assigned to Earth; it was his fault she had been captured, and that he had been forced to initiate this contact so that she could be saved.

It was Optimus's fault that he had to make this choice…

And he hated him for that.

He looked up at the sky, gazing absently at the pale slither of moon, insignificant amongst the glittering stars. How he hated waiting…

For a moment he wondered if he had made a mistake deciphering the coordinates of the meeting to come, but the distant sound of an engine confirmed he hadn't been wrong after all.

Blaster narrowed his optics and zoomed in to a vehicle that approached his location, raising sand clouds around.

The vehicle didn't seem to be in a hurry. He seemed, actually, to be enjoying his journey through the nocturnal desert. Blaster wondered at the irony the sound of that engine brought to the night, not that the situation wasn't already absurd enough…

The Jeep stopped before Blaster and he transformed, his purple insignia shinning under the moonlight.

"You're late," Blaster complained, repugnance clear in his voice.

Swindle smirked with that hateful expression of superiority all Decepticons had.

"You mean you are early. I'm never late to my business meetings."

Blaster checked his internal chronometer. 0259 terrestrial hours… barely one minute before the agreed time of arrival.

"We are a little anxious, aren't we?" Swindle continued.

Blaster didn't respond. Doubts were fiercely assaulting his processor. He was face to face with an enemy and he was not only not firing at him, but was putting his last hope on his despicable chassis also. For the first time in that night, Blaster wondered if he hadn't made a mistake after all. Was that as far as his impulses would allow him to get, or was it still a distant line he wasn't able to see? The mere thought gave him chills.

Swindle leaned comfortably on a big rock behind him as his visor analyzed meticulously the figure before him. All the Autobots had that kind of behaviour the first time they dealt with him; it seemed it was part of their programming and they just couldn't help but try to keep their morale stance.

"You know, Blaster, even though you were part of my B list, I must confess it was quite a surprise to receive your call."

Blaster raised his head and fixated his glance on the Combaticon, his instinct to shoot him bigger than ever.

"B list?" he asked in confusion.

Swindle nodded. "That's right, B list. You see, there are some Autobots that are not… let's say, as rigid as others concerning their honour codes. Those are part of my A list, the ones who would violate any rule and would sell me their sparks in exchange for some contraband merchandise, you know what I mean? And there is, of course, the C list, the ones who would never deal with me under any circumstance."

"I see… so I guess the B list belongs to the ones in the middle."

"The ones who may or may not call me, yes."

"And am I supposed to consider myself honoured by belonging to your glorious classifications?"

"Depends. The desires of a mech, after all, define his personality."

"How many of my comrades deal with you?"

Swindle laughed. "You would be surprised to know… But their identities are confidential information. The privacy of my clients is sacred."

"Not as much as your profits, from what I've heard."

"Profits make the universe function. We are both here for the same purpose: to obtain something. Or did you call me to question my ethics, Autobot?"

Blaster clenched his fists. He wanted so much to hit the insolent Combaticon until his face was reduced to nothing more than a pile of junk. Just some solar cycles ago he had seen that same Decepticon blowing away one of Cliffjumper's legs with excessive sadism, and now he was there, as peaceful as he was cynical. What was war, then? A farce? If maybe he had exchanged some laser fire with Swindle before starting their conversation, perhaps that would have given some sort of reality to that absurd night.

"So… what do you want? High grade, weapons, spare parts, girls?" Swindle asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"What?" was the amazed answer.

Swindle enlarged his smirk, certain that he had found the magic word.

"Yes, Blastie, girls… as many as you want. I can put you into the best pleasure houses of Cybertron in the blink of an optic."

"I didn't know you were into that kind of business."

"One of the most basic needs of any mech is getting laid, nothing rare there. You know, for some credits I can arrange you a visit to the best pleasure house in Kaon. You go and come back through the space bridge, and nobody will notice."

Blaster felt repugnance. Suddenly he understood why so many of his comrades were always looking forward to having night patrols.

"I'm not interested in your perverted offers, but yes… this is about a girl… a girl that I need out of your headquarters ASAP."

Swindle's interest was definitely awakened. What he had taken for another routinary deal, suddenly was taking unsuspected dimensions. His greed made him delight himself in advance with the possibility of extraordinary profits.

"Oh, I see now… so this is all about that Autobot chick, huh?"

"What's her condition?" Blaster asked hurriedly.

Swindle didn't reply, carefully analyzing the altered state of the Communications Officer. The Autobot had never been a portrait of self-control, but this turn of events was certainly shaking his personality in a very interesting way.

"I asked you a question, Decepticon!"

"Hey, relax… No need to shout here."

"Then you better answer or I'll do much more than shouting."

"Before getting to that part it's better to establish some conditions. It's your first time dealing with me, so I'll take it easy with you. Know this: I give nothing, no information nor product, for free. If you want something from me, you pay for it; it's that simple."

"Are you gonna charge me for a fragging question?"

"Not for the first one. That's on me. Take it as a gift."

"You're so generous."

"The femme's alive, at least as far as I know," replied Swindle, ignoring Blaster's sarcasm.

"Has she… has she… been attacked…?"

Swindle smirked. "That's another question."

Blaster frowned but didn't insist. He subspaced something and threw it upward. A small object shone fleetingly into the night and landed on the avid palm of the Combaticon.

"She hasn't been raped, if that's what you're implying, unless her master has decided otherwise," Swindle brutally retorted.

"Master?! And who in the Pit dares to call himself her master?! The credit I paid you is too much for one single question! Answer me!!"

"Well, we all thought Megatron was going to take her for his personal service but he finally gave her to Soundwave."

"Soundwave?!" Blaster felt his body tense at the sound of his counterpart's name, rage and fear pulsing though his systems at an increasing rate. It was bad enough that his love was being exposed to the hungry desires of those monsters… but Soundwave? The thought sickened him, that sadistic creep standing over her beautiful structure, taking from her all dignity and innocence without any emotion…

"Yep, your favorite guy in the world I bet." Swindle continued, noting Blaster's reaction to the name. "Well, the thing is the girl remains intact. The question is until when. My comrades are anxious to have her company, you know? I have received offers…"

Swindle couldn't finish. As fast as sound itself, Blaster grabbed the Combaticon's shoulders and smashed him against the rock. The sound of the hit hadn't ended when Swindle already had the cannon of Blaster's gun pressing against his cheek.

"You slagging piece of junk! If you dare to harm her I swear…!"

"Hey, calm down buddy! I'm not the enemy here, you know?"

"You're a slagging Decepticon. This meeting was a big mistake, a mistake that I'm about to correct." Blaster felt his finger caressing the trigger; one simple movement and this mess would be wiped clean, glass cleared of streaks to enable clarity to shine through.

Swindle smirked again, as if he didn't have a mortal threat before his optical visor.

"Shoot me and you will loose your only opportunity to get the girl back in one piece. I don't need to tell you that, as long as she stays in the Nemesis, the bigger the chances are for her not to remain… intact."

Blaster seemed to hesitate, although he kept his gun aiming at Swindle's face. Finally he put it down and took a couple of steps back. It was obvious he was making big efforts to control himself, his structure visibly shaking with rage.

"I want her out."

"That can be arranged," Swindle happily replied as he rubbed his sore nape.

"How much?"

The Combaticon pushed himself off the rock and sighed.

"Before going into that, I have to tell you something, Blastie. The biggest satisfaction of my life is to provide my clients with a service of the highest quality."

"Get to the point NOW."

"The highest quality requires fair payment. I don't think I have to mention that I will be under great danger if I decide to accept your case. High treason is paid with total deactivation within my glorious faction."

"HOW MUCH?"

Swindle extracted a data pad from a compartment on his forearm and typed something for some seconds. When he finished he revised the contents on the screen before handing the device to Blaster.

Yellow optics widened in the darkness, providing the night with additional illumination.

"WHAT?!"

"It's a fair price," Swindle calmly replied.

"This is insane!" Blaster retorted, slapping the data pad with the back of his free hand.

"As I said, if I accept your case I will seriously risk my life. My efforts deserve a fair reward."

"What you ask is out of my reach… is out of anybody's reach."

"Oh, you will figure out how to get it. After all, isn't it a small price to pay for the freedom and honour of your dear Nocturne?"

Blaster froze, shaken by the mention of the name that meant for him more than his life itself. Images assailed his processor as he stared at his companion, horrific scenes of brutality and lust, bestial desires targeted at Nocturne's fragile frame… Nocturne… what horrors were those Decepticons submitting her too in that moment, while he stood contemplating loyalties?

"No need for you to answer me right now. Think about it and contact me again. You know where to find me," Swindle said as he started to walk toward the road.

Blaster squeezed the data pad with impotence until he almost crushed it. He knew time was the most inexistent of his luxuries at that moment.

"No… wait…"

Swindle stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"How do I know you won't betray me?" the Autobot asked.

"My record as a perfect dealer is clean, especially with the ones of your faction. Ask whoever gave you my private frequency."

"But you are a Decepticon…"

"So?"

"Decepticreeps are treacherous by nature."

Swindle burst out in laughter. "You're so naïve… I almost like you, Blaster. Haven't you realized this war is a complete charade? Belonging to a faction is nothing more than a way to keep functioning, but in the end what we all look for is our own survival and, why not, our own pleasure."

Blaster was completely perplexed. The Combaticon made good use of the sudden attention and continued.

"This," he said as he punched the purple insignia on his chest, "says who I'm going to shoot and who I'm not, but this," he continued as he lifted the energon credit Blaster had given him, "is the only thing that has our complete loyalty, no matter what insignia you have painted on your structure. Even though you disagree with me, you broke your ridiculous Autobot honour code the first moment you even considered using my services. You're as guilty as me. The difference is that you can get out of all this with what you came looking for: the freedom of your girl. Isn't a small price to pay after all, huh?"

"So… you're saying I have to trust in you."

"You have no choice. I'm the only one who can offer you what you want and, in return, you give me what I want. Isn't that the ultimate expression of justice?"

"And justice is expensive… I'm beginning to realize how much," Blaster said ironically.

"Abysmally expensive, yes, but still here I am offering it in exchange of mere material profits. I know my fees are high, but you have to understand that in order to take Nocturne out of the Nemesis I'll have to buy out some of my comrades."

"Does that mean you are taking my case?"

"If you pay me what I want, yes."

"What in the Pit you need terrestrial currencies for? Do you deal with humans too?" Blaster asked, glancing at the data pad again.

"That's not of your business."

"And just how do you think I'm going to get ten million energon credits? Economy is nothing but a memory on Cybertron, you should know."

"If you really want your precious little girlfriend back, you'll find the way."

Yes… he would find the way… just as he had found it when he contacted one of the worst Decepticons ever created and put all his hopes on his disgusting antics. Blaster wondered how dirty his own spark was now. He felt grateful he wasn't able to see it.

"You will have what you want," he heard his own voice saying.

Swindle smirked and extended his hand. "Perfect, perfect… We have a deal then. You won't regret it."

After some seconds of hesitation, Blaster took Swindle's hand and shook it. Had he just sold himself? Did shaking that greedy hand turn him into a traitor?

But Swindle wasn't going to give him any time to question his morals.

"Alright, I'll inform you how you will deliver my fees later. It's a pleasure to deal with you, Blastie."

The Autobot Communications Officer let the data pad fall to the ground. Dirty sand welcomed the five lines written in Cybertronian characters that could be read on the screen.

10 million energon credits.

500 energon cubes.

Ten billion human dollars.

Five billion human euros.

Three billion human pounds.


Soundwave didn't question himself when he placed the motionless body of Nocturne on the cell's floor.

However, what worried him was the fact that he didn't abandon the place immediately, that he stayed inside the open cell, glancing at her…

More than the Autobot herself, the thoughts concerning her were disturbing.

He had expected her to be afraid, it was logical. He had expected her to show some resistance, as it had happened. What was totally unexpected was her unwelcomed feelings of gratitude, and his even more unexpected protective intentions.

She was an Autobot, the enemy. Despite not being a warrior, she represented everything that Soundwave hated, the virus of conformism and hypocrisy that he had been trying to eradicate practically his entire life.

Destroying her should've been an easy choice, maybe using her as what she was: a slave, an object of his property to which he could do whatever he pleased. Abusing her was his right, a right any other Decepticon would have used at the first opportunity, but he didn't act as his comrades in arms. He was not only reserved and cold, but his ways to express cruelty were different also. His sadism was infamously notable, another reason why he was one of the most feared Decepticons, even among his own faction.

Why, then, had he shown concern for the Autobot's welfare?

His logical mind couldn't explain it, the sudden fascination with this member of the enemy faction, the unnerving feelings surrounding her that seemed to be more than just those of ownership… He worked the thought over in his mind: there had to be something wrong with his circuitry. There just had to be, because no other explanation was acceptable. What else could drive the most loyal member of Decepticon army to such a response? Primus, it was bordering on treason.

Yet try as he might, he could not revoke his earlier reaction either; the unwanted buzzing in his own structure that had accompanied the contact between their bodies, the memories of which still lingering in his system.

There was something in that Autobot that intrigued him, more than her mere utility as a scientific tool. Perhaps that uncertainty was the reason why he felt he had to preserve her. That thought, however, was not tranquilizing at all.

Soundwave stepped back, his visor finally giving up the image of the Autobot lying before him. He activated the energon bars of the cell. Purplish shines reflected on the delicate structure of Nocturne, honouring her denomination.

Following a command from their master, Laserbeak and Buzzsaw ejected from Soundwave's chest compartment and assumed their vigilant positions. As their siblings, they had been aware of the intruding presence in their link some hours ago, but using the discretion they had inherited from their creator, they avoided expressing any further thought about the matter.

Soundwave glanced at his winged Cassetticons for a moment before heading toward the exit. He had many things to do and wasting more time in the Brig was out of question.

The sound of his footsteps got lost within the corridor. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw exchanged glances, silently expressing in their link the contempt toward the Autobot prisoner. One thing they knew for sure: she was going to be the cause of big problems.


Yes… Soundwave was one of the most feared mechs within the Decepticon army. None of his comrades in arms would have looked forward to having an issue with him but, as in everything, exceptions existed.

Mental immaturity and excessively young age are more than enough to step over almost any tacit rule. In other words, disrespecting the rank of a superior officer was no problem for the always-hyperactive Stunticons.

Distracted as he was in that moment, Soundwave didn't pay attention to the roars of engines until they were before him. Something crashed brutally against his mid section and threw him to the floor, as a very disrespectful tire rolled over his face.

"Oops! Sorry about that, Soundie boy," Wildrider sarcastically apologized.

"It's your fault for getting in our way," laughed Drag Strip as he used the walls as driveways, not caring at all about gravity.

Heavy steps could be heard as Breakdown, Wildrider and Drag Strip transformed into their robotic modes and aligned beside Motormaster and Dead End.

Motormaster approached Soundwave and grabbed his neck, lifting him up from the floor without the slightest effort. Soundwave didn't try to defend himself; he didn't even give any signal of feeling the pain of the brutal grip over the delicate circuits of his neck.

"Thing is simple, Soundwave," the Stunticon leader said as he crashed his prey against the wall. "We want the girl."

"Yes, we're corny," Drag Strip seconded.

Dead End glanced absent-mindedly at his companion. "I think the human term you are looking for is horny".

"Whatever… the thing is we want some action."

The chat between the Stunticons was interrupted by a cold and monotonic voice.

"Negative."

Soundwave's response froze the Stunticons, who were already thinking about who would be the first to put his hands on Nocturne's spark chamber.

Motormaster tightened his grip.

"I think you didn't listen to what I said, Soundwave. What kind of Communications Officer are you if you can't understand simple words? The girl is ours, period. Whatever opinion you have on the matter couldn't be less import…"

Until then, Soundwave had remained motionless; no aggressive signals came from him. That's why when his shoulder cannon activated it was twice as surprising. Suddenly, Motormaster's right arm was no more.

The Stunticon leader stepped back, crying in pain and anger, as Drag Strip and Wildrider transformed to their alt modes and charged against Soundwave, their engines roaring with killing fury.

The Communications Officer prepared to defend himself, disdaining his obvious disadvantage. Watching closely, his visor burned dangerously, anticipating the imminent onslaught with increasing fury. Slowly he edged away from the wall, placing himself between his assailants and the prize at the end of the corridor.

"Looks like we're in for twice the fun tonight, boys," Breakdown called over the sound of his comrade's engines, "Girl action, and we get to trash Megatron's little puppet."

"You are mistaken" Soundwave replied tacitly, his concussion blaster now in his hand, "You will have neither of those things."

He could hear the hum of his weapon and felt his tensions ease slightly; a high-pitched ascending scale, the sound of death and destruction and a welcomed soundtrack to war. Five on one was by no means an optimal situation – no, four on one he corrected himself with satisfaction – but he had been in worse situations before. Soundwave leveled his concussion blaster, his visor fixated on Drag Strip and Wildrider.

Was that a matter of pride? He could easily allow the Stunticons to have their way with Nocturne, but he wasn't going to be stepped on by inexpert warriors created from human vehicles.

Whatever the case was, Soundwave was not going to let anybody damage his slave.

To be continued.


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