21. Machinations

Diego Garcia

Ironhide called up another scan, cursing at the delay. On their ships, on their stations, he'd gotten so used to the lightning fast processing speeds of their dataservers. Here, they had to use human technology. Which moved at amputated crawl.

He banged a knuckle irritatedly against the console.

"Please be careful," Prowl said. "The equipment is rather fragile."

And that, Ironhide thought, was the other thing. Slow and easily breakable. And extremely frustrating. He backed up a step, trying to bottle his frustration. "I just don't know why we can't use our equipment."

Prowl looked mildly aggrieved, but Ironhide couldn't tell if it was a tacit agreement with him, or at him for asking. "Optimus had decided that it was safest to restrict our technological presence on this planet."

Ironhide shook his head. Sure. Makes perfect sense. Keep the deadly technology out of the hands of our allies. Who have already shown a propensity for reverse engineering. But then...are they really our allies? "It's hampering our abilities," he said, carefully.

Prowl nodded. Well, of course, Ironhide thought. Prowl might side with Optimus in all things, but he wouldn't lie. And of all of them, Prowl fretted operational efficiency.

Ironhide probed. "Doesn't it bother you?"

"It is merely another factor to work into tactical planning," Prowl said, mildly. As though crippled data retrieval was merely like acquiring meteorological data.

Ironhide sighed. "So, the whole run everything through the American government as well? Just fine by you?"

"It is," Prowl sighed, "an unfortunate restriction. But a necessary one."

Necessary. Ironhide snorted. Ridiculous. Why do we even listen to them? Why don't we just do what we do, whether they like it or not? We can still save them, save the planet for them. It made no sense. "Did you," he asked slowly, feeling as though he were on unstable ground, "did you ever think about how much collateral damage gets done because of these restrictions of theirs?"

"Yes," Prowl frowned. "I have performed those calculations."

"But it's unnecessary damage."

"It's unfortunate damage. But in the parameters in which we are to operate, entirely necessary."

Ironhide shook his head. Perhaps the problem was him. Perhaps he was still thinking like a 'con. Maybe so. But he couldn't shake that in this, the 'con way would make sense. Go in, fight them, get out. Give the place back to the humans. The only way this made sense would be if Optimus had decided that they were staying here, permanently. The thought struck him, suddenly—that was why he was trying so hard to make friends with them. Well, with this new weapon, that was probably moot. They didn't want to be friends.

"Hey, Prowl," he asked, "Run these numbers, will you? Based on their actions, do the humans want to ally with us? Let us stay permanently?"

Prowl frowned, his processor ticking over. "No. Very few indicators lead to that conclusion."

"So then, why are we doing things their way?"

Prowl gave him that unpleasant frown that told him he'd asked a question that didn't reduce to easy calculations. "Because...we have to," he said uncertainly. A moment later, he rallied, "What precisely are you looking for? Perhaps I can assist you."

Ironhide shrugged. "Just looking for a pattern. Trying to figure out where they've been so maybe we can know where they'll strike next, or what they're looking for." Sitting and doing nothing was killing him. He had to find a way to get into action again. Find a battle. Get there his own way if he had to. DO something. Move, fight. Get ahead of the enemy. They'd been responsive for far too long, letting the 'cons set the battlefield? This had gone on long enough. If he could figure out where they'd show up, they could at least set up a proper ambush.

"To put the requests in to the American government in advance?"

"Yeah," Ironhide said, darkly. "Something like that."

[***]

Chromia and Arcee had pulled Cliffjumper aside. "She'll listen to you," Arcee said. "She respects you." She kept her voice quiet, optics over his shoulder as if she were guilty of something terrible.

"She respects you as well," Cliffjumper said. He had no idea why they'd singled him out. He liked Flareup, but, well, they didn't exactly move in the same range. All of the cyclebots—they might be a bit faster, but he was better armed for a longer fight.

"I know," Arcee said, "but she'll think I'm insulting her, you know. Saying she's not good enough to be a warrior. It's a sibling thing—we can't help but get a bit competitive." She tilted her head, knowing Cliffjumper couldn't entirely understand. No one could, really. No one understood their bond, much less their shared trauma. And the hideous gulf that had somehow sprung up between them. The fact that they hadn't seen it coming until now, until it felt like it was too late, disturbed her.

"She was plenty good from what I've seen," Cliffjumper said, uneasily.

"Of course. But, you know. Mentally. Well, no, really. Her spark isn't in it." Arcee winced. It sounded like a betrayal. But they each had evolved different abilities. And to be honest, it would be the best use of their resources, of them, to have Flareup have her own specialty. A fighter, an intelligence analyst, and a medic? Almost an ideal spread. They'd given up personal vengeance to serve the Decepticon cause (though if Thundercracker ever did show up, Arcee wasn't sure how well she'd be able to keep her objectivity). They'd given themselves over to the war, to pushing the Autobot cause. Fighting for something larger than they were.

Cliffjumper nodded. "It's not for everyone." He did it better than most, he thought. No shame in not living up to his standard.

Chromia added, eagerly. "Exactly. It's no ding on her, but she's just not cut out for it."

"But she's already halfway decided to switch to repairs." Cliffjumper looked at his new hand, waiting for its latest enameling.

"And we want to encourage that," Arcee said. "But if we do it too obviously, well..." She grinned. "You know how much you love being told what to do."

Cliffjumper grinned, sheepishly. Yeah. Well. "So you just want me to like...encourage her."

Blue and pink heads nodded in unison. Always a little...unsettling to see the complete synchrony. Sometimes it made Cliffjumper feel he was missing out. He felt he missed out on a lot sometimes. There was a lot he didn't get about his fellow soldiers—their bonds with each other, the trauma they somehow felt about their mission. "Yes."

Chromia added, "It's sad, how we've grown apart. At one time, we were...literally...one, you know?"

"It's best this way, though," Arcee said. "We are three times as useful." A smile, but it was a little thin.

Cliffjumper nodded back. He had no way of really understanding what they'd been through, and he hoped it was enough like empathy that at least he realized it and didn't try to pretend he understood. "Sure. I've got some refit work coming up later. Be glad to talk to her."

"Oh, and no word of this, okay?" Chromia asked, earnestly.

"Of course not." Easy enough. "She's been through a lot." He figured that seemed the right thing to say. "I'll be careful."

"She has been through a lot," Arcee frowned. "And you have no idea how much it kills us that we couldn't share it with her."

"And she's shut herself off from us." Chromia added, sadly. "We'll do anything to get her back."