Choices

Halogen

Four Terran Months Ago...

As far as parties go, there've been more raucous ones in my life. Some of them even thrown by organics! But the coolest thing about this, is that the Autobots like to share stories. Me and Nights, we have a few centuries of tales built up, but I don't think any of them want to hear about how she killed the Praxan betrayer, or how I blew up a penal colony with hundreds of lives still jailed inside. Nah, their stories are better than that, older than that. Listening to Ironhide talk about the Velocity Races in Iacon makes me realize just how long they have all survived. I thought making it through a few hundred astrocycles was hard, but these Autobots have survived thousands of them.

A lot of them remember life on Cybertron before the war wrecked it, a Cybertron that doesn't exist except inside their memories. I dragged Nightshade into the circle around Ironhide when I'd spotted her lurking at the edges with Mirage. I can't be sure if she's making friends, or just going through the motions. I sort of assume it's the latter, because our contract explicitly ends when we get off this dirtball. Our contract also states that we are never to be unaccompanied. Optimus had apologized for that clause, but explained its necessity to placate some of the Autobots who were not quite so trusting as he.

It hasn't given me any time or ability to really talk to my little sister privately since we validated the contract.

But sitting here side by side, without some crisis raging around us, without having to fend off accusations or tend to injuries, without having to scramble to cover for some unexplained phenomenon directly resulting from Nightshade's peculiar talents, I can actually, finally, give her some of my attention. And I can ping her private comm frequency. She feels the same sick sense of nostalgia using it that I do. DropZone rarely ever vocalized aloud. This frequency was ours; it was how the three of us communicated without any other knowing about it.

The first signal I receive resolves itself as sensory input, an image: the towering form of our elder brother, looming over us, and then gone.

"Yeah. I miss the big lug, too." I hope she doesn't realize that I'm lying. DropZone was many things to us while he was functional: leader, transport, and adviser. It was only at DropZone's insistence that we remained neutrals, our services for sale to the highest bidder. His death, in a way, had granted us our freedom. Nightshade just isn't ready to see it like that, yet. "But think of it this way, we don't have to constantly have him in our receptors grousing about being contracted to Autobots."

Beside me, Nightshade dips her chin a little to hide the ghost of a smile. "His complaining was an artform, and you know it."

This is the side of my sister I wish she'd show more bots. Her humor is sharp and quick; her amusement dry and often soundless. I'd love to hear her laugh again, to really laugh, but it's a sound that's been largely absent since the Catalyst job on Hanza V.

"You have something brewing inside that brain module, don't you?" Her question comes after I don't answer her directly, lost in my musing about her laughter. She doesn't look at me. One of our personal rules is to never let the rest of them know that we're communicating.

I lean forward and cradle my chin between my hands, giving the image of a rapt listener to Ironhide's story. "A few things, really." I confess. "First thing, I've already got all lined up. Wheeljack's letting me borrow his lab, in exchange for some goods. I just ne-"

"Goods? Are you going to try to make some tankrot again?"

"Got it in one, little sister!"

"And you need my newly doubled rations to distill." She knows me so well; it's not even a question.

"We both know you don't need them. And we both know that recovering as much energon as we just did puts us one step closer to getting off this rock, and back out to what we love doing?" What we love doing. That's such a joke. I hate it. Sure, I love blowing stuff up. I love watching buildings crumple, and fire's rage, but I like making things too.

Her hesitation speaks volumes. Out of the corner of my optics, I see her glance across the knot of mechs listening to Ironhide. It's grown enough that I can't quite tell who she's looking at. Until Bluestreak flashes his charming grin, and Nightshade looks away as if she'd been slapped.

So, making friends despite her best efforts not to. I can work with this.

"Please, Nights? We'll each invite three bots to partake, at least until I'm sure I can make enough for everyone to sample?"

"Don't you mean until you're sure you won't shut everyone down completely?"

"Well, yeah." It's a concession I have to give. "It's a distinct possibility that this Terran stuff won't distill right, and we'll have another case of real tank-rot on our hands. That's why I want you to be there." She leans back against the wall, crossing her arms slowly over her chassis. "Don't think of it as me abusing your abilities... because I'm not, I'm just using-"

"-all the tools at your disposal." She finishes the statement with me. "That is such an Elder Brother line, Halo. Fine. Fine. Jazz. Mirage. Bluestreak. My three. When are you planning this?"

That was fast. She named them off without even thinking about it. I'm surprised that she's chosen Jazz. He's in somewhat of a position of authority, ranking somewhere around third or fourth in the chain of command. It's unlike her to even give those mechs a second glance. "Wheeljack. Ratchet, and Bumblebee." I counter with my three, sensing but not seeing the slight flinch she makes when I mention the CMO. "Timing's the thing. I want to the distillery tested and all the kinks worked out before my Autobrand ceremony. So, I've got maybe a couple of Terran months..."

"What?" She vocalizes it aloud, breaking every rule in our sibling handbook, staring at me. I knew I wouldn't be able to slip it past her, but there was no easy way to tell her. Ironhide cuts off in his story, and every optic in the circle is focused on my sister and I.

I have just enough time to toss them all an apologetic smile, as Nightshade gets up from her seat and pushes through the gathered crowd.

"Was it somethin' I said?" Ironhide asks as I rise in her wake.

"No, man, no," I try to wave off his concern. "Something I just screwed up with big time..."

I start to push through the same crowd, mechs moving aside for me easily. Nightshade is smart: she doesn't actually leave the big hangar where the celebration is taking place. She's stopped before the lift, bracing her hands against the wall as if she could push it over by leaning on it. She'd obviously been intent on sealing herself in a hab-suite and letting me sweat it out, and she's apparently thought better of it.

"Nights?" I try the frequency again, only to have the signal ping back unreceived. She's ignoring me. "Nights? Hey, I've been trying to tell you... Will you... can I at least explain myself?"

I wait for any kind of reaction, even just the slightly flick of her fingers or shift of her weight, but nothing happens. I'm not sure what I had expected, but the lack of an all out rage is a small blessing. Unless that's what she's trying to contain by going all internal on me. I become increasingly aware of optics that keep straying in our direction, attention that I had wanted to avoid. I edge closer to Nightshade, well within reach of her fists, and her blades.

"Look, I've been thinking about this for a long time, ever since Ultra Magnus asked us to join up. It only makes sense: they want to end the War too, not perpetuate it. You know the Code as well as I do; you know it's about protecting freedom from tyranny."

"You don't feel like you're betraying his memory at all, do you?" Nightshade lifts her head to glare at me. Without her optic shield engaged, they burn with a terrible intensity.

"No, I don't." The honesty hurts. I can see it in her face. She was always closer to DropZone than I was. I never quite understood my function between the two of them. "I honestly believe that DropZone was stopping us from picking a side on purpose. Maybe he was afraid-"

She hits me. No harm, because I was really expecting it. But she pushes off the wall and swings as she turns toward me. Her fist catches the side of my face, and sets me back on my wheels for a moment. Now that's got the party's attention. Every Autobot in the hangar has weapon in hand and readied. Our sibling drama is on display for everyone to see, for everyone to hear. For the first time since coming aboard, Nightshade and I do not present a united front to those gathered.

"Don't you ever talk about him that way again. Ever. Elder Brother feared nothing. He sacrificed himself so that we would survive. So we can carry on. And this is how you throw away his legacy?" Each statement is punctuated by a shove. After the first, I hold a hand up to the Autobots, waving them off from taking action. "You choose to brand yourself? You choose to throw away the team, our bonds, for those of a down-trodden, struggling army?"

When she flings her hand out to indicate the Autobots, a few of them reflexively throw themselves out of the way. But it's Optimus who steps forward.

"You're correct, Nightshade. It is his choice. No one has forced him to make it. And that is the point he's making. You both have been disallowed this choice from the beginning, through your brother's actions, and words. Ultra Magnus told me he once offered you the opportunity, but only heard two, of the three, opinions before you were orbital bounced."

Nightshade lowers her hand, and I regain my balance while Optimus speaks.

"The three of you were a team, mercenaries, moving from job to job, and planet to planet. But now, there is no team, for which I am greatly sorry, and so long as we are all stranded here, there are no marks on this planet. With the Autobots, Nightshade, I can offer you a place to belong, a cause, and a reason, beyond a few shanix, to keep fighting. Halogen has made his choice. Maybe it's time to make yours, as well?"

Optimus stands with his hand extended, his expression is unreadable behind that faceplate. He towers over both of us. I'm rubbing my face. My sister packs a hard right hook, and I'm just lucky that she didn't decide to deliver a fistful of energon-spikes along with the blows. The air about sparks with tension, as she studied Optimus and considers his words.

"You're right. It is his choice. But it is not a choice that I will make, not now, perhaps, not ever. I walk that thin line, Prime, between your Autobot morality and their Decepticon brutality. So, no... there will be no Brand for me. I will stay within the bounds of my contract." She looks at me then, and reaches out to take my chin in her hand, surveying what little damage she's caused striking me. "Because this bolt-head is my brother I support him... even if I do not agree with him." She pats my cheek as I smile down at her.

Optimus can only nod, setting his arms akimbo for a moment. "I understand your position, Nightshade, just know this... the offer stands, as an open door, should you ever change your mind."

She tips her head, placing two fingers to her brow in a strange mockery of a salute. "Now, with your permission, can I borrow Bluestreak and take a walk?"

Before Optimus can even answer, Bluestreak's extricated himself from the crowd, grinning and agreed to do just that. I think back on her choices for the tankrot test. Bluestreak, Mirage and Jazz. Despite herself, she's making friends.