Spitfire

Chapter XXXIV

"...still on the search for ex-Secretary of Defense, Thomas Duke, and his band of..."

"...Duke and the Locomoticons remain at large, despite the fact that but one has been seen..."

"Main Street victims have given reports that the Locomoticon, dubbed 'Diesel', witnessed during Friday's battle was able to put Autobots Jazz and Bumblebee down for the count within seconds..."

"...would have certainly ended Autobot leader Optimus Prime had another Autobot, whose name is currently unknown, not intervened..."

"The idea that this Diesel was able to single-handedly defeat three Autobots, one of them being the Autobot leader, has caused an outcry for better defense..."

"...We can no longer rely on..."

"...government sectors involved with the Autobots have yet to comment…"

He dropped his hand from where it rested against the satellite's cold shell, yanking the tips of his fingers from its exposed wires and watching as the small, multicolored cords sputtered, sparked, and died. He cared nothing for the human reaction to the incident that had happened less than forty-eight hours prior.

He had found what he needed to know.

"Soundwave."

The enormous Deception slowly turned to face Barricade, undaunted by his companion's four slitted optics and the soft shine of his pointed dentals.

"What exactly are you looking for?" the cruiser snapped irritably, taking a rumbling, heavy step toward him. "There is nothing on this planet that could save either of us from the ugly fate we now share! Believe me, I have searched for a way, for an escape, and have found nothing short of joining the opposite side."

Soundwave remained unperturbed, his visored gaze boring into Barricade's own. Ever since Barricade had discovered him emerging from the smoking depths of the crater his crash-landing had created, his attitude, his very tone, had been incredibly petulant. It was as though he expected Soundwave to commiserate with him about their hopeless situation on Earth, or about the way Starscream had so readily abandoned their original mission to begin one of his own.

In fact, he felt the opposite way. He thought that the hand that had been dealt to him, to them, was a good one rather than a bad one, though the opportunities it provided went unnoticed by the short-sighted Barricade. Not only that, but he was incredibly grateful that the egotistical, reckless seeker was causing messes and creating trouble somewhere else, for someone else. He didn't have the desire or the patience to deal with his unpredictable personality.

Unfortunately, Barricade wasn't whom he would have chosen to be stranded with either.

"Joining the opposite side..." Soundwave mused tonelessly. "Have you given that idea any in-depth thought?"

Barricade's maroon optics flashed as he gave a visible shudder. "No! I would rather be offline than become one of them!" he snarled defensively, his claws clicking. "My loyalty will always lie with the Decepticons!"

Soundwave inspected his fellow Decepticon in silence for a moment, as if trying to find a hole or a doubt in his proclamation. His answer seemed disappointingly airtight, however, and as much as he would have loved to offline Barricade for harboring traitorous thoughts, he would have to deal with his company a little longer; what he had in mind required his presence, just in case things did not turn out the way he wanted them to.

Soundwave turned away from Barricade, tilting his head back so that he could stare at the cloudless sky.

"As will my loyalty," he echoed in reply. "But you are wrong. There is something we can do that does not force us to resort to becoming Autobots to survive. It will require a sacrifice of our pride for the time being, but that sacrifice should be well worth what we will receive if all goes according to plan."

Grudgingly, Barricade's curiosity was perked, not only by the suggestion of a plan but by Soundwave himself. He had changed a great deal from what he remembered of him. Without Megatron there to hold his reins, Soundwave was no longer his, or anyone else's, lackey. He had taken charge, something that Barricade did not precisely mind. He was more of a follower; the concept of leadership was foreign to him.

Soundwave's step up to command went unchallenged.

"What do you mean?" he inquired impatiently.

"You have heard of the human being Thomas Duke?"

The cruiser nodded, his mouth twisting into a hideous grimace that managed to look both impressed and furious at the same time. "Starscream is the one who made him into what he is now," he hissed. "Right before the slagger - "

"We are going to find him," Soundwave interrupted.

"Who? Starscream?"

"No." What an irritatingly useless pile of scrap I have been partnered with. "Duke. We need to find that human before he does anything so reckless as to kill himself."

Barricade scowled. "Why should we care whether or not that cyborg is terminated? If you take away his robotic appendages, he is nothing more than another disgusting fleshling."

"That is where you are wrong," Soundwave replied. He shot a glance at Barricade from over his shoulder, his visor glinting in the bright light of the sun. "Starscream did not make Thomas what he is now. He does not have that ability. Only one being does, and that is the Sparkchild. She infected him with the power of the All Spark. Starscream merely took away his humanity.

"Which makes him all the easier to take advantage of."

When Barricade remained silent, obviously confused, Soundwave continued. "From the information I have gathered, Thomas sent a specific half-spark after Optimus Prime, one that was larger, heavier, than he was. There is a reason as to why he did so: he wanted to offline Prime. Although it was a poorly calculated move, as these half-sparks are both incredibly dim-witted and clumsy, it had a purpose. Thomas has a purpose, a drive. A vengeance. More than one.

"If I was to take an educated guess, this cybernetic creature is attempting to kill off those who have wronged him, who have, in his eyes, made him the way he is. Starting with Prime, and ending with the Sparkchild. While we are in need of Sparkchild's power, we too share Duke's vengeance. The desire to kill those who have done us wrong."

Soundwave was incredibly still, incredibly frightening, as he spoke, his tone forever flat. "That Witwicky boy will pay for ending Megatron's life. He will pay."

Barricade tensed beneath Soundwave's hidden, heavy gaze, his lifeless voice sending his circuits into a fritz that he kept well-hidden.

"But we cannot penetrate the Autobot base alone," the cruiser stated slowly. "It would be two against six, and that is not counting the humans, however weak they may be."

"That is it, Barricade," Soundwave responded, cocking his head at him as though the answer was an obvious one. "We are not alone.

"We have Thomas Duke and the half-sparks."

Tyler Eller never thought he would miss something so familiar, so ordinary, as the sun.

Sitting on the edge of a medical bay berth, his eyes boring into some indivisible spot on the cold, metal wall and Ratchet and Zachary's conversation tuned down to nothing more than insignificant background noise, the blond attempted to remember how long it had been since he had seen the outside, had felt the heat of the desert press up against his face. It couldn't have been that long, less than two days at the most, a handful of hours, most of which had been spent sleeping...and dodging giant robots.

Then why does it feel as though it had been forever?

Tyler sighed. He had an answer to that question, little good it could do him. It was the canned air, the dim lights, and what he personally thought of as the sort of "futuristic prison" decor that was the Autobot base. Nothing had ever been so unattractive to all five of his senses; it even tasted bad. Not that he had licked the walls or anything, but the very air he was breathing smelled of machinery, and although he would never ask them, he wondered how Sam and Mikaela had bore this torture so well and so long.

If he could barely last a few days locked up in here, how had they lasted more than a year? The very idea boggled his mind.

The Linebacker let his head drop sorrowfully into his hands, unaware that his name was being called. It wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't been raised to love the outdoors. For as long as he could remember, he had been doing something outside, more often than not some sort of sport: soccer, baseball, basket ball on the black top, football, lacrosse, swimming, everything and anything. Even fishing once or twice, though he had grown fidgety after about an hour.

And unlike many other people, weather had never been an issue for him; it had never been something that held him back, had kept him from going outdoors. He enjoyed the light of the sun just as much as he enjoyed the feel of the rain, the wind. While other children had cringed at the sound of thunder and the flash of lightning, he had laughed and clapped with delight, always making his way toward a window where he could see the action happen or, when he could, escaping his mother's grasping hands to run out the front door, whooping like a lunatic. He had never known to fear a storm.

On the days when he had been forbidden to go out, or worse, bedridden with a sickness, it was as if the world as he knew it had come to an end. This mindset had not changed as he had gotten older. If anything, it had gotten stronger.

Which made it all the worse to be a prisoner of overprotective Autobots.

If only there was a window or something...

"Tyler! Hey, Ty! EARTH TO TYLER!"

"Huh?" Tyler's head jerked up as soon as he realized his name was being called, nearly clipping Zachary in the chin. After blinking a few times in delayed surprise, he focused his eyes on the thin redhead, looking a little shell-shocked as he rearranged his skewered glasses, standing before him.

Tyler flashed him a grin. "What's up?"

Zach scowled at his friend, though it was without venom. "I was just trying to tell you that you can leave now," he replied, finally fixating his glasses over the ridge of his freckled nose. "You've checked out. Your leg isn't healing, not yet, but it doesn't seem to be getting any worse."

"I guess that's good, huh?" As Zach shrugged and nodded, Tyler sighed again. "Thanks for the update, I guess."

He slid off the side of the lowered berth and into the seat of his wheelchair, oblivious to the groan it made beneath his muscled weight. Then, swiveling around, its thin tires squealing against the spotless floor, he turned to face Ratchet.

Eh...Why not? "Yo, Doc-Bot," he called. "Can I ask a question?"

"Go for it," Ratchet replied in a preoccupied tone. Although Tyler couldn't see exactly what he was fiddling with, as his back was turned, it looked like another sharp medical instrument that's name was probably long and hard to pronounce, its uses obscure.

All the same, he proceeded with caution. "Do you think there's even the slightest chance I could go outside for a bit?"

Ratchet stiffened, then glanced over his shoulder at him, one optic ridge raised in question. "Why do you need to go outside?" he asked. "There is a lavatory in the human quarters."

"I don't need to go to the bathroom!" Tyler squawked defensively, lunging half-heartedly at Zachary, who was pealing laughter. "What I need is a breath of fresh air! I'm suffocating in here!"

"Oh." Ratchet returned his attention to whatever he was busy with atop his desk. "In that case, no. Actually, in any case, the answer would be no. We are not risking your safety for a simple walk in the park, Mr. Eller."

"C'mon!" he cried indignantly, throwing his hands into the air. "I'm not the one the Decepticons want! Why would they care about - "

"The answer is no." Ratchet cast one last optic ridge-raised glare. "That is final."

Tyler let out an exaggerated moan, his enormous hands tightening into fists as he slumped low in his chair, his expression stormy. All he had wanted was a few moments' time outside of the Autobot base. Was that really so much to ask for, what with six enormous robotic guardians and soldiers toting guns bigger than they themselves were lurking around every corner?

As he turned to propel himself out of the medical bay, his face still twisted into an uncharacteristic scowl, a hoarse voice that he had not heard before stopped him in his tracks.

"I wouldn't mind taking the boy outside, Ratchet."

Squirming around in the sloping bucket of his seat, Tyler stared in surprise at the green and silver robot that had been silent ever since he had arrived with Optimus Prime, Bumblebee and Jazz at the base, only to speak up at the time he had needed someone to the most.

"Hound, you are in no condition to do anything but rest right now," Ratchet replied curtly, turning toward him with his hands planted on his hips. A heavy-looking wrench was grasped within the fingers of one neon hand, but Hound either ignored it or didn't notice it, ready to be thrown if their conversation was to escalate. Tyler admired the new Autobot's courage.

Hound waved away Ratchet's concern. "Oh, I'm fine. A few scratches and dents is all it is. Nothing major."

"Oh? Are you a doctor now?" Ratchet's optics narrowed with cool interest, though he did set the wrench back down on the table's spotless top. Tyler considered this a good sign, and he felt a smile begin to creep its way onto his face.

Hound bowed his head humbly. "My intention wasn't to offend you, old friend. I was merely...giving my opinion," he replied. "Besides, I know how the young human feels. I have been in here for only a few hours time, and already I wish to go out and explore." Hound's optics brightened as he presented Ratchet with a careful smile. "Earth seems like a very interesting planet."

After a moment of silent scrutiny, Ratchet returned it. "That it is, as you will soon find out for yourself." He then leaned against his metal desk and, crossing his arms over his chassis, nodded toward the door. "Go on, then. But be careful! That boy is considered precious cargo. We would not want him exploded out of existence, now would we?"

"You have no faith in me," Hound accused in a faux tone of disbelief as he pushed himself to his feet. "I will sense any Decepticon signatures long before they get close enough to do damage. I assure you, the youngling will be fine."

Ratchet watched as Hound walked past Tyler Eller, beckoning to him when the boy merely stared after him in delighted surprise. After a shout of "You rock!", and Hound's flattered though confused reply, "But I am not a...well, thank you?", the two disappeared into the hallway, Tyler rolling along at a breakneck speed in order to catch up to the tracker, Hound slowing down so that he could.

Even before the doors shifted silently shut behind them, Ratchet's smile widened. Hound and Tyler fit; they clicked, certainly more so than Tyler had with Ironhide, and just as he had with Zachary.

At the thought of his charge, Ratchet glanced down to where the redhead sat on the lowered berth's edge. His single good eye was staring off into space and a frown was plastered on his freckled face; worry lines had creased his forehead. He looked troubled.

"Is something wrong?" the Autobot asked.

Zach blinked once, slowly, before turning to stare at his guardian. His worry lines deepened.

"Do you think Hound can sense half-sparks?"

Tyler stared out at the expanse of sand, his eyes focusing on the faraway horizon where the bright, cloudless sky collided with the edge of the Earth. Clouds of dust rolled and barreled past him as a playful breeze tickled the dunes, pressing the particles lightly against his rugged cheeks.

He turned to stare at Hound, his blue eyes sparkling with an untarnished delight. "It's nice, isn't it?" he said, though it didn't sound like a question. It was more of a statement. An understatement, Hound thought, at that.

"It is more than nice!" the stocky Autobot replied, his tone awed. "It is beautiful, your planet!"

Tyler let out a good-natured laugh, running an enormous hand through his hair, his chest rising as he inhaled deeply. "This isn't all there is, either! There's a lot more: mountains, rivers, oceans. There's land covered entirely in snow. There's places, as big as this and bigger, where you can see nothing but grass in all directions. There's caves, there's waterfalls, there's...there's so much. So much I haven't seen myself yet, but it's out there." He collapsed back into his chair, as though the idea of all the places he had mentioned was strong enough to physically wear him out. "It's just as beautiful as this, Hound. Just as beautiful."

Hound listened as the teenager spoke of what he had yet to witness, his optics roving hungrily over the scene they stood, side by side, before: the desert that seemingly went on forever, red sands constantly shifting beneath their feet; the black silhouette of a multi-pointed mountain range farther away, in line with the horizon; the gleam of Mission City's blocky buildings as they glittered in the sun; the flawless blue of the globe of sky above them.

It was everything he had never seen before, and it was incredible.

After another moment of silent observation, the Autobot smiled. He shot Tyler a mischievous glance.

"What do you say, boy?" he asked, backing away a step as he began to transform. Tyler watched, his eyebrows cocked in question. "Let's go driving."

He had barely finished his sentence before the teenager was skittering clumsily out of his wheelchair and throwing himself into the driver's seat of the dusty green jeep, hefting into the small, stocky car with the help of the steering wheel.

"Hells yes!" he cried excitedly, tugging the belt tight around his waist and gripping the sides of the seat in anticipation. "Drive as fast as you can!"

Hound needed no provocation; with a roar of his engine, the scout was off, swerving away from the Autobot base and down the slope of a dune, his tires skidding and sliding crazily against the unstable sand. Tyler let out a breathless whoop as they propelled over another dune, Hound leaving the ground and hanging suspended within the air for a space of five, slow seconds before crashing back down with a bone-grinding thump and continuing on his way, a roller coaster with no track, no specified destination.

By the time they were far enough away from the base to have forgotten Ratchet's warning, to have forgotten everything but sky and wind and sand, both Tyler and Hound were crying out with a delight that resounded throughout the desert in a boyish, happy ring:

"YAAAAAHOOOOOO!"

Pilar let out a soft, shaky breath, her eyes slipping closed as she leaned back to lie against the cool floor.

Her fingers stretched themselves out, forming a five-pointed star on top of the metal tile beneath her. Her jean-clad legs slowly collapsed like tent poles, dropping until the backs of her knees brushed the ground, until she herself was a five-pointed star as well. Two legs, two arms, and one head, a head that ached and throbbed with an angry, patronizing voice that she childishly wished she had never heard, and would never hear, again.

Why did I even bother? she thought, feeling furious tears well up beneath her closed lids, skewering the darkness of her vision. It was as though she was looking into a rippling lake of ebony. Why did I have to care?

She, of all people, should know by now that compassion and pain came hand-in-hand, that love and ache were bosom buddies. Yet, despite all of her experience, despite all of the brutal lessons life had taught to her, she had not learned. She was a bad student, one that didn't understand the very basics; or, rather, one that refused to understand.

Pilar slowly opened her eyes, willing the tears away as she stared up at the rounded ceiling of the enormous, empty room she had found, one of many that the Autobots had not yet discovered a use for. She listened to Optimus Prime berate her for her kindness, his booming voice resonating within her head, and her expression hardened.

How she wished she had found some response bitter enough to sting him back for what he had said! How she wished she had returned his vicious, venomous reply with one just as sharp!

But instead of fighting back, she had run away, she had cowered and whimpered, escaped to lick her wounds the way an abused animal might, and for a horrible moment, her hate for her guardian was so daunting, so strong, How could I have let him treat me that way?, that it frightened her.

Just as quickly as it had arrived, it was gone.

She trembled in its aftermath, letting out a snort of breath through her nose. Even though she knew how weak it was, she did not have the strength to hate someone any longer than a few quick, merciless seconds. She did not have the will power or the desire.

She did not want to hate Optimus Prime, and she because she didn't, because she couldn't, the ugly emotion vanished, and it left her feeling both exhausted and relieved.

With its disappearance, a small seed of understanding planted itself in her thoughts, and she allowed it to grow, to gain strength.

She knew what it was like to lose someone. She had lost Eliazar. Granted, he had not been a good husband, but before they had been married, he had been a wonderful friend; the best and closest of her companions, without the confusion and dedication of love to mar their platonic relationship.

It was him she had lost, the only loss she still mourned, that sweet-faced, mischievous boy who had once held her hand without a lusting thought, who had once been her friend and nothing more, not a lover or a husband. Just a boy. A harmless boy.

How it had hurt to be rejected by that same friend; how it had hurt to be that boy's punching bag in more ways than one, and she had expressed that hurt through tears, countless, heart-wrenching tears that seemed to be draining from an enormous lake of them she had trapped within her, somewhere deep, somewhere dark.

Perhaps her guardian expressed his pain differently. Perhaps he expressed his pain through anger.

Like Antonia, she thought distractedly. Just like Antonia.

It would be best if she did not mention the subject of his deceased sparkmate again. He would only become defensive, and if he became defensive, she knew what that would mean. She had learned this lesson, at least, because it was important: it would mean that he was hurting, and she did not want to hurt him.

If he wanted to talk about her, about his Elita, then he would, and she would listen, just as she had promised him. That promise had not died, even if the reaction she had received wasn't the one she had wanted.

Pilar closed her eyes for a second time, letting herself drift, and when she felt the vibrations of heavy, Autobot-sized footsteps shake the metallic ground beneath her, she did not tense into a ball, did not sit up. She stayed the way she was, spread out into a star that did not glow and was, disappointingly, completely and imperfectly human.

He stopped once he reached the door, and stood in its frame, staring at her with a heavy gaze that she could feel focused on her face.

It was only when he approached her, his movements calculated and careful, uneasy, that her lips spread into a smile that she couldn't hold back. His sheepish return reminded her of a child's, a little boy who had done something bad and wanted to make amends. It reminded her, again, of Antonia.

"What's up?" she asked softly, as he slowly sat down beside her.

He didn't respond immediately, his dim optics staring at some indivisible spot on the wall, his gaze both absent and sad. The scratch that he had received earlier in the day was all too visible against the slope of his cheek. His newest wound would become a scar, one that lay beneath his right optic in the shape of a boomerang.

"I am sorry," he replied, just when the silence was beginning to lengthen to the point that Pilar wanted to close her eyes again. An odd answer to her question, but she accepted it readily enough. The truth in it was something she both sensed and heard.

Pilar shrugged her shoulders clumsily. "Let's pretend it never happened," she offered.

Maybe he heard the desperation that she was unable to keep out of her voice, or maybe, most likely, he wanted to forget it too, that unattractive memory of himself. Either way, her guardian's smart response made her smile widen a few notches.

"What never happened?"