Age of Smoke Part 1: The Autobot Code

Chapter 10: New Allies

Jazz sat back, pedes up on the desk. The mech Blaster had identified had been fairly high on the list of mecha who could have set that combiner free—not in the top twenty suspects by any means, but high enough. Now Jazz needed some other evidence so he could keep Blaster out of it.

He watched the cameras, keeping the route clear as the mechling made his way back to his quarters. He felt guilty about it, but it wasn't as if he'd had Blaster do anything dangerous.

He skimmed through camera feeds, checking to make sure…

Oh, pit.

"Uh, mechling?" he said over the comm. then waited for Rewind to relay a response.

"What?"

"We got a problem. Your guardians are on their way back already… in fact I don't think ya're gonna make it back before them."

"Okay," Blaster said after a long pause in which he kept moving, crawling through the vents. "I can tell them I just got bored and went exploring. They know I like to do that."

Jazz took in a deep vent and let it out slowly. "Make sure they believe ya. And in any case, we probably shouldn't train for a bit after this, just ta keep things quiet."

He could imagine the mechling was disappointed, but he couldn't hear it in Rewind's voice over the comm.

"Okay."

Jazz needed the little mech to keep his helm down for a while so no one even guessed he was involved.

Jazz watched on the cameras as Keepsake and Cam returned home and started looking for Blaster, who showed up a few breems later.

There was a knock at his office door.

Jazz carefully closed everything down and turned his computer off, then hit the button on his desk to open the door.

Mainspring came in. "I don't find you here very often, but I thought I'd try it."

"Mainspring." Jazz got up from his desk. "Right. I had ya gather everyone, didn't I?" He wanted to keep an optic on Blaster's situation, but he didn't want to make Mainspring suspicious at all.

"I'm still not quite certain about this whole idea," the older mech said.

"Well, I am." Jazz led the way out of his office, talking over his shoulder. "Look, we gotta do some pretty tough slag out there in the real world and we're just barely getting started. I don't want us getting all hardened and bitter. Optimus made me promise I wouldn't so I'm gonna make sure no one else does either."

Mainspring looked worried still.

"Mech, I know this feels kinda wrong, but trust me." Jazz led the way to the department command center that they'd turned into a common room. Mecha were gathered there—some probably didn't know what they were here for, but Jazz caught Mirage glaring at him out of the corner of his optic.

He loped up to the front of the room, trying to exude the sort of cheerful energy they expected from him.

And then everyone's optics were on him.

"Thanks everyone for being here," Jazz said. He was very grateful to know—thanks to Blaster—that none of them were traitors. "Thanks for all ya do, for going on those long, boring—or not so boring as the case may be—missions. We're still kind of a new team. We don't know each other real well or trust each other real well, and that ain't necessarily a bad thing, cuz ya know… ya trust mecha and ya're liable ta end up with a knife in your back."

There was a quiet, appreciative murmur around the room.

"But I'd like ta start a tradition this orn, cuz this ain't gonna be the last time we lose someone… Autoceptor was a good mech. I wish I'd known him better—he was smart and noble and a lot older and wiser than me, and I probably could have learned a lot from him."

The atmosphere was somber now.

"I wanna honor him for what he did—he gave his life ta save the mecha in his team. But I don't want ta have a funeral. I don't want this department ta be a department of funerals. We're all out there, putting our lives on the line in one way or another. We all know what happened ta him is gonna happen ta a lot of us, so we get a choice about how we deal with that. And since I'm in charge, I'm gonna make that choice. When we lose someone, we ain't gonna sit around and mope about it, we're gonna throw them a party. We're gonna talk about what they accomplished before the end, and we're gonna remind ourselves why we gotta keep on living and fighting."

Several mecha around the room nodded. Mirage was still glaring.

"With that said, Stakeout did ya get the high-grade?"

Stakeout unsubspaced a big crate. "Yes, sir," he said.

"Did you pay for it or steal it?" someone asked.

"Uh…"

"Hey," Jazz answered for him. "It's okay. We'll pay the local oilhouse back."

There was a little scattered laughter. More of them were on board now, but there was still an atmosphere of reluctance—almost discomfort. He'd have to work on that a little.

Once the lights were dim and there was music playing and mecha had a little high grade in them, things got better. Jazz moved from group to group, encouraging them, asking if they'd known Autoceptor and had any good stories about him.

He put off going to talk to Mirage until a little later. He was pretty sure the noblemech still didn't approve of this.

He did eventually need to talk to him, though, so after he'd worked the mood to where he wanted it, he headed toward the blue and white mech.

Just before he got there, Blurr slid into the seat across from Mirage, holding a full cube of high grade. Jazz hesitated, then changed directions to stand by the wall and listen instead.

"Hey, mech," Blurr said.

"Hmm?" Miage asked. He had his arms folded and a cold expression on his faceplate.

"I know you're still upset that I went back for him…"

"Don't be ridiculous," Mirage said.

"Mech, I've known you since you were a youngling. You think I can't tell if you're upset about something?"

"Do you think he would have liked this? Autoceptor?"

Blurr was silent.

"I don't even know," Mirage said. "I didn't know him that well."

Blurr set his high grade on the table between them and leaned back, looking thoughtful. "Neither did I. He seemed kind of… I don't know, reserved. Not very outgoing."

"You would think I'd know him better. I've probably worked with him more than anyone else. After all, he was my contact in Tarn, back in the very beginning of the war."

"Yeah," Blurr said. "Look, 'Raj, I'm sorry I—"

"Oh, please stop apologizing," Mirage said. "And stop trying to fit in. You're a high tower noble for Primus's sake, act like it."

Blurr sighed, but didn't seem to take offense. "I apologize." He switched dialects and spoke with the same tone and inflection that Mirage did. "I must have forgotten my manners. Do you mind if I sit here?"

Mirage nodded politely. "No harm done," he said. "And no, your company is much appreciated."

Blurr sat up straighter. "This event is rather inferior to other funerals I've been to."

"I have to agree with you there."

"And this music… rather loud, don't you think?"

"Deafening."

"I don't suppose you see it as appropriate for the situation."

"Hardly. And you?"

"Perhaps it is," Blurr said. "If I offline out there, I don't think I would mind them throwing a party in my honor."

Jazz inched a little closer.

Mirage sighed. "I would mind. Funerals are much more respectable."

"Well, I suggest you inform Jazz of that before he sends you out on another mission."

"Thank you, I suppose you're right," Mirage said.

"I am still relieved that… Mirage, I can hardly imagine what it must have been like, crossing Kaon alone, invisible, injured…"

"Hmm," Mirage said. "Well, the ordeal is over."

"I truly feared for your life… and that I had been the cause of…"

"Did I not tell you to stop apologizing?" Mirage snapped. "I am not angry at you for going back for Autoceptor, or for leaving me behind."

"Then, my friend," Blurr leaned forward. "I don't understand."

Mirage looked down at the table "I'm not angry at you at all." His voice went so quiet that Jazz almost couldn't hear it. "I would have left him behind," he said. "We might have saved him, but I didn't want to risk it. I would have left him in there without another thought."

"I don't believe that."

"If it had been you, I might have even left you."

"Truly?"

"I don't know, but if I wouldn't, that makes me even worse."

"'Raj," Blurr said. "You worry far too much. You make smart decisions and then you second-guess yourself after the fact. Autoceptor… would have told us to leave him behind. Whether or not that was the right thing to do, it was a reasonable decision. And maybe if we'd been faster we could have brought him home online. But… we don't know that for certain, and there's nothing we can do about him now."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"No," Blurr said. "It's like Jazz said, though. You can bury it inside and let it drag you down, or you can let it go—let it push you forward. Come on. Stop refusing to fit in." He pushed the cube of high grade across the table toward his friend. "You're an Autobot spy. Act like it."

Jazz carefully walked away. It seemed he didn't need to talk to Mirage after all.

First Aid came online with a start. He ached all over and he was hooked up to all kinds of medical equipment.

Had he passed out? Where were his brothers? Where was Shockwave?

"Lie down!" someone snapped and First Aid let himself fall back on the berth as the world faded in around him.

They'd been captured by the Autobots, and they had other medics experimenting on them now.

The orange and white medic came over and First Aid tried not to flinch away from him, just in case it made him angry. His tanks felt terrible. He could tell he was going to purge them in a few breems.

The medic muttered to himself as he checked to make sure everything was connected properly, then stood and frowned down at First Aid. "How are you feeling?"

"A little better, I guess," First Aid said softly.

The medic scanned him. First Aid braced himself, but it didn't hurt this time.

"Hmm," the mech said and walked away.

First Aid tried to remember what his designation was. He and the other medic had talked to each other... Ratchet. That was the orange one. And the white, blue, and red one was Pharma. First Aid took in a deep vent and let it out again before Ratchet came back, adjusted his pain grid to make him more comfortable and disconnected him from some, but not all of the equipment he was attached to.

First Aid watched him, but didn't say anything. He wanted to know where his brothers were. Shockwave had never separated them like this.

"I have some questions," Ratchet said, sitting down next to him. "And I'm sure you have questions as well."

"My brothers…" First Aid said.

"They're all fine." Ratchet said. "We repaired them."

"Can I… see them?"

The medic seemed surprised. "Well… I guess so," he grumbled. "We can't have them here all the time crowding my medbay, but yes. Before that, I want to know if you ever had any health trouble before Shockwave upgraded you? Chronic illness of any kind..."

First Aid shook his helm.

"Nothing?" the medic asked.

First Aid shook his helm again.

The medic sighed, and glared off to the side. "Then it's all Shockwave's doing."

"Is he online?" another voice said. "Maybe don't talk to him, Ratchet, you'll traumatize the poor thing even more."

First Aid tilted his helm to look at the other medic. "I'm okay," he said.

His tanks churned. He wasn't going to last much longer.

"I think he wants his brothers back here," Ratchet said. "We should probably bring them in to talk anyway."

"I'll go get them," the second medic, Pharma, said. "Try not to throw anything at anyone while I'm gone."

He left and Ratchet got up as well and walked out of First Aid's view.

They were both very different from Shockwave. Not much like other medics First Aid had met either.

The nausea overpowered him and he sat up again.

"I said lie…" Ratchet trailed off as First Aid started to empty his tanks over the edge of the berth. Equipment beeped at them while Ratchet watched with a concerned frown, and First Aid's spark chamber started to ache again. He felt weak and shaky.

When he was done, Ratchet helped him lie down again, and then got down to clean up the mess.

"I'm sorry," First Aid said quietly.

"I'm the medic," Ratchet said. "If you're still sick then I'm the one who should be apologizing."

"I am sick, aren't I?" First Aid said. "That's why you kept me here?"

"Yes."

"Am I dying?"

"Not on my watch, you're not," Ratchet said, still on his knees, mopping up energon. "We'll figure something out."

First Aid took in a deep vent and let it out slowly as a wave of pain washed over him, leaving a deep ache in his spark chamber. He needed his brothers.

Ratchet finally got up and scanned him again. "Primus, did your pain grid…? hold on."

First Aid shuttered his optics as Ratchet manipulated his sensory grid.

"That better?"

He nodded.

"Good. Let me know when it starts hurting again."

"Okay."

The door opened and First Aid looked up, hoping to see his brothers, but it was just another medic who walked over to talk to Ratchet for a breem before leaving.

First Aid sat up slowly, but he hadn't even made it upright before Ratchet snapped at him.

"Lie down!"

He let himself back down with a sigh.

"I don't want you to move from that position until your spark is stable."

Eventually, the door opened again, and this time it was Pharma with First Aid's brothers. Their relief at seeing him online washed over him, making him feel safe and happy.

"Hey, mechling." Groove knelt by his berth.

"Hey."

"Good to see you're doing better," Streetwise said. "I'm sorry I let them put those cuffs on you. I didn't think about it until it was almost too late."

"You were hurt," First Aid said quietly. Streetwise had barely been conscious himself. No one would blame him for not acting faster on First Aid's behalf.

"What happened?" Ratchet demanded.

"When they brought us in," Hot Spot explained. "They put stasis-cuffs on him and it knocked him out."

"That could have killed him! Those—"

"I'm sure they didn't know he was a youngling," Pharma said. "Calm down, Ratchet."

Ratchet sighed. "I suppose..."

"So," Hot Spot continued. "How is he?"

"Not well," Ratchet said. "Do you want to talk in private?"

First Aid felt their fear, even worse than his own.

"That bad?" Streetwise said.

"You know," Hot Spot said, shooting a bit of a concerned smiled in First Aid's direction. "I think he can handle whatever you have to say."

"Fine," Ratchet said. "To start with, his spark isn't strong enough to support his frame. Shockwave must have done something to him to keep it from imploding. I can see things in place, but…"

"You'd probably need spark energy to sustain him," Pharma said.

"You mean… we'd have to go back to Shockwave to keep him alive?"

"I would never send anyone to that psychopath," Ratchet growled. "No, it just means he'll have to stay here in the medbay until I can find some sort of workaround to stabilize him."

Hot Spot frowned.

"Furthermore, some of his systems are malfunctioning, though we're pretty sure that's connected to the real problem, which is his spark chamber."

Silence fell as they waited for him to continue.

"The chamber itself is warped. It's under a lot of pressure from the bonds, as well as the discrepancy between his spark strength and the size of his frame. Unfortunately, we can't go in and fix a warped spark chamber. It's possible it will correct itself as he matures, but there's no guarantee. I haven't treated cases like this before because until Shockwave started his horror experiments, upgrading someone from a youngling straight to an adult hasn't been possible."

"So…" Groove said. "Is he going to be okay or isn't he?"

"We're fairly certain he'll live," Pharma said. "But he'll need a lot of medical attention, at least until he's an adult."

"You mean we have to stick around here for three vorns?" Blades griped.

"Not if we can remove the gestalt bond," Pharma said. "In fact, removing the bond would greatly lessen the stress on his spark."

First Aid felt a sudden spike of horror. Groove and Streetwise looked at each other uncomfortably.

"Can you do that?" Blades said. "I'm all for that."

"We might need to talk about it," Hot Spot said. "But if it's an option and if it will help First Aid, then we'll probably want to do that."

"We'd have to know more about the bonds," Ratchet said. "I'm not sure if it's even possible."

"Well," Hot Spot said. "We did promise to let you study us."

First Aid looked at Ratchet, who nodded. "Since you're here, I suppose we could start that… though I have things I need to do in a joor or so." He came over to First Aid. "You're doing much better, suddenly," he said, frowning.

"Is that a bad thing?" Streetwise asked.

"No, I just don't know why."

First Aid really did feel better now. Probably because his brothers were here.

"In any case, now might be a good time," Pharma said.

Ratchet seemed to consider that for a few astroseconds. Then he nodded. "All right, let's get set up."

"Hey! Wait up!"

Silverbolt stopped and glanced over his shoulder.

The other mech skidded to a stop next to him. "Hey," he said. "Are you Silverbolt?"

Silverbolt looked at him warily. "Yes?"

"I'm Sideswipe," the mech said, holding out a hand.

Silverbolt hesitated. Where had he heard that designation before?

"Oh!" he said, and shook the mech's hand. "You. Yes, you're the one from the detention block. Thank you by the way, for helping my brother."

"Don't mention it," Sideswipe said. "I'm glad that guard was such a pushover. I mean… I think I offended your brother though."

"He's easily offended."

"Yeah, I could tell," Sideswipe said. "I have an easily offended brother too."

"So," Silverbolt said. "You mentioned something about…"

"A favor. Yes."

"What exactly do you want us to do for you?"

"Well, first off," Sideswipe said. "I don't want you to think of this like paying me back. You don't owe me anything—they shouldn't lock seekers up, that's wrong. Anyone who knows anything wouldn't do that."

"Hm," Silverbolt said. This mech obviously didn't understand the way most Autobots felt about them.

"Think of this more as an opportunity to make some friends who understand what it's like to be… different."

"Who exactly are these friends you're talking about?"

"The Wreckers."

"The Wreckers?" Silverbolt's optic ridges shot up. "Are you…"

"They're friends of mine," Sideswipe said. "And I promised them something, but I need some seekers to help me and the only other place to get you mecha is on the battlefield."

Silverbolt frowned.

"Sorry. That was..."

Silverbolt sighed. "Well, it's not wrong."

"For the record, I really respect you mechs for sticking around after Vos." Sideswipe said. "That's hardcore."

"Thank you," Silverbolt said. "You'd be surprised how few of your fellow Autobots share that sentiment."

"You're just not talking to the right ones," Sideswipe said. "Half of everyone's a glitch in this world. That's just the way it is."

Silverbolt glanced down the hall. This mech was very friendly, but didn't seem entirely trustworthy. "You still haven't told me what you want my brothers and I to do for you."

"It's a surprise," Sideswipe said. "Don't worry, I think it'll be fun, and we'll try not to get anyone hurt."

That didn't help. "If there's a possibility someone will get hurt…"

"So, next orn, south practice field, twelve joors?" Sideswipe said.

"Umm…"

"Awesome! See you there!" The mech transformed and sped down the hall away from him. Silverbolt watched as he went around the corner. Had he just agreed to… he wasn't even sure what. He shook his helm and kept walking, trying to puzzle out what Sideswipe had said and whether or not he wanted to risk showing up the next orn.

Optimus walked through the halls of Red Alert's prison. Ironhide and Prowl had taken all these mecha captive against his orders, and now he had to decide what to do with them.

It had also come to his attention as he'd walked among them that a few of them still hadn't received medical attention, and he wanted to make sure Ratchet knew.

He stopped at the next cell, where a femme was sitting with her back to the wall.

"Good orn," he said.

She glanced through the bars and her optics widened. "Primus…"

"I am Optimus Prime," Optimus said. "What is your designation?"

"Um…" she said. "Skimmer." She looked frightened.

"It is good to meet you," Optimus said, kneeling so as to be less intimidating. "Were you injured in the battle?"

She shook her helm, but put a hand to her shoulder. "No, not badly. Are you really…"

"The Prime?" Optimus said. "Yes."

"What are you doing here then?" she asked, searching his faceplate.

"I am merely visiting the mecha we captured in Blaster City. I want to make certain all the injured have been cared for." He didn't care whether she believed him or not. She wasn't the first to be skeptical. "It was good to meet you, Skimmer." He got back to his pedes.

"Wait!" she said, and he stopped as she scrambled up too. "You… I mean… this isn't what I was expecting."

Mecha said that to him a lot.

She continued. "I felt bad… I felt like it was wrong to attack that city, and I wasn't sure, but I don't think you're as bad as Megatron says you are. I didn't expect to actually meet you, though, or for you to be so…" she looked down.

Optimus wasn't sure what to say.

"Sorry, I'm not making sense," she said. "Look, at this point, I don't want to be a Decepticon anymore. Could I…?"

"We would be happy to release you if you left the Decepticons," Optimus said.

"No," the femme shook her helm. "I mean I want to be an Autobot."

Optimus stared.

"I've thought about leaving the 'Cons before, but I still think there are things wrong with the world, and I still want to fight. The 'Cons are worse than the Councils, though. At least the Councils kept things together."

"We would be honored to have you fight alongside us, though you should know we do not fight for the Councils."

The femme hesitated, then nodded. "I believe you," she said.

"Hey, can I join the Autobots too?" a mech in a cell across the hall piped in. "I hate fighting for Megatron. They don't care about us at all, they just throw us out there to get slaughtered."

A few more voiced the same sentiment from nearby cells.

"Thank you, all of you," Optimus said. "We would be grateful for your help." He moved on to the next cell. "What is your designation, friend?"