Age of Smoke Part 1: The Autobot Code

Chapter 44: Dusk

Silverbolt paced back and forth. Skydive had flown out to join them, though Fireflight still wasn't well enough. They hadn't been able to convince Air Raid to go back to base. Silverbolt was worried about him. More worried about Dawn, of course, but…

They'd gone back to the top of the building where Dawn had disappeared from. Air Raid, Skydive, and Singshot were sitting on the edge, but Silverbolt didn't really like edges. Just being able to fly didn't mean you could survive every fall.

Air Raid looked up sharply.

Silverbolt stopped pacing. "What?"

"She's awake," he said.

Silverbolt nodded, and commed Jazz to let him know. He watched his brother nervously as Air Raid gripped the edge of the building, staring up at the sky.

"Yeah?" Jazz said over the comm.

"She's awake, apparently," Silverbolt said.

"Finally," Jazz replied. "Not that it narrows it down much at this point. It's been more than a joor—they could have taken her anywhere in the whole sector."

"Can you comm. her?" Silverbolt asked out loud.

"It's not working," Air Raid said.

Silverbolt spoke over the comm. "Her comm. doesn't seem to be online."

"And we can't seem to get her tracker working either," Jazz added. "Red's been trying."

Air Raid gasped.

"Raid?" Slingshot asked, sounding concerned.

"No…" Air Raid said. "No…"

Silence fell, thick in the atmosphere.

"They're hurting her," Air Raid breathed. "Primus, please no..." He broke off, sobbing.

Silverbolt approached, and knelt behind his brother, reaching out to put a hand on Air Raid's trembling shoulder. He wanted to say that everything would be all right, that they would find Dawn before it was too late—that they would save her.

But he wasn't sure if they would. And he didn't dare say it if it wasn't true.

All he could do was watch his trine brother break.

After a breem, Slingshot—whose own family had offlined not too long ago—pushed off the edge of the building and flew away, apparently unable to bear his brother's suffering. So, Silverbolt swallowed his fear and took Slingshot's place, putting an arm around Air Raid's shoulders as his brother wept and raged and begged Primus to save his sparkmate.

And he sat there as the breems stretched longer, and hoped against all fleeting, disappearing hope that the Autobots would find her before it was too late.

Jazz stood watching as Nightbeat knelt by the mangled frame of the seeker femme in Iacon's dim gloom. Of course, they'd known that she was offline. About a joor after she'd regained consciousness, her bonded had passed out and they'd had to rush him to the medbay through a bridge to treat him for sympathetic spark failure.

This time had been different. This time they'd had warning—they'd had someone bonded to the victim and they still hadn't been able to find her before it was too late.

This was no random serial killer.

This was a mech or group of mecha with training, hard-earned skills, and a purpose.

Like the other victims, the femme's frame was damaged almost beyond recognition. Her wings were ragged strips and she was melted and shredded and covered in her own energon. The main difference was that her frame had also been dropped from the top of a building, though that would have been joors after she'd offlined.

"I'll comm. the seekers," Nightbeat said.

"I'll do it," Jazz said quickly. "I don't think they like ya very much after ya tried ta talk ta Air Raid last orn."

Nightbeat shrugged and went back to studying the femme's frame.

Jazz commed Silverbolt, who answered after a couple of astroseconds.

"Hello?"

"Hey," Jazz said. "…we found her."

There was a long moment of silence.

"Okay," Silverbolt said.

"Yeah. Seems they decided to drop her frame off a building, and someone saw it a couple breems before the sun dome came on and reported it to enforcement."

"That's…" Silverbolt said. "Uh… sorry, I… where are you? I can come…"

"We'll bring her frame back," Jazz said.

"Okay."

"You can stay with your brother. How's he doing?"

"He's still not online yet," Silverbolt said. "But they've said he's going to pull through."

"Well… I'm glad ta hear he's gonna be all right," Jazz said. "Let me know if ya need anything, and I'll let ya know once we get Dawn's frame on base."

"Thank you."

"See ya, mech."

Silverbolt cut the comm.

Jazz turned to face Nightbeat. "So?"

"The pattern's definitely consistent with the other killings," Nightbeat said. "And enforcement says they've got a couple of reports of a mech wearing a Decepticon mask around the city-state, so I'm going to go follow up on that. Witnesses always tell you way more than they think they're telling you."

"Okay," Jazz said. "Be careful."

"Got it," Nightbeat said, and left. Jazz watched as the mecha from enforcement moved Dawn's frame onto a tarp and wrapped it up. He waited until a transport came to take the frame back to base, and then drove ahead. He had other things to do.

He had barely made it to the command wing when he got a comm. from Rewind.

Frowning, he answered it. "Hey, li'l mech."

"Blaster wants to talk to you," Rewind said.

"Right," Jazz replied. "I figured. But I can't talk right now—I'm busy."

"He says he wants to talk to you about the serial killer."

Jazz stopped right outside his office. "If he has information, he can feel free ta send it ta me, but ya should tell him he should definitely not get involved in this mess."

"He says he wants to help, and if… are you sure?... if you don't let him help, he'll help anyway."

Jazz sighed. "I'll get in trouble if he helps, unless he gets permission from Optimus."

"He says he wants to talk to you about it, and if you won't talk to him he'll come find you."

That little… Jazz sighed. "Is that so?" he muttered. "Fine, I'll come talk to ya." He turned around and headed for the mechling's quarters.

He hit the entry request button and waited, tapping his pede.

Keepsake opened the door. "Good orn," she said.

"Hey," Jazz replied. "I need ta see Blaster."

Keepsake frowned, looking defensive. "Is something wrong?"

Jazz forced a smile. "Kinda? It's my fault I gave him my comm. codes."

"He doesn't have a comm."

"Rewind does," Jazz said. "And I guess he'd have been able ta get my codes somehow anyway, but…"

"I can have words with him about bothering you," Keepsake said. "He shouldn't be taking you away from your work. I just…" she sighed. "We thought our first meching was unstoppable. But Blaster's something else. He's really sweet and he wants to be good and helpful, he just… doesn't understand that he has to set limits for himself."

"Yeah," Jazz said. "Maybe I'll try and get Optimus ta talk ta him at some point. That'll be good for him. But right now, I gotta have a conversation with him about something." Jazz felt a twinge of guilt. If they could use Blaster's ability to help him figure out the whole serial killer thing… four Autobots had offlined so far.

Then again that was nothing to the number of deaths out on the battlefield every orn.

"Come in," Keepsake said, backing into the room. "I'll go get him."

Jazz sat at the table and Blaster came skipping in and sat across from him, looking pleased with himself.

"Okay," Jazz said. "What do ya know about that serial killer?" We're gonna have ta have this conversation two different ways so be careful about what you say.

"Only what you know," Blaster said. "That's why I want to help. You don't even know whether it's one mech or multiple mecha, or if it's even an actual serial killer."

Jazz sighed. "Mechling, ya know we can't accept your help." Give it a few more orns. If we haven't figured anything new out before they kill again, then we can work something out.

"But I want to help!"

"Absolutely not," Keepsake said. "I don't want you chasing after a serial killer. Blaster, we've talked about this sort of thing."

Don't back down too easy, Jazz thought. Let's keep arguing about it for a few breems and then decide on trying ta set up a meeting for you to talk ta Optimus.

"I hate that you treat me like a sparkling," Blaster said.

"You're not an adult yet," Keepsake said.

"But I can do so much!" Blaster said. "More than most adults."

"It's not about having abilities," Keepsake said. "You're amazing, Blaster, but your judgment is still the judgment of a mechling, and you need to wait until you're more mature—"

"You just don't trust me."

"Blaster," Jazz said. "Mecha will trust ya when ya show them ya deserve that trust." I appreciate your help, and yeah, if it comes down to it, I'll let ya help me find that serial killer, but I don't appreciate being manipulated. "Why don't…why don't for now I try ta set up a meeting with you and Optimus, and ya can tell him how ya feel about all this and see what he says."

Blaster seemed to consider that.

"It'll be good for ya since ya won't be able ta read his mind and just say what ya think he wants ta hear."

"Fine," Blaster said, looking sulky.

He was a pretty good little actor. Some orn he'd make a great spy.

"Thanks," Jazz said. "Now don't have Rewind contact me again unless it's some sort of emergency." Actually it's a great way to get ahold of me privately. Keep in mind that I might be busy and won't be able to answer all the time.

"Okay," Blaster said, and Jazz got up from the table.

"See ya later, mechling," he said, and left. His own words rang in his audios. He wanted his fellow commanders to trust him, didn't he? Should he really be giving in and letting Blaster help him?

If they never found out, though, it wouldn't matter.

First Aid still felt sick, but it was actually getting better. He was back to feeling about normal—not great, but normal—and his tanks were starting to let him keep energon down better.

He looked up from his datapad when the mech in the berth next to him stirred, then slipped off of his own berth and walked hesitantly over. The seeker's trine brother was there too, watching anxiously as he stirred. Then the seeker on the berth came online all of a sudden. His optics flew open and he halfway sat up.

"Down," his brother said, and shoved him back onto the berth.

The injured seeker gasped.

"Don't," First Aid said. "His spark probably hurts a lot—don't push on his chest."

The second seeker let go of his brother who lay on the berth, staring up at the ceiling, gasping.

First Aid checked his vitals on the monitors he was hooked up to. His spark pulse was much better than it had been. "They'll probably want to keep you here another orn," he said. "Because you came so close to offlining. But then you'll be all right. Ratchet fixed your leg too. Whoever did it last time did it wrong."

The mech didn't move, and neither of them said anything.

First Aid looked down. "I… I'm sorry about what happened. If there's anything I can do to make you more comfortable or if you need Ratchet for something, let me know. I'm not really a medic, but I know all of them and I can help with things a little."

"Thanks mech," the sitting seeker said. "But just leave us alone, all right?"

"Oh… okay," First Aid said, and retreated to his own berth again. He picked up his datapad and turned it on again, but kept listening to the conversation, feeling guilty for eavesdropping.

The seeker lying on the berth spoke after a few astroseconds, voice trembling.

"Slingshot…"

"Yeah," his brother said quietly. "I know."

The injured one started sobbing quietly, and when First Aid looked up, Slingshot was also weeping silently.

They had lost a friend—and in Air Raid's case, a sparkmate.

First Aid tried to imagine what it would be like to lose one of his brothers. He didn't even want to think about it.

But that was why, he had decided, he was going to leave instead of staying with the Autobots. This was what war did to you—it took mecha away from you. First Aid had been taken away from his creators, and his brothers had been taken away from their friends.

He didn't want the war to take his brothers from him. So he was going to leave with them. He just had to get Ratchet to give him the formula and instructions for making his medicine.

If the medicine worked, that was. First Aid was starting to feel that too-familiar ache in his tanks that meant he was going to purge before too long.

He tried to focus on his reading instead.

Ultra Magnus charged forward with his mechs, chasing the retreating Decepticons and firing on them from behind.

They reached a main street and Ultra Magnus shouted over the comm. for his mechs to stop and cease fire.

The Decepticons rushed across the street while the Autobot line stopped.

"You know you can follow them and press our advantage," Hurricane's voice said over the comm.

"I know," Ultra Magnus replied. "But can we keep that advantage?"

"Probably long enough for Commander Prowl to come in to the command center," Hurricane said. "But otherwise, if you like, I can find you good fortification spots and we can solidify the Autobot line. It'll be safer, but it'll also give the Decepticons time to retreat."

"Let's do that," Ultra Magnus said, watching as the fleeing Decepticons filtered between the buildings on the other side of the street. "We will have time to take prisoners from the fallen Decepticons and gather our own injured as well."

"Yes, sir," Hurricane said. "I'll send you instructions within half a breem."

"Thank you, Hurricane."

Now that mech was respectful and knew his place. Sometimes Ultra Magnus wished Commander Prowl was a little more like his second in command.

He ordered his mechs to watch the retreating Decepticons carefully and wait for instructions from tactical, then he walked back among the buildings.

The streets were littered with bodies, and fire burned all over, filling the atmosphere with smoke. It had gotten so bad in one sector that both sides had needed to flee the flames.

They had left many injured in that inferno.

They were never getting those mecha back.

Energon fires could wipe out entire city-states if they were bad enough. If isolated, these fires didn't normally cause problems, but there was so much energon in the streets that it caught the fuel powering the buildings as well.

Hurricane sent instructions and Ultra Magnus helped his forces move into the positions they'd been assigned—some on ground level, some below, and some in the buildings above, watching for seekers.

The Decepticons were retreating in other places as well. Hopefully this meant there would be a lull in the fighting. He might even have an opportunity to travel back to Iacon to report personally at the ornly meeting.

His arm was leaking and he needed energon, but he could wait for a few breems until he knew whether the Decepticons were really retreating or whether they were just regrouping to attack again.

The other soldiers in the building with him looked worn down and exhausted. Some of them were injured. Some seemed alert, but others sat against the walls, optics shuttered.

Ultra Magnus stood straighter. "On your pedes, soldiers," he said. "We may have an official cease-fire in several breems, and you can rest then."

Wearily, the mechs stood and those who were already standing straightened and saluted.

Ultra Magnus nodded and waited for more news.

Jazz answered his comm. "Talk ta me mech. Ya find something new?"

"I think so." Nightbeat's voice came over the comm. "There were a couple more sightings of the Decepticon-masked mech, and I used those locations to predict where their base might be. I'm in the underground looking for them."

"Cool," Jazz said. "That sounds like exactly what I told ya not ta do. Ya wanna wait for back-up?"

"I've found something already," Nightbeat said. "I think at least one of their killings might have happened here, because it's a mess."

"Yeah?"

"Except I can't find any equipment. It's not a lair, just… a quiet place where they could have tortured someone without attracting attention."

"Well," Jazz said. "Whatever equipment they use, it has ta be mobile anyway."

"But that's the thing. It's not just a lack of equipment, there are no signs of equipment ever being here. And why would they clean up every trace of their equipment but leave all this energon and bits and pieces… I think there might have been multiple mecha killed here. In fact… definitely the first three. The seeker femme wasn't here, I don't think. So I guess… but then why move their equipment somewhere else unless they thought this location was compromised… they needed some sort of furnace, though. Maybe one of them has a lot of subspace and carries everything around…"

"One of them?"

"Lots of pedeprints," Nightbeat said. "At least four mecha other than the victims have been here since."

"What are your coordinates?" Jazz said. "Is your tracker turned on?"

Nightbeat sent his coordinates.

"Okay," Jazz said. "I've got a meeting in less than half a joor or I'd come join you."

"That's all right," Nightbeat said. "I'll probably just poke around for another breem and then get out of here… unless… if this is their base of operations I might be able to find some more evidence, maybe figure out how they move their equipment around. It just doesn't make sense."

"Hmm," Jazz said. "Maybe ya wanna wait for that until I can come look around with ya. Or I could send someone else. Ya shouldn't be wandering around alone where there are serial killers."

"Don't worry, I've dealt with plenty of serial killers," Nightbeat said. "Though this is different. We're still missing things, I'm sure of it."

"Okay, mech," Jazz said. "I'm not gonna force ya ta come back. But let me know if ya run inta trouble. Make sure ya have your tracker on."

They had trackers in most of the Autobot insignias, though they were usually not active when mecha were on base. Red Alert had been upset about that, but Optimus had been adamant about the fact that the trackers were to help find soldiers on the battlefield, not to keep tabs on them when they were at home.

Jazz checked his internal timepiece and got up from his table in the common room. "You know what, mech?" he said over the still-open comm. "I've got a few breems. I want ta see the place ya found."

"Okay," Nightbeat said. "Do you want to meet me up at the surface?"

"Nah, I'm gonna bridge there."

He heard Nightbeat sigh on the other end. "Ah, the luxury of living above groundbridge laws. Enforcement gets to do that sort of thing too, and I occasionally got to mooch off of them as well."

"Yeah," Jazz said. "In any case, stay where ya are and I'll be there in a few breems."

"Got it."

Jazz crossed the base and headed for the groundbridge station. Technically he was supposed to get approval before using them, but that was stupid. He was a commander, after all.

Most of the bridges were employed bringing soldiers back from Slaughter City. Jazz went over to one of the two that weren't in use.

A mech came over. "Commander, sir," he said. "Do you need a bridge for something?"

"Yeah," Jazz said. "And I might need it again in a couple of—"

"I hear something," Nightbeat said over the comm.

"Like what?" Jazz asked, frowning.

"Pedesteps," Nightbeat whispered. "Hang on. Someone might be here."

"Pit," Jazz muttered, and started powering up the bridge. "You are one lucky fragger. I have a groundbridge ready ta bring you in. Are ya still at those same coordinates?"

"No, I'm going to investigate," Nightbeat said. "Be ready with that bridge, though. I'll probably need it."

The groundbridge finished powering up and Jazz got ready to input coordinates.

"Are… you going to need the bridge open again later?' the operator asked. "Do you know how to put the coordinates in?"

"No," Jazz said. "And yes. Don't worry, mech, I got this."

"Okay, sir," the groundbridge operator said, but looked sort of nervous.

"Primus beneath," Nightbeat breathed.

"What?" Jazz said.

Silence for a few astroseconds.

"Nightbeat?"

"Pit, they've seen me!"

"Send me your coordinates,"

Nightbeat screamed over the comm.

"Coordinates, mech!" Jazz said.

He got a data file from the mech and put the coordinates into the bridge. This could go very badly, he realized, as he activated the bridge. He didn't want to let the serial killer on base.

But he couldn't afford to hesitate.

The bridge opened.

Jazz didn't dare vent.

He waited one astrosecond.

Two astroseconds.

Then Nightbeat came stumbling through and collapsed on the ground. Jazz shut the bridge as quickly as he could, watching the whole time to make sure nothing came through.

He glanced at the groundbridge operator who was staring, wide-opticed.

Then he turned his attention to Nightbeat, who seemed to be trying to get up.

"Hey," Jazz said, kneeling by him. "What happened?"

Nightbeat groaned and collapsed back to the ground. Jazz rolled him over, checking for injuries, but Nightbeat didn't seem to be leaking at all, and Jazz didn't see any other signs of trauma.

"Hey," he said. "Mech. Nightbeat."

Nightbeat's optics went dark and he went completely limp.

Pit.

"Hey!" Jazz shouted at the line of mecha going past. "Can we get a medic over here?"

A tall femme broke off from the caravan and came over. "What happened?" she said, one optic ridge raised.

"Don't know," Jazz said.

She knelt and scanned Nightbeat, then narrowed her optics. "That's not good," she muttered.

"Please don't tell me he's offline."

"Not yet," the medic said. "Let's get him in that line."

Jazz got up to see a couple of mechs coming over with a stretcher.

"He's gotta be a priority," Jazz said. "I need him online."

The femme nodded somewhat coldly. "We'll see that he gets treated, sir," she said, and Jazz watched as they joined the line of injured mecha.

Then he looked back at the groundbridge. The coordinates were still in the system. Whatever had hurt Nightbeat was just one bridge away. Jazz could…no. He didn't know what he was up against. He'd have to check it out later.

He went over to the bridge to delete the coordinates, and then followed the mecha taking Nightbeat away to make sure he got medical treatment.

Notes:

1. Sorry I missed last week. I was driving home last Saturday from a vacation, and then I was working on other stuff all week. My chapter buffer is kind of dead right now too, because I was working on a later part of this story. But I'm done with that for now, so I should be back on track from this point forward.

2. Thank you, as always, for reading and reviewing! Y'all are the best :)