C.M.D: It's been a while since I've uploaded last (feels like months honestly) but I'm not getting any less busier. So, I'm super glad that I have at least gotten a few chapters done this month for your reading pleasure. With any luck, I may have an update or two for next month as well. Anyways, I won't drone on anymore -please enjoy!
To say that the night had been a restless one would have been an understatement. Exhausted, optics hazed with a fog from the never-ending tears he had silently wept and chestplates taut from the relentless aching of his spark, Soundwave was loathe to rise at all when dawn swiped its first colourful brush line across the horizon. Yet he knew he had to and that was the only motivation lifting his hunkered frame upright.
No doubt word had spread the previous night from Tracks' visit -the servants this morning had knocked, politely, quietly announced their bringing of breakfast and had left it at the door without once stepping inside. Perhaps they assumed the Autobot was still in their master's berth this morning, and he along with him.
In other circumstances, that would be the case. But that's not what had unfolded several cycles ago and Soundwave was barely glad he was saved the embarrassment of the staff discovering such. They'd find out everything in time, there was no illusions to think otherwise, having them ignorant for now though merely was a blessing. Washing his face, Soundwave donned his mask and visor once more, trying to sweep away any signs of his breaking spark as he dressed for the palace. There'd be no favors gained if he faced the court with holes in his guard; certainly, the Emperor would not take kindly to a sniveling, lovesick fool when he had other matters to attend to.
Once he was finally dressed, the telepath gathered the few of his documents made during his travels, tucked them in a satchel under his cloak, then exited the room. The halls were bright and warm and so wonderfully empty at this hour -a nuisance upon the optics and on the processor. Taking care to skirt around Tracks' door, Soundwave forced himself to think of other things, such as the report he never finished for Lord Megatron. Or the garden! It needed more fertilizer and special seeds for planting season next spring. Oh, and there was the annual household inventory to go over before the winter came...
Distracted, for once, the Decepticon was quick to anger when whispering vocalizers pulled him from his reprieve and back to a sore reality. Searching for the source of the sound, Soundwave stepped off track, heading down a smaller, narrower hallway, meant for servants and slaves to use to travel between main areas of the estate. The talking had hushed to almost complete silence as he neared a fork, and peering down it angrily, the blue mech found himself in quite a shock.
For there stood Arcee, waving longingly at the last of Springer, before he too turned the bend, her back to Soundwave and completely unaware of her Master's presence. When she turned, slowly and giddy, that is when the telepath noticed the rose she pressed tenderly to her chestplates. He did not need to read her mind that moment to know what thoughts she had; what her spark was thrumming out so loudly for any one to hear... It was all written so clearly in the tiny, love-struck smile upon her face. A smile that quickly crashed when her optics lifted at the sight of Soundwave's shadow, gazing jumping up to the Decepticon just as rapidly as her fear did.
"M-master...!," she choked, words freezing in her vocalizer, unable to offer an excuse.
Soundwave could feel all his anger flee and once more he was filled with a deep sorrow. One of his slaves had found love, where he could not, yet even then it was not permissible. Such relations among property were... criminal... "Order: See me in the study once I have returned," he commanded with a heavy spark. "Status: Must talk."
Shivering now in terror, the femme struggled to hold onto bravery; suffocating the rose in a clutching grasp and nodding quickly so as to distract from the tears filling her optics. "Y-yes," she was close to weeping, "Y-yes Master."
There was no time to spare on pointless sympathies. Venting wearily, his entire frame shrinking under the burden of his duties, Soundwave turned away from the slave and quickly headed back out to the main halls; into a carriage and on his way to a reluctant meeting with the Emperor.
xxXxXxx
"USELESS!"
At the scream, everyone leaned away from the table; Megatron's goblet bouncing across the marble before hitting the farthest wall, shattering into a million, tiny pieces. High-grade slowly spread across the table, almost soaking precious documents before Soundwave swooped in and quickly collected them in his arms. Unhindered, the softly glowing liquid continued to spread, no servants or slaves to take care of it whilst all were seated in the Emperor's private war chamber.
"My Lord," Blitzwing spoke up, hesitantly reclaiming his seat. No one else dared to do the same as of yet, uncertain of what the affect the censor's words would have on the silver mech. "These are only slaves that we-"
"Only slaves?," Megatron roared, slamming the table with his clenched fist. There was a harrowing crack heard deep in the stone, so loud that Blitzwing flinched visibly, taking a cowardly step back. "They steal from my land and resources and you dare call them mere slaves?! Allow me to remind you that with no stock or trade, I have very little need of someone to oversee my Empire's finances, which means your usefulness to me is also forfeit."
"Now sit!," the larger Decepticon barked, having lost his patience entirely.
Everyone reclaimed their places at the round table with a hurry, but none so quicker than Blitzwing, as the Emperor himself slowly leaned back in his seat. Shockwave as ever stood by his side, getting a new goblet for his superior and pouring him another glass of high-grade. Not far from his left, Starscream sat, unable to stop the taunting smirk spreading across his lip components. "You truly have no sense of leadership," he ribbed, optics glowing with cruel glee. "Scaring the poor tax collector -what does that do besides drive him further batty?"
Megatron took the proffered cup from Shockwave, drinking as he glared at the winged mech from the side. "You," he growled lowly, "Have much to be humble about, Starscream. It's your incompetency that results in these foolish slaves."
The commander straightened up in his seat in a flash, wings stiff with ire and optics narrowed into slits. "My fault?!," he screeched, pretty face contorting in his rage, "How in the slag is it my fault that you can't rule your fragging empire!?"
Like a rattlesnake strike, the Warlord reached across the table, grabbing the magenta mech by a wing; fingers slowly crunching it under his mighty paw as Starscream gasped and writhed in hateful agony. "You are supposed to be my commander; leader of my army," he said casually, unphased by the claws scratching deep marks in his forearm, "I had thought that you'd be able to fill the role during such peaceful times, but apparently even cleaning up after scum is too much responsibility for you."
With a heavy twist of his servo, Megatron sent Starscream tumbling back into his seat, ignoring the screech that followed as he turned back to the rest of his subjects. As one, they all looked towards their Emperor, waiting to know what he'd have them do next. "Soundwave," Megatron began, scowl firmly in place once more, "Continue with your reports."
At the snap of the black fingers, the councilor hurried to wipe the wine up with a sleeve, before spreading out the scrolls he'd brought with him. "Status: As was saying, my liege," Soundwave continued, as if there had been no interruption before, "Rogue activity is up by thirty-five percentile. Fringe settlements: current exploitation and targets. Suspects: Few remaining free Autobots. Reasoning: Slave towns heaviest hit. Casualties high with exception of Autobot slaves."
"And they've been amassing a larger following with every freed slave," Starscream piped up, eyeing Megatron cautiously as he spoke. Fear though did not ebb the scathing heat from his words. "It's amazing how senseless you can be, Oh Glorious Leader. I said we should eradicate the Autobots entirely when you won the war! It was too much of a liability to keep them alive; a mass, public execution serves better purposes than war prisoners. But no! You didn't listen, you-"
The commander cut himself off sharply when a servo raised in his direction, but instead of striking the winged mech a second time, the Warlord merely held out his servo for the pen Shockwave handed him. "Enough, Soundwave," he intoned, drinking from his goblet once more, then resting it to the side, "You've already gone over those details. What I'm most curious to hear is your take on response... What shall we do to these rogues?"
Soundwave hesitated to answer, feeling an intense pressure upon his shoulders as he was put on the spot. The entire council was looking at him, their minds filled with scathing remarks and cruel betrayals that were not as silent as they believed. "Fact: They are attacking precious farming and trade towns now... and the harvest approaches. Conclusion: Suggest sending out more troops to physically guard the fringe territories, protect farmers and traders alike and-"
"Send more of my soldiers out to the border towns?," Starscream gaped indignantly. "Are you daft?! These 'rogues' as you call them are mere scum! I refuse to send my elite out to guard backwater shacks and huts because some country-born soldiers are incapable of keeping a few slaves in line. Let them die if so!"
"Protest: Is not a mere few," the councilor retorted, tone a little sharper with his ire. The winged mech always had something to say in opposition but he was being extra obtuse today. Soundwave did not have the patience to listen to it. "Repeat: A documented two hundred slaves are missing. Beginning Autobot count before the attacks is unknown."
"All the same, Soundwave," Megatron interjected, cutting off Starscream's shrieking tirade before it could start, "The commander is right. My soldiers serve the Empire better, closer to home, until such a time that a true threat or mission awaits them. Sending them out to play nursemaid to poor villages and towns is pointless."
"...What shall you have us do, my liege?," Blitzwing uncertainly questioned.
Leaning forward with imposing grace, Megatron took the pen Shockwave had given him earlier, and cut a black line across the map. As one, everyone leaned forward too, trying to see what the Emperor had done. "These pesky mosquitoes require adequate supplies, which they pillage from my empire's furthest towns and communes," the silver mech calmly explained, sitting back comfortably in his throne, "Thus, we shall remove those resources from them. Blitzwing, send notice to Strika that she is to make a declaration to everyone north of this line. Starting from today, the people of the fringe territories are to abandon their farms and homes and move to any of the available regions closer to the empire. Those that do shall be rewarding with coin -select an appropriate sum, censor- and those that don't are at the mercy of the vagabonds."
"But," Blitzwing mumbled shockingly, "T-that is... that is at least a hundred or so villages, my liege! Taxpayers of almost several hundred more!"
"Query: The harvest is not yet here, Emperor. What of their stock?," Soundwave asked, equally as alarmed.
"Unimportant," Megatron answered carelessly. He reached for his goblet again, and Shockwave refilled it.
"Those lands never contributed much to the Empire's resources," the assassin added. "They shall mean very little to us once removed, but to our so called 'freedom fighters', the act will be decimating. We have richer farm lands in these regions across the line. And better fortitude as well, given that many of the Empire's training camps are held in these same areas."
Pulling his goblet away from his mouth after a hearty drink, the Warlord turned his helm to the commander, lounging easily in his seat while favouring his injured wing. "You, Starscream, are to head for the troops' barracks and relay my command."
"Me?," Starscream scowled, straightening up in his chair, "Why must I go?! Send Lugnut to do such menial errands!"
"You will go," Megatron growled, quickly losing his good mood once more, "Because you are my commander and such insubordination will result in the removal of your position and title! Besides, I know you Starscream -you will dismiss the rest of your duties once you have given the initial declaration, thus I'm making this easier upon you. Inform the soldiers of the changes made, select your finest, and send them as instructors to the training camps. Another group shall be assisting Blitzwing with rewarding the fringe settlers of their due pay and a third will be traveling with Strika. Leaving you with plenty of time to visit the training camps in between your usual slacking off."
Ignoring the magenta-face, shaking, indignant Decepticon, the Emperor turned to the rest of his present council; a casual smirk playing at the one edge of his mouth. "Now that everything is settled, are there any more questions?"
"Might I offer an additional suggestion, my liege?," Shockwave spoke up then, stepping forward so he might be more in line of Megatron's sight.
"Oh?," the silver mech asked, glancing at his assassin. "And what did you have to offer, Shockwave?"
"Your plan is sure to be successful, Emperor, but I fear that it may not be enough to cull these bandits. Certainly, having no more access to food and resources will lead to their eventual eradication, yet it is a probability that they may have already tainted our other valuable resource," the purple cyclops explained.
"What resource is that, one-optic?," Starscream scathingly asked.
"Slaves, obviously," Shockwave replied, glancing at the commander with his fore-mentioned one, unblinking optic. "Slaves have proved such usefulness as a wonderful labor force and home maintenance -even in other uses, like pleasure. But fringe settlements are home to many slave owners, more of which have not sold their stock yet."
"Meaning they are liabilities...," Megatron mumbled softly, following the other mech's line of thought.
"Yes, my liege," the assassin said, bowing slightly. "I would suggest, to ensure that no rogue-sympathizer gets to your core city, an additional decree be made. All slaves -unpurchased and untrained- be put to death immediately. We'll cut away all traitorous thoughts in one orn, my Emperor, and still retain our valuable asset."
"Are you mad?," Blitzwing shouted, pausing in his note-taking. He looked from Shockwave to Megatron in angry disbelief, lowering his gaze so as not to stare into his Emperor's optics. "My lord," he begged, "See reason! If you slaughter those slaves without master or with too much will, then the people shall revolt! It'll be pandemonium in the very streets!"
"Don't be so dramatic," the Warlord vented irritably, waving a servo at the censor. "Include a small reward as well for our ever-diligent traders. But, as always Shockwave, you prove to be the most esteemed informant of my council. You, too, shall have to be rewarded."
"At your side is reward enough, my liege," Shockwave said, bowing.
Starscream gagged silently off to the side and even Blitzwing made a face before finishing the last of his notes. With nothing else to do, Soundwave began rolling up the scrolls, sensing already from Megatron's processor that the meeting had come to a close. And unsurprisingly, the Emperor rose to his pedes not but an astrosecond after, heading out the door with a last "See me when you have finished preparing the declarations, Blitzwing", before disappearing entirely.
It took not even a klik before Starscream was gone too.
"This will pinch the empire's taxes," the censor grumbled, rising to his pedes. He glanced at the councilor, silently watching him, and quickly corrected himself. "Not to say that the Emperor is wrong in his decisions -they are indeed exemplary and well-thought out! But taxes must be changed for this year, enough so that people do not feel its pinch and to keep those losing more from demanding retribution."
"Fact: Shall keep them well in line, as the Emperor expects," Soundwave said, partially assuring, as he handed Blitzwing the scrolls.
"But of course," the tan mech replied, reluctantly agreeable. He took the councilor's reports and maps without a thank you, his thoughts loud and irritated as he left the room.
In any other situation, Soundwave would take note of everything echoing in the censor's processor, but today was not a good orn for subterfuge of a fellow colleague. It had taken all of his energy to keep up a front through this long hearing as it was -and now, knowing of the actions Megatron would take against the Autobot uprising? The councilor seated himself for a moment, unable to stand as vertigo hit him. First Tracks, now Arcee and the declaration to kill all unclaimed slaves. This seemed like such madness! And the telepath could foresee greater consequences coming out of it.
If the Emperor heard about Tracks' lack of cooperation and Soundwave's leniency... Would he demand the Autobot be relinquished to the Empire's new death sentence?
Trembling, fighting back nausea, the councilor rose to his pedes once again, hurrying home.
xxXxXxx
Evening was approaching as Springer made his way down the hall. He marched in perfect pace, taking care to analyze every corner and entryway as he passed. Stellar cycles of training had taught him to be on the lookout for any signs of danger and he'd kept to the vow of a guard despite his owner's allegiance. In fact, if it wasn't for Soundwave, the Autobot would have never known the Decepticons to be anything but monsters. All that he'd learned under the councilor's possession had changed the way Springer perceived things.
Which was why, marching down the darkening halls now, the guard was not afraid or at all suspicious as to why his master would summon him so late in the orn. Perhaps it was in regards to the new roster and rounds, Springer thought silently, as he turned the corner to the councilor's office. That wouldn't be too surprising... Soundwave liked to rotate guard positions every change of season, to allow his staff a chance to rest or learn new skills. It was very gracious of him to think of slaves and servants so well; it was also one of the many reasons Springer was loyal to the Decepticon.
Coming up to the councilor's office, the guard silenced all his curious thoughts, knocking on the door with a sure fist. "Master Soundwave," Springer called out evenly, "It is I, Springer. You summoned for me, my lord?"
Soundwave replied from the other side with a "Acknowledged. Order: Enter," to which the slave pushed into the office, still holding onto the side of the door to close it behind him.
"How may I be of-," the Autobot stopped himself mid-salute, the door swinging firmly shut as he noticed that they were not alone in the office. Standing before Soundwave already, helm downcast and shaking, was Arcee. She did not even glance up the moment Springer had entered, but a terrified sob did escape her at the sound of his vocalizer.
Tightening his stance, Springer looked from the femme to Soundwave and back again; finishing his salute stiffly and holding his arms rigid down by his sides. The councilor was staring back at him in masked silence, servos folded under his chin, causing a knot of worry to form now in the guard's tanks. "...What seems to be the problem, Master?," he asked mechanically.
Soundwave was quiet for nearly a klik, turning his helm minutely to each of them, one at a time, before he lowered his servos and grabbed the scroll from his desk. "Status: Has come to my attention that you have been fraternizing intimately with each other," the blue mech began, pen already moving over the white surface. "Fact: Is illegal, as decreed by his Emperor's great law. As you are both aware of."
Arcee was shaking harder now, though she kept all sounds contained, and Springer couldn't help the step he took forward. "Master, please," he begged, dropping to one knee without hesitation. He grit his denta as he forced the words out, tanks now roiling sickeningly. "Miss Arcee has nothing to do with this. It was an error on my part and every meeting was facilitated by me. The punishment is mine to bear alone; spare her from the consequences of my crimes."
"N-no!," Arcee shouted, finally lifting her helm. She took a step towards Springer but the red visor of her master's gaze culled her into submission. With optics overflowing, she buried her face in her servos and wept.
"Springer," Soundwave started neutrally, "Stand."
The green mech wanted to do anything but. Yet, an order was an order, and he would kiss the Decepticon's very pedes to keep the femme from suffering through the empire's "training regime" for slaves or the horrors of being resold. The stories he'd heard were nightmarish enough. Rising to his pedes reluctantly, Springer looked straight into his master's face, hoping that the councilor would see the strength of his conviction in his optics.
Even if he didn't have the tight-lipped look of certainty and the coolant-slicked optics of desperation, Soundwave could hear as loud as Starscream's shrieking the love Springer carried in his spark for Arcee. It was a strong flame, so bright, that it led the guard to even sacrificing himself at the executioner's slab and all for the sake of the femme. It was both beautiful and spark-breaking at the same time. Venting softly, the Decepticon turned to his scroll, making another note across the papyrus.
"Inquiry: How long?," he asked.
Arcee still wept and would not answer. Springer hesitated, deliberating on whether to lie, but decided against it, knowing that it would make no difference towards the severity of his punishment. "It shall be two whole quartex in three more orns, my lord."
Soundwave jotted something down on his scroll, turning back to his desk just then. "Status: Have come to a decision," he declared, still writing. His pen was moving at a flurry now and Springer felt his jaw tighten; vastly aware of his demise rushing towards him.
"Status: Arcee and Springer have broken the law of their servitude and therefore have defied the Emperor's will," the councilor continued, rolling the scroll up into a tiny tube before sealing it in the middle with some wax. "Analysis: Are not fit to serve in the empire anymore."
"But-," Springer started sharply, concern turning to rage at the implications he took from the Decepticon's words.
"Conclusion," Soundwave interjected sharply, turning, holding the scroll out for Springer, "Have decided, you both are free to go."
Arcee's helm snapped up suddenly, her tear-streaked face slack in shock. "W-what...?"
"F...free?," Springer echoed in equal astonishment. "Y-you're... we're free...?"
Soundwave nodded, giving the servo holding the scroll a little shake to bring it the Autobot's attention again. Shuttering his optics dazedly, the guard hurried to take it, holding it in one servo with disbelief. Both of them were so flabbergasted, that when the blue mech began to speak again, they almost missed it.
"Springer: In charge of delivering the message to the court immediately. Arcee: Is to return to slave chambers for early night. Status: By tomorrow, metalsmith and officiant will come," Soundwave announced, leaning back in his chair wearily. "Plan: Shall have you freed and wed at the same moment, in the garden. Will be able to go where ever you wish after the fact."
An ecstatic grin was spreading across Springer's face then, every vile thought he'd just been breeding about the Decepticon quick to vanish, as he held the very symbol of his freedom in one shaking servo. He glanced at Arcee, tears filling the femme's optics as she became overwhelmed by the sudden news, and had to refrain from swooping her into his arms out of sheer joy! "T-thank you, sir!," the guard turned, saluting sloppily in his giddiness.
"Tha-thank you so much, Master!," Arcee chirped as well, sniffling as the tears came harder.
Soundwave nodded, waving a servo dismissively. Springer dashed out the door immediately; Arcee held back a second longer, curtseying deeply, before she jogged off to the slaves' quarters herself. All the joy and love that had filled the room chased off after each of them, leaving the councilor alone and surrounded by shadows in his processor. He was happy for them... he really was... but it did not curb the biting sting of envy that poisoned his spark, weighing it down into stone.
Snuffing the candle on his desk, the Decepticon exited out of the office, not even bothering to lock it as he headed wearily down the empty halls.
