Author's Notes: My updates are going to be a bit slower for a while. I dislocated my right shoulder on Saturday, and needless to say it hurts. I felt well enough to type a little tonight, and for some reason I updated this unpopular fic instead of one of my popular ones. Oh, well. I suppose I was just in the mood to write hopelessly ambitious Coneheads. Please review, follow, and favorite to see more Meritocracy :)
Chapter 3
Gulag
The first few orns of Thrust and Dirge being in Ramjet's unit didn't go as well as the Coneheads had hoped. They didn't understand how much Ramjet was truly hated by his troops until the two of them were left alone with the bitter group.
Thrust's first job was to clean out the barracks where the other soldiers recharged. He didn't go into it expecting an award or anything, but he was still cautiously optimistic about earning a reputation as reliable and a hard worker.
The first problem came when he entered the quarters of Outburst and Tidal Wave, who were both still in the room when he entered. They were talking from their berths and eating energon goodies since it was their day off, and Thrust tried to clean without disturbing them. Turned out it would be them who disturbed him.
"Hey, rookie!" Outburst shouted tauntingly at Thrust, "You forgot to clean that!" He snapped as he pointed to a high grade cabinet with a tarp over it.
"It's covered up," Thrust pointed out.
"I can see that, slacker!" Outburst snapped unsympathetically, "You remove the tarp, clean the cabinet, and put the tarp back in place. Oh, I'm sorry! Is that too complicated for a pin head like you to comprehend?"
"I'm a Conehead, not a pin head!" Thrust retorted angrily.
"The more time you spend arguing with us, the likelier you are to be late in reporting to Ramjet..." Tidal Wave said in a sing-song fashion, "You don't want your new trine commander to know how useless you are, do you?"
The two boat-formers shared a laugh over that one, and Thrust bit his glossa and tried to focus on his work. He removed the tarp and threw it on the floor before going to clean the high grade cabinet.
"Hey!" Outburst snapped, "You forgot to fold the tarp! Ugh, and it's on the floor! Now it's dirty because you didn't scrub the floors first! You are so incompetent!"
"Sorry," Thrust said through gritted dental plates, "I'll get this tarp cleaned for you."
"Good!" Outburst nodded sharply as Thrust picked up the tarp, "I want it back by tomorrow."
Thrust subspaced the tarp and continued to clean. He scrubbed the floor, wiped off the grime from all the furniture, and washed the windows. While he did this the other two continued to talk, eat energon snacks, and bark orders at Thrust. The dark red Conehead was getting sick of these condescending fraggers, but he was the cleaning inspector, and therefore it was his job to ensure everything was tidy.
After he left their quarters he was about to go clean Trigger and Giga Cannon's quarters. On the way there he ran into Dirge, who was standing in front of an outdoor cage filled with Autobot and neutral prisoners.
"Thrust, you look terrible," Dirge commented, "What happened to you?"
"Oh, I guess being cleaning inspector is harder than I thought it would be," Thrust admitted, "The other Decepticons are mean to me, and scrubbing the floors hurts my knee joints."
"Scrubbing the floors?" Dirge asked incredulously, "Thrust, do you even know what you're supposed to be doing?" Thrust shook his head no, "Thrust, your job is to inspect the quarters of our teammates. If anyone is letting their quarters go to the pit, then you're supposed to report it to Ramjet. That's all you're supposed to do."
"But everyone else said-!" Thrust began to protest.
"They lied," Dirge interrupted, "I'm not surprised, honestly. They told me I was supposed to guard the prisoners from inside the cage. I didn't fall for it, but a lesser 'Con might've gone in and been ripped to shreds once their weapon lost charge. Now get back to your duty. These Autobots look for any opportunity to strike out against us and our conversation is distracting me."
"Yes, Dirge," Thrust replied sullenly, "Thanks for being honest with me. I'm gonna give our so-called team a piece of my processor! Well, first I'm going to launder this tarp, and then I'm going to give them a piece of my processor!"
"Go, Thrust. Hoorah," Dirge cheered in a disinterested monotone.
Thrust laughed and then took off to complete his rounds. Dirge sighed and turned back to look at the prisoners. It wasn't necessary to face them, but he enjoyed watching them watch him. They always looked so wary and sad. It helped him take his mind off the fact that he and Thrust had a metaphorical target painted on their wings. It made sense though. Ramjet was cruel to his troops, and Dirge and Thrust looked like Ramjet and were related to Ramjet, yet could be bullied. Why wouldn't the other troops abuse their meager power over them?
That night Dirge and Thrust returned to their quarters exhausted and covered in grime. The prison camp was located in a part of Cybertron that was virtually unlivable due to the organic deposits and humid rust-inducing atmosphere. This place was so remote it didn't even have a name, so most simply called it The Scrap Heap.
Ramjet came in about 10 breems after his brothers. He wasn't filthy like they were, but the hard look on his face plate told them he'd had a bad day. Both were nervous that Ramjet might take that bad day out on them. When Ramjet turned to look at Thrust, the red Conehead ducked his helm and looked at his leader with wide nervous optics.
"I heard you went the extra mechano-meter on your first orn on the job," Ramjet told Thrust in a condescending tone of voice, "My mechs walked all over you...and you let them. I'm very disappointed in you, Thrust."
"I'm sorry!" Thrust exclaimed quickly, "I'll do better tomorrow now that I know what my job actually is! Please give me another chance, commander!"
"Don't call me that!" Ramjet yelled, and Thrust flinched, "Ugh! Stop cowering, you little slagger! The problem ain't your job. The problem is your attitude. You're a Decepticon soldier, and I expect you to act like one! Now, I think before you handle the other 'Cons, first you need experience throwing your weight around. Next orn you're off cleaning inspection. I want you to be one of the soldiers that leads the prisoners to the quarry to break down minerals. If a prisoner so much as looks at you funny, you have my permission to do whatever you have to in order to get them back in line. You are their boss, and they will learn to respect you. If you can get the prisoners to respect you, then you'll learn how to get the troops to respect you. Got that?"
"Yes Ramjet! I won't let you down!" Thrust replied enthusiastically.
"Will I still be on guard duty next orn, Ramjet?" Dirge asked.
"Actually, I noticed you enjoy the pain of other mechs and femmes," Ramjet pointed out, "From now on I want you to be my chief interrogator. I've been doing the job myself up to this point, but with all the administrative junk I have to do I simply don't have time to question every Autobot, let alone torture them. Make me proud, Dirge. I know you can do it."
"Indeed I can," Dirge replied with a slight smile, "With my fear-inducing sigma ability I won't even have to touch them to get them to confess their every transgression."
"I knew I could count on you, fellas," Ramjet smiled wide at his trine, "Don't let me down. Your success is my success, and your failure is my failure. Our victories and defeats directly affect how the world sees the Decepticon cause. We must strive to do our best for our community. Now, get some recharge. Next orn is going to be a real challenge."
The Coneheads then took their places at their assigned berths. Ramjet immediately began snoring, Dirge took a cloth out of subspace and washed his face plate, and Thrust looked up instructions on how to motivate prisoners on the Decepticon Public Access Network. Thrust knew he wouldn't be able to recharge. He was too excited to have a new job to do.
3 orns later...
Decepticons cheered Ramjet on as he landed another punch to the neutral's face plate! Three neutrals had come close to the camp and had been captured by Outburst. Ramjet had comm'ed Dirge to get his aft over there and handle this, but the dark blue Conehead was taking his time, so Ramjet was left to "question" the three prisoners in his own ham-fisted way.
Ramjet kicked the downed mech, a carrier host, and then punched him in the abdominal struts. The carrier went down, and the two other prisoners, cassettes, tried to come to their host's rescue.
"Leave him alone, you slagging Con!" A lime green cassette ordered, "He never did anything to you!"
"Yeah, if you want to hurt someone hurt us!" A light blue and white cassette added.
Both cassettes were humanoid in appearance with the green one having hands that converted into pile drivers and the blue one having hands that converted into lightning rods. Ramjet might've gone easier on them if they were bird-based. The bird cassettes were cool and typically useful. The upright cassettes seemed to be good for causing trouble and little else.
"Sir…" The carrier, crawling due to no longer being able to stand, croaked out, "Forgive us. We came to...see you. Please...my sons...need asylum."
"You think we'll take in a couple of empties when our own energon is running low?" Ramjet asked contemptuously, "Your cassettes are worthless, and so are you! Now, you and your flunkies have an appointment with our interrogator, and then it's straight to a cell for you. That is, if you're even worth keeping alive for slave labor."
The dark blue carrier shook from the effort to remain on his hands and knees, and his cassettes each took one of his arms and helped him up. They thought this was as bad as it could get, but then one of the other Decepticons grabbed the green cassette and threw him against the wall! He stayed conscious, but his back struts shattered. He couldn't get up on his own, so the carrier gingerly picked him up and cradled him in his arms. The blue cassette clung to his father's leg for comfort, and the carrier looked forlornly at Ramjet and the other laughing Decepticons.
Dirge finally entered the room with his toolkit, and Ramjet scowled at how late his right wing was.
"What took you so long?" Ramjet scolded.
"I apologize, Ramjet," Dirge replied in his typical formal tone, "Thrust wanted to show me a prisoner sucking up to him. I don't think he's used to the idea of power yet, and it still tickles him. Now, where is the prisoner you wish me to interrogate?"
"Prisoners," Ramjet corrected him, "There's three. All neutrals. A bunch of empties from what we can gather. Your job is to question them for any useful intel and then tell us if you think they're healthy enough for slave labor."
"I'm not a medic," Dirge pointed out.
"I know. We don't have one," Ramjet reminded him, "Now, they're over there cowering by the far wall. Make 'em talk."
Dirge turned around to look at the prisoners, and was stunned by what he saw. It was Stereopticon; his grandsire! There were also two of his six uncles, Shellshock and Spinreel! He couldn't believe his own family had been captured by his unit. His poor grandsire looked slagged. He had to remind himself that Ramjet didn't know any better. He just hoped his trine commander would be merciful once he found out the truth about them.
"Grandsire," Dirge whispered, "What are you doing here?"
"Is that you, Dirge?" Stereopticon muttered softly so as to not attract attention from the other Decepticons, "I haven't seen you since you got your new frame. It looks good on you, mechling."
"Dirge! Your commander attacked us!" Spinreel hissed; his green face turning brighter with barely repressed anger, "We surrendered and he still attacked us!"
"Of course he did," Dirge replied as he rolled his optics, "I warned you before. The Decepticons don't accept refugees. Getting into the Decepticons takes dedication, training, and the willingness to crush anything that dares contradict you."
"Please Dirge, talk to Ramjet," Stereopticon requested; his optics streaming with fluid, "The Decepticons attacked our home town. There is nothing left, and my other four sons were killed right before my optics. Spinreel and Shellshock are all I have left. I will do anything to save them. Please mechling, protect them for me."
"No way, Sire!" Shellshock protested, "We came here to get you to safety! Dirge, you know Sire is too old to travel from land to land like some sort of hippie transport. Remember who it was paid for your education, fed you for all those vorns, comforted you when you were depressed, and risked his life to keep you in Decepticon territory. You owe him, Dirge."
"I know," Dirge replied solemnly, "I will speak to Ramjet, but I cannot guarantee he will listen to me. We have only been trined for 4 orns. The union is still new. He might kill me for this."
"Then don't do it," Stereopticon interjected, "I don't want to see you harmed, Dirge. You're my only grandson. I should not have come here. I was just desperate to save my sons. Forgive us for this intrusion."
"No," Dirge growled, "I will not simply forget you exist. I might not succeed, but I will not stand by and do nothing while you are slaughtered. Stay here. I'm going to speak with Ramjet."
Dirge approached Ramjet and his audience with determination in his steps and an unreadable expression. Ramjet was eager to see if Dirge had managed to gather any useful information from his targets, and the others wanted to see if the prisoners would be beaten again. They liked watching Ramjet work as long as the violence wasn't directed at them.
"Ramjet. I need to speak to you alone. Please tell the other soldiers to leave," Dirge said firmly.
Ramjet smiled crookedly at Dirge's tone. He wasn't used to seeing the blue Conehead so agitated. Whatever he learned about these prisoners had to be good.
"You heard the mech. Get out!" Ramjet shouted at his troops; who scurried away from their volatile commander, "Okay Dirge, now what's so important?"
"Ramjet, these prisoners are members of my family," Dirge replied without mincing words, "The carrier is my grandsire, and the cassettes are my uncles. I plead on their behalf for your protection. They are my only surviving relatives, and I will find a way to repay this debt to you if you choose to come to my family's aid. I will accept whatever judgment you give them without argument, Ramjet. I assure you that my loyalty is to my trine first."
Ramjet stared at the three huddled prisoners as if he were seeing them for the first time. He knew the frame types were different, but there were quite a few similarities between Stereopticon and Dirge's old frame. Even now the dark grey face plates and dark blue armor was identical. He also noticed that the old mech could really take a beating. He'd noticed that about Dirge when he stopped a prison break last orn and managed to avoid getting treatment despite his various injuries.
Stereopticon and his sons watched as Ramjet and Dirge conversed. Stereopticon could normally listen in on such conversations, but his helm had been banged up pretty badly, so he was left to wonder what was going on just like his sons.
Finally, after 5 agonizing breems, Ramjet walked over to the prisoners and stood in front of them; his shadow covering them like a funeral shroud. Stereopticon hugged Spinreel tighter, and Shellshock averted his gaze from the intense glare Ramjet was giving them.
"After careful consideration, I'm giving you miserable fraggers a choice," Ramjet scowled as he spoke, "Either you join the Decepticons, or you die. Simple as that. I won't negotiate, and I won't accept empties taking up more space. You agree to serve Megatron, or you die. Understand?"
"We understand, sir," Stereopticon nodded, "May we have a moment to discuss it?"
"No," Ramjet shot down their request, "You knew what you were getting into when you came here. Now, choose!"
Stereopticon didn't really want to be a Decepticon. Aside from his age-related issues, he also didn't believe in the Decepticons' methods for achieving their goals. Megatron seemed like a fanatic, and while he didn't protest when his son-in-law decided to raise Dirge as a Decepticon, he wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of joining them. He couldn't afford to be selfish, however. His sons relied on him for survival, and they deserved a chance to get through this war alive.
After a moment, Stereopticon sighed and informed Ramjet that he and his sons would pledge their loyalty to Megatron and the Decepticons. They survived, but it felt like a humiliating defeat. Dirge was thankful that they would survive. They would probably be transferred to another unit, but at least he would know they weren't gutted like old tankers.
Dirge didn't thank Ramjet. Not with words anyway. Ramjet knew how his right wing felt about him though. From then on Dirge trusted Ramjet with everything from secrets to injuries to his very life. Ramjet never said it, but he was happy that Dirge let his guard down in front of him. It felt like they were real brothers now.