The Diego Diaries: Cloudy With Restraint (dd7 374)
=0=At The Fortress, the next orn
They gathered, the senior Autobots along with Ironhide and Orion. Gathering in the big conference room, they took seats. Ironhide sat next to Ratchet glaring at his elders who were grinning at him. Jail and Magistrate's Court had been amusing…
^, ,^
It was dark in the cell block as the clock ticked onward toward morning. The kids in the other cells around theirs were moody, angry and ready to fight. The back and forth prevented any recharge from happening.
Ratchet and Ironhide were bantering off line about permission slips and elders. As amusing as it was it was still tense. Ironhide stared at the kids in the cell in front of him. "What gang are you slaggers?" he asked.
The conversation stopped as everyone turned to look at him. One of them, a tall big kid with a good paint scheme and well hidden gang insignia walked to the edge of the cell. His face was illuminated in the darkness, casting him with a demonic air. "What's it to you?"
"I got swept up with you losers."
"Ha!" someone said down the block. "Who's the loser?"
Ironhide switched to night vision as he glanced down toward a cell block with kids who wore their schemes matte finish and two tone. "Not me, fragger. I'm not playing as tough. You losers need to get a job and some appreciation for being here. From what I've seen on Cybertron you could be there scattered all over the ground in pieces."
It was silent a moment, then someone else spoke.
"You've been to Cybertron? How bad is it?"
Ironhide considered that question. "Apocalyptic."
It was silent a moment then the kid down the way sneered. "Fragging high castes. None of them deserve to be here. They're responsible. Their greed and stupidity made this happen."
"Megatron made it happen," the tall kid by the bars replied. "You fraggers and Megatron. Frag you. It's your fault."
"What do you think, Ironhide? Was it the masses and masses of the poor that made it happen?" Ratchet asked with some amusement. He could see the Elite tats on his handsome face. This was going to be good.
Maybe.
This wasn't the Ironhide he knew now. This was the much younger and less experienced version pre-war.
Ironhide considered the remarks. He knew his status was extreme but his privilege had always been moderated by his family. "Megatron was a symptom of a bigger disease. He was the outcome of The System. Don't blame the masses that they didn't accept their chains. They never should have had them."
Ratchet grinned, then glanced at the tall kid. "You weren't separated on Cybertron. Correct?"
"So?" he challenged back.
"None of you were. Right?" Ratchet asked.
No one responded. It was confirmation of the facts.
"Cybertron was beautiful once but most of the best parts weren't open to me. I was the one who helped build them but only a few were allowed to access that. Those who could had no talent for such things, building beauty and utility into the same thing. The masses were the ones with the skills and talents. The high castes just sat with their servos out waiting for the ones who made things happen to fill them."
"Really?" the tall kid asked testily. "The low castes had talent?"
"Sure," Ratchet replied. "Who built your house and maintained it? Who made everything that you used and all of the cities, the infrastructure that everyone everywhere takes for granted. Fixing roads, BUILDING them … that takes skill and talent. The buildings, the machinery, all of it was built by the masses. Too bad the high castes didn't have enough shame or sense to understand that. Most of them anyway."
Ironhide listened, watching the kids all around them. He didn't disagree with anything that Ratchet was saying but he'd never had this conversation before with someone who was low caste. Soldiers seldom talked politics around the officers, especially in the police state that Cybertron was becoming so he didn't have that experience. He just knew these feelings existed.
"They did what they were told by those who designed everything," the kid began.
"And if they didn't build them, could you?" Ratchet countered.
It was silent in the room.
"Consider this. If the working classes had put down their tools and walked away, there would be no society, no expansions, no repairs, no forward movement of the world toward better and brighter things. I always thought that if the humans on Earth would just put their slagging hands into their pockets and walk away, they'd have their own high castes by the balls. It should be evident to you, infants, if that happened its the low castes that makes the money and progress worldwide with their labor and skill, not the high. It seems to me that the high castes just exist to leach off the workers and to slow down progress. Nothing more, nothing less."
The kids were silent as they stared at Ratchet, then one stood in the cell with the tall kid and came to the bars. He was big and looked extremely expensive. "You're low, too, right?"
"There's nothing low about him," Ironhide said darkly. "That ship has sailed anyway."
"They're all low. They do what they're told and we get the blame for everything. Slagging low castes. Megatron was low. No wonder he was supported. Types flock together," the newer kid said.
"It amazes me, Ironhide, how the fraggers never take responsibility for their own failures and crimes. Sentinel Prime down to the lowest of the high castes blame everyone but themselves for what happened," Ratchet said. He looked at the two kids. "I helped liberate Cybertron. I've helped dig out the billion or so dead that are laying around everywhere, mechs, femmes, the elderly and children. I helped pull out dozens of babies from schools and care centers that got obliterated.
"Someone did that. Someone made it happen. Someone failed enough people that they fought back. Given that they were the symptoms and not the disease, it seems like you're killing the dead twice blaming it on them. You fraggers and your ideas about your own self importance are responsible. Take it from someone who tried to negotiate the peace."
"Then maybe all of this is your fault. If someone with ability and skill had that job then maybe it might have been different," the first kid said.
Ironhide stood, then walked to the bars whose light made him seem demonic. "Is that so? What about the Council? What about Sentinel Fragging Prime? Where were they? I heard that Sentinel faked his death, then fled. The leadership and Senate fled. They were derelict in their duty and ran like cowards abandoning their duties and responsibilities like COWARDS!
"What about you fraggers? What about your families? Were they in the military? Were they there trying to save The People and find a truce to get everyone off or were they too busy running like the cowards they were? The military stayed. They made sure that millions and billions got away while your families were running like the criminals they were."
"Frag you," the newer tall kid said.
"You think so?" Ironhide asked. "You think you can?" No one answered so he stepped slightly closer and turned his helm. His tats were easy to see in the light of the bars. "You see that don't you. You see the tats. I'm Praxian Military Elite. You have to do what I tell you, all of you. What I want to tell you now is to shut the frag up. You don't have a clue about how things really were. You never lived there. You're just repeating the stupid slag that your families believe. Understand me clearly. The System was the disease and Megatron was the symptom. You will now shut the frag up for the rest of the evening." He walked back to the cell, then sat.
It was silent in the room until a voice down the way spoke. "Even a prime has to give way to your caste. How fragged is that?"
"Totally," Ironhide said. "Totally and completely fragged. That's why the caste exists, to take down high tones when they get out of hand. As for this person," he said nodding to Ratchet. "He's right about who makes the world spin. He's one of the 'R's in RTR Tools. If the masses had understood that the power is in their hands and if they'd just banded together worldwide to stop all production and work everywhere there wouldn't have been a war. Your slagging families would've had to deal out change, real change."
Ratchet watched the kids around the room. The high castes were silent, ordered to shut up by Ironhide. They would have to obey the Praxian or show themselves to be slagging hypocrites to the other kids watching.
The other kids were silent. It was shocking to them that someone in the highest caste possible was actually sounding off for them. It would remain quiet in the cell block until the bailiff and guards came for them.
Magistrate's Court several joors later …
They got into line and walked to the holding cells by the courtroom doors. Ratchet who was still with Ironhide was having a ribald conversation off line with the big galoot. The bailiffs came for them and the high tones. They lined up, Ratchet, too, then walked through the doors to the courtroom.
All of Ironhide's family was there including Alor's side and they waved at him when he came through. Ratchet followed, then the kids. They all lined up on the line before the magistrate.
Ironhide glanced at Ratchet. "You weren't arrested. You can join the mini-con village sitting over there," he said as he nodded toward his family.
Ratchet smiled. "I like it here. For better or worse, slagger."
Ironhide grinned, then squeezed Ratchet's servo. He could see that Ratchet enjoyed the contact and he suppressed mightily all the other things he wanted to squeeze. He could now. He had the permission slip in subspace. He quashed the need to guffaw as he turned back toward the judge.
"Well, here we are again," Magistrate Loco said as he gandered at the lot. He was older, a low caste and loved the law. He'd been a janitor in a law firm on Cybertron before the Great Exodus. "Ratchet, I don't see your name on the report." He grinned at the big medic. His old dads were home care patients on Ratchet's personal list, a linkage that would get him disqualified on Earth from hearing the case.
This wasn't Earth.
"I decided to go whither Ironhide goest. Verily," Ratchet said with a dazzling smile.
Huge laughter greeted that.
Loco chuckled. "Very well. All of you were fighting on a train. I want pleas."
The kids stared at him, then pleaded not guilty to the last one.
Ironhide glanced at his family, then turned to the judge. "I was sitting on the train and got swept up. I wasn't in the fight."
"Do you need a character witness?" Ratchet asked Ironhide. He looked at Loco. "I can vouch for that. He was going to his elders to get their permission for something I'm too shy to share." Huge laughter filled the room. Ratchet grinned as Ironhide glared at his elders. "I shudder to think that he was so unfortunate as to be swept up by the constabulary. I plead for him. Not guilty by reason of insanity, your worship."
Ratchet loved Loco and his family.
Loco and his family loved him back.
Loco allowed Ironhide's plea and gave Ratchet temporary supervisory custody of his aft until his trial in two orns. The other kids got thrown into jail. When the two walked out with the family, all was almost well again.
^, ,^
=0=At The Fortress Conference Room
Prowl glanced at Turbine who was sitting between Delphi and Raptor. "Turbine, what's the status of your efforts?" he asked.
Turbine turned toward a pensive Prowl and a reasonably calm Prime.
"I succeeded in reaching the Matrix," he said.
It was as silent in the room as a tomb.
=0=TBC 9-8-2020 edited
ESL:
ribald: (rye-bald): Something that's irreverent, that is snarky, filled with The Sexy and remarks that make old maids blush. I like writing it, that kind of comedy. :D Just sayin'.
pensive: tensely quiet
gander: to gander is to stare with interest. When you gander, you stare at someone or something with exaggerated interest. To take a gander is also to take a look at something.