The crystal tile wobbled in the atmosphere, bobbing uncertainly as if it couldn't quite decide whether or not it should be floating.
"Very good," Yoketron said quietly. "Can you lower it back to the ground?"
The crystal tile dropped sharply and broke in half when it hit the floor.
Prowl huffed in frustration, doorwings twitching.
Yoketron watched him thoughtfully.
"Sorry," Prowl said. "You know, I think part of it is that I still can't believe this is possible in the first place. And I doubt I'll ever really get the hang of it."
Yoketron had never seen anyone progress this quickly. And he'd been teaching for a very long time. "I suggest you try to be more patient with yourself," he said. "You will master the technique eventually if you continue to practice."
Prowl looked skeptical.
"Enough of that for the orn, though," Yoketron said. "The Prime will be here soon."
Prowl nodded. "He may be a breem or two late. He has a lot to do—have you heard Megatron's been spreading rumors about him?"
"Yes," Yoketron said. "It's unfortunate, but I wouldn't be too concerned about it."
"But if it turns everyone against us, it's going to make it very difficult to win this war."
"The wise will see through the rumors."
"The wise don't tend to join armies."
Yoketron shook his helm. "But they do tend to make excellent allies if they realize it's necessary to fight. You'll just have to be careful not to let the other side get too much of an advantage before it's too late."
"Would you mind telling that to Orion?"
Yoketron raised an optic ridge. "I see you're still upset that he doesn't want to attack Megatron. I've told you his stubborn refusal to participate in unnecessary violence is what makes him a good Prime."
"But not a good army commander."
"I think you underestimate him. If it is necessary, or if it is the right decision, Optimus will attack the Decepticons. But he will think very carefully about it, and weigh it in his processor and his spark. Let him make that call. Your task is to support him in his decision, and ensure the Autobots are successful."
"But that will make things so much more difficult. Primus… I can't make a single mistake," Prowl said.
"Oh, you'll make plenty of mistakes. We all do. And the way things are going…" Yoketron sighed. "This war might be a lot worse than anyone thinks. However, I am confident in your abilities, and those of the Prime." He had seen wars before. He had known many commanders as well. The Autobots were unique, though. They had more raw, inexperienced talent than he'd seen in any organization. He wasn't sure if it would be enough though.
They were going to need everything they had to oppose the mech who had once been Searchlight.
The sides were evenly matched.
That was what frightened him.
That was why he needed to train Prowl as well. Orion could not worry about anything but stopping Megatron. Yoketron had a different task for this mech, one with equal difficulty.
"Master Yoketron?"
"Hmm?"
"Orion was gone for a very long time last orn."
"Yes. And?"
"We need him on base. I know what you're doing is very important, but… not only is it time consuming, it's also wearing him out."
Master Yoketron nodded slightly. "I know," he said. "If I had my wish, I would give him a break, but I can't. It's about to get worse too. Just do everything you can to help him. Make sure he has enough time to recharge."
Prowl nodded. "I can try… but there are things he has to do that I'm not good at."
"I understand," Yoketron said. "I will try not to keep him so long in the future."
Prowl nodded.
"He should be here in a breem or so. Until then, we will meditate."
Prowl nodded, and sat on the ground, frowning at the broken crystal tile.
"I can buy a replacement," Yoketron said.
"It's not that," Prowl replied.
Yoketron smiled knowingly. "Let us meditate for now, and we'll deal with it afterward."
One of the caveats of using processor over matter was that it came with a strong desire to leave everything the way you had found it.
Yoketron sat across from Prowl and shuttered his optics. After a few astroseconds, he heard a quiet scraping sound, which he could infer was Prowl lifting the broken crystal tile from the ground, probably using processor over matter. He was displeased that the mech had disobeyed him, but he decided to wait until the tile fell again. But it didn't fall. There was another scraping sound, then quiet.
Then there was the distant whoosh of a door opening, followed by Orion's pedesteps as he came down the hall toward the crystal garden.
Well, Prowl had been wrong about the Prime coming late. He was actually a few breems early.
Yoketron un-shuttered his optics and stood. He spared a glance at the place where the tile was supposed to go. It was there, and the only evidence that it was broken was a small, white fracture line. Yoketron looked at Prowl who tipped his helm slightly and quirked a bit of an apologetic smile.
"Welcome, Orion," Master Yoketron turned his attention to his newly arrived pupil.
"Thank you, Master Yoketron." Orion bowed.
They got started. After a few basic exercises, Yoketron had them pair up and fight each other. They were both progressing rapidly despite the limited amount of time they had to practice. Prowl, who had had some basic training as a younger mech, was still ahead of Orion, and probably would be for the foreseeable future. Orion had been raised and programmed to do desk work, and was not a natural fighter. Furthermore, he was still timid and while his moves were controlled and accurate, there was no power behind them. He didn't want to hurt anyone.
Hopefully, receiving the Matrix of Leadership would help with that. Or maybe a couple of battle experiences. It was easier to stop caring if you injured your opponent when they were actually trying to offline you.
This orn, Orion seemed less focused than usual, and he got even worse as time went on and Prowl overpowered him again and again. After about ten breems, Yoketron called a halt.
Prowl helped Orion to his pedes.
"Orion."
He wouldn't meet Yoketron's optics.
"You are doing very poorly this orn."
"I apologize," he said quietly. There was some indiscernible emotion in his voice, under the surface.
"Is there something troubling you?"
Silence fell for a few astroseconds. "Nothing you can help with."
Yoketron looked at Prowl, then back at Orion. Something was very clearly bothering the young Prime, and practicing combat might not be productive this orn.
"Prowl, you're free to go."
The Praxian hesitated.
"Go ahead," Yoketron insisted.
Prowl bowed. "Thank you, Master Yoketron."
"You are very welcome. I will see you next orn."
"Yes, Master Yoketron." Prowl said. Then he left. The door closed behind him.
"Sit," Yoketron commanded.
Orion sat, and Yoketron sat across from him. "Now what is it you're upset about? I've heard of the rumors Megatron is spreading. Does that have something to do with your mood this orn?"
"It isn't important," Orion said. "I don't know. I can work through it."
"Your emotional health is important," Yoketron said. "It affects everything else that you do. Please, Orion, if it isn't too personal, I'd like you to tell me what's bothering you. I may not be able to fix anything, but I've been around for a very long time, and I do have some experiences I can draw upon. Perhaps I'll be able to advise you."
The Prime sighed. Then he started talking. Yoketron forced himself not to interrupt as he listened to the Prime's troubles. He heard the story of a mech stretched beyond his abilities, with a broken spark and no one to confide in. Orion spoke about his sparkmate, how much being separated from her hurt, and how he didn't know whether she trusted him anymore. He also talked about Megatron's betrayal, and Alpha Trion's seeming indifference. He talked about how everyone was trying to convince him to attack the Decepticons, and how Orion wasn't sure what to do. He talked about how he had a hard time recharging because he always dreamed about the maze from the first trial.
As Orion talked, Yoketron couldn't help thinking about how Primus must have known from the beginning—he must have chosen Yoketron to train this mech very intentionally. But even though Yoketron could understand to some extent what Orion was going through, he wasn't sure what he should do about it, or how he could help.
He had one idea… but he wasn't sure if it would work. If it didn't, it could make things worse. And if it did work, Alpha Trion would not be happy with him.
"So I really don't think there's anything you can do," Orion said. "Or anything anyone can do. I'll just have to keep going." He took in a deep vent and shuttered his optics. "But thank you for listening. That felt good."
"Thank you for trusting me," Yoketron said.
"I feel ready now, if you want to practice or if you want me to attempt the next trial."
Yoketron hesitated. "We can do a little practicing first."
Orion looked concerned. "What… is the next trial?"
"Focus," Yoketron said. "We'll get there. First, we need to catch up on what you would have learned if I hadn't sent Prowl away. You have much to improve on before I trust you out on a battlefield…"
The practice went fairly well after that. Yoketron could tell that his student was very tired, though. Someone ought to be making sure he got enough recharge.
He didn't particularly want to let Orion attempt the next trial this orn, but he knew his student would insist, and also that Alpha Trion would insist, and also that it needed to be done.
So, after a reasonable amount of time, Yoketron called a halt and they sat across from each other in the courtyard.
"I know a little bit more about this next trial," Yoketron said. "Though I'm not actually sure what the point is, or how you're supposed to succeed at it."
"Whose trial is it?" Orion asked.
"Alpha Trion's," Yoketron said. "Come to think of it, that's… ironic, since he's an archivist."
"Are you going to tell me what it is?"
Yoketron hesitated.
"What?"
"I'm not sure what you do to pass the trial," he said. "And I don't think it would make much of a difference whether I explain it beforehand."
"All right." Orion nodded, shuttering his optics. "I'm ready."
Yoketron walked around behind him and inserted the data stick into the back of his helm.
Orion's helm drooped, and he went still.
Yoketron walked around to sit across from him, and waited.
Orion tried to un-shutter his optics, but there was only blackness. A warning flashed across his processor.
[Memory Erase initiated. Beginning in five... Four...]
Orion tried to cancel the procedure, but it didn't work. He tried harder and was rewarded with a jarring spike of pain in his processor.
[one]
Memory files were pulled up, from his earliest sparklinghood. He gasped and tried to stop them, but felt the stinging sensation again, and they disappeared. He was losing his life—everything. He panicked and desperately tried to hold onto his memory files. The deletion process slowed, but didn't stop, and the pain built up stronger and stronger until Orion had to let go. He was losing youngling memories now. He tried again and again to slow the process, but he couldn't do it. All he could do was fight desperately as his memories depleted. Until he couldn't remember his childhood friends, until he couldn't remember his creators, until he couldn't remember getting into the Academy, or graduating, or meeting Alpha Trion, or when he got his job at the archives.
He clung desperately to his last few vorns of memories, but even those were slowly pried away from him, and then he was nothing.
After about fifteen breems, Orion's optics un-shuttered and he gasped and sat up straight. Yoketron, sitting across from him, watched him carefully as he shuttered his optics again, venting hard.
He let Orion have a breem to recover. "Well?" he asked.
"Primus…" Orion said. "Is that really what a memory wipe feels like?"
Yoketron frowned. "I doubt anymech really knows, since you don't normally remember afterward. Did you receive any instructions for passing the trial?"
"No," Orion said. "There was nothing. Just…"
"Hmm…" Yoketron said.
"I'm fairly certain I didn't pass it, though." Orion said quietly, shuttering his optics. Yoketron was silent. That would have to be even worse than the maze in some ways.
Eventually, the Prime spoke. "Again."
Yoketron stood. "Are you certain?"
"Yes," Orion said through gritted denta.
"Very well." Yoketron came around behind him. This time, Orion flinched as the data stick slipped into his helm. And then he went limp.
Yoketron walked to sit in front of him again. A full memory wipe should only take five or six breems for a mech of Orion's age. That must not be all there was to the trial, somehow.
He tried to meditate, but he was too worried. The memory wipe had obviously and understandably been a traumatizing experience. Maybe he shouldn't have let Orion try again this orn. Yoketron would have to be careful about not letting the mech push himself too far on this one.
It might be too late for that already. This was definitely not going to help Orion's mental state.
Yoketron scowled, trying and failing to forgive Alpha Trion for all of his callousness. That mech made Yoketron very angry sometimes. There was something to be said for secrecy, and something to be said for practicality. But when the old Prime wanted to, he could be downright cold and unhelpful.
And there was nothing good to be said for either of those characteristics.
Time continued on. Yoketron started to get nervous. It had been more than half a joor. Had something gone wrong?
He waited, checking his internal timepiece every few breems, until nearly a joor had gone by.
Suddenly, Orion's optics flew open and he cried out. Yoketron scrambled to his pedes as his student leaned forward, putting his hands to his helm. His vents hissed as they cycled air, and his engine whined. He was shaking.
"What happened? Are you hurt?" Yoketron asked.
Orion nodded mutely.
Yoketron knelt and put a hand on his student's shoulder, fighting the sinking feeling in his tanks and trying to make a quick decision. This wasn't supposed to happen—nothing in the trials was supposed to physically affect them in real life.
Orion moaned, leaning forward farther, clutching his helm.
There could be something wrong with him. He should probably go see a medic. It might even be good for Yoketron to call a medic here. However, Yoketron was supposed to keep these trials a secret, and he didn't think that Orion's friends would be very happy when they found out what was happening to their leader during training. He knew how that felt, and while they probably deserved to know...
"Can you talk?" Yoketron asked after a few astroseconds.
"Yeah," Orion gasped. "Last time…. Last time it stopped… hurting… when I came out of it…"
"Oh, mechling, I'm so sorry."
Orion took in a deep, shaky vent, and put his hands down.
"I think we'd better call it an orn," Yoketron said.
Orion nodded.
"Should I comm. a medic?"
"I'm ok," Orion said. "Just give me a few breems."
Yoketron walked around and sat in front of his student again, waiting anxiously. Eventually, Orion seemed to relax a little, and he sat up. Yoketron could still see the pain in his optics.
"What happened?"
Orion took in a deep vent. "The first time… I noticed that if I tried, I could slow down the memory wipe. It hurt, but… I thought maybe if I tried hard enough I could stop it."
Yoketron shook his helm.
"I told myself it would be fine, because it would stop hurting once the trial was over…"
By the allspark…
"…but I still failed. I can't do that again…"
"I won't ask you to," Yoketron said. "Also, knowing Alpha Trion, I don't think the point of the trial would be to fight harder."
Orion grimaced. "You're right. I didn't think about that."
"You should see a medic if your helm hurts," Yoketron said. "This is not supposed to damage your processor."
Orion nodded.
"In fact, I want you to stop in to see Ratchet as soon as you get back to the tower. However… It might be good to keep the trials a secret."
"I understand."
"Not that I'm going to let you attempt that one again for a while."
"Ok," Orion said.
"Don't get up yet," Yoketron said. "Just rest for a few breems."
"All right," Orion shuttered his optics and put his helm back in his hands.
Too fast. They were moving too fast.
As much as Alpha Trion insisted Orion was strong enough for this, Yoketron could see the signs. The mechling was stretching himself to far, pushing himself too hard. And in a lot of ways, everything was going wrong for him.
Something needed to slow down or go right, before it was too late.
Ironhide skimmed through the eternally long list on the datapad, scowling.
This was ridiculous.
This was absolutely ridiculous.
He commed Prowl, who answered promptly.
"Commander Ironhide. Can I help you?"
"Hey," Ironhide said. "So I got your memo and everything… but look, mech, we've already put everyone in units, and I don't want to deal with trying to reorganize the entire army."
"But you have to," Prowl said. "The organization I've sent you is extremely important, and much better than your randomized grouping of—"
"It's not randomized," Ironhide said.
Kup glanced over at him, one optic raised.
"Well, it might as well be. Put the soldiers in the groups I've told you to put them in."
"You can't order me around. What exactly makes you think you have a right to tell me who goes in what unit? This is not your department, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to do my job."
"Well, I can do it better than you can."
"Excuse me?"
"And technically, I do outrank you. Make the changes to your troop organization that I've asked you to, or the next time Megatron attacks somewhere, we won't be able to stop him."
"Are you serious?"
"Have you ever heard me make a joke?"
"You… look, maybe you do outrank me, but you have no right to tell me how to run my department, and don't you dare claim you know my soldiers better than I do."
"I have warned you," Prowl said. "But I can tell this conversation is going nowhere, so if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
Prowl cut the comm.
Ironhide tilted his helm back with a heavy sigh. "Arrogant glitch."
"Who?" Kup asked.
"That Praxian."
"Prowl?"
Ironhide nodded, looking out the window at the soldiers in the courtyard outside. "He wants us to completely reorganize everything, and he's got lists of mecha to put in different units, but… here look." He tossed the datapad over to the old mech, who caught it and looked it over for a few astroseconds.
"It's unreasonable," Ironhide said.
"Well," Kup said. "I've lived through a couple wars. Always managed to get sucked in somehow."
"I know," Ironhide said, hoping the old mech wasn't about to launch into an unrelated tall tale of some sort.
"And one of the few things I think I actually learned is that you always have to listen to the tacticians. Cuz if they're right, then you don't wanna mess up their plans, and if they're wrong, then you're fragged no matter what you do. Way I see it, you're lucky he's taking an interest in optimizing the troop organization. I don't know why you're so upset about it."
"It will take an entire orn away from training to make all those changes."
"Not if you do it right," Kup said.
"Besides, there's no guarantee it will actually make a difference. Prowl thinks he's a lot smarter than he actually is."
"Well, I'm not in charge," Kup said, getting up from his chair. "And I won't tell you how to run your army, Sir."
He handed back the datapad on his way out the door. Ironhide watched the old mech leave, and then looked back down at the instructions Prowl had sent him.
Well…
He supposed if Kup thought it was a good idea… it was still ridiculous, though. Ironhide might have to talk to Orion about it. Prowl sometimes listened to Orion.
He was still trying to come up with an efficient way to make the changes outlined in the memo when his friend Padlock—who had recently quit the Elite Guard to help with training full-time—came in, looking almost angry.
"Hey, mech," Ironhide said. "Are you on break? I thought—"
"I need to talk to you for a few breems," Padlock said. "I just got a comm. from Captain Bulwark."
Ironhide frowned. "About what?"
"Ultra Magnus," Padlock said. "The Guard have been checking on him periodically. He was in long-term stasis, so they couldn't talk to him, but they'd send someone regularly to the prison he was at and check to make sure he was still online and everything."
Ironhide set his datapad down on the desk. "That's a lot of past tense words."
"Yeah," Padlock said. "They sent someone to check this on-cycle, and he's gone."
Ironhide's spark sank. "Gone as in dead?"
"Gone as in disappeared," Padlock said. "He could be dead, he could have been moved somewhere else. They could have wiped his memories and sent him to some mine or factory somewhere. Bulwark confronted the Council about it, but they wouldn't tell him anything, so a bunch of the mecha loyal to Ultra Magnus got together and made a decision. They want to ditch the Council and join the Autobots."
Ironhide looked down.
"But they're willing to stay there for a while at least, if Optimus wants them to spy on the Council for him."
"Okay," Ironhide said.
"So you should talk to Optimus about it, and ask him what he wants them to do. Let him know about Captain Magnus too."
Ironhide nodded, feeling sick.
He knew he should have said something to Orion when they'd given Ultra Magnus back to the Council. He had hoped—since the Council had opted to imprison him instead of offline him—that he would be all right.
"Thanks," Padlock said. "I should get back out there."
He left and Ironhide got up from his chair. He had some training to oversee in a few breems. And after that, he would need to go back to the tower.
Maybe he could put that off for a few more joors. He didn't look forward to sharing the bad news about Ultra Magnus with Orion, even if it came with the news that they had more mecha from the Elite Guard on their side now.
Orion found Ratchet in his office, finishing Jazz's leg and muttering to himself.
"Ratchet?"
The medic jumped, but didn't turn around. "Don't sneak up on me like that, Orion. What do you want?"
Not in a good mood, then. Orion sighed—maybe he should take a nap and come back later. He didn't want to deal with a cranky Ratchet when his helm hurt so much.
"By the way," Ratchet said. "Don't ever send me to try and recruit anyone ever again. I can't fragging do it."
Orion blinked. What was he talking about?
Oh, right. Blaster. He'd been so busy he had completely forgotten to ask Ratchet how that had gone.
Ratchet set the leg down on the table a little harder than strictly necessary and turned around. "They refused to come. Blaster's caretakers have been listening to those rumors about you, and they believe them. I don't know if they plan to join the Decepticons or just go into hiding, or what, but there's no way they'll be helping us, or even letting us protect them."
"You think they would join the Decepticons?" Orion asked.
"Well… more likely, they're going to go into hiding. They might have left already, for all I know. We'll probably never see them again."
Orion shuttered his optics. "That may be for the better, so long as they can hide from the Decepticons."
"I can't believe it," Ratchet said. "Cam wouldn't listen to me at all. Those stupid rumors…"
"Cam?" Orion said. "Isn't that…"
"Soundwave took the mechling to live with Searchlight's creators," Ratchet said. "Yes. And I didn't think they were so… frag it, I know you." he looked at Orion. "I've seen you feed all those homeless sparklings, seen you give up everything. I can't believe there are mecha out there who think you're evil and selfish…"
"It's all right, Ratchet," Orion said.
"I hate lies, especially when good mecha believe them."
Orion sighed. "I'm upset about it as well." It made him sad. "And it doesn't seem like Megatronus to do this."
"Megatron," Ratchet corrected.
"He is still Megatronus, even if he has changed his designation."
Ratchet shook his helm.
"Thank you, Ratchet."
"For what?"
"For going to speak with Blaster and his caretakers. I'm sure if I'd sent someone else, they would have been even less willing to come." Orion stepped further into the room and sat down. He really did need some recharge or something. His helm still felt like it was splitting open.
Ratchet snorted. "Right. Too bad we don't have Breeze on our side. Or Soundwave."
Ratchet didn't talk about Soundwave very often. Orion knew it was still a sore subject.
"I don't get it," Ratchet continued. "Do you know Soundwave came to me and tried to convince me to join Megatron? Back when you were appointed as a Prime."
Orion hadn't known that. He met Ratchet's optics. "Why did you stay?"
"Because I knew better," Ratchet said quietly. "A long time ago, I had a friend who was willing to walk away from a fight, making himself look like a coward. It was the bravest thing I've ever seen anymech do. He risked losing every friend he had in the world, but he did it to stop us from getting hurt, and if he hadn't, I wouldn't be here this orn. I probably would never have gotten into the Academy. I could be out there selling energon treats or doing construction work or something. And I guess that glitch must have forgotten, but I haven't. And I don't care what fragging bullies Megatron's trying to take down, he's wrong, and he's just going to end up getting thousands of mecha killed." Ratchet looked away.
Orion didn't know what to say.
"Soundwave wasn't the same after Searchlight offlined… but I still don't understand how he could have gotten so… stupid."
"I'm sorry," Orion said.
Ratchet waved him off. "Well, if that's all you wanted, I have to finish this leg. Do you know where Jazz is, by the way? Red Alert says he disappeared. He may not even be in the tower anymore. I told him to stay in my office until I'd finished this, but he keeps wandering off."
"I believe he was going to talk to Mainspring after the ornly meeting," Orion said. "You could ask Mainspring if he knows where Jazz is."
Ratchet nodded. "I may try that. Or maybe I'll just let Jazz keep the peg leg. It would serve him right."
Orion looked down.
"So, if there's nothing else, you should go and get some recharge. You sound tired."
Orion hesitated.
The pain had retreated a little bit since he'd left Landquake's apartment.
And he was relatively certain Ratchet would force him to rest if he knew Orion was hurt, but Orion had a lot of work to do before the end of the orn. He didn't want to fall farther behind.
"What?" Ratchet said.
"Nothing," Orion told him, and left.
Elita took in a deep vent. She knew she'd hurt Orion's feelings the orn before, and then she'd just run off like an idiot.
He probably wouldn't be mad at her.
In fact, she was almost more scared that he wouldn't care, that he'd brush it off and tell her everything was fine.
But she needed to apologize anyway.
She knocked on his door.
"Come in," he called quietly from inside, so she hit the button to open the door and stepped into his office.
He smiled weakly at her. "Elita. Good orn."
"Are you busy?"
Orion sighed. "I need a break," he said. "So I'm glad you're here."
She couldn't help smiling back at him, even as a sort of tragic sorrow colored her emotional core. Primus, she loved this mech more than anything, and she missed their bond so much it was still almost physically painful.
She came and sat across from him. "You sound tired."
"I know," he said. "It's been a long orn. Did you know Ultra Magnus was imprisoned?"
"Yes. I think I heard it from Chromia a while ago," Elita said. "Did you not know?"
"I didn't," Orion said. "And he's disappeared completely now. He's not in the prison where he's supposed to be. The Council's done something with him."
The guilt and pain on his faceplate were hard to watch, but she couldn't look away.
"That's terrible," she said. "It's not your fault, though."
"I shouldn't have sent him back. I wanted an easy way to solve the problem, but… I should have known better."
"I'm sorry," Elita said, reaching out to put a hand on top of his.
He smiled tiredly at her, then raised his free hand to cover his faceplate, leaning forward.
"Are you all right?"
"I have processor ache," he said. "But other than that I'm fine."
"I think you've been working too hard," Elita said.
"That's possible," Orion muttered. "But I still have a few more things to do this orn."
Elita nodded. "I'll let you get to it so you can rest, but… first I wanted to apologize for what I said last orn."
He looked up at her.
"I shouldn't have accused you of knowingly hurting me. I just…"
"You don't need to apologize," Orion said. "But if it helps, you're forgiven. We're all stressed right now. And… it is true that I could technically have refused to be the Prime. No one forced me."
"I'm glad you accepted," Elita said.
"Really?" he asked.
"Well…" she looked down. "I'm not really happy about it I guess, but at the same time… It's complicated. I know it's supposed to be you, and so I'm grateful…"
"You don't have to be happy about it," Orion said.
Emotion swelled up inside of her. She tried so hard not to be upset about the whole situation—she didn't want him to give her permission to be unhappy, but…
"Elita?"
She took a deep vent and forced herself to smile at him. "I'm all right."
"Oh," Orion said. "There is a favor I'd like to ask of you."
"What is it?" Elita asked.
"Ironhide says some of our soldiers have started asking for some sort of symbol to wear, to distinguish them as Autobots. I think it's a good idea, but I don't have time to find something. Would you and your department come up with some sort of insignia for us?"
Elita tilted her helm to the side. "I think I could do that. I'm going to spend a few joors with my sisters next orn, and we can come up with something."
"I don't want you to spend your leisure time—"
"It's all right. It actually sounds kind of fun."
"Thank you," Orion said, wincing.
"Let me know if there's anything else you need," Elita said. "I'd love to talk a little more, but you look really tired. And you should go see Ratchet if you still have a processor ache by the end of the orn."
"I will," Orion said.
"Good," Elita stood. "I'll see you later."
She left. That had gone better than she thought it would, and she felt a little better. Except that she was worried about Orion now. She hoped he really did talk to Ratchet—he was probably in more pain than he was letting her see.
She went back to her department.
Orion couldn't recharge.
He had stayed up late trying to get through reports, approve things, write statements and letters, and answer questions. It had taken a long time because it was hard to focus on anything. Elita had sent him a message before she'd turned in for the off-cycle, asking if he was feeling better. He'd lied and said he was.
And now he lay on his berth, trying and failing to block out the pain. It was even worse now that he didn't have any work to distract himself with.
He was going to be up all off-cycle.
But he was fairly sure Ratchet was recharging, and he didn't want to wake the medic up.
He knew he ought to. He really ought to.
And he needed to rest so he could focus next orn.
He dragged himself off of his berth. He had a small desk in his room as well, and he sat there and tried to get a few more things done so he could at least be productive while not resting.
But in a few breems he gave up and put his helm down on the desk.
He couldn't do this anymore. He activated his comm.
"Ratchet."
Ratchet was a few astroseconds in answering.
"What is it?"
"I can't recharge."
"Well," Ratchet sent back snappishly, "Comm. someone else and ask them to tell you a bedtime story. Or count to a trillion, or something."
Orion shuttered his optics.
"Good off-cycle."
"My helm hurts." Orion said.
There was only static on the other end for a moment. "How badly?"
"I can't recharge."
"Can you walk?"
"Yes."
"All right. Come to my office."
Orion got up from his desk, feeling relieved, and also self-conscious. Ratchet was going to ask him why he hadn't mentioned it earlier. Ratchet was going to ask him what had happened. Orion did not like lying.
He opened his door and tried to slip past Ironhide, who, as per usual, was recharging outside of his room.
Ironhide un-shuttered his optics, and got to his pedes. "'Rion," he said groggily. "What..?"
"I'm going to see Ratchet about a processor ache," Orion said. "It's okay, you can go back to recharging."
Ironhide grumbled something, but got up and started following Orion.
"Really," Orion said.
"I don't trust you," Ironhide said. "I'm not letting you wander around by yourself."
Orion shook his helm, but didn't protest further. They walked together to Ratchet's office. Ratchet was ready for them. He pointed to a berth, and Orion sat on it while the medic scanned him.
He shuttered his optics, preparing himself for the inevitable yelling.
"Primus…" Ratchet said.
"What?" Ironhide asked.
"When did this happen!" Ratchet demanded.
"End of the orn," Orion lied. "It just… started hurting."
"What?" Ironhide asked.
"Shut up," Ratchet pulled his wrench out of subspace and pointed it at Ironhide threateningly. Then he put it away again and muttered under his breath about idiots.
"What?" Ironhide said. "Is he all right?"
"Give me access to your pain grid," Ratchet said. Orion obligingly slid the panel away from the back of his neck. A few moments later, the pain was gone.
Orion vented out slowly. Exhaustion and relief hit him in a wave.
"You know why this happened, don't you?" Ratchet said.
Orion didn't answer.
"It's because you've been pushing yourself too hard. Too much work and stress, and not enough recharge."
Orion looked at Ratchet, who glared back at him. Then the medic looked away, expression softening. "I guess we're all doing a little of that."
"Yes," Orion said.
"However, you are going to get enough recharge in the future." He got his wrench out and waved it in front of Orion's faceplate. "Or so help me, I will knock you out every off-cycle."
"And I'll watch," Ironhide said. "And laugh every time."
Ratchet threw the wrench at him. Orion winced, and heard it hit something. Probably the wall, because Ironhide didn't cry out.
"Lie down. I'm going to put you in stasis, and see if there's anything I can do to help."
"Okay," Orion said, and lay down on the berth, shuttering his optics. He could feel himself slipping into recharge already. Coming to see Ratchet had definitely been worth it.
"And I meant that about getting enough rest."
"I know."
"You're an idiot."
Orion smiled slightly. "Thank you for helping me."
"Just stop talking."
He heard, almost distantly, Ratchet moving equipment around, and then felt himself slip into stasis.