Prowl's internal timepiece told him the ornly meeting would start soon. He was sick of lying here on this berth, but he knew he wouldn't be able to talk Ratchet into letting him go. It had been more than a decaorn since he'd woken up, but the medic still wouldn't let him leave—insisting that he didn't trust Prowl to get enough rest without supervision.

Prowl had gotten plenty of rest.

He checked his timepiece again, then glanced at Ratchet who sat at his desk, reading a datapad—for the time being, at least. After a few breems, as Prowl had hoped, Ratchet got up, stretched, then walked to the door.

Prowl watched him go, then waited patiently until it was time for the meeting to start and he was certain that Ratchet wouldn't come back unexpectedly.

Then slowly, carefully, Prowl pushed himself to a sitting position. Agony flared up in his back and his spark, but it wasn't as bad as the last time he'd tried to get up. He was definitely getting better.

He waited a few astroseconds before he stood, venting slowly and evenly, then got to his pedes and crossed Ratchet's office. He'd watched the medic put in the door code more than enough times to commit it to memory. In moments, he was out in the hall, headed toward his own office.

Walking didn't hurt as much as he'd expected it to, which was a nice surprise, and more evidence that Ratchet really should have released him already.

Prowl had just barely reached his office door when Ratchet commed him on an internal frequency.

"What are you doing?"

Prowl scowled as he opened the door. "What do you mean?"

"Red Alert says you left my office. I didn't say you could—"

"I don't care," Prowl said. "I'm fine. I'm not going to do anything strenuous, and I don't want to walk all the way back. What difference is there between sitting in your office and sitting in mine?"

"But you're—"

Prowl cut the comm. and carefully lowered himself into his chair. His datapads were exactly the way he had left them two decaorns before. That felt wrong, after everything that had happened. It was like this room had somehow been recharging, and had missed the assassination attempt and the fall of Tesarus.

He shook his helm slightly. He didn't have time to ponder the state of his office. He had so much to catch up on…

His comm. had been working, so he'd been able to get some things done in Ratchet's office, but he had other projects he needed his datapads for.

He had to make sure what had happened in Tesarus never ever happened again. The Autobots had lost too much there, and they couldn't afford any more losses.

He reached for a datapad too quickly and had to stop for a moment, leaning heavily against the desk while he waited for the pain to fade a little. Then he dragged the datapad toward him and turned it on.

He'd probably get tired and have to stop and rest before too long, but first he needed to find something Mainspring had sent him quartexes ago—back when they'd just been starting out.

This was his fault.

It was his fault that the Decepticons had taken Tesarus so easily. He had known he needed to put together his department, but he hadn't done it and only now—after it was already too late—was he about to start working on it.

He found the list of candidates, but a sudden realization drew his thoughts away from his task, and he stared at the glowing screen without even reading any of the designations on it.

Even if he put his department together now… would it really make a difference in the future? He had seen the numbers after the Tesarus battle. Was there any conceivable way for the Autobots to win the war with their current forces? Their current recruitment tactics? Their current strategy…?

He glanced over at the datapad that had all of his plans and notes for how to react when the Decepticons attacked a city.

But he couldn't plan for everything.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't plan for everything. No one could, and now that they didn't have any spies among the Decepticon command element, their current strategy required them to plan for everything.

Frag it.

They were going to lose the war.

Even if Tesarus hadn't happened, something like it would have. One of Megatron's plans would have eventually slipped through the net and ruined everything. How could Prowl have been so blind? He'd been so focused on perfecting his plans that the bigger picture—the real advantage the Decepticons had over them—had eluded him.

Pit.

He took in a deep vent and got back to his pedes once again, groaning as his spark screamed in protest.

Ratchet wasn't going to be pleased about Prowl coming to the meeting, but this really couldn't wait until next orn.

"Still haven't been able to…" Elita trailed off as the door to the meeting room slid open and Prowl stumbled in.

Orion got to his pedes. "Prowl? Is everything all right—"

"What the fragging pit are you doing here?" Ratchet leaped up as well. "I can't believe—"

"I figured it out." Prowl reached the table and set his hands palm-down on the surface. "I figured it out." He leaned forward, bowing his helm for a moment.

"You look like you need a chair," Mainspring started to stand up, but Prowl waved him off.

"You shouldn't be here!" Ratchet shouted. "What are you doing, trying to kill yourself?"

Prowl met Orion's optics and Orion could see in his expression that this was important.

"You are going right back—"

"Ratchet, wait," Orion said. "Prowl, what is it?"

"The Decepticon advantage," Prowl said in a strained voice. "The reason they're winning. It's not their numbers, it's something else."

The room was silent now, as everyone listened intently.

Prowl took a few shallow, painful-sounding vents before continuing. "It's so stupid," he said. "And we used to have them, but somehow… Primus, we're all just spinning our wheels now."

"Well, what the frag is it?" Chromia demanded. "Spit it out already."

"Goals," Prowl said. "Plans. Initiative."

They stared at him.

"Excuse me," Chromia said. "Maybe you've been lying on a medberth since Tesarus, but the rest of us have been trying to manage resources, sway the public in our favor, and—"

"To what end?" Prowl demanded. "Think about it. Why did Tesarus happen?"

"Isn't it because you didn't have a department?"

Shocked silence fell for an astrosecond, and then Prowl's doorwings lowered in shame. "Yes," he said quietly. "Because I didn't have a department, but there's more to it than that. Megatron realized why he lost the first battle, and he took action to prevent that from happening again. He wanted me offline so he sent an assassin after me. That's how he thinks. He sees a problem, and acts to fix it. But we've just been reacting. This whole army is reactionary—Orion didn't even consider it until the Council forced him to organize it. We never attack first—never pick the battlefield. We just try to prepare for whatever Megatron does, but we can't keep doing that."

Orion looked down. "Prowl, I still do not think attacking Megatron would be—"

"Why not?" Prowl demanded. "Why the pit not? Your organization went after the Council, didn't it? You were trying to stop them, weren't you? You made plans, you moved against them. But you won't move against a mech who has slaughtered hundreds of thousands of innocent civilians. Why? Because you were friends once?"

It was different. Moving against the Council had never involved violence.

"The Decepticons have Quantum and the Institute, and three major energon mining cities," Prowl said. "They have those resources because they don't sit around and wait for someone else to do something. We don't have to fight the way they do. We don't have to attack them with our soldiers, but by the Allspark, we have to do something to stop them before it's too late!"

Prowl fell silent, and Orion looked up to see him leaning heavily on the table, trembling.

"Prowl?"

"Our forces aren't powerful enough to deter Megatron," Prowl continued quietly. "Threatening to show up when he attacks a city-state isn't going to stop him because he's not scared of us. And the more he takes, the stronger he becomes. We can't stop him passively." The tactician met Orion's optics once more. "We will lose this war if we don't start fighting it."

Orion held his gaze for a few astroseconds.

"That's all I had to say." Prowl pushed away from the table. He turned, as if to walk out of the room, but then swayed and started to topple.

Ratchet, who was still standing, leaped around Red Alert's chair to catch the Praxian before he collapsed to the ground. Mainspring got up too, and the two of them helped Prowl into the older mech's chair.

"Is he all right?" Elita asked.

Orion leaned forward over the table, anxious.

Ratchet scanned Prowl. "Idiot," he muttered. "You idiot."

"Ratchet…" Orion said.

"Yes, he'll be fine." Even as Ratchet spoke, Prowl stirred, raising his helm and un-shuttering his optics slightly. "I'm going to take him back to the medbay, though. Come on."

Prowl gasped as Ratchet lifted him up from the chair and ducked under his arm. Mainspring took his other side and the two of them supported him out of the room.

An expectant silence fell after they were gone. Orion let it drag on as he considered what Prowl had said.

"Well," Ironhide was the one to speak first. "He's not wrong, is he?"

Chromia scowled. "I wish I could argue with that, for a lot of reasons. I mean, I still don't think we're doing nothing like he seems to imply, but…" she looked at Orion. "He does make some good points."

"So…" Red Alert said. "What can we do?"

"Well, for one thing," Jazz said. "I oughtta try harder ta get some of our mecha back from Megatron. He took a lot of prisoners from Tesarus… pit, I don't even know if he took them with him. He mighta just offlined them all."

"But that's still reactionary," Ironhide said. "Just getting some prisoners back isn't going to stop Megatron. How do we stop him? Prowl's right—that gladiator's all about making plans and carrying them out. And we're just sitting here, waiting for him to attack us. I bet you right now he's plotting how to take another city-state. We have to take action before he does."

But Orion didn't want to attack—didn't want to go on the aggressive.

Prowl's words rang in his audios.

We will lose this war if we don't start fighting it.

"What are ya suggesting?" Jazz said. "We don't have the forces ta outright attack Megatron anymore."

"That's true," Ironhide said.

"He sent assassins to kill Prowl," Chromia said. "Maybe we could send assassins after him."

"We don't have any assassins," Elita said. "Besides, they'd have to get past Soundwave."

"What about him?" Chromia pointed at Jazz. "You hid among the Decepticons before. Do you think you could get back in?"

"I doubt it," Jazz said. "That was different."

"What we really need to do is tighten security around here," Red Alert said. "So we don't let any more assassins in."

"Have you been listening?" Chromia demanded. "Prowl said that simply reacting to whatever Megatron does isn't going to be enough."

"Is there anything we can do, though?" Ironhide said. "We can't scare him off or attack him."

Silence fell again, and this time it was somber.

"Orion?" Elita said.

They needed him to encourage them or come up with some sort of a plan, but he wasn't sure how. He couldn't deny that Prowl was right, but he didn't know what to do any more than the rest of them.

"This…" he said. "This is a serious matter. And even if we had the resources to attack Megatron, which we do not, I cannot condone it. However, Prowl is right. We should be making more active plans to outmaneuver him…"

He wasn't sure what sort of plans they could make, though.

"So what are we going to do?" Chromia said. "Do you have an idea?"

Orion shook his helm. "For now, let's return to the meeting's agenda. Please be thinking about ways we can improve our strategy, and we will discuss them at the meeting next orn."

That didn't seem to satisfy them. Orion wasn't really satisfied with his own answer either, but he didn't know what else to say.

Prowl's pessimistic forecast hung heavy over the rest of the meeting.

Thundercracker watched impassively as the guards pulled a struggling, protesting prisoner out of a cell and took him away. There were hundreds. The makeshift dungeon was overflowing. Most of the captive Autobots were injured, but mobile. Those who had been too badly hurt to walk had been left to die in the streets of Tesarus.

Thundercracker knew Megatron was afraid to put these mecha in the mines, because there were enough of them they'd probably stage a revolt. Megatron was probably going to try to bargain with the Prime for their lives. He might even give them back. They were just a waste of energon sitting in cells, especially since they didn't need all of them for Shockwave's experiments.

Who was he kidding? The Prime didn't have anything Megatron wanted. If keeping these prisoners got to be too much trouble, the warlord would just offline them.

As time went on, Thundercracker was more and more certain he didn't want to follow Megatron. He wasn't sure how to convince his brothers to leave, though. Skywarp would probably go along with it, but Starscream was so certain he had something to gain from being here. It was frustrating—Screamer hadn't been like this, back on Vos. He'd been ambitious, yes, and not necessarily the nicest mech, but he had been better than this. Ever since he'd been denied his hard-earned place in the Vos Armada, he'd been bitter, desperate, vengeful, unpredictable.

Thundercracker was angry about that particular injustice, yes, but not the way Starscream was. Starscream was out of control.

Under other circumstances, Thundercracker would desert and fly home, but he couldn't bail on his brothers. For better or worse, he was stuck with them.

He wondered, not for the first time, whether becoming friends with Starscream and Skywarp had been a mistake. But he'd just been so lonely after returning to Vos.

Seekers thought groundpounders were stupid and lazy, but Thundercracker had never felt more cared for and accepted than he had among his friends in Kalis. When he had returned home, he'd pretended that it had been the worst experience of his life and that he hated everything to do with the surface. But a small part of him had wished he'd been able to stay in the groundpounder city.

Aside from missing Searchlight and Soundwave and the others, he'd been an outcast once he'd returned to Vos. Just the fact that he'd gone to the surface had tainted him, and his former friends had wanted nothing to do with him.

So, of course, he'd followed the example of his Kalis friends and found himself a couple of other outcasts to spend time with. It had worked out great for a little while. He should have known that wouldn't last. It hadn't lasted for Searchlight's gang either.

At least he still had his brothers, though. Some of the time. At the moment, Starscream and Skywarp were off on some sort of top secret mission. Thundercracker got the distinct feeling that they didn't want him to know what they were doing. He thought it had something to do with Vos, which was worrying because he knew Starscream wanted revenge on the Vos Council and the elders of the Vos Academy.

But what could he do about it? If he confronted them, they'd just deny that they were hiding something from him.

He leaned against the wall and shuttered his optics. Guard duty gave you way too much time to think. The fact of the matter was that he wasn't going to leave his trine, so he was stuck here and he had to make the best of it.

He should keep trying to talk Starscream into leaving, though. The best thing for them to do in this situation would be to stay out of the conflict. That was what most of the seekers would do, because it was the smart, reasonable thing. He wasn't sure how to convince his brother of that, though. The trine leader was bent on ruling the Decepticons some orn.

A quiet conversation from inside one of the cells caught his attention. He glanced that direction, and one of the prisoners noticed he was looking and hissed at the others to be quiet. They were probably trying to put together some sort of escape attempt. He looked away again. He didn't care what they planned to do, but he hoped he wasn't on guard duty if and when they made their move.

Yoketron could tell as soon as Orion entered the crystal garden that he needed to talk about something before they trained, so he beckoned for the young Prime to sit down across from him.

"Welcome, Orion."

"Thank you, Master Yoketron." Orion bowed and sat.

He also wanted an update on his other student. "How is Prowl doing?"

Orion smiled slightly. "He… well, he joined us for our ornly meeting."

Yoketron raised an optic ridge. "So soon? I thought he was still in Ratchet's office."

"He was supposed to be," Orion said. "It probably wasn't wise. He showed up halfway through and told us all we're going to lose the war. Then he collapsed."

"Is he all right?"

Orion nodded.

That did sound like Prowl… and it was probably the thing causing Orion so much concern. "Is that what's on your mind, then? What did he say?"

Yoketron listened as the young Prime relayed what Prowl had said in the meeting. There was defeat in his voice—on his faceplate. Defeat already.

"Earlier," Orion continued after he'd finished the story. "Prowl said we should attack Megatron and I told him no. Now we don't have the power to attack, and even if we did I still wouldn't want to."

"I think that is wise of you."

"But Prowl said we're going to lose because of it. How are we going to defeat Megatron if we never attack him? He can always just bide his time, living off of the city-states he's already captured."

"An outright attack surely isn't your only option."

"But what else can we do?" Orion demanded. "I won't draft mecha into my army. I won't spread false rumors about Megatron, I won't make deals with criminal organizations, or send assassins…"

Yoketron shook his helm. "You've just made a whole list of things Megatron has done. To fight his fire with more of the same is still simply reacting. I'd suggest thinking of something he hasn't done, or even better—something he can't do."

"Like what?"

Yoketron had a few thoughts, but he didn't want to fill the role of military advisor. He couldn't let Orion rely on him too much. Still… "Well, I can think of one thing you are that Megatron is not."

Orion looked down.

"You are no longer a librarian leading a rebellion group. Don't forget why you petitioned the Council to make Megatronus a Prime in the first place. You can use that power."

That didn't seem to encourage him. But Yoketron was certain the young mech would come to the right conclusions, given time. "Is there anything else you would like to discuss or are you ready to begin training?"

Orion was silent for several astroseconds, then he nodded. "I am ready."

Orion un-shuttered his optics with a weary sigh. His spark just wasn't in it—not this orn.

"I assume you didn't succeed," Yoketron said.

He didn't have to answer. It was the same every time—he would try to make his way to the beacon and then get distracted. If he got sidetracked even once then he would fail.

"Would you like another attempt or are you finished for the orn?"

"I… doubt another try would change anything."

Yoketron nodded. "Very well, then, you may go."

Orion got up and stretched. Finishing early would give him some extra time back at the tower. He ought to go check on Prowl—maybe talk to him for a while. The mech didn't get many visitors in Ratchet's office.

Of course, what Orion really wanted was to take a break—just for a joor or two. He checked his internal timepiece.

He did have some time, and it had been ages since he'd talked to Maccadam.

He left the crystal garden and went inside the apartment. Petra and Landquake were sitting at the table, talking quietly, but Petra smiled at him when he entered.

"Good orn, Prime. Ready for Landquake to take you home?"

"Actually, I'd like to stop somewhere else first," Orion said. "But yes."

"All right," Landquake got up from the table. "Let's go." He brushed past Petra on his way around the table. "Later, my love." He said. She smiled up at him and Orion felt a sudden loneliness. He'd barely spoken to Elita since the Tesarus battle.

He commed her as he followed Landquake out the door, then gave the transport directions to Maccadam's while waiting for Elita to answer.

"Orion," she said through the comm. "What is it?"

"I…" He wasn't exactly sure what he was doing. "I miss you."

"I know," Elita said. "Are you all right? You've felt miserable since the meeting. Don't let what Prowl said get to you. There's no guarantee we'll lose the war. We can still—"

"Elita?"

"Yes?"

"Are you busy?"

"Always," she said. "But I can take a break if you need to talk."

"Can you meet me at Maccadam's?"

Elita hesitated. "Um… yes, I think. Give me a few breems and I'll head over there."

"Thank you. I'm sorry to take you away from your work."

"Honestly, I need a break too," Elita said. "And it's been too long since we just got to talk. I'll see you there."

She cut the comm before Orion could tell her he loved her.

Landquake pulled up in front of Maccadam's. "You want me to wait here?"

"Yes, thank you," Orion said.

He walked in to Maccadam's, and the low lights and loud music brought back memories from his orns as an archivist. Since it was the middle of the on-cycle, it wasn't as crowded as normal, but there were still plenty of mecha talking and laughing.

Orion was a little disappointed to see that Maccadam wasn't behind the counter. The point of coming here was to talk to him.

He approached the bartender, whose optics lit up in recognition. "Good orn, Prime. What can I do for you?"

"Is Maccadam in?" Orion asked.

"I'm afraid not," the mech said. "He and his siblings are all out. I can let him know you're here, but…"

"No that's all right," Orion said. "I should have commed ahead." He ordered some flavored energon for himself and for Elita and found an empty table to wait at.

Several mecha came over to talk to him, shake his hand, and thank him. He also noticed a few around the room who scowled and turned away when he caught them looking at him.

He had just finished listening to a femme thank him animatedly in a Tarnian accent for helping the mecha from her city-state evacuate when Elita arrived. She slipped into the seat across from him as the grateful femme walked away.

"Hey," Elita said, smiling, but feeling confused and worried. "Is everything all right? What do you need to talk about?"

"Everything's all right," Orion said. "Well, at least, there's no bad news that you don't already know. But… I finished training with Yoketron early and I thought it might be a good excuse to spend some time together. I hoped I'd be able to talk to Maccadam too, but he's not here."

"Ah," Elita said, and accepted the cube of energon as Orion pushed across the table at her. Then she glanced over his shoulder, and he turned to see who else wanted to talk to him.

It turned out to be the bartender.

"Good orn, again," he said. "I noticed you've been the center of attention since coming here, and was wondering if you'd like to sit somewhere a little less crowded."

Orion glanced back at Elita, then nodded. "Yes. Thank you very much."

A little privacy would be nice.

The mech led them to a smaller overflow room with only a few mecha sitting at the tables.

"Oh," Orion said as the bartender turned to go. "I should pay you in case you're busy when we leave."

"Certainly not, Prime, sir," the mech said. "Energon's on the house for friends of Maccadam, even when he's not home. Let me know if you need anything else, though."

Elita found them a secluded booth. There was still loud music playing, so it was unlikely anyone would overhear their conversation, which meant they could speak openly.

"So," Elita said. "How's the trial coming? Any closer, do you think?"

Orion shook his helm. "It's the same every time. Maybe even worse this orn. I just… what Prowl said…"

"Hey," Elita said. "We'll figure something out. Megatron might have won the latest battle, but we'll come back stronger than ever. I promise."

"I feel like… like there has to be more I can do—more I should do. But I'm not sure I want to think about it, because if I come up with a plan…"

Elita sipped her energon. "You don't want to come up with a plan because you're afraid it won't work?"

Orion shook his helm. "It's not that. I just don't want to fight."

She nodded. "I guess that's no surprise. You've said that before."

"If we go on the offensive…" Orion said. "If we go on the offensive, I feel like that means I'm losing. Like if I fight back, then I'm descending to Megatron's level."

Elita raised an optic ridge and he could tell she was about to say something, but then she stopped and shook her helm.

"What?"

She took another sip of her energon. "This is really good."

"What were you going to say?"

"I just think… part of your duty as a Prime is to protect the mecha of Cybertron, right? Surely that justifies aggression against those who would harm the mecha of Cybertron."

"But… it doesn't feel right."

Elita smiled at him. "You know I love you," she said. "More than anything in this world. You know that, right?"

Orion nodded.

"Then don't take this the wrong way. But at some point, Orion, you're going to have to stop focusing so much on yourself and look at the bigger picture."

He stared at her.

"If you let someone kill you because you don't want to fight back, that's one thing. But if you let someone kill or enslave hundreds of thousands of mecha because you don't want to fight back…"

Orion deflated.

She reached across the table and put a hand on his arm. "You're such a gentle spark, Orion, and you care so much about being good and doing the right thing. I know this is hard… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel worse."

He didn't want to meet her optics. He knew she was right.

"Orion?"

"Why is this so hard for me?" he wondered. "The rest of you wouldn't have any trouble with it. I just… back when we were fighting the Council, we never had to kill anyone."

Elita got up and came around the table to sit next to him. He put an arm around her, drawing her close to him on the bench so he could feel her spark pulsing in time with his. She sent a comforting feeling over the bond, and he shuttered his optics, trying to relax.

"It's hard for me too," she said softly, suddenly sorrowful. "I went to Tesarus during the battle to fight… and I killed a Decepticon soldier. Even though I was defending myself and Chromia, it felt wrong. I felt horrible afterward, and I still feel horrible."

"I'm sorry," Orion said, tilting his helm to the side to rest it on top of hers.

"But I think it was worth it," Elita said. "Don't you?"

Orion hesitated. "You… were defending yourself. Of course it was worth it."

Elita took in a deep vent and sighed it out, still feeling unhappy. They sat quietly for a breem, and then she pushed away from him. "Let's go for a walk," she said. "I bet that will cheer both of us up."

"I probably shouldn't," Orion said. "Ironhide would be upset that I didn't bring any guards."

"I'll defend you," Elita smirked. "Don't worry."

"All right." He couldn't say no to her.

They finished their energon and Elita led the way out of Maccadam's. Orion stopped by Landquake to explain that he and Elita were going for a walk. Landquake said to comm. him if they needed him for anything and let them go without arguing that it was dangerous.

Orion and Elita didn't hold hands—they were too recognizable and it was important not to seem too close—but they chatted about the headway Elita was making with the army's public image as they walked next to each other.

Then the first group of younglings showed up.

Orion greeted them and started to apologize that he didn't have energon treats, but Elita pulled a bag of them from subspace and handed them to him.

He smiled at her. Apparently, she'd thought this through.

For the first breem he worried that he might be putting the younglings in danger, but then he gave in and fell into his normal routine of handing out energon treats. A few of them talked about seeing him on the news and asked him about fighting the Decepticons, but most of them just wanted to show him interesting pieces of metal they'd found, or tell him about how their creators had let them get a new symbiot.

He forgot all of his problems for several breems, lost in the happy crowd of mechlings.

But then he remembered and his spark fell.

He would love to stay like this forever—to be Orion Pax forever. But the simple things about his life would be lost soon—he wouldn't even remember them.

Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it would be a mercy.

And someone had to stand up to Megatron.

So far these mechlings were safe, free from the horrors of war. Many of them lived in poverty, but at least their city was intact. There were probably mechlings in Tesarus, Tarn, and Kaon, who had lost everything.

"Mr. Orion?" A dark green femme youngling said. "Are you sad?"

Elita slipped her hand into his.

And suddenly, he understood.

"Yes, Iridia," he said. "Yes. I'm sad because I have to fight, and I don't like fighting."

Iridia tilted her helm to the side thoughtfully.

Orion handed out his last few energon treats and then tried to make optic contact with Elita who was talking solemnly with the smallest of the sparklings—a little mechling who Orion hadn't seen before.

"I think we'd better go before any more show up," Orion held up the empty bag.

"Ah," Elita said. "I guess I should have bought more."

"That's all right," Orion said, and started saying goodbye to the sparklings. It took them a few breems to get away, and then they headed back toward Maccadam's.

"So," Elita said as they walked. "There was a moment back there…"

"Yes," Orion said. "There was... I…" He couldn't quite put it to words. "I guess… I don't want to let the war reach Iacon. I don't want it to hurt those mechlings. And we might be the only ones who can prevent that."

Elita nodded.

"It's worth it. For them, it's worth it."

"I'm glad you think so."

They walked in silence for a few moments.

"Elita?"

"Yes?"

"I might have to leave Iacon for a few orns, maybe longer."

"Really?" she looked up. "Why?"

Orion took in a deep vent. "I'm the Prime. I have an obligation to every city-state, not just Iacon. And I think it's time I used my position to help us make some more allies."