"Help is coming."
That rich voice rolled through Ratchet's comm. line, through his every conscious thought, through his very spark…and resounded throughout the spacious hanger as it emanated from the array of monitors that held a vice like grip over not only Ratchet's vast attention, but also upon Jack, Miko and Raf who were lingering deliberately closer than usual.
Three little words and Ratchet could have sworn the energon that flowed through his frame stood frozen within the very chambers of his spark for those first few moments. The affect those words elicited from the humans was no less dramatic, Miko's heart comparatively leapt up into her throat, and for once, in a longer time than they all cared to admit, she was struck speechless. Raf's first instinct, however, was not to focus upon the monitor, or even Ratchet, but rather to look to Jack for guidance.
"Is that…?" Jack could hardly dare to hope as he struggled to keep his emotions in check as his gaze flew to the center-most monitor, where, sure enough, an image of Optimus—which had been triggered with a voice match—had appeared above those of Arcee, Bulkhead and Bumblebee.
Just like old times…almost.
Gathering his scattered wits about him, Ratchet motioned for them to be silent, "Remember, as much as it sounds like Optimus, it isn't…he doesn't remember who we are…" he told them in hushed tones, or rather as quiet as possible for a Cybertronian. Ratchet turned to face the screens—and froze. What could he say? How could he respond, moreover, how could he answer in such a way that didn't acknowledge the lurking maelstrom of emotions that swirled within his very spark, surging in direct response to the sound of that voice, the voice of his leader, his Prime, his oldest and most trusted friend.
He would have to select his reply with care, with—
"Requesting verbal confirmation of communication; can you hear me?"
Once again, that achingly familiar timber spoke up; this time there was no denying the bite of authority that vibrated in his tone. Rueflly, Ratchet shook his head, no matter what happened, Optimus was still Optimus; he still knew how and when to take charge of a situation. Having recognized the designation of the three Cybertronians, clearly Optimus was trying to get a reaction from the warrior programming of the 'bots; unable to reach them at the level of one Cybertronian to another, he was endeavoring to get a trained, instinctual response of a solider to a commanding officer.
It certainly worked upon Ratchet, despite his dissimilar medical programming.
"Affirmative, recognition of transmission." Ratchet fired back, his voice clear and calm.
It was precisely such a measured response that gave Orion pause; this individual, whomever it was, certainly did not sound like a warrior who was trapped under a mountainside of rubble.
Wariness colored Orion's tone now, caution causing it to deepen into a lower, almost booming timber, "Who is this?"
The words lacerated Ratchet's spark, and the normally stoic medic found his gaze resting upon Jack, who looked just as crestfallen. Those words and the way in which they were spoken only served to drive home the fact that Optimus truly did not know them anymore.
But they still had to press onward, to grasp onto this tendril of hope; something within Optimus had to remember them, at least enough to galvanize him to contact Ratchet at the Autobot base, albeit unknowingly.
"This is Medical Officer Ratchet, responding." Ratchet allowed his tone to remain objective, but by no means harsh, and he was careful to avoid mentioning that he was the Autobot's Medical Officer; time enough for that later.
His carefully worded reply, incited a measure of hope within Orion, here was another medical officer who could help, though he couldn't recall Megatronus mentioning any other medical personnel other than Knockout.
"My apologies, Ratchet," Orion's tone was gentler, more tentative now, "It appears as though I am in great need of your assistance, that is until my Medical Officer can reach my location."
There were so many aspects of that answer that gave Ratchet more than enough reason to pause, among which was the repressed shudder at Optimus' allusion to Knockout. Quickly he flitted through the readouts that were displayed before him: Arcee, Bulkhead and Bumblebee were all displaying relatively unchanged and non-threatened signals. They were in no immediate danger, though there was no way to tell for sure if they had sustained any minor injuries; at most, Ratchet could be certain that whatever their wounds were, none of them threatened their sparks.
"His Medical Officer?" Miko exclaimed, incised, "You are his Medical Officer! Who the scrap does he think his Medical Officer is? Knockout? The Decepti-creeper?"
In unison, Jack and Raf lunged towards Miko, clamping their hands over her mouth.
"Shhhh! He can hear you!" Raf told her. But the damage was already done.
"You have others there with you, Medical Officer Ratchet?" Orion inquired, none too lightly, "Other Cybertronians who may be of assistance in aiding their comrades who are trapped? I could use such assistance in digging them out, currently I am the only one here and I am concerned that they have sustained grievous injuries. Thus far, I have been unable to re-establish contact with them…"
Rather than respond to the first question, Ratchet addressed the second—after, of course, he shot a healthy glare over at Miko—"I'm sorry, I am currently unable to send help to you, but I can tell you that I have a real-time readout of their systems and can detect no spark-threatening damages."
Hearing as much gave Orion at least a modicum of ease, though he was still eager to help free his Cybertronian brethren, "My thanks, Ratchet, such is good to hear," the relief was evident in his voice, "I see that you obviously posses a familiarity with these three Cybtertronians, might I ask for certain individual data statistics about them?"
"Anything."
"Ratchet, I would very much like to know their names."
"T-their names?" Ratchet squeezed his optics shut in an effort to deny the emotional pain that coursed through them. Together Raf and Jack let go of Miko, only to drape their arms around her slight shoulders, taking comfort in one another's presence.
"They attempted to save me, to help me; it is because of me that they are trapped. The least I can do is free them, please, their names? It would aid me greatly in my search efforts…"
Even Ratchet, who should have logically expected as much, was unsettled by the suddenness of the question, coupled with the undeniable concern in Optimus' voice, "O-of course…"
'There was a blue femme…"
"Arcee."
"And a larger, green mech…"
"Bulkhead."
"And the youngest, the yellow bot?"
Here Ratchet paused, "How do you know that he is the youngest?"
"I wish I could tell you, but I do not know, I do not remember…" There was the sharp edge of frustration, "But he seems familiar to me…"
"He remembers Bee?" Jack couldn't keep the hopeful enthusiasm out of his voice.
"Hush," Ratchet admonished gently before addressing the screens once again, "His name is Bumble—"
"Bee…"Orion finished, "Bumblebee," he repeated, as if trying to get a feel for each mechanism each name was attached to, "Bulkhead…Arcee…"
"C'mon Optimus! You know their names! You know who they are! Who we all are! I know you do!" Unable to remain quiet any longer, the torrent of words tumbled out of Miko as she stepped forward gripping the railing as she leaned towards the screens.
"Miko!"
"Oh no…"
Horrified at whatever damage she may have caused, Ratchet scooped her off the platform, holding her in his left palm he cupped his right over his other hand, effectively forming a barrier—and more importantly a soundproof barrier—around her as he brought his hands closer toward his chest, again in an effort to distance her from the screens.
"The other Cybertronians there with you, Ratchet, sound no older than sparklings…" Surprisingly there was amusement that colored Orion's words, "Are they yours?"
"Primus, no…," Ratchet looked down at Jack and Raf, before reluctantly taking his right hand away from his left, thus letting Miko stand up properly on his palm. After which she promptly delivered a swift, though futile, kick to his chest plate. Even despite his annoyance the old mech smirked back at her,"…well, technically no, but…yes, I suppose they are," The seasoned medic admitted in a rare moment of sentimentality.
But whatever levity existed, was vanquished in the next breath, as Orion's tone became more somber, considering, "Optimus…I know this name as well…" within his memory banks, there was a glimmer of recognition, audio files regurgitated incomplete snippets of fragmented memories:
"Optimus!"
"Why did he call me that?"
"What did you do to him!"
He fell silent, unconsciously ceasing in his efforts to dig the other Cybertronians free as he grappled with the implications the splintered conversation revealed.
"What did you do to him!"
So much pain, so much anger resonated throughout those words. Feelings stirred by sluggish and wounded memory, had Orion replaying this newly recovered audio fragment, silently, over and over again. With each repetition he listened carefully; that voice, light and lilting, seemed to be strained under unusual duress. He could feel her pain, feel it reverberating throughout his spark. He knew her. Unsure of why he felt such to be true, the realization nevertheless, solidified; he knew her. But from where?
To be presented with such short-lived flashes of insight in this way was maddening; but Orion's original designation had been that of an archivist. He knew how to be patient, how to wait for other pieces to surface so that he could painstakingly form a coherent picture of what once was. He could wait. He may not like it—especially since said puzzle was not some archaic file, but rather his own living memories—but he would be patient.
Like the whip-crack of thunder, the sound of rubble being shifted reached his audio receptors as if from a great distance. Snapping out of his internal revelry, Orion focused his optics on the source, and realizing that it had to be one of the trapped Cybertonians struggling towards the surface, he quickly renewed his efforts. Surprisingly, he was rewarded as, moments later; patches of blue panels began to at last emerge out of the collapsed and crushed stone.
Glimpses of blue armor, of a slight frame, "Arcee!" He called out, removing stones more carefully now, wary of inadvertently hurting her.
His voice, muffled through layers of rock, still carried enough power to cause her to falter in her own efforts to escape from the rubble. Now, thanks to both of their efforts, there were visible gaps between the boulders, enough for sunlight to filter through and with it glimpses of red and blue armor. He was trying to help her, trying to reach her.
Arcee's servos locked, frozen as she was caught between two warring sentiments: wanting to reach out to him, to her leader, her Prime, her friend and yet somehow simultaneously shrinking away from him, away from what was no longer there. She closed her optics, snatching just a brief moment to try and soothe the discordant cacophony that resounded within her spark. If only Cliffjumper were still here…he'd know what to do, what to say…
Primus, she whispered within her spark, a desperate and prayerful wish, Primus, bring us back our Prime…bring Optimus back to us…
For a startling instant, she thought that Primus had heard her as Orion lifted away the final boulder that had pinned her, all too suddenly she found herself gazing up into that painfully familiar countenance.
"Arcee," his voice sounded just as of old, reassuring in its rich rolling cadence, "Arcee are you alright?" He held out his right hand to her.
Galvanized by such echoes of the familiar, Arcee didn't hesitate to place her hand in his, allowing him to pull her free. But just as her peds hit solid ground at last, her optics alighted on the one poignant reminder that something gravely and undeniably wrong.
Her gaze followed the strong lines of his hand, up his arm and to his right shoulder. There, treacherous sunlight revealed the outlines of what she found to be a most loathsome sight. The Decepticon symbol shone brightly in the light, etched unapologetically into his frame, obliterating all traces of the Autobot emblem that once graced that same spot.
At the sight, the joints in Arcee's legs buckled.
In an instant he was there for her, his other arm lifting to encircle her shoulders, supporting her slight frame even as his right hand still encircled hers, reassuring in its grip as he pulled her closer to him.
"Easy," he rumbled, "Take a moment to run self-diagnostic scans, to reset your sensors, that was quite a fall that we all took."
"I'm fine," impatience pulsed in her voice, she hated being so unstable; with effort she was able to stand on her own again, using her free hand to push against his chest, needing to get away from this mech who all at once was and was not Optimus. At her light touch, he accordingly released his hold of her hand even as his arm dropped away from her shoulders. In the sudden absence of his touch she realized that she had been wrong to move away from him in such a way, that she missed that reassuring weight, that support, for without it was yet another loss of something familiar.
Silence briefly descended between them as he studied her, watching for any indication of injury no doubt. In response, Arcee lifted her head, meeting his optics squarely with her own, though it wasn't easy to look into that countenance that gazed back at her with no recognition, "You know my name?" Hope tinted her words, you remember me? The unspoken question hung between them.
"Ratchet, your medical officer, was kind enough to tell me of your names," He returned simply, unaware of the ember of hope that was kindled afresh within her; he had spoken with Ratchet! "Forgive me, it is rude of me to know your name, while you do not know mine," formally he touched one hand to his chest, just over where his spark would be, "I am Orion."
No, Arcee's spark cried out, No you're Optimus…my friend….
Lucky for Arcee, she was spared the pain of replying to such an introduction as there was the sound of movement behind them, the sound of rocks scraping together in a poignant reminder that Bulkhead and Bumblebee were both still trapped, still needed help.
Orion didn't need to say anything to Arcee as his optics lifted, roving over the stones in search of movement; rather she automatically fell in step beside him as they began to clamber over stones to reach the point from where the sound had originated.
As they drew nearer, there was another clatter of stone and then a deep, muffled rumble of, "Mmmmfffftttt!"
"I'm here Bulk!" Arcee called, instinctively knowing who it was, as together she and Orion worked to dig him out.
Bulkhead responded with a repeated, "Mmmmffffttt!" that caused Arcee to smirk, she knew if Bulkhead could talk—or in this case mumble—his injuries couldn't be that grievous.
For a brief time, as she and Orion shifted the largest boulders away from where Bulkhead was pinned, they worked in relative silence. Turning to toss yet another armful of stones away, Arcee's movements caused the sunlight to glint off of the silver Autobot symbol on the delicate wing-like panels just above and behind her shoulder. Orion knew of that emblem, Megatronus had forewarned him of it, and acknowledged it with the upmost severity.
So she, along with her two friends, was indeed of the rebel faction of Cybertronians that were warring with Megatronus and his companions. Orion wasn't entirely surprised, a part of him had suspected as much since he had never seen Arcee or the others aboard the Nemesis before.
"You're a part of the rebel faction, aren't you, Arcee?" Orion asked her softly as he broke another boulder in half and began clearing away the smaller pieces.
The words rankled, even when spoken in his gentle tone, "I'm not a rebel." She snarled, "I'm an Autobot." Once again her optics glanced over to the Decepticon symbol on his shoulder.
Orion noted her gaze and touched his left hand gently to the emblem on his right shoulder, "And I, as a Decepticon—"
Optimus you're no 'Con! Her thoughts cried out against his words, her tanks churning.
"—Am your opponent by principle." He finished, the words not rushed or aggressive, but measured and even.
Automatically, Arcee dropped the stone she had been holding, squaring her shoulders, she prepared for an attack, though the last thing she wanted to do in the universe was fight Optimus, not that I'd win anyway, she mused to herself grimly. Seeing her movements, he lifted a placating hand.
"Easy," he intoned, sounding too much like his former self for her comfort, "Easy, Arcee. You and your companions tried to help me, to save me. Honor dictates that the least that I can do is return such help given. It is not within my spark to repay such kindness with violence. Here and now we are not enemies, but mere Cybertronians helping one another."
Breaking the tension, there suddenly arose a deep rumble from the pile of rocks before them, and then Bulkhead's hand and arm arose, waving in the air.
"Mmmffftttt!"
Giving Arcee a moment to digest his words, Orion stepped forward, grasping Bulkhead's hand and pulled, the effort freeing Bulkhead's head and shoulders. Between Orion and Arcee, with Bulkhead helping one-handedly, it did not take long to work the larger bot free.
"Hey Cee?" Bulkhead reached out to her on a private comm. line as all three of them began combing over the rubble in search of Bumblebee, "What do we do now? You know, about Optimus?"
Wearily, Arcee risked a glance over to Optimus' looming frame as his optics scanned a promising section of stone, already moving to shift broken chunks of rock aside from a particular spot.
"I don't know Bulk…stick to the plan I guess?"
"So as soon as we find Bee, we get Ratchet to open a ground bridge and shove Optimus through?"
Arcee hesitated, recalling Optimus' words, how his honor wouldn't allow him to do anything less than return the help they had given him, 'It is not within my spark to repay such kindness with violence.' Could Arcee repay the very respect he had give them, with what he might tantamount to hostility, to abduction? Instinctively she shied away from anything that might provoke him to violence, after all, if Bulkhead just tackled him through a ground bridge how else could Optimus respond to a perceived attack from a perceived enemy? They couldn't risk an open fight with him, Arcee grimly accepted, simply because there was no guarantee that they'd win…
"I…I don't know Bulk…"
Suddenly, a stream of appreciative whistles and chirps filled the air as Arcee and Bulkhead looked over just in time to see Orion pull Bumblebee out of a jumble of rocks. The yellow scout looked a little battered about the edges, but otherwise unharmed. Keeping a balancing hand on Bumblebee's shoulder and arm, Orion helped him navigate the slippery slope back down to the smoother canyon floor.
But any sense of relief from Bee's rescue was abruptly curbed at the sound of two distinctive engines echoing down to them. Helplessly, Arcee and Bulkhead looked up just as Knockout assumed his bipedal form and grinned maliciously down at them.
The crafty Decepticon leaned over the canyon's rim, his voice a vicious purr as he called out to Orion, "It is good to see you again, Herr Commandant."
"Yeah, Commander Orion," Breakdown smirked, placing deliberate and mocking emphasis on the title, "We've come to help you and your new friends," as Breakdown's optics locked with those of Bulkhead, his most hated rival, the Decepticon couldn't help but add, "Sorry we couldn't get here sooner."