Chapter 12: The Art of Untruth
Thou shalt not steal; an empty feat,
When it's so lucrative to cheat.
Bear not false witness; let the lie
Have time on its own wings to fly.
- Arthur Hugh Clough, "The Latest Decalogue"
Bumblebee stared at Knock Out. He wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. He wasn't even sure this was really happening. "We're what now?"
"Clones!" Knock Out repeated, looking unbearably smug. He was leaning, for some reason, on what appeared to be a strangely proportioned ladder, propped under his right arm. "Created by the Autobots for some cruel purpose which I, as a lowly clone, am of course unaware of."
Bumblebee tried to facepalm and found that his arms—no, ALL his limbs—were tethered tightly against the berth by glowing hard-light bonds. "Listen Knock Out, I don't know what you're talking about or what you're up to, but if you don't let me go right NOW, Decepti-creep—"
"Did you know," Knock Out asked pleasantly, "that you sound just like Smokescreen when you say that?"
Bumblebee silently glared at him.
"Oh, come on, aren't you even going to ask me which Smokescreen? Trick question! The answer is 'both'. Very childish, I've always thought."
"Let. Me. GO."
"Moi? What makes you think I'm responsible for your current . . . situation?"
"Oh, let me think . . . I'm tied up in a room with Decepticon insignias all over the walls, I wake up with a Decepticon medic standing over me—"
"Ha! No more than I went through!" Knock Out held up his wrist; the piece of metal that Bumblebee had subconsciously assumed was a crutch or a ladder turned out to be . . .
"That's right, it's the bedrail," Knock Out said smugly as it hung from the other end of his stasis cuff. "I filched a few tools when they weren't looking. Mind you, it took forever to unbolt, and Primus knows how long it'll take to put it back on. Sooo, let's be quick about this." Walking over to the monitor in the corner of the room, he tapped a few buttons and turned a dial.
Bumblebee shrieked as his bonds began to glow with heat.
"Oops. Scrap. Shut UP, Autobot!" The Decepticon hastily twisted the dial the other way and the hard-light constructs dimmed into nothingness.
Bumblebee sat up with jerk, rubbing his wrists. "You did that on purpose!"
"I did not. It's just that everything is . . . different here." Knock Out tilted his helm. "You've noticed that, I assume?"
Bumblebee felt a fresh wave of dejection as he thought of Smokescreen and the Autobot Vehicons. "Yeah, I've noticed. This is like . . . opposite world."
"So you caught on, good. Well. As I said, not much time. First things first: do you still have the Phase Shifter?"
The Phase Shifter! He had honestly forgotten about it. He found the catch to his arm compartment and pulled it out, relieved to see that it was intact and unbroken. "Sure do."
"Thank Primus." The Decepticon put out his hand. "Give it here."
Bumblebee drew the Phase Shifter as far away from the medic as possible, almost holding it over his head. "Are you KIDDING? You think I'm going to just hand over a priceless Iacon relic? To YOU?"
For a moment Knock Out looked surprised, then annoyed. "Would you rather let them have it?" He made a sweeping gesture towards the door. "They might not have found it yet, but they sure as slag will once they start running deep scans on your miserable yellow chassis!"
"And you can keep it safe?" Bumblebee shot back. "They won't run these . . . these 'deep scans' onyou?"
"I won't keep it on me, idiot, I'll hide it. Bu-ut if you'd rather have the honors . . ." Knock Out sank back to recline in a chair, hooking his leg over the arm of it with an air of exaggerated relaxation. "I'm sure you know the layout of a Decepticon warship better than I do."
Bumblebee stared at him, then threw the Phase Shifter directly at the Decepticon's helmet. Regrettably, Knock Out's hand shot up and caught the relic before it could scratch his paint. "There! Now was that so hard?"
"You will be returning it later," Bumblebee informed him in a low tone, eyebrows drawn down as his blue irises cycled open and shut.
"A later worry for a later time," the medic said. "And for now, a valuable piece of insurance in case I—we—have to beat a hasty retreat. But I don't think that will be necessary. These Decepticons are very congenial."
"Congenial how?" Bumblebee suspected Knock Out might have a radically different definition of the word than he did.
"They're repairing us, for one thing."
"After shooting missiles at me."
"Not at you, as far as they were concerned," Knock Out corrected. "At Yellowjacket."
"Wait, who?"
"Am I the only one who watches the right movies? I thought you Autobots were supposed to be into Human . . . stuff." The red medic rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "He's your counterpart on this mudball, of course. Like that Smokescreen double we ran across."
Bumblebee's spark contracted in horror. "So there's a crazy version of ME out there?"
"No, Megatron killed him," Knock Out informed him, as though this were no big deal, that an alternate-universe Megatron had murdered Bumblebee's alternate-universe self, as though this were an everyday thing to convey, like 'Hey, we're out of high-grade and by the way you there's an evil version of you, but IT'S COOL, HE'S DEAD'.
"So what about you, do you have a double?"
"Of course. He's the ship's CMO. That stands for Chief Medical—"
"I KNOW what it stands for, I'm not a new-build. How come your double is alive and mine is dead? What did you say his name was?"
"Blind luck, I suppose." He didn't clarify which one of them he considered the lucky one. "His name is—was—Yellowjacket, but you don't need to worry about that. I already told them I didn't know who he was, so they won't expect you to know either. Remember, you're just an innocent, naive clone—"
"Stop. Stop! Just what is this CLONE thing you're on? Why . . . why would you tell them we're clones? Why would you DO that?" Bumblebee threw his arms in the air in frustration.
Knock Out vented out a slow, patronizing sigh that made Bumblebee want to throttle him. "Because clones are more plausible."
Bumblebee stared at him. "More plausible than the truth?"
"Exactly. We know cloning technology exists, but do we know that alternate universes exist?"
"Yes. Yes we do."
"I meant collectively," he clarified. "'We', as in the Cybertronian race. Anyway, they already had their minds made up. Take it from a 'Con, the best lies are the ones other people build for you. All we have to do is nod and play along."
"Knock Out." Bumblebee spoke slowly, leaning forward. "I'm sure this is going to sound crazy to a Decepticon, but sometimes, instead of lying, you can just TELL THE TRUTH."
"It wasn't so much lying as, mmm, being selective with the facts. I told them we came through a ground bridge—true—and were attacked by Vehicons—true—"
"I'll bet you left out the part where you attacked ME."
"Yes, that got expunged from the record," the medic readily admitted. "But I worked in the part where I told the Vehicons I was a Decepticon—you remember?"
"Yeah . . . how many hits did you take back there?"
"Too many." Knock Out grimaced. "But at least it made good theater. For this bunch, 'I am a Decepticon officer' clearly wouldn't wash, so I said I'd stood up proudly before the Vehicons and told them 'I am a Decepticon'—meaning that I felt a kinship to the noble Decepticon cause deep in my spark—"
"You are an awful, awful mech."
"And from there on, it was pretty much the truth—running into Smokescreen, running from Smokescreen—I left out the part where you abandoned me,thanks for that, by the way—"
"What are you, Little Orphan Annie?"
"Who?"
"Ugh, nevermind." He fought down an unreasoning twinge of guilt. He wasn't responsible for the safety of another fully functional mech, especially not one who was technically the enemy! "So . . . what exactly did happen to you after I left? I came back, and . . . your arm . . ."
"Primus, I should just make a recording of this and play it back to people," Knock Out grumbled. "I had to repeat myself five times and point out that I have a buzzsaw in each arm before the crew would believe I hadn't tried to off myself in that prolonged, messy way. Really, do I seem like that sort of mech?"
"No, you don't. At all."
"Thank you, finally someone who GETS it. Anyway, I was pulling a shard of shrapnel out of my arm and it cut the fuel conduit, which I then had to dig it out to stop the flow, blah blah blah. Transmission ends."
"Oh, yeah, I saw the clamps. Ratchet taught us about those, for field emergencies. They can save your life if you're fast enough."
This well-intentioned remark seemed to offend the medic. "Ratchet couldn't have done any better or faster," he snapped, "administering first aid to himself, ALONE, in the dark, one-handed! Ratchet couldn't even have REACHED the conduit with his big, blunt, Autobot fingers!"
Bumblebee was taken aback. "Whoa. All right. Calm down." It occurred to him that the supposed limitations of Ratchet's "big, blunt, Autobot fingers" would probably have prevented the accident in the first place, but he refrained from saying so. "So, I still don't get this 'clone' thing."
Knock Out relaxed a fraction. "Well. I told them there was a big explosion before the ground bridge opened—also true—and that I remembered a big chamber filled with bubbling test tubes, experimental equipment and so on. I said I couldn't remember much prior to the explosion, aside from vague memories of cruelty at the hands of the horrible, heartless Autobots."
"Why does that not surprise me?"
"Now I know you Autobots are, shall we say, unversed in the art of misdirection, so let me make this crystal clear. As much as possible, your answer to questions is that you don't know or you can't remember. Where is the Autobot base? You don't know. Were there any other clones? You can't remember. Who was in charge of the project? You have no idea. Remember, no one can disprove a lie you never told."
"Knock Out . . ."
"The only snag is that I mentioned liking humans to one of the medics right off the bat, but hopefully he's forgotten. Otherwise I'll say, hmm, I'll say that the Autobots intercept human transmissions or something. It's weak, but it should pass muster. Oh, and they know I recognized Shockwave's name, and Megatron's. But if you were making clones, wouldn't you mention Shockwave's research all the time? And Megatron, well, how can you not know Lord Megatron, in any universe he's in?"
"Knock Out . . ."
"That's how I'm going to play it, anyway."
"KNOCK OUT!" The Decepticon winced as Bumblebee's vocalizer shrieked with shrill beeps. "I am not going to walk around pretending to be a clone!"
"What? After all my hard work? Why NOT?"
"Because there's no NEED to, you bare-faced liar!"
"I hardly lied at all," Knock Out huffed. "And you, Bumblebee—you think the Truth, capital T, is some magic fairy shield that's going to protect you from what's out there? From the Decepticon crew?"
"They aren't Decepticons like YOU," Bumblebee retorted. "They're REPAIRING us. They're GOOD. They have BLUE EYES."
"Oh, blue eyes!" He threw his hands in the air. "Thank goodness, we're safe forever. I guess that explains Lord Megatron's plan to end the war by sneaking into Optimus Prime's recharge chamber with a can of spray paint!"
"You know what I think? I think you know you're in deep slag if they figure out that the Autobots are like Decepticons here, and Decepticons are like Autobots. So you waltz in here trying to convince me to back up your crazy story—"
"Listen, Autobot!" Knock Out shot to his feet so fast he almost knocked over the chair. "I don't have to be doing this! I don't have to be sneaking around in the dead of night trying to coordinate with you, trying to come up with something to save our chassis—"
"To save YOUR chassis!"
"To save OUR CHASSIS." He gripped the side of the berth, the railing chained to his arm clanging against it. "And you know what? YOU'RE the one in deep slag here! I look like their doctor, you look like some psycho who snuffed Dreadwing! They put a handcuff on me and tied you down like a science experiment, what does that tell you?"
"Once they talk to me, they'll realize—"
"What, Bumblebee? What will they realize? That you're 'good on the inside'? Please! They don't have a cortical patch to turn your brain inside out and they're scared of you, understand? If a Shockwave repaint turned up on your doorstep, what would you do?"
"Shut up."
"And if he was with a Cliffjumper repaint, which would you trust?"
"Don't you DARE bring Cliffjumper into this, you slimy piece of scrap! DON'T YOU DARE!"
"The truth hurts, doesn't it, Bumblebee?" His fingers creaked with pressure as they gripped the berth. "And the truth is I'm your best shot at freedom here. And, Primus help me, I vouched for you, you ungrateful little wretch. 'Oh, Bumblebee, he's harmless.' 'Not a real Autobot like Smokescreen.' 'No, I've never been afraid of him, he's very sedate.' I didn't have to stick my neck out for you! I could just as easily have said what they expected to hear!"
"Then why didn't you?" Bumblebee shot back. "Out of the kindness of your spark? Oh wait, I know, it's because I'm an ASSET, to keep in reserve until you need to push me into the line of fire!"
Knock Out straightened, his optics burning.
"That's right, Autobot. You ARE just an asset to me. Something to help me get home. And, guess what? I'm an asset to you, too. But if you want to spill your guts to the crew? GO AHEAD."
He slammed his palms on the berth; Bumblebee very deliberately stared him down without flinching.
"I thought you might be troublesome, so I played up the amnesia aspect and played it up hard, and if I have to miraculously regain my memory, then so be it. This isn't my problem. You'll be the one explaining to the crew how you spend your days shooting at bots who wear their faces. Back on the berth," the medic snarled as Bumblebee aggressively pushed himself forward. "Unless your dedication to 'the truth' includes telling your captors all about this little interlude."
"You slagging Decepticon." Bumblebee was shaking with fury as he laid back.
Knock Out didn't answer, just stalked over to the control panel and turned the hard-light holographic restraints on with a swat of his hand. They seemed tighter than before as they flared into being around Bumblebee's arms and legs. Rounding the berth, the Decepticon grabbed a slim tube that was dangling from a small, opaque bag. There was a needle at the end.
"What in the Pit is that? Get away from me, creep!"
"It's morphite," he snapped back. "And the tube was in when I came in, so it's going to be in when I go out. Took three shots of anisyllem to get you up, FYI."
There was a little pinch as the needle dug between two pieces of plating on Bumblebee's arm, sinking into an energon conduit. Knock Out stepped back and watched, his eyes narrowed and his arms crossed. The railing swung from his wrist, ridiculous and ungainly. Gradually his image fuzzed in Bumblebee's optics, a blot of red seeping away to blend with the sterile grey walls.
"Li-listen, you . . . fragging . . ." Bumblebee couldn't remember what he wanted to say to the Decepticon, but he knew it was scathing and brilliant. He would tell Raf about all this later over "Street Racer IV" . . . Yes . . .
There was a snort from somewhere near-far, and someone roughly pried at the casing of his leg until the little side compartment popped open. With an effort and a distant feeling of alarm, Bumblebee just managed to reset his optics and lift his head a bit.
A small energon flask clicked into its custom-built slot and the compartment was slapped shut, hard enough to sting. Two red spotlights glared out of the gathering fog, then receded.
"Idiot," Bumblebee thought he heard as his optics gave out.
He sunk back into the haze as a door hissed shut.
