Chapter 18: Welcoming Committees

Skyquake was not sure how he had been roped into helping Commander Starscream pick out the quarters for the newbies, but here he was, just the same, peering into empty room after empty room.

"Well, this one's sizeable," Starscream said. "Too large, perhaps? Neither of our new mechs is very . . . substantial."

"Bigger is better," Skyquake said. "You don't know what size of bot they might invite over."

"Yes, I suppose that's true . . . Check the washroom, will you?"

Skyquake nodded, watching his feet as he avoided a coil of cables and a stack of empty energon cubes. Every room they'd been in so far had had its own collection of forgotten furniture, equipment, and plain old junk scattered around.

Skyquake reached one arm into the frame of the washrack and turned on the sprayer. Solvent showered down, slightly rusty at first, and pooled around the grate at the bottom of the gently concave floor. Skyquake turned off the sprayer, but the light blue puddle remained.

"Bad plumbing," he reported, returning to the main room. "The drains are clogged."

"Wonderful."

The next three rooms also had clogged drains. Starscream suggested that they go one corridor down to try to escape the problem. "We'll find one in working order yet, Skyquake. And then too, we have to take proximity into consideration."

"To the medical bay, you mean?" The news that Knock Out would be apprenticed to Doc Knock was already common knowledge. It was like that, on a ship. Skyquake had heard the news from the Citizen who ran the canteen, who had heard it from the Citizen who swept the training grounds, who heard it from a Citizen who just knew. "We're pretty far away from there."

"Knock Out asked to be near the Library, so here we are. No, I meant proximity to each other. We want their rooms close together, but not too close. We want to encourage them to socialize with the rest of the crew, not just each other."

Skyquake silently remembered his own arrival to the Heretic. Everyone had been nice and all that, but the transition from his own compact, one-bot spacecraft to the cavernous flagship sure as scrap took some getting used to. He'd spent a lot of evenings with his spark-twin, dropping by his room to hang out or to let himself be talking into going out for some sparring or playing that Human game Dreadwing liked so much, chess. It had been nice having his brother to turn to, even if chess wasn't really his thing.

"Okay," he said, "but not too far."

"No, no, of course not. Two or three corridors should do it, I think." They walked down the hall in silence past the broad doors with the Iatric painted on them. The old medical bay. Knockdown hadn't been happy about moving but, Pit, who had been happy at that point?

Starscream paused in front of a smaller door, also bearing the Iatric.

"I wonder if our new medical assistant would be offended," mused Starscream, "if I put him in Knockdown's old quarters. I think he might find the idea entertaining."

Skyquake shrugged.

"I suppose Trauma would say it would cause a complex or somesuch," said Starscream. "Ah well."

This time Skyquake grunted. Yeah, that sounded like something the resident shrink would say. "Didn't seem like the type who would care, to me. But I only met him for a few minutes."

"But Soundwave sent you the videos of his interviews, did he not?"

"Uh, yeah." Soundwave had, but he'd sort of fast-forwarded through anything that didn't involve Yellowjacket's clone.

As though reading his mind, Starscream said, "You'll have to talk with Bumblebee eventually, Skyquake."

Wow, really?

"I tried to, remember? And I kept getting shot down."

"Yes, yes, I know. I wasn't trying to criticize." She patted his arm. "I'm just saying now you'll have the opportunity. He's a very nice little mech. Reminds me a bit of the twins."

It took him a minute to realize she was talking about Jump and Amp. Of course she was. Because Skyquake wasn't a twin anymore, was he, with Dreadwing gone.

They aren't even spark-splits, he thought bitterly. But we found 'em at the same time and they have the same frame so, oh, of course, they're "twins." Not that he begrudged them their closeness, but it just . . . stung.

"Hmm," said Starscream, standing in the doorway of another flat of empty quarters. She stepped inside, wiped a thin trail of cleanliness through the dust coating the desk, and eyed her finger critically. A surprising number of chairs formed a maze in the middle of the room.

"Where do these things come from, I wonder?" Starscream said as she edged past them to check the washroom. Skyquake didn't follow, but instead started stacking the chairs on the berth to free up some floor space.

There was a sudden hiss of liquid from the washroom and an "Oh my!", and Starscream exited with one giant, backwards step, her arm dripping with solvent.

"Ridiculous amount of pressure in the pipes here," she complained, frowning at the faintly blue-ish liquid dripping off her arm. "Does nothing go right on this ship?"

Skyquake's forest green shoulders lifted as he shrugged. "Half the plumbing's shot to slag."

"Yes, yes, I read the reports. And live them, Primus help me. Well . . . better too much solvent than none at all, I suppose. And at least the drain works. Have a couple of the Citizens clear out the junk and spruce this place up, will you?"

"Sure, Commander."

Starscream nodded, frowning absently at the dust layering the desk again. Abruptly, she asked, "Would you be willing to take him onto your team?"

"Who?"

"Bumblebee."

Skyquake was silent.

"You know he's a different bot, Skyquake. You said as much."

"Yeah. I said that." But that's different from having to be around someone who looks like HIM all the fragging time.

"And we can always use more help with reconnaissance."

"Well. But. No wings. He'd have to use a ground bridge. All the time."

"So do you, unless you're doing short range patrols."

"Yeah . . . Is this what . . . I mean, did he say he wanted t' be a scout?"

"I haven't asked him yet. I wanted to get your perspective first." When he fell silent again, she added, "Just think about it. And after all, he may decide to go a different direction entirely. Join Airachnid, perhaps."

"Yeah, maybe."

Starscream headed for the door, smiling wryly. "Come on, Skyquake. Time to see if we can, in fact, find a second room on the flagship with functional plumbing."


It was Bumblebee's idea to sneak out of the medical bay for a while. It was Knock Out's idea to follow him.

It didn't take Bumblebee long to notice but, to be fair, Knock Out wasn't trying for stealth. He caught up with the Autobot by the elevator.

"Sneaking away, Bumblebee? Tsk tsk." The Decepticon waved a finger. "What are you up to, hmm?"

"I needed some air," Bumblebee returned, annoyed. The medical bay was just too . . . bustling. And it smelled like bleach. "Aren't you supposed to be getting your arm fixed right now?"

"Oh, it'll be an hour or two before they're ready. Preparations and so on. I asked Jumpstart if I could step out and he said it was fine. That's right; I was a good little clone and asked permission before I went for a stroll."

"You asked Jumpstart? Isn't he, like . . . not really in charge at all?"

"He has more seniority than me on this ship, doesn't he?"

"Well, yes . . ."

"So clearly asking him was sufficient." He tapped the down button and the elevator doors hissed open.

"Your logic never fails to amaze."

"Thank you!"

"Don't mention it." Bumblebee watched the numerical display as the elevator sank ever downward. He gave his head a sudden little shake to clear his processor. It felt sort of tight all of a sudden, like something was pressing against his cranial cavity. He saw Knock Out's optics flick towards him as he shook it again.

"Something wrong?" the 'Con asked. His tone was casual, but he leaned forward a little.

"No." Being stuck in an enclosed space with a Decepticon was discomforting enough without being on the receiving end of that red-eyed stare. He sure as scrap wasn't going to confide in the creep. "Why? Something wrong with you?" he challenged.

"No. Of course not," Knock Out said with a little smirk and a toss of his red-finned helm. He gestured towards the elevator door with two flat-palmed hands as it opened, not quite bowing. "After you." Bumblebee snorted and stepped out.

Knock Out followed the Autobot at a saunter. "Want to see the Library?"

"No," Bumblebee said, just to be contrary. He turned at the next intersection. Knock Out turned too, saunter, saunter. "So you're just going to keep following me, huh?"

"Why not?" That maddening smirk. "Someone has to keep you out of trouble, little Autoclone."

"What did I do to deserve this? To deserve YOU?" Bumblebee raised his hands to towards the heavens—or the ceiling, at least—in a gesture of aggravation.

"Clearly you're being rewarded for good behavior in some past life."

Bumblebee just rolled his optics before continuing his examination of the halls, scanning the corridors ribbed with steel support beams. He'd been an uninvited guest on the Nemesis before, and this ship's hallways was designed in exactly the same honeycomb style, just a slightly different color.

Once in a while they passed a few of those orange Decepticon Vehicons. (And how weird was it that those two words, "Decepticon" and "Vehicon", were no longer synonymous?) Trauma had called them Citizens, but Bumblebee felt he had smashed his way through enough Vehicon troopers to recognize them when he saw them. What differentiated them from the Autobot Vehicons (and again, so weird), aside from color scheme, was that they had faces rather than masks—although their faces were still more or less the size and shape of the Vehicon masks. Narrow and eerily identical.

Bumblebee tore his focus away from the identical Vehicons and examined the identical halls instead. He might as well have been walking in place on a treadmill for all the change in scenery.

"Decepticon warships are boring as scrap," he complained.

Knock Out shrugged and smirked. "There's a certain amount of repetition, certainly."

His optics didn't comb over the halls like Bumblebee's, but wandered at random . . . until he reached the intersections where a new passageway conjoined or split off. Then his red irises flicked in tight focus, following each pathway in succession. Sometimes his optic ridges would lower a little or he would tilt his helm a bit, shaking his head, but more often he gave a satisfied little nod or a slight smile. This was his territory, even if it wasn't.

Maybe it should've made Bumblebee feel better, knowing that his companion knew his way around these halls, knowing they wouldn't get lost, but instead it made him feel vulnerable and raw, like that gap in his knowledge put him at the mercy of the Decepticon. Stupid, because the scout was trained to find his way around in unfamiliar territory.

But usually the geography doesn't look so samey-samey, Bumblebee admitted to himself.

"I changed my mind. Where's the Library?"

"Ah, the Library. Follow me." The 'Con took a left and began working through the maze of hallways. He made wrong turns twice (or as he put it "they put the hallway in the wrong place") and had to backtrack from dead ends, but he found the Library, all right. "Ta-da!"

"This is it?" Bumblebee had been picturing something more grandiose and less . . . minimalist. It was big, yeah, but it was really just a grey room on a grey ship filled with (mostly) grey datapads.

"This, as you say, is it."

Well, no matter how blandly they were presented, it was a scrapping huge amount of datapads. "Do Decepticons really read this much?"

"I'll put it this way: these ones do."

"And yet all you came back with was the most tedious game in exist—" He cut off with an electronic whoop of pain.

The jolt of his servo slapping up against an electrified force field would have been bad enough without Knock Out's accompanying, hearty laughter.

"Very funny." Bumblebee glared at him. "You could have warned me."

"I could have, but I felt a demonstration would be more memorable," he grinned. His expression became more serious as his voice lowered. "Believe me, puzzle games weren't my first interest." His optics flicked towards the section labeled 'Engineering' before dismissing their inaccessibility with a philosophical shrug. "We-ell, I'm heading back. Mustn't miss my own surgery."

"You do that." Bumblebee didn't need a Decepticon tour guide to find his way back. He would be just fine on his own, just fine. Making his way through the interchangeable hallways that had no visible signage. Without any natural landmarks to determine his position or compass heading. Alone . . .

On a sudden impulse, Bumblebee sent Knock Out a download-invite for a file that would set up a basic emergency signal on a private frequency.

The Decepticon paused as he received the invitation. Bumblebee had been expecting him to respond with a sarcastic quip or a sneer, but his expression was simply cautious. His red, ringed optics blurred slightly around the edges as he turned his attention to his internal display. His fingers moved slightly, as though he was turning something over and over in them, and his optics, though unseeing, edged back and forth, studying some invisible object.

A hot surge of embarrassment and indignation burned in Bumblebee's chassis. The file's metadata clearly described its purpose, contents, and schematics, slaggit! Knock Out had no right to act like he was being offered a box full of scraplets or a live grenade! Meanwhile the file hung in the electronic share-space, waiting to be accepted, declined, or canceled; Bumblebee was almost ready to do the latter and call the whole thing off when his internal display popped up a notification.

** FILE ACCEPTED**

A momentary look of concentration on the Decepticon's face, and then . . .

"Testing, testing, do you read me?" Knock Out said glibly, and Bumblebee simultaneously received his ping. He pinged back, and the medic nodded to show he'd received it.

"Well, must be off." The Decepticon swung towards the door. Bumblebee's optics turned off and on in a rapid blink. Knock Out must have been serious about wanting to get to surgery if he was passing over the opportunity for a prolonged gloat. But the 'Con was indeed heading out, only stopping in the doorway long enough to look back with a mocking smirk.

"Don't get lost, little Autoclone!"

Ping.

And then he was gone.

Bumblebee repressed a sigh. Why did it feel like he'd just made a massive mistake? Probably because you just gave a Decepticon access to a coded Autobot comm line, he thought. Nice one, scout!

But no, that was being overdramatic. It wasn't really an Autobot frequency—just a randomly generated 'band—and he and the 'Con would only be able to send each other wordless data-pings. It was hard to see how Knock Out could do any harm with those, although Bumblebee wouldn't put it past him to try.

"Ouch! Scrap." Bumblebee's servo took another hit of electricity, this time from a force field flickering around the section on codes and firewalls. Some library, wouldn't even let you access the data!

After studying the entertainment section, he began to see why Knock Out had picked what he had. The shelves had once held an enormous number of datapads—as shown by the gaps between the few remaining data storage devices—but most were long gone, and the leavings were scant. Seeing as there was no librarian present, nor any evidence of a check-out system other than the honor system (and a bunch of force fields for more sensitive material), Bumblebee guessed that the more entertaining datapads had been spirited away by various members of the crew.

He gave up. If he got desperate enough he would borrow 1001 Sudoku Puzzles from Knock Out again. Primus forbid.

With a final glance around, he left the library. He wanted to just walk for a while.

The corridors were just as quiet as before and if he stopped and turned his head just so, all the support beams lined up in his field of vision, leading to infinity. Looking at the repeating pattern made of steel and rivets and space, he had an inkling of how Raf could find a certain kind of beauty in mathematics and equations. Ah, Raf. What was his human partner doing right now? Was he worried? Bumblebee hoped not.

Wish you were along to see this, Raf. This place is thirty-two flavors of crazy, but I know you'd love it.

He was just wondering if he could get the Soundwave of this world to develop some pictures for him to take back when, turning a hard left, Bumblebee ran smack into the back of a sky blue bot. It stumbled forward, nearly falling into the group of friends gathered with it.

"Oof! Oh, Primus. I'm really sorry, I wasn't watching where . . . I was . . . going . . . "

Sky blue. Vehicon frames. Masked faceplates turning towards him.

Autobot insignia stenciled sloppily on their shoulders.

There were seven of them, seven or eight. Bumblebee wasn't really sure. By that point he was running, and they were firing, and as he rounded a corner and transformed, he slammed through another five or six.


Knock Out had just reached the elevator when he heard it.

Ping.

Ping-ping-ping.