Chapter 4-Starcrossed

'On whose authority do they categorize us like common drones?'

Orion Pax sat at the Lars Pavilion overlooking the city by the Decagon. It was night, and he was stargazing on one of the benches. His mind was a thousand miles away, thinking back to the recent events that transpired.

The bombing at Nominus Square was breaking news, and the attack put everyone on edge; everyone save the senate. They were outraged at the attack, but it was more on the grounds that they were insulted that some terrorist had the bearings to bomb their city instead of being angered at the loss of life that resulted from the attack. Their pride was hurt, and that was all that mattered to them. They went through the same song and dance about how the criminals will be brought to justice-no different from what the governors from the other city-states said time and time again in the wake of a bombing.

The trail had gone cold no later than a day after the attack.

Orion, after recovering in the hospital, had given a detailed description of the femme who did it-an outlier who could phase her body through solid objects, aided by a large beast former who was probably her conjux endura. But nothing he did was any help, as they were already gone from the city thanks to the outlier's powers. As it is, he was still reeling from the bombing itself.

'Down with the corrupt senate! Down with the Prime!'

He knew that there were people who hated the senate, people who were mostly from the lower 'disposable' castes. But to see such hatred first hand, and to have it directed at him, was a bit min numbing. He figured that these people finally had enough of being treated like dirt and lashed out. There was only so much a bot can take before they snap.

'Freedom is every cybertronian's right!'

Freedom. Freedom to do what exactly? Orion remembered, during his information sessions after maturing from a protoform, being taught that freedom consisted of being free to contribute to the tasks that were appropriate and necessary to the caste you were born into. Unlimited choice, rather than leading to freedom, led to the paralysis of confusion.

Those were the teachings of…who exactly? Nominus Prime had never said it out loud, but he was one of the bots who instigated the rise of functionism-along with much of the Legislators in fact. He preached the core belief of the functionist sect that individuality threatens to tear apart cybertronian civilization and only by acting as contributing parts to a single machine-Cybertron-can society flourish.

'They say they are doing this for the benefit of all, but who does the caste system benefit? The higher castes! Those who use us to stabilize their rule at the top!'

The outlier and her spouse were beast formers. Of course they would rebel against the higher authority. Bots like them didn't fit in the divine system of the government, they were mutants. Abominations. Those who transformed into animals were animals themselves, and should be treated as such. Orion recalled how Elita-1 had witnessed a beast-former, one of her neighbors in fact, get beaten to death by two Elite Guard soldiers. It had haunted her for a long time before Alpha Trion talked to her about it.

Now that he was thinking-as in really thinking-and not just absentmindedly pondering-about the caste system, he realized just how brutal it was. He heard stories and reports about incidents involving shapism, but seeing it was another thing all together. He was just like everyone else in his caste, he didn't care about events that happened far off in some distant city that he was never going to visit in his lifetime.

'Who are they to decide what it beast for me? As an individual, no one knows but me what I want. Who but you knows what is best for you?'

Sentient beings banded together and made decisions for the collective good. Not all of those decisions would benefit every individual. But not all societies would alienate a group of people because they weren't useful anymore.

Orion groaned and ran his hands over his face. What the hell was he supposed to think or feel anymore?

'What I need,' He thought. 'Is to have a conversation with someone other than myself.'

XXXXXXX

So Orion had tracked down an old friend of his-Jazz. He was a silver mech with a clear blue visor instead of separate optical shutters who took life as easy as possible and had a sense of humor that mostly surrounded Orion's lack of such. Once they met up, they went to have a drink at McAddam's Oil House.

"Well you certainly have a dilemma." Jazz noted. "You know what you should do? Go to Tarn and see a gladiator match."

"Are you serious? That's illegal. I'm pretty sure it's illegal to even see one. I have a perfect record to maintain, Jazz. You're not doing me any favors."

Jazz grinned. "Doesn't stop the senate from sneaking a peek at a few matched though." He drained his can of Visco and waved the bartender for another. "Look, if we get in trouble, then I can say it's for cultural investigation."

"And how will you explain my being there?"

"You could be my bodyguard."

"Jazz, student of Yoketron, needing a bodyguard, please." Orion chuckled.

But it was a sound idea in theory. Orion had met Jazz because he was a cultural investigator, charged with mingling with the populace and learning about the different aspects of modern cybertronian life, researching and making sense of the rabble that made up the common bot from all walks of life. It was by chance that they met while Pax was on a case and Jazz offered his services to help the fabled "Supercop". Their castes were on the same level, but Jazz's job granted him more freedom, enough that Jazz could get away with things Orion would never dream of doing. He was a risking taker, taking risks than what was necessary.

Orion drank his glass of Estriol. "Besides, Tarn is on the other side of the planet. I've never been past Nova Cronum."

That realization made him feel a bit wistful. There was so much of Cybertron he had not seen, and he was friends with bots who had seen much more than he had. The most he had seen of distant places was when he viewed the transmissions with Elita-1 in the Hall of Records.

Jazz shrugged. "It's just a suggestion. Wanted to find a way to set you mind at ease by meeting this Megatron-if that's his real name. Why are you so fascinated with him anyway?"

"It's not Megatron himself, well yeah it kind of is, but it's also how he views the world. We all have seen the caste system as something that is necessary or just some system that isn't interesting enough to garner our attention so long as it doesn't interfere with our lives. But Megatron, he's not like those nut jobs on the street corner. He's asking the right questions that make people think, and when they start putting pieces together, it all begins to make sense."

"Wow," Jazz gaped. "He really has you hooked."

Orion didn't deny that. Every time he read more about Megatron, or his writings, something lit up deep inside him. It was as if Megatron's fight for individualism resonated with feelings Orion never knew he had. The fact the-despite social standings-they were born the same way and like all things in life, die as well.

This revelation sparked a kinship with Megatron and the rest of the miners and forgers across the planet. They were all beings born the same way from the heart of Cybertron. Were they so different?

He mentioned this to Jazz, who gave a light hearted-if not a little mocking-laughed.

"Yes, Orion. You're different. You don't have to worry about dying every time you wake up in the morning. You don't have to fight for your life. And if you do die on the job, people will actually care and your body won't be thrown into a smelting pool and used as raw materials."

Orion stared at his friend in shock before sipping his drink. "You aren't pulling any punches." He noted.

"Those who are fortunate should know how fortunate they are." Jazz said, quoting his master.

The two mechs sat in silence, drinking their energon as the silver mech waited for his police friend to get his thoughts in order.

"I wonder if I can get in contact with him." Orion said. The estriol he drank filled his body with an invigorating feeling of confidence that wasn't just his usual forced bravado.

"With who? Megatron?" Jazz asked. "Possibly, though I'd be careful. Even the tamest predator is still a predator."

"You don't find him interesting?"

"Orion, I find everything interesting. It's the whole point of my job." He chuckled. "Look, if you really want to go to Tarn, then I can hook you up with some travel passes and say you're along as my bodyguard. Want me to talk to you chief?"

Orion considered the idea. "Maybe. If nothing else, I just want to see him in person."

"Careful, bro. investigation is for bots I mechaforensics and privates. Don't step outside the boundaries of your caste my friend."

"How can I not?" Orion finished the rest of his drink and gave his friend a hard stare. "I have a mind, I can think, and analyze."

Jazz waited for Orion to calm down before responding. "If you say so."

"Easy for you to joke, you can do whatever you want. I'm a police officer, I have to set an example." Orion replied, leaning forward. His voice was low but his words were harsh. "Where does it say that I have to stay an officer? Was it foretold by the Matrix? Or written in some damn ledger that the Primes keep on whose authority do they measure my worth as a living being with how useful my alt mode is to them? Or gave them the right to beat up innocent people because they change into a bird instead of a plane?"

He trusted Jazz implicitly and would say things to him that he would never say to anyone else. And so, the words just spilled out of his mouth in a burst of passion and frustration.

"You sound like your gladiator friend." Jazz pointed out.

"He's not my friend." Orion said. "But maybe it's time I talked to him."

XXXXXXXXX

"I don't know how you talked me into this." Elita-1 said sternly as she and Orion stood in the privacy of her workstation. "This is incredibly risky."

"I know, Elita." Orion said.

It was a risky and highly dangerous plan, one that could give them both a life sentence if they're caught. He didn't like putting her in such danger, but Elita was the only one he trusted who had intimate knowledge of how the Grid worked. She knew how to get a transmission across the Grid without anyone but the intended recipient knowing about it.

Orion knew that he owed Elita a lot for going to great lengths to help him out. They were doing this in the late hours of the night, when most of the other data clerks were out, save for a few caretakers on the upper floors. As far as they were concerned, she was doing a late shift, not sending a secret message to Megatron.

Orion didn't know what to say. How do you start a conversation with a mech who is the hero of a caste that loathes people like him? The question plagued his thoughts the entire drive to the Hall. After a few minutes, he decided to give something simple.

'What you say is interesting, but more people are hearing than you realize. Let's speak.'

Elita attached the contact information to it and masked it with a bit of dead end storage data, and sent it off.

"It's done." She said. Orion nodded. Elita looked at her dearest friend with stern eyes. "Are you really going through with this? What you're doing is liable to get you imprisoned or worse."

"I'm ready." Orion Pax said. He never felt so sure about anything in his life.

And so the first seed was planted.

XXXXXXX

"Megatron, you've got a message!"

Megatron was sharpening his sword when Elmeth came running into his quarters with a data pad in hand.

"A message? From who?" He asked.

"A mech named Orion Pax. He sent it through an encrypted channel from Iacon." She told him.

Megatron narrowed his eyes and took the data pad from her. Together, they read the short and cryptic message, both wearing looks of surprise and caution.

What did this mean for them? Did this mean that someone in Iacon was sympathetic to their cause, or was it some trick to get them to lower their guard? There were too many possibilities to consider, and Megatron knew that his response could make or break everything they fought for.

"Megatron," Elmeth said softly. "What are you going to do?"

Megatron looked at her and then down at the message. After a few minutes of thinking, he made his decision.

XXXXXXXXXX

OP: In my caste, I work to save and protect lives as well as apprehend criminals. But I am forbidden to investigate.

M: How can you hope to stop crime without knowing the cause of it?

OP: I try not to ask myself questions that don't have answers I can do anything about.

M: Who has told you that you can't do anything about the answers? I never even had a home. I went out to fight for the pleasure of strangers. Now I am fighting for the cybertronians who seem to be fine with living under a lie.

OP: Fight who?

M: Those who would tell me, like they tell you, that we do not have a right to determine our fates. Interesting that even in Iacon my words are being heard.

OP: Not by choice, but by coincidence. However, I was intrigued by your rhetoric and made an effort to speak to you.

M: A great many cybertonians would love to have Iacon as their home. Yet you are there and still unsatisfied. What does that tell you?

OP: We should meet.

M: Should we? Why would I meet you?

OP: Iwish to learn more about the mech you are, and you wish to spread you message to those of the castes beyond the smelters and miners.

M: Or the rest of Cybertron should learn to understand those castes. Even you do not and you consider yourself one of us.

OP: Then show me what I do not understand.

XXXXXXXX

Alpha Trion closed his eyes. It was beginning. The Oracle had foreseen it and now he was beginning to see the clear outlines of it. A chance meeting between two fleeting souls would change the future of Cybertron forever. He looked down at the book lying on top of his desk.

Symbols appeared with rapid ease across and down the pages, covering the paper in a burst of expression. They came and went with flashing peed, rewriting and overwriting each other in a dizzying fashion so that Alpha Trion could pick out only single words or phrases. On they flowed, sign on sign, symbol on symbol, weaving themselves into the fabric of its pages in vast tapestries of light.

"…catalytic reaction…"

"…for every protagonist and equal and opposite…"

"..wake him by the movement of his own heart.."

Alpha Trion didn't try to understand all o fit, only what the Oracle wanted him to understand. The passage spoke of brothers, souls, spirits, dancing, the flow of power from pole to pole and frequency to frequency, of fundamental uncertainties in all things that tore apart and made whole…and then, just as he felt on the brink of understanding, a final symbol etched itself onto the paper. One he knew all too well.

"Let it be."