2. Starscream

A breem into the first lesson, I decided that Starscream was easily the most impudent slave I'd ever been trapped with. When we reached the open area, he stopped and faced me, arms crossed.

"Listen closely," he said. "I'm doing this for Prime, not you, but my respect for him has its limits. So does my patience with sparklings. I have the high ground in this skirmish. I know what I'm doing and you don't, so you'll do as I say."

Of all the impudence! I clenched my fists in an effort to curb my temper. What would Optimus do? Optimus would cater to his every whim.

Still, Starscream had a point. Whether I liked it or not, he had power over me. Considering I was to spend a great amount of time in the air with Starscream as my only safety net, I had no choice. There were ways to assert my superiority short of open rebellion. I would do what he said, but I wouldn't like it.

I didn't leave the ground for a few orbits, though now that I had to learn I was eager to try. Starscream flew first, darting into the sky, soaring, twirling, looping, barrel-rolling, light flashing off of his faded armor. When he landed, his optics were bright. It must have been his first flight in vorns, maybe even astrocycles. He must have felt—it didn't matter. Decepticons weren't programmed to feel like Autobots.

As the orbits passed, my flying grew steadier. I stopped worrying about the ground far below. In place of the fear came delight—this was wonderful! I'd never felt so free in my life. If I hadn't needed to refuel, I doubted that I would ever have come down.

Starscream stayed beside me, physically supporting me the first several times I left the ground. I grew to grudgingly respect his skill in the air, even to trust his taloned hands, which caught me when I fell or repaired my circuitry after I crashed. These crashes, fortunately, grew less frequent. I never enjoyed hauling myself out of craters.

Starscream had the irritating habit of looking me straight in the optics. Optimus's soft treatment had made him bold indeed if he thought he could stare at an Autobot. Most would have beaten him. Unfortunately he wasn't mine to punish.

Once Starscream didn't meet me at our usual training ground. I troubled myself to descend to the slave quarters and pound on his door (Optimus had never given me the override code). When he answered, he was grimier than usual, scuffed and dirtied. There was a dent in the side of his helm and his cockpit was cracked.

"What happened to you?" I asked automatically, startled despite myself. That sounded like I actually cared, so I added, "You look like slag." He looked down his nose at me, optics flaring in irritation. "Mouth off to the wrong mech?"

His expression looked remarkably like a pout. "No lesson today. Go away before I say something I'll regret."

"You're either brave or stupid."

I'd expected a glare, but he surprised me with a lopsided smirk.

"Or insane, which becomes more and more a possibility. Now go away."

Soon enough I could take to the air with ease. I responded to the mutters of my classmates with something else I'd learned from Starscream: unconcerned contempt. I was above them. I refused to consider the implications when Starscream used that same attitude on me. He was a Decepticon, lower than slag. I was his superior.

In the Academy, we learned it like this: Decepticons had served Autobots from the beginning, but they revolted time and again, losing more of their freedom with each crushed rebellion. There had been another one before I was Sparked, which explained the reconstruction still going on in some areas of the city, the scars that still remained in our planet's surface. It seemed like the Decepticons deserved everything they had gotten. But Starscream… Starscream didn't act inferior. He didn't seem like a mech who'd been a slave all his life.

How I survived Starscream those first few vorns is a mystery even to me. I became desensitized to his biting remarks and acidic wit through prolonged exposure. Not an orn went by that I didn't hear his rasping voice complaining about something.

The orns turned to orbits and the orbits turned to vorns. Soon it would be time for me to exchange my protoform for an adult body. I began to venture further from my comfortable home and mingle with others. Not only was I introduced to a variety of Autobots but also to a variety of Decepticons. Most slaves were weak, stunted creatures missing plating, optics, even limbs. They were as silent as slaves were expected to be—some had ragged gaps where their vocal processors should have been—but there was hatred in every action.

Every time they disobeyed and insulted their Autobot masters, they were beaten. Pain fueled anger, leading to disobedience. Prime's slaves were different. Ironically, Optimus' soft treatment made them more docile, rather than more rebellious.

When I mentioned this to Prime, he watched me silently for a long moment. I couldn't read his expression behind his facemask, and I shifted uncomfortably under his piercing blue gaze.

"What kind of master would you be, Nova?" he asked at last.

I hesitated. Several vorns ago I would have been just like those other mechs. I'd fantasized about ripping out Starscream's vocalizer myself more than once. Now I wasn't sure. I thought of the way Starscream acted around the other Autobots, then compared it to the way he behaved towards Optimus.

Maybe I was finally going soft, like Optimus, but… something just didn't add up. There was something more to this, the Autobots and the Decepticons. Something that Optimus wanted me to see—that was why he had put me with Starscream.

"Your kind," I said finally. "It's better to be respected than feared."

"In my experience, a kind word is better incentive than all the electrowhips on the planet." He retracted his mask and smiled. My Spark stirred; Optimus' smile meant more to me than a hundred words of praise. "Remember that, Nova."