Chapter 14 : Brakes
A/N: Hmm, it's been a while, but yes, I have not forgotten about the fanfic. Just…side-tracked, that's all.
"…And then, and then, he-…he went over the hill…and then shot…and I got…was awesome…ouch…"
Tiny garnet optics fluttered open to light the sparkling's face, groggily waking up to a Datsun muttering in recharge. Coldshock almost forgot how he got to this foreign berth, until he noticed a patriotic red emblem plastered on Bluestreak's resting chassis. The youngster's immediate frown was not directed at the current predicament he was settled in, but at the grey Autobot who woke him from his desired slumber, flapping his autonomous vocal components for the past few astroseconds. Coldshock checked the other bed mates accustomed to this soldier's irregular conversations, before realising the severity of cohabitating with his creator's enemies. This small revelation shot an involuntarily quiver through his framework at his mother's lack of verbal scarcity, bringing his left arm under observation after hearing its unusual rustling.
Having being robbed of a limb in the previous battle by stray fire, Coldshock was supposed to be missing an appendage, but whoever took the missing arm's practicality into thought was considerate enough to build a makeshift substitute in its place, necessary or not. The limb was sorely lacking in design aesthetics, but it functioned normally as the sparkling curiously clicked the crude fingers together. Having completed its first task of pinching the Datsun's lips shut, Coldshock scanned the darkened room for a ventilation shaft, or any sizable opening that could accommodate his frame to give him the modest means to escape the Ark. An alien sound piqued the sparkling to a frightened jolt, and found the source of the recognisable melody. On the berth to his right lay a snow white Autobot recovering from his own wounds, whom in his boredom or hobby, tuned in to a popular radio channel and nestled his attention in the latest tunes.
"(...Hey, little man, what's happenin'?)" the Autobot did not hear the dark green Transformer's reply, so he posed another question. "(Y'know this song?)"
Coldshock recalled the CDs he hastily ran off without, after those other Autobots scared him away with their presence; he wanted them back, and the youngster's objective changed to procuring what was rightfully his from this soldier's comrades. The sparkling did not give a verbal reply, clambering across his recharge berth to rest impetuous hands on the elder's chest hood. Coldshock only nodded in agreement after giving the Autobot a concentrated stare.
"(The name's Jazz, little buddy. What's yours?)" Coldshock whispered his name, and this 'Jazz' Transformer lifted a dark hand for a handshake. "(Put 'er there, little fella'.)"
"(I'm not li'll,)" Coldshock plucked his own peculiar hand to accept the handshake, and Jazz took the odd fingers in his own. "(…'Man'.)"
The Porsche and the Cybertronian sparkling shared the joke in quiet chuckles, amidst the other supine Autobots.
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"Optimus Prime called. He said they have our second creation. Care to explain your parental neglect?"
It was a bad start to the topic of their missing son, but Megatron rarely decorated his words with flowery language or practised unnecessary courtesy, unless it's served to curtain a dangerous threat he was prepared to administer. Another bout of acerbic statements and blatant accusations passed between both creators, until the mech turned to leave the room, leaving his consort no choice but to shoot him in the back. Worried to nervous jitters, the red seeker grabbed the microphone to make an announcement to all available troops aboard the Nemesis.
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"DECEPTICONS! THIS is STARSCREAM, and I DEMAND a FULL-SCALE ASSAULT on the Ark, until the Autobot's RELIEVE COLDSHOCK FROM THEIR DAMNED DIRTY HANDS-uUUaaAARcCHKAAAHHH! AAAAC-K-K-T-! UUUUUHK-K-K-K!"
Listening to their leader's hands subdue the wayward female, the rest of the purple emblem soldiers quietly shook their heads at the evident consequences of their aerial commander's actions. After a solid minute of gagging, the Decepticons heard their rightful leader address his army.
"Constructicons, take Starscream's brainless hull to the repair bay and dump her body in a C.R. chamber, after you've replaced her damaged vocal component." Half the Decepticons occupying the canteen frowned and cursed bitterly through energon stained lips, in contrast to the other half cheering upon winning their latest gamble. The aforementioned gestalt team grumbled their way out of the mess hall to complete the task set to them through Starscream's carelessness.
"Y'see? 'Screamer's dunnit again, so pay up, 'cons!" Skywarp thrust open a willing palm to the majority of the sour-faced Decepticons. Frenzy thought otherwise, and removed himself from his seat to change the purple warrior's demands. "Whatcha mean 'pay up'? The bet's over yesterday, clouds-fer-brains!"
"That's where you're WRONG, you metallic mini-meatball!" Skywarp corrected the miniscule Decepticon. "WE made the bet after noon, an' it's still 'leven!"
"The seeker's right now, so before you start accusing us of cheating you, it's time for the losers to hand over the moolah, am I right, gentlemen?" Swindle won a round of buoyant cheers before Skywarp reaffirmed the Combaticon's words. "Yeah! Hand over the moolah, SHRIMP-ZY!"
Producing the exact amount due, Teratron plainly thrust her credit into Thundercracker's deserving hands, walking off before a very predictable skirmish between the Decepticons broke out in the mess hall. Avoiding the first punch, Thundercracker awkwardly pranced through the crowd to exit the room, joining his purple wingmate and Starscream's creation in her stroll.
"Sorry Tera, but you know Starscream," mentioned Thundercracker. "She'd do anything for you guys."
The female warrior breathed out a humbled sigh to herself. "If that was the case, my mother should have waited an hour more. I had more faith in her."
"So whatcha' gonna do now?" Skywarp enquired about her next course of action. "Gonna look for them killers?"
"Of course, but they are not on this planet." The female whipped her arms to force a powerful click in readiness for her next destination. "I will have to acquire permission from our lord if I am to make the journey back to Cybertron."
Teratron would have missed Skywarp's expression if she didn't turn to find a tragic look washed over the purple seeker's optics, and took cue from his pitiful countenance. "I will buy those mature datapads you've requested for."
"Um, Teratron," Thundercracker peeped. "Let this goon wait for his perverted crap, 'cause I don't think the media would be kind to Megatron's creations if they carried something like that around."
"Doesn't matter," Teratron replied, leaving Skywarp's elations intact. "Do you want me to get anything for you?"
"Ah, um…oh yeah!" the blue jet lit up in recollection of his mate on Cybertron. "If you've got the time, tell Midnight that you're back, I'm sure she'd wanna see you-oh! And that I miss her a lot too!"
"…Of course."
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"I have made contact with Megatron and explained his creation's current status," Optimus Prime recalled his conversation with the Decepticon leader to his troops. "I assume he won't attack the Ark unless he wants to make negotiations."
"Yeah, but what negotiations? Ah don't think there's any need for 'em, and we ain't kidnappin' nobody!" Ironhide reinstated their agreement among the senior Autobot officers. "If anythin', ahm surprised they haven't stormed th' Ark yet to git the little critter back!"
"They won't because the child's not leaving the Ark until he's fully recovered," Ratchet insisted. "No bot leaves the med bay until they can shoot a lumber-roach outta the sky. Period!"
The C.M.O.'s infamy for concern over the health of all Transformers was acquainted with the other Autobots, which was also noted by the Autobot's strategist. "If we send the sparkling back to the Decepticons when he has not fully recovered yet, they might find reason in his injury to attack our base or harm the humans in spite."
"Autobots, our concern with the sparkling's well-being is equally important, as with all life. Even if it gives us an advantage or not, what matter's the most is that Megatron's child comes under no harm." Optimus Prime reinstated his rule. "Until then, the child must stay here until he's fully recovered, and if Megatron wants to start negotiations, I'll talk to him personally. Under no circumstances is his child held for ransom. If anything, we are keeping him here for the sake of his health, and may he recover speedily. You may all return to your current duties."
"But Prime, if the creation is not held for ransom, why are we open for negotiations with Megatron?" Prowl asked, and a transparent glint flash across his leader's optics.
"Because, Prowl," said Optimus, "Megatron himself made his intentions clear, and contacted the Ark first for negotiations first. He knows we don't have the same intentions the Decepticons would have for weaker beings, but I think he's buying extra insurance for his creation."
Walking out of the conference room, a pair of sturdy red feet brought Ironhide to join Ratchet's stride to the med bay. "Ahm gonna head down th' med bay with you, Ratchet ol' buddy. 'Jes wanted ta' check on the Decepti-critter."
"Oh, no worries Ironhide, his systems should be balanced by now. Unless…" a perfect grin stretched itself across the ambulance's face. "You've gotta soft spot for the little fella!"
"Hey, ah ain't goin' soft, if that's what yer' sayin'!" Ironhide checked his chalk coloured counterpart. "I mean, he's so far 'way from home, little guy mus' be scared an' frightened-!"
Suddenly and without warning, a string of plangent chortles travelled across the Ark, ringing the golden halls like church bells at a prosperous wedding. Its source was a supposedly petrified sparkling, expressing his 'fear' by letting himself loose aboard the ship.
"…And traumatised?" Ratchet spoke in a curious tone of voice. The yapping of a free-ranged puppy accompanied the chortles of an energised sparkling, creating a tune of nostalgia for the Autobots; save for the Datsun who already had the awkward experience of the four-legged creature's slobbering affection. The strategist secretly dreaded a personal introduction to the puppy's rambunctiously tempered playmate.
"…I'm going to finish my reports in the safe confines of my room," Prowl's voice interrupted the other senior Autobots, letting his doors sink to waist level at the concept of an inevitable, unstoppable commotion within the next few days. "…If it can be helped."
Prowl's undisclosed wishes were nullified when a silver blur galloped past their knees, with Megatron's creation riding it's back. The unfettered youth charged noisily across the invisible boundaries set within the base, sparking a chain reaction in the bystanders to seize the youngling from creating catatonic disasters.
"Don't jes' stand dere', catch the crittercon!" Ironhide's gruff voice woke the other stationary Autobots from their leisure, driving past them at breakneck speeds. Very soon, more Autobots with faster alternate modes partook in the race, following the coiled cloud trails to catch the rest of the youngster, who just happened to be the progeny of the Decepticon's fastest seeker jet. In his momentous glee of playfulness, Coldshock quickly forgot where he was and abandoned all social formalities taught to him, even going so far as to let the Lamborghini twins chase him. One of them owes him a few CDs, but that could wait until he exhausted his energy reserves.
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were tempted to display their mastery of their own self-created jet-judo, an 'art form' which partnered brute strength with gung-ho resolve of a steadfast warrior; however, the jet in question would be indiscriminately crushed underneath their weight, if another Autobot did not use his guile to stop the devilish child from breaking speed limits within the Ark.
"Get him Mirage! Catch him while you're invisible!" cried a voice from the crowd of Autobot vehicles. The frantic Cybertronian jet somersaulted back to root mode as he stopped in mid-air, expecting the invisible Transformer to appear. 'It's a trick?' thought the child, amidst his heated flight engines keening restlessly to catch up with his enthusiasm. "There's no-AHHH!"
"GOTCHA!" the vehicular brothers called in unison as each grabbed a tiny arm, and clapped a triumphant high-five with their free hands. Half the Autobots who were too slow to follow the trail either caught up with the faster bot's bumpers, or disqualified themselves entirely from the frenetic chase. Freeing the wrangling limb from his hand, Sunstreaker left the sparkling curling furiously around his brother's firm arm; struggling against Sideswipe like an angry spider, Coldshock gained little leeway from the clenched fist in his animated tantrum. The culprit behind the exaggerated bluff modestly shuffled his way through bodies of metal, to reveal a blue and white painted Ligier.
"Sorry, young one, but you were pretty persistent," the resident spy gave kudos to the irate creation. "I'm Mirage. That one holding you is called Sideswipe, and that's his brother Sunstreaker-"
"STUPID UGLY!" Coldshock squealed abuse in recognition of the yellow warrior in his embittered state, halting all Autobots with working audio receptors to digest their unprecedented stupor. The 'stupid ugly' warrior held his shoulder joints rigidly upon receiving that unfathomable insult, melting his face to express sheer need for carnage to be exercised onto the smaller Transformer.
"WHY…YOU…LITTLE…CREEP!"
"FAT FACE! Can't get a date, face like a grate, caboose like a-mmmphfrrhrrhr!" Sideswipe hastily drew the sparkling safely away from his near-to psychotic brother, clamping the running mouth shut before Sunstreaker committed infanticide. Halted by his red twin's actions, the raging yellow fury was at a dilemma that was about to be easily remedied; after bulldozing everyone who would stand between him and the sparkling, Sunstreaker would destroy the miniscule mouthful of disrespect and throw him into the volcano.
"C'mon bro, he's just a kid, he-he doesn't know what he's talking about!" the charming smile that belonged to Sideswipe flashed his brother for mercy. "Just give him some time to calm down, he won't-"
"The little jerk's still yappin'!" Sunstreaker growled directly at the Decepticon creation, trying his hardest to bend a finger away from his face.
"Urrmph-! UUPFHT-it! It hurts! Lemme go! It hurts! OW-!" The Autobot medic unhesitatingly clawed his way through the gaping Autobots just as Sideswipe released his grip on the younger Transformer, fearing that he had done the opposite when he was shielding Coldshock. Now resembling the injured sparkling that the majority had envisioned him to be, Coldshock quickly scooted painfully away from the looming crowd, swatting Ratchet's hands until he realised that the white van was trying to elevate his pain. The sea of Autobots parted again when Optimus Prime rolled into view and transformed, finding the sparkling whimpering softly against Ratchet's leg, who was crouching to check Coldshock's arm joint.
"Now just hold still a second, all right?"
"It hurts…it-it really hurts! "It hurts so much I'm gonna DIE!" Coldshock bleated into the medic's wide leg, crying for the relief his aching joint needed. Ratchet frowned at the pitiful cries, delicately prodding the source of the pain with professional accuracy until his laser scalpel made the creation jolt. Coldshock made further use of the medic's foot when Ratchet was done fixing the problem, and wiped his wet face against the once dry leg. Spotting a larger blue foot strolling into view, Coldshock removed himself from Ratchet and held Prime's leg with the same dependency he took from adults; all those who stood in the hall forgot that this small Transformer was the creation of a merciless dictator.
"You shouldn't move so much, or your internal repair systems won't do a good job and your wound won't feel properly." Ratchet harrumphed in his typical lack of bedside manner in dealing with complaining patients, and let Optimus Prime address the sparkling next.
"Hello," Coldshock cocked his head to the deep voice from the towering mech, meeting the silver-plated countenance of Optimus Prime. "…Are you feeling all right now?"
A small question coming from a great person reminded Coldshock of his vulnerability and he was about to frown into more tears, when the sparkling realised that this is, the Optimus Prime, in the metal. An unusual sense of modesty returned to the sparkling, trying to conjure a fitting reply for the towering Autobot leader, until he felt that his legs were removed from the floor to meet Optimus Prime's gaze on the same level.
"…I…I'm okay…" Coldshock's reply faded into his vocal components, and he nodded in reassurance for the both of them.
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"I suppose you would want something for recovering my injured sparkling and letting him occupy your base?" Megatron addressed the Autobot leader on-screen, and the fleshling-loving troops currently occupying the room.
"Why am I not surprised?" Ratchet scolded Megatron on Teletraan-1's viewing screen. "Only a Decepticon would measure lives with material values!"
"And I should thank you for that insidious comment too, Ratchet. How brave of you," the Decepticon tyrant squinted at the Autobot medic, before returning his attention to Optimus Prime. "I'm only doing this for the safety of my creation, and…rewarding you and your troops for providing target practice for the Decepticons in the past few millennia. Let's call a truce, Prime."
Megatron pulled a nonchalant face with his cavalier statement at the Autobots, dumbly gasping like dead fish at the very idea; the Decepticon leader was not infamous for practicing Autobot morals, much less suggesting them. "…Until my creation is fully recovered from his wounds and your fleshling-loving clutches."
"It's your call, Megatron," Optimus agreed. "Although I have to say, it's not the first time you've used a truce as an excuse to reload your weapons."
"Don't worry, Prime…you'll meet the end of my cannon soon enough. Where is he?" The Autobot leader stepped aside to reveal Coldshock into view, looking even smaller and weaker than he already is between the larger Transformers. Nervously scratching his peculiar arm, the look of total fragility hovered around the sparkling's shrivelling frame, when his mother came into view on the overly sized monitor.
"Now you're are safe and out of harm's way, hmm?" If it weren't for the small trembling crescendo trailing at the end of Starscream's indifferent tone, Coldshock would have thought that his female creator was devoid of any concern for him in his current circumstance. The youngling readied himself for a grating chorus, but when Starscream parted her lips to reprimand her child, it contrasted his thoughts of the expected carping he was suppose to receive.
"…Do you think this is funny, Coldshock?"
The youngest Transformer's view slowly narrowed from the peripheral others to Starscream's still face, her mouth being the only thing moving on her steeled countenance. To any ignorant mech, the mother of this creation sorely lacked the predictably normal, distinctive emotions she was supposed to communicate to him. However, the sparkling knew beneath the sober expression, lay her innermost fears that would, could, and might become a reality if he did meet with an accident, if and when he strayed from his mother's watchful gaze.
"Do you think our war is a game, Coldshock? When someone dies, they don't come back." The youngster felt his mother's ruby optics burning a rhetoric gaze into his hull, as her whispers hissed translucently across the room. "Why would you place yourself in the middle of a war field, when you know I am doing all I can to prevent that from happening?"
The creation could not hear the exact words she had said by now, listening to the sad echo that reverberated at the end of each sentence the red seeker produced. It hurt Coldshock to hear it more than the constant irritancy snaking across his odd arm. As the pain kept itself to the injured limb, Starscream's words grabbed the youngster's every circuit, and her final message struck his trembling frame, as an unwanted moral and a needed blessing at the same time.
"…I'm very disappointed, Coldshock." Starscream's optics held a wet glaze which refused to let loose a torrent of heavy tears unlike Coldshock, and kept a fixated view of her child before cutting communications with the inhabitants of the Ark.
"I'll see you when (you return…)"
Only his mother could make Coldshock feel so lonesome in a crowd.
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Tearing her optics away from the screen, the aerial commander left herself to contemplate her daughter's progress with the assumed-to-be living assassins. The combat female promised her creation an update in a few hours, but Starscream felt her right of privilege to know sooner. The red female's thoughts were soon interrupted by her leader, making his way to her in an accustomed, feigned dispassion for her.
"Are you still worried, you short-sighted femme? The Autobot's can't do anything to him. You should know that yourself." The couple's optics meet one another, with Starscream wearing a more agitated furrow concealed beneath her sarcasm.
"I was pretending, you dolt," Starscream corrected the silver leader's assumptions. To some extent, the female seeker was still stirred by Coldshock's current predicament, but she had regained some of her usual manner after spending some time rationalising the overall situation. They weren't the same as her daughter's killers. 'Not like them', she hoped.
"I was upset…and I think Coldshock needs to know how much. Before. Then. Now." Starscream chopped the air in front of her with unoccupied hands, modestly resting the tips of her fingers on her cockpit afterwards. "…Can you not tell? If he did not inherit my good talents, Coldshock would have gotten into a lot more trouble."
"Melodrama is an easy subject to perform," Megatron said otherwise, and Starscream just recalled her original question.
"But a truce, Megatron? Are you out of your mind?" she thrust her face closer to his in failed intimidation of the larger mech, and swivelled her heels to pace the floor unknowing of Megatron's true intentions. "The majority of the troops will be unhappy 'cause we lost our last battle to the Autobots, unless…you've got a plan."
Starscream's desperate curiosity slowly became an uncomfortable mental rash, waiting to be eased by the dictator's verbal cure. "…I know it. Energon supplies are plentiful, the troops are anticipating the next battle, and two of our gestalt teams are away on confidential business. Especially-…especially the Constructicons. So, what is it, my lord? Giant laser cannon? Armageddon inducing death machine? Giant purple mythical replica? Tell me Megatron. Tell me now, or at least tell me later, before you start recharging."
"You don't mind waiting then," Megatron took his carriage to the exit, purposely teasing his young consort by leaving her with her own unanswered queries. "I have something to do."
It only took the femme con a few seconds to splash herself against her lord's lofty chest, purring like a luxurious cat in mock satiation of it's next meal.
"My lord, you look tired…" Starscream's curled fingers scratched the older mech's chin, beckoning him to his own room with her shameless cooing. "Don't you feel like having a nice nap?"
"I feel like being productive," Megatron's sombre answer literally made the aerial commander skip for his undivided attention, and the tyrant found himself being tugged to his own quarters through Starscream's playful notions. "…But since you're going to find out eventually, there's no harm telling you this tit-bit of information. Come, we can discuss this elsewhere."