By Tomorrow's Grace
Chapter III: A Life for a Life
The message from Soundwave was simple and brief. True to the Decepticon Communications Officer's stoic nature, it was devoid of both taunts and gloats, containing only a set of coordinates for them to follow.
With NEST still disbanded, it took longer than it should have to secure a carrier craft to transport the Autobots to the designated location. Bumblebee had been near frantic with worried rage over the lost time, and the flight there was spent in tense, hair-trigger silence.
And though no one dared to say it out loud, especially in front of the yellow scoutbot, they were all thinking the same terrible thing. It wouldn't really matter how long they took in finding Sam, not at this point. It was more than likely that the Decepticons had already cleared the area, and the boy was beyond even Primus' help by now.
As the shuttle neared their destination, Optimus stood to face his Autobots.
"Our objective is to retrieve Sam—nothing else. Today is not about retribution—" He eyed Ironhide as he said this, and the gruff warrior made a soft but acknowledging rumble at the pointed hint. "We will proceed with caution. The Decepticons know some of us may be emotionally compromised, but we cannot afford to be careless."
If Bumblebee knew this last bit was directed at him, he made no sign of it. The yellow mech was tense as a coiled spring, agitation radiating from every taut line of his frame. Optimus looked for a moment as though he meant to address the young scout, but seemed to think better of it and said nothing.
The place they had landed was buffered from the closest human civilizations by miles of deserted country land in all directions, and was only a short distance away from Soundwave's coordinates. Optimus assigned Sideswipe and the twins to safeguard their transport craft, and the rest of the Autobots began for the hangar waiting in the distance.
He and Bumblebee were to search for Sam while the others kept on guard for possible lingering Decepticons, but in the end it was Ratchet who found the boy's remains.
Optimus, the medic spoke through a private channel. Bumblebee shouldn't have to see this.
And from that single ominous request, Optimus knew exactly what had become of the boy.
No, Sam…
Pit-spawned Decepticons! Ironhide's furious voice joined the communications stream, and Optimus could almost see the way he must be spinning his cannons restlessly, helpless to demonstrate his rage on an absent enemy. Next time I see those cowardly—
Optimus broke the connection, spark heavy enough to drop through his fuel tank. He cast a sideways glance at Bumblebee not too far away and wondered how to break the news to his scout.
Bumblebee turned then, meeting his gaze, and there must have been something telling in his expression because the younger mech was immediately demanding, "Where is Sam?"
Vorns of war and loss had not endowed Optimus with the words for this task—he faltered, and in that single instant of hesitation, Bumblebee understood.
"Bumblebee, wait!" Optimus made a grab for him, but the mech slipped through his fingers with surprising speed and tore for the hangar door. Inside, he could hear his comrades trying to restrain the frantic mech, Ratchet's voice pleading with him not to look—and then a haunting shriek from Bumblebee's still-healing vocalizer as the protests of the others died into terrible silence.
When Optimus arrived in the doorway of the hangar, it was to bear witness to a scene that would haunt his memory circuits for vorns to come. It took him a moment to recognize the strange red mass pinned spread-eagled on the wall for what it was, but when he did, cold anger immersed his spark.
The Decepticons had not let Sam die without suffering, nor had they spared his body the dignity he deserved.
Ratchet, Ironhide, and Jolt stood at a fair distance from the scene, and though they tried to hide it, their revulsion at the display was plain to see. Optimus couldn't blame them—the carnage, though of alien organic flesh and blood, was no less real and disturbing than crushed armor and leaking fuel lines—but when his gaze turned to Bumblebee, his spark ached in sympathy for the young mech.
There was no revulsion in Bumblebee's defeated countenance, no flinch in his arm as he brushed a finger against the body with aching gentleness, nor disgust for the tragic frailty of human life. There was only a quiet mourning running more deeply than any of them could know, manifested in every line of his frame—from the listless droop of his doorwings to the dimness of his optics…and a soft, subsonic wail that told more of his grief than could be said in a thousand words.
Optimus shuttered his optics and turned his back, offering Bumblebee what little privacy they could afford. It was not the first time he had watched a comrade mourn over a fallen friend in this war, nor would it be the last…but as he listened to his scout's desolate cries, he could not help wondering how he'd ever been strong enough to bear it even once.
They removed Sam's body from its grotesque crucifixion and wrapped it in a clean tarp with all the grace and dignity they would have shown a fellow Autobot.
No words were exchanged as they walked back to the carrier craft. There was no need to explain to Sideswipe and the twins what had transpired—one glance at the little bundle in Bumblebee's arms told them all they needed to know.
The boarding ramp was just beginning to retract when it happened—a blip on his scanners drew Optimus from his dark thoughts. His intakes stuttered for a moment as he waited, hoping against hope that it was just a glitch in his sensors, a ghost perception in his processor. He couldn't stand the thought of having to deal with a Decepticon right now—to look one of the mechs responsible for Sam's death in the optics and have the strength not to act in vengeance.
The anomaly in his scanners flashed again, and this time Optimus feared for Bumblebee. Perhaps the mech hadn't noticed—
"There's a Decepticon down there."
Bumblebee's tone was hard, and there was something frightening in how evenly he voiced the observation.
They all looked at him, and if the scout saw the pitying wariness in their expressions, he didn't seem to care.
"Hey dere Bumblebee, maybe we should jist head back ta base 'n—"
Mudflap's voice died in his throat as he Bumblebee pinned him with the full intensity of his glare.
"Optimus," the scout continued with forced calmness. "Permission to investigate?"
"Denied."
Bumblebee needed closure, but vengeance was not the way to reach it. Optimus understood the desperate, aching craving for justice to be served, to make the ones responsible pay for their crimes. He understood fury and grief throbbing like an open wound and the certainty that retribution would restore order to a world gone mad, but just as strong was his conviction that revenge was a poison that would taint a mech's mind and spark. He would not let Bumblebee fall to that.
Bumblebee's hands curled into tight fists of iron. "Just let me ask him why."
"Optimus," Jolt spoke up. "This is just one lone Decepticon. It would be strategically advantageous to procure a hostage for future negotiations."
Jolt, at least, was not suffering from warped emotional judgment. Optimus could see the logic in his assessment—one Decepticon under their control was one less Decepticon to worry about roaming free on a planet of defenseless humans and on the battlefield, and they had the advantage of numbers if they were to confront him. If it was a mech of any importance, he could be a potentially valuable prisoner.
"We will go."
Bumblebee looked up in anticipation, but Optimus was quick to quash the idea before it had time to gain any momentum in his processor.
"Bumblebee, you will stay on the craft with Sideswipe, Mudflap, and Skids. The rest of you, accompany me."
Jerking back as though stung, the yellow mech turned his gaze to the floor stiffly but did not protest. Optimus spared him a final glance before they descended from the ramp. The scout's doorwings were hitched high in agitation, his frame taut with tension in every cable and hydraulic, and he would not meet anyone's optics. He was like a coiled spring strung to the breaking point, a ticking bomb on a hair-trigger detonation switch.
Optimus turned; he did not envy any Decepticons who might be near when Bumblebee's mask of control shattered.
The readings on the rogue Decepticon did not change as they approached its location. It neither moved nor tried to hide, and this prompted Ironhide to comment lowly on suspicion of a trap or ambush.
The unknown mech was inside the hangar, and as they passed the place where Sam's blood still glistened on the wall and floor, Optimus wondered how they could have missed it before…if they had at all.
"Decepticon," Optimus announced as they spread out around a large expanse of discarded construction material. "You are surrounded and outnumbered. Surrender peacefully and you will not be harmed."
A sharp metallic clatter from somewhere inside the mess fell across their audios, and Ironhide spun his cannons as an iron bearing rolled to a stop in front of his pedes.
Echoes faded into silence, and after several seconds, Optimus opened his mouth to reiterate his warning—
A white shape, smaller than any of them, streaked into the open, so fast they had no chance to scan the enemy. Ironhide fired his cannons reflexively with a deafening boom of strobe-white light. Ratchet shouted something none of them caught, and Jolt spun on his feet, electro whips crackling.
When the mech reemerged, unharmed but speeding wildly, Optimus was ready. He'd drawn his rifle, ready to fire a disabling shot, but his target careened out of line, crashing to the floor in a heap of white armor. Optimus was momentarily bewildered by the unusual display as the mech struggled, clawing at the ground in a panic and seemingly unable to make his limbs obey.
Ratchet and Jolt were closest and quickly moved to close in on him. Jolt reared back and flung out his whips—they snapped around the Decepticon's body with a sharp crack, immobilizing the flailing frame. The mech began screaming then, emitting terrible shrieks of blind terror and pain. His body arched like a live wire, kicking and writhing on the ground and when Optimus caught glimpse of his optics, panic-laden and shockingly blue, he felt as though he'd been punched in the chest.
"Wait!" Ratchet's voice held a note of strangled confusion. "Jolt, release him, I don't think he's—"
"Fragger!" Ironhide roared. "Ratchet, what the Pit are you—"
The wall exploded in a cascade of cement and grit. A yellow blur barreled through the chaos, skidding to a near halt with his battle mask drawn and one hand replaced with a plasma cannon.
"Bumblebee!"
Optimus's processors were spinning. Bumblebee had disobeyed him, and now the situation was quickly escalating into something explosive.
In the confusion and momentary distraction, Jolt's grip loosened, and the Decepticon tore free with a final cry and made a mad dash for freedom.
He only made it a few meters before Bumblebee overtook him. The scout threw him to the floor in a flying hurtle, pinning the smaller mech under his superior weight with one hand wrapped around the delicate throat components. The white Decepticon strained and bucked, fighting with all his strength and screaming again as Bumblebee's cannon began to hum near his head. Behind them, he could hear Ratchet's shouts and Optimus's booming voice trying to regain control of the situation, but Bumblebee's mind was consumed in a white-hot sea of fury.
Sam had been taken, and no force on this planet or the next would protect those responsible from feeling everything they had inflicted upon him.
He lowered the charging cannon. At point blank range, the blast would tear this Decepticon's head clean off his shoulders—
Hands closed around his torso and the next thing Bumblebee knew, he was being pulled forcibly off the enemy.
"BUMBLEBEE, STAND DOWN!"
Ironhide had him in a fierce tackle. The black mech grunted as Bumblebee twisted and fought in his grip; it was like trying to hold down a tornado.
Ratchet and Optimus were more concerned with the unknown mech. Freed from his attacker, he shot to his feet and skittered away. But there was no place to hide; to his back was the hangar wall, which he pressed himself against. Optimus watched, puzzled by the strange way the mech moved—clumsy and faltering, as if he had sustained severe damage to his motor relays, though this as clearly not the case. Cornered with no route to escape, the odd creature collapsed into a shivering heap and drew himself together. They approached cautiously, and with the mech finally in a state of standstill, they got their first good look at him.
He was small, perhaps a foot or two shorter than Bumblebee, and had nowhere near the same bulk. From the slender build to the long digitigraded legs and sturdy tail, it was clear that every line of his frame had been designed for speed. The face was shielded by a forward sloping mask, but bright blue optics glowed from beneath it, and most strikingly of all, the mech was painted from head to toe in sheer white.
Optimus stepped forward, finally realizing what Ratchet had discovered before any of them.
Bumblebee's struggles had lessened, and at length, Ironhide released him with a warning growl. Ratchet scowled as the two approached with their weapons at the ready.
"Put those cannons away, slaggers."
Ironhide stared at him incredulously, an expression mirrored closely by Bumblebee. "Ratchet, what—"
"He's not a Decepticon, is he?"
Their disbelieving looks shifted to Jolt now, and they saw that the blue mech had coiled up his whips with the oddest expression of regret on his faceplates.
"If you wouldn't mind explaining that idea, I'd like to know what's gotten into the both of you," Ironhide growled.
"Use your processor to think for once, instead of your cannons," the medic snapped. "Look at him, scan his frequencies—do you see any mark of Decepticon allegiance?"
There was a pause as they grudgingly obeyed, and then Ironhide snorted. "That doesn't mean much, Ratchet. Plenty of Decepticons encrypt their frequencies."
Optimus could understand Ironhide's disbelief. The war was all they had known for countless vorns, and for so long, the prevailing ideology that had kept them alive to this day was 'If he's not one of us, he's one of them.' It was easy to simply begin regarding any unfamiliar mech as a potential Decepticon.
But the more he watched this strange creature, the more convinced Optimus was that Ratchet was right. Any Decepticon would have fought back under an assault like that, yet this mech hadn't so much as drawn his weapons, or even raised a hand against them.
And just as Ratchet said, the subtle signature frequencies brushing against Optimus's sensors were clear of any identifying signs of allegiance, but that was not what prompted the bewildered hitch in his intakes.
Rather, it was the lightness of his energy signals, the faint, evanescent frequencies so far removed from the brusque solidity of his soldiers and enemies that they barely registered across his sensor net. It was the blatant expression of vulnerability and helplessness, and the certainty that should he choose, Optimus could extinguish this spark with his bare hands…or shield it from the world.
With a start, Optimus realized just what was so different about the stranger.
This mech was…young.
Having been surrounded by hardened soldiers for so many vorns, he had almost forgotten what a fledgling spark felt like. Looking at the youngling cowering before them now, clearly terrified out of his processor, his spark twisted in its chamber and a heavy weight settled over his shoulders.
"Primus," Jolt muttered. "He's just a kid."
The blue Autobot crouched down and extended a hand to the youngling, but this was the wrong move to make. The white mech reacted as though Jolt had pointed a gun in his face, scrambling away on all fours with an alarmed shriek until he collided into Ironhide's legs. The weapons specialist, who had yet to retract his cannons, grunted in surprise and watched as the strange bot all but fall over his own feet trying to put some distance between them.
"Ironhide, Bumblebee!" Ratchet snapped. "Put away those weapons."
While the pair grudgingly complied, Optimus stepped forward very slowly, carefully keeping his movements unthreatening as he approached the youngling watching him with wary optics. Just as he had done when meeting Sam and Mikaela for the first time, he knelt low on one knee to bring himself closer to optic level, but made no move to touch him. It was quite clear the young one would not react favorably if he so much as tried.
"Youngling," he addressed the mech who looked as though every hydraulic in his frame was primed to flee on a moment's notice. "What is your designation?"
They waited, but an answer was unforthcoming. Optimus continued, unfazed by his silence.
"I am Optimus Prime, and these are my Autobots."
Each of the mechs around them had come closer, and Optimus held up a hand to halt them as the youngling shifted uneasily and glanced from face to face.
"We mean you no harm, and I am deeply regretful for our hasty actions earlier. We—"
He paused, disturbed by the increasing tremors wracking the youngling's frame. The blue optics had dimmed considerably, flickering on and off as though the mech didn't have the strength to keep them online. Optimus heard his medic stepping up behind them, and this time he did not try to stop Ratchet from approaching.
"He's running on critical energy levels," the medic assessed. "That fight must have sapped the last of his reserves."
Just as he finished speaking, the youngling tipped over and sank into a crumpled pile, optics dark. The Autobots stood in silence for a moment, uncertain of what to do next and all of them wondering the same impossible questions.
Where had such a young spark come from, if the All Spark had been destroyed two years previous? And what could he possibly be doing out here, alone, where the Decepticons had abducted and murdered Sam?
"Slag," Ironhide cursed. "What do we do with him now?"
"We take him with us, of course. We can't leave the kid behind for the Decepticons to find."
"Who's to say he isn't already a Decepticon? You think it's just a grand coincidence he happens to be here, where those Pit-spawned 'Cons killed the boy?"
"Ironhide, that's enough paranoia on your part. This youngling is—"
"We will take him with us."
They all looked to Optimus, whose firm countenance invited no protests.
"We cannot leave him out here alone. If he is indeed a Decepticon, they have abandoned him for one reason or another. Ratchet, bring him with us. We will determine an appropriate course of action when he's refueled and can tell us more about himself."
The medic knelt down to pick up the young mech, and Optimus was struck by how small the frame looked in contrast to Ratchet's broad arms. The white armor, thin and delicately plated, might not have been there at all; it seemed as though just one hard squeeze from the medic could shatter the meager protection shielding vulnerable systems and spark.
Bumblebee had been silent for almost the entire ordeal, but as they departed for the carrier craft in the distance, the yellow scout looked at the white frame in Ratchet's arms with narrowed optics, and passed them briskly, expression dark.
Optimus spared the rust-red patches of blood smeared across the hangar wall a final solemn glance as they left. Sam had paid the ultimate price for his involvement in their war, and for one mech at least, the wound of his death would be a long time in healing.