== Reconciliation ==

Chapter 5. Earth: Day 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or any of the characters or concepts within. I make no money from this story or any other about Transformers.

Prime and Megatron are brothers in this. Durr – yes I freely admit I did get that idea from the movie. But I thought it was a good one for this.

I'm going to have to duck more flying objects hurled by Ratchet fans here ....

I blame Mirage :-)

Warnings: Implied slash, adult themes, course language

Author designation: Mirage

Autobot Special Operations Team.

Position: Intelligence Officer

I spent the whole of the next day in the medbay under the ministrations of Ratchet.

I had the headache from Kell. Rachet told me I had received, prior to deactivation during the battle en route to Earth, a blow to the head and that this was what had disconnected my CPU from my vital systems centre. Some fail safe mechanism had reconnected it all up just before they started my dismemberment. Ratchet had spoken of this in highly technical terms, as though extremely knowledgable on the subject, but I got the distinct impression he was less sure of what had happened than he made out. One thing he was certain of though, it was the head blow that been responsible for bringing back my memories of the Towers upon reactivation.

I couldn't shake this uncanny feeling that something else had happened as well, something beyond my current perceptions and reality; but whilst I would not have called myself an unbeliever in the existence of such things, I did not dwell on this. For it was important only that I had the memories back. Nothing else really mattered. It was just a damned nuisance about the headache.

Apart from that, there didn't seem to be all that much wrong with me now that I was back online, but Ratchet, of course, could be relied upon. He insisted on carrying out every conceivable test known to Primus. Scans, probes, neural circuitry evaluations, motor function tests, he left nothing wanting. Then every procedure in the known universe was thrust upon me.

"Time for another vital systems energon flush!" he said, smiling, coming over with a large canula in his hand

I winced. This particular procedure was far from pleasant. It consisted of being plugged into a machine which drained all the energon out of you and purified it. It made the subject feel sick and weak, and, and it hurt.

I said "Is that absolutely necessary? I had one of these half a joor ago? Why do I need another one?"

The medic beamed. I got the impression he was having the time of his life. "Can't be too careful now can we? After all we're not dealing with your average common mechanism here are we?

I wished he would give me some painkillers Maybe even euphoric inducers, which also brought about a sense of wellbeing. I thought they might cure my headache and I could also return to my musings about the Towers for the memories were far from complete and I knew I would have to set up some neural association links if I were to recall more. I wanted to spend more time on them. Which was impossible when I was being distracted from by his unwelcome interferences.

But I knew what the answer would be if I asked for such a thing. Something like: "I ain't givin' ya them things! That stuff's for mechs with real pain been injured in real battles bad... " So there was no point. Anyway, I was darned if I was going to let him know just how much all this hurt. So I suffered in silence.

He was smiling again. "We can't have you goin' back to Cybertron only half functional now can we? Now hold out yer arm ..."

I flinched as he plunged the canula deep into the brachial conduit, far harder, I was sure, than was really necessary. Then I ground my dental plates together – as I am prone to do under stress – as he manoeuvred it into the right spot.

"Incidentally," I said, through gritted plates, "when are we going back?"

He didn't look up. "Aw.. soon," he said. "Real soon. When we've done what we need to do here. There! I'll just plug you in now and you know the drill. You just lie back and have a little rest."

I lay back. My head started to spin as I felt the energon draining from my system, and my head pounded even worse. I shut my optics and tried to go offline.

I remember, then, that for the first time I wondered what had happened to the 'Cons. I only had vague memories of that struggle on the Ark but I could remember Megatron bursting out of the boarding shute and of weapons going off and mechs flying through the air and Seekers everywhere. They must have crashed here, with us – there was no way they would have got out of the Ark. And if the force of the impact was enough to put every single one of our emergency deactivation systems into play, then it must have done the same to theirs.

They would, of course, be all dead now – because they didn't have an equivalent to Teletran 1 able to reactivate mechanisms with Decepticon programming.

For some reason the thought was saddening, but I quickly pulled myself out of such sentiments. They'd destroyed everything for me, I reminded myself; were the reason I'd come here – so I could be a part of getting what we needed here and going back and exacting revenge on Megatron and especially on the Elite Air Command.

Or, better still, doing it here when - as I'd strongly suspected they would - they followed us here ...

I thought to myself. There would be no revenge now. Not on those individuals in particular, anyway. Was that what I felt sad about? That fact?

Well, I thought, I mustn't feel like that, because getting what we needed here and getting on our way should be a simple task now; then once we got back, even the Autobots shouldn't find it too hard to deal with the remaining cons in the absence of Megatron and the EAC. Once that was over we could start to rebuild. And move on. And now, at least, I knew what I wanted to rebuild.

And, although it was sparklingish, I would have the satisfaction of being able to say to Prowl: "I told you so," because he had ignored my warnings back on Cybertron about the likelihood of being followed by Megatron; had behaved in his usual condescending, dismissive way about the whole thing. Yes – that would be most gratifying – particularly since I now didn't even have to deal with the consequences of being right.

Ratchet was busy over the other side of the lab with what looked like a part of somebody's hand. I had a sudden thought. I said "What did you do with their bodies?"

He stopped what he was doing and looked across. "Eh?" he said.

He was looking at me curiously. "Their bodies. The 'Cons," I said. "Are we taking them back or leaving them here? I would have thought there'd be some useful spare parts for you and Jack to entertain yourselves with Ratchet, if nothing else."

The medic's optics narrowed and a suspicious look came on to his face, then. A look I'd see often enough – and I supposed my question was more than sufficient to bring it on. But there was something more. A defensiveness; evasiveness, even. It was similar to the sort of look I'd seen many times on the faces of the twins when they hadn't been entirely truthful about the magnitude of their purported success on the battlefield.

He looked away again and went back to the hand: " ...er – Prime's still making the decision, " he said, It's er – gotta go before the Council."

He was avoiding my gaze. "Right." I said "Did we recover all of the bodies, or just a few?"

He didn't look up. He seemed – uncomfortable. "Yeah, all I think," he muttered. "Well, it might not be all ... actually ... it might just be one or two." And then I guess he could feel my optics on him because I was giving him that cold blue optic'd stare for which I was famous with Bots and Cons alike.

He stopped what he was doing and looked up at me: "Well Kell, how should I know?" he snarled. "I'm just the medic ...!" he pointed a finger at me "... and you've got no right asking this stuff Mirage! Why don't you mind your own slaggin' business?!" He went back to the hand again.

For the second time that day if I hadn't felt so weak I would have been up and out of that place. In fact, the way I felt just then I might even have landed him one as I left, even if it would have brought me down to the level of Sunstreaker. As it was, all I could do was lay back and sigh in extreme frustration.

The Council.

Convened rapidly before we left Cybertron: Prime, Ironhide, Wheeljack, Prowl and Jazz. Apart from Jack, they were the old guard from the Government days. I had never been a part of that circle and I never would be.

They never told me anything. Except the bare facts of what I needed to know if they wanted to utilise my superior fighting skills or needed information which could only be acquired through invisibility. I might use it to my own advantage, you see, or go and tell the Cons something or some other ludicrous thing. It was more than that, though. They liked keeping things to themselves.

Not that it bothered me as far as work was concerned. They often had it wrong, and I could often do a better job of gathering facts together without their assistance. Usually I ended up knowing more than they did. And I didn't always tell them everything either.

But this sort of situation – this annoyed me. Annoyed me because it was typical of the way they operated. Like – they maintained that everyone had a right to know what was going on, and they preached equality and inclusiveness, but it wasn't like that. It was information and privileges in the hands of a select few. And this was important information, I sensed, and they had no right to keep it back; especially from me - their Intelligence Officer, for Primus sake.

I felt furious. Yes, I thought, this was why no matter how I felt about the 'Cons, I could never support the "Bots Cause either. It was like a microcosm of the whole Equilibrial government back on Cybertron. The supposed "representative democracy" Which was no more representative than a room full of turbofoxes might represent the entire extent of Cybertron's cyberfauna. The complete unworkability of the concept was bad enough. But the crass hypocrisy of its leaders had always meant an absolute death knell for any real support I might have given it.

The medic might not be on the Council but he was in cahoots with it and I was certain he knew more. I wasn't letting up. I said: "I suppose Prime will want to give his brother a full Cybertronian funeral. No matter what he might have done over the vorns."

The medic looked across. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah. Somethin' like that .."

I lay back again. Then I thought: oh well so what. Did it matter? Let them have their secrets, if it meant so much. The 'Cons were dead - and whatever else Ratchet might do he was hardly likely to effect a reactivation on the way home. I felt really weak now. The drain cycle was nearly complete and I had hardly any energon left in my system. The machine alone was keeping my vital systems going. It would clean the energon now, and while it did so it would flush my whole circulatory system prior to reinjecting the purified energon.

At least the headache was not so bad. As the last of my energon washed into the machine I thought of the Towers again. As the flush cycle started and I felt the icy cleansing fluid flow into my conduits, there was just the briefest sensation of travelling at great speed; flying, I seemed to be; then of something dark and dangerous creeping in shadows.

Just a flash. Then it was gone.

....................

I went offline for a little while then. When I came back online, the headache was back and I thought immediately of what Ratchet had said and of the conversation I'd overheard when I'd been "dead."

I ground my dental plates. I was going to have problems here. I could feel it. I should never have allowed myself to be talked into coming on this foolhardy excursion.

Did I really think they were going to take that much notice of me down here? No – my focus hadn't even been on that. It had been on killing Megatron and those Seekers – either there or here.

I thought about this now. Even if they had been alive, what did I really think I was going to gain by killing them all? It wasn't going to bring anything back. It would, though, have brought other satisfaction and cleared the way ahead for future progress. Well, I guessed the way was clear now anyway.

Now it was just a question of getting back. And in the meantime, coping with the Autobots and their poor decision making skills; their cliques and their ineffective leadership and their obnoxious warriors. I made a mental note to deal only with Prime and to have as little to do with most of the others – with a few exceptions – as possible.

The main thing was to get off this rock straight away, and not be deterred for any other silly reason the Council might come up with. I would speak to Prime directly as soon as possible. It was common sense that there was no point in hanging around here. And I would make sure he slagging well listened to me as far as that was concerned.

I thought again of the Council, and how frustrated I always became with the Autobots and their Cause. Then I thought of the 'Cons again, and the fact that I had secretly always thought that the Decepticon Cause had, in fact, more going for it. At least it wasn't underpinned by some nonsensical political regime which was bound to completely unworkable notions. I mean – how could everyone be equal? We weren't! You only had to look at our different functions to see that and the special privileges enjoyed by the Autobot leadership proved it. Otherwise why didn't they take it in turns at being leader? Or give the job to somebody like – Huffer, for instance? The whole idea was ludicrous.

At least the Decepticons accepted that a hierarchical structure was inevitable, and they operated on that premise. All right, so it was a brutal structure, based on survival of the fittest and where the strongest ruled but at least they were open and honest and cards on the table about it all. Were they really so bad?

Yes, they were, I reminded myself. Because their leader was a ruthless megalomaniac who had shown no mercy for anyone or concern for the good of Cybertron and their oufit was full of other antisocial factions all in it for themselves; the Seekers were wanton destroyers and the leader of the Elite Air Command was crazy. No, it certainly wasn't all right either. Neither Cause was all right.

There was an order which had been all right. The Utopian one. When the Alphas, my ancestors, had ruled. The Towers – they had lived up there and they had ruled, and I had still felt a part of that before the war because even though the Alphas didn't have the political power any more, we had still been Alphas and we still had that place, and we had still held a lot of the wealth of Cybertron. Losing that place had swept the last vestiges of my culture away, and I felt a stab of acute pain in my spark. Suddenly I wasn't so sure that it was such a good thing that I remembered its magnificence now so acutely. Because it was all gone now. Completely gone. When the bots spoke of loss they didn't know the half of it. They'd lost a lifestyle. Me – I'd lost my whole foundations.

I sighed. They had never understood that. Didn't want to understand. The Towers was something which shouldn't have still been there anyway, as far as they were concerned. An annoying anachronism, a drain on Cybertron; sitting up there in that Lake which could have been put to better purpose. Some even thought that if anything about the war was good it was the Seekers blowing the Alpha Districts away.

Well, there was nothing I could do about it - or the fact that it looked as though we were going to be stuck with the Equilibrium again. But maybe now, with no more war, the Alpha Council might emerge from the shadows and prove itself a little more influential, and we could, at least, start to re-establish the corporate base. At least now I knew what I wanted to rebuild. I made a mental note that now I really would track down Smokescreen, who knew the location of certain valuable artifacts I had hidden before the war.

In the meantime I would humour the Autobots. Make the right noises. Because I had their blasted insignia on and they were convinced of the absolute virtues of their Cause, and incapable of comprehending how anyone who wore the Autobot insignia could not be one hundred per cent committed to it all, and they insisted that anyone else in their employ must also share that commitment. I knew if I didn't rise up in enthusiasm, things would get tough. So I had to try.

Although this time I wasn't sure that I hadn't run out of energy trying ...

...................

The door hissed open and the portly figure of Optimus Prime appeared, framed in the doorway.

"Ah Mirage ..." he said, and his face lit up in that broad, genuinely caring smile for which he was famous but which was often hidden behind a mask. He came across to the berth and shook my hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Quite good really, considering what I'm getting subjected to here," I said, my optic on the medic, who had just re-entered the room and was avoiding looking at me. "Why don't you sit down?" I gestured to the stool beside the berth.

Prime beamed. "Glad to, Mirage! Glad to!" he said. He pulled up the stool and settled his bulk on it.

Optimus Prime is a very large 'bot and the medbay on the Ark was not very big. He seemed to fill the whole of it. He smiled amiably. Then he came out with the standard patter that I had heard so many times over the years.

" ... I would just like to say how pleased I am to have you on board, Mirage .... you're a valuable member of the team .... everyone appreciates your special talents and the difficulty of the job you do ... the contribution you've made over the years .... I am well aware that it has not been easy for you ...," etcetera, etcetera.

I stole a glance across at the medic who was now fiddling with a machine of some sort on the other side of the lab. I wondered what it would be like to be stuck in this place so much and to have to play with machines and body parts and put up with sick and whingeing mechs all the time. It was hardly an appealing profession. But it didn't give me any sympathy for him either. It was, after all, in these days of equal opportunity, his choice. He did not look up, but his expression darkened as Prime was talking.

"If there's anything, anything at all ...," the Autobot leader laid a hand on my arm, "... my door is always open!" he finished with another smile, his kindly blue optics looking straight into mine.

I wanted to say: "Yeah, there is something. Most of your team – especially that one over there - don't like me and they don't trust me. I've lost more than anyone here and nobody gives a turborat's aft. I don't want to be here. I want to go back to Cybertron. I don't care how you do it, just get me back...;" I would even have added: "... and one more thing: you can shove your Cause up your ..."

But as I have said, I rarely swear outwardly. And, anyway, you just can't say things like that to Optimus Prime. He is so good at coming out with stuff that makes you feel all appreciated - and you know he really means it - that you just couldn't do it. So there he was smiling all cheerily and caringly and I knew that he genuinely meant what he said, and to say anything even remotely like what was in my mind was out of the question.

So instead, I just said "Thank you, Prime. Are we going back to Cybertron soon?"

Prime made a throaty sort of a noise and sat back, and now I was aware of Ratchet looking across.

"Er ... yes, of course, Mirage." Prime seemed nervous. "This planet is – er – rich in resources and it should be no problem getting what we need and making plans for our return...."

Something about the way he said it. I thought of the medic's earlier evasiveness. When I said nothing, he went on: "Look, Mirage, there's just a few ... issues ... we need to sort out first. Then we'll be on our way ..."

Now there was a growing sense of dread in my mind, and my spark sank, because I had been half expecting this. There would be some ludicrous idea or proposition on the agenda, I had no doubt. "What sort of issues?" I said.

Optimus Prime rearranged himself on the stool. He looked decidedly uncomfortable now. It was actually a mark of Prime's genuine niceness that he hated telling anyone anything he knew they didn't want to hear - which often had implications for the functionality of his units, as it meant he gave out a distorted an overoptimistic version of how things were.

I knew I was giving him the look. He took a deep intake. "Well," he said, "... sometimes things don't turn out like you think they will, Mirage ... it might not be quite as straightforward as .... but - come now - it shouldn't be a problem. Nothing you need to be too worried about ..."

I felt a growing unease as he was talking. "What shouldn't be a problem?" I know my vocaliser had a sharp edge to it. Somehow, at that point, it was as though I already knew what was coming.

He said: "Look ... we're all very lucky to be alive and this planet has a great deal to offer. It's just a question of - well - dealing with a few – difficulties – which were not altogether unexpected ..."

And then, suddenly, instinctively, I knew. Exactly. Even though I was darned if I knew how ....

"The Decepticons are alive aren't they?" I said.

Prime looked away. Now he was distinctly unhappy. "Er ... yes ... well ... they could be...." his vocaliser stammered. "Yes. They - er – they could very well be ..."

I said: "How, in the name of Primus?"

"Oh ...," he said, "... it was – er – Teletran, we think, Mirage. Seems to have scanned one of the Seekers ... before he got to us ... it was a systems malfunction... clearly ... it's – er – it's been dealt with."

I leaned back and sighed, a myriad of mixed emotions in my processor. There was a silence while I marshalled them. Clearly this had the potential to delay our "departure" somewhat; but then - well we were just going to have to deal with it, weren't we? I thought: Oh well, I will now, perhaps, get my chance at revenge after all. I said: "oh well, I guess before we crashed we kind of had it forced on us the mode of thinking that we'd be needing to deal with them, didn't we?"

Prime looked a little easier. He laid a hand on my arm. "Look, he said, "I don't want you to worry yourself too much, Mirage. Not all of them may have made it, and we know there are many more of us than there are of them, and that the ones that are here do nothing but fight between themselves ..."

When I said nothing, he went on: "We've got a very capable team ... some fine warriors. Now you just leave things to them, Mirage, and concentrate on getting better ..."

He looked across at the medic for the first time, who looked back. "You're in good hands here ... eh Ratchet ...?"

"He sure is!" said the medic, smiling and coming across, and I could detect much in his tone that was far from benevolent, but Prime evidently could not.

Prime looked awkward again. He shifted on his seat, and glanced at the medic. Then he appeared to decide it was time to bring the conversation to a close. "Well - there you have it..." he said, getting up. "... I'm sorry to give you that news, Mirage .... but everything will be all right, you'll see ... "

He looked at the medic again, who returned to the machine.

I was absolutely flabbergasted. And then incensed. How dare he fob me off like that? What about my role here? I'd be out of the medbay by next cycle. Before he could go I grabbed hold of his arm. "Now wait a minute." I tried to stop myself sounding as though I were talking through gritted plates again, but that was hard, because I was. I said: "I think you owe me a few things Prime. For one thing, how do you intend tackling this?"

He looked sheepish. "The Council ..." he said "...we're meeting soon. We're going to – er – put together a plan.

I know I was giving him that cold piercing stare again. He looked awkward again too but I wasn't going to help him. I kept up the gaze. He said: "Look - er - I'll be looking in on you from time to time ...," and then he added: " ... oh and – er – Hound and Bumblebee are anxious to see you. I'll get them to keep you in the loop ..."

He attempted a smile, nodded and was gone.

"Well!" said Ratchet, coming across before I could think anything further. "It looks like we may be needin' them fancy moves of yours after all! I think we should run that vital systems circuitry analysis again now. You up to that, buddy?"

The VSC analysis was another distinctly uncomfortable procedure. But this time the suggestion was made in perhaps just a slightly less sadistic way. It crossed my awareness pool that maybe the medic hadn't known everything.

I lay back and shuttered my optics and nodded. "Don't count on seeing any moves, Ratchet ..." I said.

It was as though my spark were sinking into a dark pit. For whilst part of me was thinking: oh well, you knew this was coming, now it's time to get it over with. I had a dreadful feeling of foreboding. Not only would I not be "in the loop" I knew already, but I had a sudden conviction of something else. Something I had long suspected, but never been able to prove. Something which the Autobots would have taken me apart over if they knew how strongly I now believed it to be so.

That Prime didn't really want to kill his brother.

And it was overshadowed only by the notion of something even more sinister ...

That I would also be called upon here to do something I really didn't want to do.

And above all else, one thing was certain: We could be on this planet for a very, very long time.

....

Yep - bad luck Mirage! Back to Skywarp in the desert again next chapter.