Duty and Deceit
Chapter 37
Mental Mayhaps
The endless flat-lands were interrupted by the rare, stunted obsidian tree, the silence pierced by the howls of the turbo-hounds on the hunt. The three moons shone dimly in the twilight. The dark silhouette of a two-wheeler rolled silently over the plains, engine not making a sound. The hounds weren't the only ones on the hunt, and with luck, her prey wouldn't stand a chance.
A tiny mental radar bleeped faster and faster the closer she got. Her target scratched his helm and warbled something to the mech with him. They were just on a standard patrol. And she was out on an unauthorized mission. Of course, she figured that if anyone back at Kaon questioned her... well, she had friends in high places and Sky'd stick up for her.
He always did.
She was pretty deep in Autobot territory at this point. In fact, she was in the Iacon Sector. The sparkling city of murderers was just past the horizon, though her own safety was not incredibly high on her priority list.
The gold-orange, blue, and white Wrecker was pointing at something in the ditch in front of him, the orange tailfin of his alt-mode attached to each shoulder and hanging just above and behind his masked helm. His buddy was a taller mech, blue and gray with pink biolights. She barely took a moment to cock an optic ridge at the odd color bios for a mech.
Her mind was hardly in the present; the past was swarming into her thoughts. It always did when she found one of her targets. But as soon as the battle commenced she would be more in the present the ever. So she let the memories come, making her angrier and angrier.
She was close enough to hear them now. Seaspray spoke in his strange, watery voice, "Rotorstorm, this is your first patrol, yeah?"
"Yes, sir." The pink-bio'd mech answered instantly, almost bouncing on his pedes. So excited to have joined the Wreckers.
Seaspray's casual tone suddenly went stiff as he turned around to look her straight in the optics. "Let's make sure it i'n't your last."
The spy sprung into her bi-pedal mode fast as lightning, cannon charged and dagger at the ready. She growled at the blue and gray youngling, Rotorstorm. He was probably physically several vorns older than her, but she could tell that he'd only recently been upgraded to his final frame. "Keep your weapons down, mech. I have no quarrel with you."
"Oh yeah? We're Wreckers, Decepti-creep. We don't run from battle!" Rotorstorm taunted, pulling out two standard-model blasters that glowed that same hot pink.
Seaspray let out an urgent hiss and motioned for the mechling to lower the weapons and back off. To her surprise the kid did as told and backed off, shooting her the darkest look he could muster. Her widened optics narrowed. Now that the kid was out of the way...
She shot the veteran Wrecker's gun out of his hands without hardly thinking about it, following the blast by charging at him full-speed. There was no way he could have recognized her... yet. He would before she offed him.
He knocked her aside almost before she'd reached him. His large blue fist held quite a decent heft to it, sending her skidding on her aft on the hard metal ground. Nodding to herself, she was back on her pedes in an astrosecond. She wouldn't underestimate the squat boatformer again.
"Could I ask what quarrel you've got with me? I don't recall ever meeting you." Seaspray said conversationally, bracing for her next move.
Lunging towards him, she leapt over his helm, swinging her dagger towards his helm only to be blocked as he whirled around to meet her. She snorted. "You wouldn't."
"Who was it?" His watery voice was resigned. As if he was used to having mechs try to kill him for killing their friends. He probably was, being an Autobot and a Wrecker this far into the war. He blocked again before throwing in a few of his own punches, most of which were deflected, a couple of which landed.
She gasped as his fist collided with her gut, knocking the air from her vents. Hissing, she plunged her dagger into his thigh, jumping back away to cool her systems. They circled each other slowly, their audience of Rotorstorm forgotten.
"Who was it?!" She shouted, disgusted. "Who was it? Of course, I should have known you've killed too many to keep track... Yellow and blue youngling... Protihex... Does that bring anyone to mind?"
He froze in spot, not even flinching as she kicked him in the chest, knocking him to his aft. Slowly he began to recover, backing away from her with the most horrified look she'd ever seen on a mech's face. It was the look of mech who'd just seen death and was wondering if he deserved it.
"Y-you're...? Terabyte?"
Now it was her turn to do a double take. He'd even remembered her name. A cheerless smirk slid to her face. Good. He ought to feel guilt for what they'd done. They'd killed thousands in Protihex. Hundreds of thousands.
Her mask lowered, just to confirm it to him. When Alpha Trion had upgraded her, she'd made certain that her face was the same. For just this purpose.
Seaspray began to rise to his pedes, but she was too fast. Jumping towards him, she landed pede-first on his chest-plate, crouching down to press her dagger into his neck, applying a barely non-lethal amount of pressure to the primary fuel-line to his processor.
"Ultra Magnus, sir... There are younglings here... and families... Are a couple trines really worth it?" She played back the record of Seaspray's conversation to Magnus the day before Protihex fell. His expression was so pained; she might have felt bad about it if she weren't so full of hate at the moment. "But Magnus, the innocents-!" ... "Yes sir. Understood sir. I'll try Magnus... Yes sir. Seaspray out."
"You knew." She spat, pressing the blade just a little further into his neck. "You knew and did nothing to prevent it."
"No! You don't understand, sparkling. You don't-"
She cut him off with a cold laugh. "I'm no sparkling. You should be proud: you played an integral part in my youngling hood... ending it."
"You didn't hear what Magnus was saying! The mission wasn't supposed to go like that!" Seaspray pleaded to her deaf audials. "If you'd just heard what Magnus was telling me, you'd understand that this is all just a misunderstanding!"
"275,913 sparks. Just a simple misunderstanding on my part, I'm sure." She spat, just louder than a whisper. She pulled the dagger away from his neck and moved to plunge it through his spark for all that he'd-
"Wait!"
She stopped to look at the source of the interruption. The source of the interruption who was currently trembling so hard his armor rattled against his frame. Somehow just looking at the mech made the murderous expression on her unmasked face melt away into pity and confusion.
The femme's voice was still guarded. "Why? You know of Protihex don't you?" The blue and gray mech nodded stiffly. She continued, "Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill him."
"B-because..." Rotorstorm stuttered, the blades of his helicopter alt-mode swishing back and forth on his back in his nervousness. Her confusion was clearly confusing him. "He's m-my mentor!"
She glared at the boatformer that lay completely wilted and unresistant beneath her pedes. "Is this true?"
Seaspray nodded, gurgling some form of an affirmative. The spy continued to glare at him feeling the tenseness in the air as both of the Autobots waited to see what she would do. Rotorstorm's rattling armor was the only sound that broke the stillness. Snapping up her mask and sheathing her dagger, the Decepticon major hissed at the Wrecker who'd been at Protihex.
"Mark my words, Wrecker. If our paths cross again... It will take a lot more than the pleas of a budding murderer to save you."
She stood in dead silence, watching the two Autobots poke and prod at the wall between her mind and... whatever it was that was behind it. Between her and the voice. After what seemed like eons, the medic and frontliner turned to her, each having arrived at the same conclusion.
This is no simple firewall. Ratchet pointed out the obvious in a grave tone. Ordinary methods of hacking will only make it stronger...
It was designed to be you-proof. Cliffjumper said quietly.
Terabyte snorted. If you don't have anything new to tell me, then get out of my helm.
The strain of two foreign minds in hers while being hacked will be too much for her processor to handle. The medic told Cliffjumper, neither one paying much attention to her at the moment. I have the expertise, so you should leave.
Cliffjumper laughed at the idea of leaving the medic alone with her. She'll kill you the minute I leave. She at least almost trusts me.
She put in a strong confirmation of that fact - the killing him part, not the trust - accompanied with the image of just how dead Ratchet would be. Just in case they somehow got the idea that she all of a sudden didn't hate them and everything they stood for as Autobots.
The medic fumed, but it was clear to all present that he had no argument against that statement. He also failed to disguise the shudder as he received the picture of his termination. Fine. I'll leave and monitor her vitals. The Autobots need my full attention anyway.
With that, the medic's mental presence faded out. Terabyte sighed in relief, feeling her mind so much closer to being her own. She also felt considerably less cornered, even though she still knew that she was unconscious in a med-bay. The claustrophobia that had been creeping into her melted slightly.
This probably won't feel the greatest... Cliffjumper mumbled apologetically.
Terabyte didn't even have time to come up with a smart remark before her processors seemed to scream. He was hacking through the firewalls by sheer brute force. Unprepared for this approach and the blazing inferno it sent through her neural net, she panicked.
She knew he was destroying the firewalls that she'd been attacking since the astrosecond she found them, and yet, in her panic, fought the mech, trying to make him stop. Trying to make the pain stop. Whoever had built these firewalls was an amazing programmer and she could see in the shattered layers of it, thick lines of code to ensure that such agony would come of breaking them that any hacker would be quickly deterred.
"STOP!" She screamed, mentally, physically, she couldn't tell or care which. She wasn't supposed to be awake, but maybe she was anyway. Maybe it hurt enough that the sedatives hadn't kept her asleep.
Her armor was pressed so tightly to her frame, she wondered how she wasn't damaging her internals. Or maybe she was laying perfectly still and unmoving on the med-berth still and it was only in her helm. She was punching Cliffjumper, kicking, biting, possibly even stabbing him with her dagger, mentally or physically. Again, she couldn't really tell or care which. "PLEASE! Make it stop! Make it stop!"
The firewalls that she'd been unable to even make a mark on, he was smashing down in seconds. In too much pain to continue her resistance, Terabyte merely watched in a haze of mental pain as he slammed through the barrier. That was the only weakness to the encryptions: an amount of brute mental force that she didn't have. It had been built to resist traditional decoding methods, but there was next to nothing to withstand the mental ram that was Cliffjumper.
Searing pain continued to course through her. So much. She curled into a tight ball on the floor. She felt herself crying, screaming, though her vocalizer had long ago ceased to make a sound. Shivering, shaking, pleading mercy.
Arms were wrapped around her, rubbing her dorsal plates in a soothing manner. Her audials acknowledged a voice speaking in a calming tone, but she heard none of the words. "Please... please! Make it stop... please... make it stop..."
Finally, at long last, new pain stopped coming, though the old pain continued to wrack her frame. For several breems she stayed in that position, shivering and whimpering. Vaguely she felt Cliffjumper taking her pain into himself. He was siphoning it from her.
She'd asked for his help, then done as much as she could to cause enough pain to make him stop, he'd refused to stop in spite of that, and now he was sharing her pain to make it more bearable? His actions made no sense: especially not for an Autobot. If anything he should be glad that he was so successfully torturing her, not trying to ease the agony.
Several more breems passed and she heard Skyquake speaking, but his words didn't register to her pain-stricken mind. The femme assumed that the comforting arms around her belonged to him. Which assumedly meant that either she was awake. Or she could simply be imagining the big green jet in a desperate grab for comfort.
"Please tell me it's over." She whispered pathetically to Skyquake, to Cliffjumper, to anyone who might possibly care.
His voice strained, Cliffjumper gave her the equivalent of a mental helm shake. Just one more layer. Just one more, I promise.
You know, Terabyte laughed weakly, If this was supposed to prove to me that Autobots are benevolent bots who heal and bring peace... This kind of failed, don't you think?
If this doesn't work you can kill me as viciously as you like, okay? If it does, you owe Raf and me a game of Need for Speed, driving a Barbie-pink oldies' buggy. Deal? Cliffjumper bargained with that wide grin of his.
The spy quirked an optic ridge at him, in spite of the helm-splitting ache in her processors. She smiled wryly, Sad thing is, I can't tell which is supposed to be the reward anymore... But it's a deal.
Cliffjumper slammed into the last shreds of the mental barrier right at that moment, while she was distracted. He probably hoped it would make it hurt less if she wasn't thinking about it.
He was wrong.
She screamed. She screamed louder than she ever had before as the final layer crashed, clenching her fists so tightly that life-En was streaming from them. Hearing a hiss of pain next to her, the dark spy realized that Skyquake's hand - she still was unsure if he was real or imaginary - was in one of said fists.
Again she felt Cliffjumper taking her pain away. Hiding it away in himself. It didn't make sense...
Then Terabyte gasped, optics widening even more, and her mouth falling agape, the battle mask long since dropped. Her true memories flooded into her mind, each memory file playing simultaneously.
All her mind could register was a glimpse into each one, along with shreds of conversations, flashes of color, sounds of battles, crying, her resolutions, decisions, revelations. The look in someone's optics, a shout, laughing, music, Raf, the horror when Megatron controlled her, Scraplets, Skyquake waking, Optimus smiling at her, Cliffjumper's dumb jokes. Arcee's berthroom, the betrayal of her mentor, the little blond human girl sitting on her back. Sight, sound, touch, smell...
Her processor filed these memories to their proper places, discarding false memories as it went. Memories that Soundwave had twisted out of context now made sense. Reeling from the overwhelming amount of sensory re-input, Terabyte blinked, returning to reality as Cliffjumper disconnected.
Dazed, she stared blankly at Skyquake, who was still rubbing her back. She slowly let go of his bruised hand. The light of her optics, deep blood-red, bathed her hands in the color. She was on her knees. In Ratchet's medical bay. Surrounded by Autobots and the three humans.
Friends.
Friends whom she'd just spent the last half a quartex trying to kill. She shuddered. Real memories back didn't change the memories she'd made in that time. Slowly she took in her surroundings, trying - with a good deal of difficulty - to stay focused on the present. Her processors kept flinging memories at her, yet her aching mind couldn't absorb any of them at the moment.
Bulkhead was sitting on the second medical berth, Optimus was standing as unimposingly in the doorway as he could, Skyquake was kneeling beside her, Cliffjumper was directly in front of her with an expression most likely mirroring her own to a lesser degree of pain. Arcee was leaning on the wall behind Cliff, glaring at her suspiciously - as if she had the will or energy to attack, Terabyte thought wryly. Bumblebee was looking at her with confusion, Ratchet was checking Bulkhead's vitals and attaching tubes to the ex-Wrecker's helm and spark.
Jack was gripping Miko's wrist incredibly tightly, making the excitable girl squirm and glare at him as he held her back. And Raf was standing in front of her with a small hand on her black, diamond-shaped knee. He was probably not even a third of her height. 4"5 or thereabouts?
"Hi Terabyte." The little boy said a little uncertainly, attracting the attention of all present.
"Hello squishy." Terabyte replied, her vocalizer coarse. Instantly, she regretted the lack of consideration as the boy's brown eyes widened in... fear. Raf backed away, pulling his hand away from her knee as if the plating had burned him.
"Oh..." He sighed, looking up at Bumblebee, "I thought Cliffjumper fixed her?"
"There was no guarantee it would work... We'd just hoped... I guess it didn't work." The yellow scout said with a few resigned blips.
"Raf!" The spy's voice came out harsh, her vocalizers mostly burned out. The spiky-haired boy jumped at the sound of her voice, gazing into her red optics with obvious trepidation. Her shoulder wheels slumped, spinning on their axles as she tried to ignore the sensory overload from her memories. "Please..."
Her mask was still down, and she was going to leave it that way for a little while. Because of this, the disappointed and frightened boy stared into her faceplates, searching for something to tell him that she wasn't going to kill everything Autobot she could get her claws on.
"Terabyte?" Raf asked hopefully, tilting his head at her. "Are you..."
Daintly lips quirking up into a little smile, she suggested, "Still an evil madmech?"
"Uh... yeah?" He responded sheepishly, looking like he still wasn't sure if agreeing to that would get him flattened or not.
"No..." She sighed deeply, staring at Cliffjumper's shiny, silver pede. Her tanks rolled, the sight making her want to purge. She'd done that. "Just what's left in her wake."
Her optics remained locked on the disfigured pede. The wheel jutted out from the back of his calf, suspended only by the axle. The foot was the same length forward and backward, consisting of six layered trianglular plates. The thigh was almost half the width of the other, made of flat, rectangular plates rather than round ones. Gears, pistons, bolts, and hydraulics were mostly open for all to see.
She did that. That was her fault.
The idea that just a few small modifications to her memories... just a few altered circumstances, could push her so far over the edge. Could make her do something like that to a mech that called her family.
"Cliffjumper... I- I'm-" Her engine choked on itself a couple times before she managed to continue, "I'm so, so sorry..."
What else could she say? No amount of apologizing or helping or just being extraordinarily nice could ever make up for that. Nothing could. It wasn't like she could just say, 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to blast your leg into a heap of slag at point-blank range'.
"Sorry? Sorry?!" Arcee shouted at her, pulling away from the wall to stand over Terabyte, fuming. Those purple-ringed optics glared down at her with such anger.
Armor shrinking down so tight her bio-lights were concealed, the dark spy stared at the floor. She deserved all the thrashing - verbal and physical - that she knew that Arcee at least wouldn't hesitate to give her. A small portion of her wondered that the Prime wasn't already telling the pink and blue femme to stand down. He was probably cheering inwardly. She deserved it.
Beside her, Skyquake had sprung to his pedes, bristling. Ready to defend her should Arcee make one wrong move. Terabyte looked up at him with gentle, defeated optics. She didn't need to ask him to stand down. That look was enough.
"Sorry doesn't cut it! Sorry doesn't give him back his leg! And sorry sure as the Pits won't bring you back into our base as if you never betrayed us." Arcee finished in a cold hiss, hand-blasters levelled on her spark.
Terabyte just shuttered her optics. She didn't have the energy or the will to fight at the moment. Memories fluttered before her mind. Finding Smokescreen in the alleys, meeting Starscream's trine, Darkshine's death and Shadowlight's vengeance, hacking into various Autobot's minds, her first training session with Sky, sparring with Bulkhead, playing make-believe with Raf the day the Scraplets invaded, getting her Autobot insignia, her last conversation with her sire and carrier, being trapped in the cave with Cliffjumper and wanting, trying so hard to off him.
"'Cee. Stop." The commanding tone made the ex-Decepticon - probably not still Autobot - femme snap her helm up instantly, optics opening to reveal Cliffjumper standing between her and Arcee. "Hurt for hurt will solve nothing. We don't have the resources to waste on pointless, unnecessary, and unwanted revenge."
The pink and blue femme glared at Cliffjumper in a way that suggested that she was seriously considering fighting her way to the traitorous spy trembling on the floor behind him. Said spy had slammed her mask up, her still-clamped armor quivered with anger directed towards herself. At the creature that had just proved itself to be inches below the surface of her spark: the creature that was a mirror-image of everything she'd fought against.
Mindless lust for the life-En of others just for the symbol they did or didn't wear. Unprecedented hatred that defied all logic. Sparkless disregard for the termination of others. Vengeance before justice.
Soundwave hadn't reprogrammed her to be what she'd become during that time. He hadn't suppressed her sense of honor, mercy, or justice. All he'd done was make her think she'd lost just one more loved one. Just one. And she became a sparkless killer with more rage and hatred than Megatron himself.
The femme just barely had time to push Raf to safety and lower her mask before purging her tanks all over herself and Cliffjumper's pedes at the thought of what she had allowed herself to become.
And now Cliffjumper wanted to spare her justice.
She didn't want to be spared. She didn't deserve to be spared. She'd cost him his pede and almost his spark and he wanted to spare her justice. Maybe if justice were served this ache in her spark would go away. Maybe if they punished her enough, she'd feel like her debt had been repaid.
"No, Cliffjumper. I deserve to be punished for my treachery." She bit out, her tone venomous. "I became everything I spent this whole war thinking I was fighting against; don't keep me from justice."
Optimus Prime came over slowly, reaching down and grabbing her by the shoulders, lifting her out of the regurgitated contents of her own tanks with ease. Setting her gently on her pedes, holding her for a moment as if to ensure she would stay standing, the scarlet and blue Prime's face held a reluctant strain.
His deep, regal baritone rumbled in the relatively crowded med-bay, instantly silencing the murmurings of Arcee, Bulkhead, and - surprisingly - Jack. "No physical discipline will be enacted-"
The room exploded in angry protests from the majority of the room, including Terabyte herself.
"Optimus, we can't just pretend that none of this happened!"
"What? Are we just going to let her betray us, mutilate our mechs?"
"Sure. Why not? Why don't you just let every 'Con that says they're sorry into your base? Do you want to risk me killing you all in your recharge?"
"We'd be better off to find the Nemesis and surrender right here and now!"
"Autobots!" The Autobot leader interrupted, "That is enough. I am not suggesting Terabyte go unpunished."
This earned him a couple mutinous glares and a nearly inaudible sigh of relief from Terabyte. Her relief did not go unnoticed by any of those present.
"As you can all see, physical retribution for her wrongs would hardly be a punishment, and as Cliffjumper mentioned, we cannot afford the resources to repair injuries that could be otherwise avoided."
Optimus looked her straight in the optics as he spoke, that spark-piercing cobalt gaze filled with resigned disappointment. She wondered if that - that agonizing look of a bot that had been let down - she wondered if that was part of her punishment. She wondered when she had begun to care what the Prime thought of her... and why she hadn't started sooner.
"You will be put under full parole at half rations again and the locator-transmitter previously installed will be modified to put you under full stasis-lock should you say or do anything that would suggest Decepticon motives. You go nowhere without an Autobot escort." He glanced at Ratchet now, "In addition, you will agree to be subjected to full processor scans on an ornly basis, as invasive as Ratchet deems necessary for as long as Ratchet deems necessary. You will cooperate fully and if any Autobot doubts your honesty or motives, you will not object to unscheduled processor scans, however invasive as seen to be required. Is this understood?"
Her armor, which had relaxed with her previous relief, once again pressed against her protoform, making the new welds in her right arm burn. Nevertheless, the masked femme nodded swiftly, managing to string some words together in her fear and light-helm-edness, "Yes, Lord Prime, very clearly, my lord."
Her processors were too preoccupied with the still ongoing flow of memories - a few of which had been suppressed by Soundwave, most of which her processor was simply replaying either to scan for discrepancies or just for the sake of it - for Terabyte to notice the sadness that filled the Prime's optics at her reply.
"All in agreement to the afore stated sentence?" Optimus inquired formally.
"Sounds fair." Ratchet agreed, nodding firmly before returning to whatever he was doing to Bulkhead.
Bumblebee gave a buzzing whirr of confirmation, though he didn't seem to think words were necessary. Cliffjumper nodded swiftly, looking like he was just ready for it all to be done with, as it was attracting undue attention to the new pede.
After some hesitation, Bulkhead bobbed his helm as much as he dared with the testy old medic working on him. The Wrecker did however shoot her a hard look, "As long as we're all clear: it'll take a lot to regain even a little bit of our trust. If that's even possible."
Miko put her hands on her hips and gave her guardian a reproachful look, but Jack elbowed whatever rebuke she'd prepared right out of her. The eldest boy spoke up for the three humans, saying, "Optimus is giving you a second chance, Terabyte. Don't make us regret it."
The silent threat was very clear to all who heard him. She bowed her helm respectfully to the human boy - near man-hood by Earth legal standards. He was quite experienced and quite wise for his age... even accounting for the fact that his whole life-span could very well end up being less than a vorn, about eighty-three Earth years. That deserved her respect.
Her respectful gesture made the human's face turn slightly pink in the cheeks.
Finally everyone turned expectantly to Arcee: the last vote. The war-hardened femme's engine let out a discontented growl. "Fine. But I still think you're letting her off too light."
"Your objections are noted, Arcee." Optimus replied firmly, his voice plainly saying in its own regal way, 'noted and duly ignored'. The large mech turned finally to Skyquake, surprising everyone in the room by his next query, "Skyquake, do you have any objections you wish to give voice to at this time?"
The large green jet stared at the Prime for a good handful of seconds before pulling together, with a significantly puzzled and suspicious tone. "The angry Autobot femme is correct, the punishment seems light... Lord Megatron surely would have slain her by now, no matter her value as a high-ranking communications and intel officer. Not even Soundwave could have spared her from execution. Yet you give her hardly more than a slap on the wrist. Why? What are your motives?"
Optimus looked him straight in the optics and then glanced over at Terabyte. "We are Autobots. We forgive those who show a willingness to better themselves, and we give each other second chances. How can we expect this war to ever end if we cannot learn to forgive? The Autobots have become like family, and family does not give up on each other, family does not seek harm within itself, and lastly," Here the scarlet and blue mech caught Arcee's optics in a reproving look, "Family trusts its members... no matter what wrongs they may have committed."
Below them, Miko could be heard whispering to Jack, "Now that's a speech. Dude, you should take lessons!"
In spite of the seriousness of the moment, and the fact that that speech was the reason she was still standing here unharmed, Terabyte had to make quite the effort to stifle a laugh at the girl's reaction. Bumblebee snickered in his usual whirrs and blips, his irreparably damaged vocalizer no longer able to produce more than the simplest, unemotional Cybertronian. Thus he used the beeps, whirls, and buzzes to make up for it.
Skyquake nodded, a contemplative expression resting on his faceplates. "I will be greatly honored should the day come that I may carry the name Autobot."
At her friend's words, Terabyte winced behind the cover of her midnight navy battle mask. The faint red glow of her bio-lights sparkled mockingly before her optics, as if to rub it in. To remind her of the monster within, just below the surface. That honor had been bestowed on her and she had treated it like a curse. She bore the name - at first - for the sole purpose of furthering her own twisted ideas of justice.
If only she could have avoided this. If she'd just fought against Soundwave just a little harder...
"Bumblebee, escort Terabyte to the mess hall for refueling, then take her to Arcee's quarters for rest." Optimus ordered, his optics going dim as he completed the orders through private comms.
The yellow scout touched her elbow gently, motioning silently for her to follow his lead. Terabyte just stared at him blankly, her dimmed optics not seeing, her audials deaf to the present. She wasn't even aware of her pedes moving as she followed him towards wherever it was he was leading her.
She laughed humorlessly, and not without a fearful waver. "Yeah... That's why you're all afraid of him. I've seen how he can subdue each of his best warriors with a glance." She let out a hot vent, "Harmless, I'm sure."
"Terabyte," Bumblebee smiled wide and laughed... "We aren't afraid of Optimus! Not like that anyway. He's almost like a father to me, he and his team have raised me since I was a mechling. No, we love and respect him as our leader; maybe we are a little scared of him, but not because he hurts us or threatens us with punishment. We are afraid only of disappointing him."
...
Arcee held out a hand to help her to her pedes, "We're Autobots, kid. We don't cause pain without reason."
...
Megatron smirked, no doubt at her widened optics. "Oh yes, you've worn both insignias now. But the symbol on your chassis means little either way, Lieutenant... What matters is whose side you are on in spark."
...
Terabyte ignored him. "It's just... I'm still not sure if we're on the right side. I mean, I just had Megatron in my helm, so I know the Decepticons have lost sight of our cause... but how can we be sure that the Autobots-"
"Tera," Skyquake interrupted, his deep voice gentle. "The cause you fought for, and taught me to fight for, that was never the Decepticons' cause. You were sheltered."
His words hit her like a physical blow. "No I-"
"The moral standards you hold, and slowly taught me to, are very Autobot, Terabyte." His expression was pained. "Megatron... He tolerated your contradictory beliefs and made a great effort to keep you... ignorant of what we really believed."
...
"Terabyte? Ter-a-byte!" A series of singsong-y beeps rang through her helm, cutting through the memories of a few of the turning points she'd gone through. A black servo waved up and down in front of her optics.
"...Hmmm?" She asked distractedly, still not totally focused on the present. Her red optics rebooted, fuzzed out, then focused in on Bumblebee.
He held up a cube of Energon to her. The blue plasma sloshed slightly in the cube, making her tanks rumble loudly. At his laugh, Terabyte wrapped an arm around her middle self-consciously. An error appeared on her HUD, Warning: Fuel tanks at 17%.
She hissed quietly. She was on half rations... That would mean she needed to watch her activity level a little more closely. Nodding her thanks, Terabyte accepted the offered Energon cube gratefully, sliding onto one of the steel benches.
Bumblebee grabbed a larger cube for himself, since he was a larger mech than her. "Are you... um... okay?"
Forgetting about the English language completely, the dark femme sighed, taking a small sip of her Energon, trying to savor it. She'd only be allowed to drink half of what he gave her anyway. "I am... functioning within normal parameters."
The scout's big, round optics gleamed sympathetically, his voice gently reproachful, "That's not what I asked. I mean, are you okay?"
She stared into her Energon for a while before taking another sip. Her optics clouded over as her processors replayed that time in the cave with Cliffjumper. As she was forced to relive the whole thing. She had wished that it had been the scout. And she seriously doubted that a pede would've been all Bumblebee would've walked away missing had it been him.
Shaking away those thoughts, Terabyte looked at him with pained optics, her optic ridges furrowed, "If it'd been you in that mine... I-I would've killed you. And it would have made me happy... You know that, right?"
He bobbed his yellow helm, shrugging as if it didn't concern him in the slightest that he was alone with the femme who basically said she would have happily murdered him about an hour ago.
"I'm a monster." She reiterated, unsure if she'd been blunt enough. In spite of her efforts, her vocalizer cracked with static as she uttered that statement. She gulped down a little more of her Energon, swiping away a drop of coolant before the scout could spot her weakness.
"You're only a monster if you can know that without remorse." Bumblebee said quietly.
She could feel his gaze resting on her helm. Just in that gaze, it was like looking into his spark. He wished that he could do something to help, other than words, which he wasn't sure if she was even listening to.A pink drop of coolant fell into her Energon with a muted splash.
"From what I can tell, you are a long way from being a monster, Terabyte." He paused. Lightly touching her hand, Bumblebee continued softly, "And in all your vorns with the Decepticons... No matter what you did in that time... I don't think you've ever been a monster."
The midnight colored femme looked up at him with wide red optics sparkling with coolant as it now ran freely down her face, pooling on the edge of her mask. "You and Cliff' are the only ones who'll ever trust me now... And I don't even know why you do."
She gently pushed her half-empty cube of Energon away, having had her half ration. Her tanks were now at 50%. That was as full as they would be getting for the foreseeable future. Wiping her optics, the femme pushed her fears, confusion, worries, anger, and disgust - the latter two directed towards her self - back into the back of her mind to sort out later.
Straightening with a neutral, professional expression, and new hardness in her optics, the femme snatched her hand away and spoke calmly, "But that matters little at this time. I have consumed my allotted Energon ration... I believe you were to escort me to Arcee's quarters, sir?"
Bumblebee's optics widened and he in turn straightened. "You only drank half what I gave you."
"My fuel tanks are at fifty percent. The Prime ordered half rations, I will obey to the best of my abilities, sir." She replied stiffly, rising to her pedes in one swift motion.
"I served you a half ration." Bumblebee replied firmly, looking ready to order her to finish it.
Terabyte looked straight into the scout's large optics, daring him to try. She wasn't going to take her normal ration and call it half just because she was so small. Prime had ordered her to take half rations, so she was going to take half rations for a femme her size. "Sir, with all due respect, the Autobots do not have the resources for you to insist."
Her gaze served its purpose and the yellow and black mech rose and without another word, led her on to Arcee's quarters.
Meanwhile. Bridge room.
Ratchet glanced over at the dark green Wrecker that lay patiently on the floor in the bridge room, his large, clumsy servos resting on his stomach. Tubes and cords stuck out of the mech's helm, connecting him to the base computers.
The medic watched as Cliffjumper and Skyquake reluctantly headed off to their shared quarters for the rest Optimus had had to order them to get. Once they were gone, he pulled up a visual representation of Bulkhead's processors. Selecting an image that showed the thermal activity in the mech's helm, Ratchet turned to the group of remaining Autobots and human.
Jack had left to go to work, taking Raf with him, since the youngest boy's mother had made him promise to be home early that afternoon.
"This hot spot you see here," He pointed to the dark red portion in Bulkhead's memory core and logic processor. "It's information. Data. Living energy."
"Whoa, hold on." Miko stepped away from the railing on the human's catwalk, as if that would help her absorb the information. She swung her hands, her voice getting progressively higher pitched as the girl 'freaked out', "It's alive, it's on fire, and it's in Bulkhead's brain!?"
The green mech on the floor lifted his helm to look at his panicking charge. "Chill, Miko." He went on to explain in a rational tone, using words far too long and technical for the mech's usual vocabulary, "The data's only inhabiting a fraction of my 'brain', infinitesimal by standard neural-net densities."
Then the large mech blinked, sounding minorly worried. "Wait. How do I know all that?"
Optimus' engine let out a low hum, "Based on what we witnessed during our skirmish, the living data must have been programmed to eject when it sensed unauthorized access."
"A security measure." Ratchet commented, watching with unspoken concern as the percentage of Bulkhead's mind that was infected continued to rise at a - while seemingly insignificant - steady rate. A steady rate that was, very gradually, getting faster. But saying so now would only serve to worry Miko.
"It would have jettisoned heavenward, lost to the stars." Prime mused, the more poetic side of the mech making itself known. That's what happens when a mech works as a secretary in the Iaconian Archives. The Archives were contagious.
Bulkhead sat up, giving a self-deprecating chuckle, "Except my fat engine block got in the way."
"Every 'Con there made a grab for it, but the cylinder doesn't go off until Miko touches it?" Arcee asked skeptically, one hand on her hip, an optic ridge raised.
He nodded in confirmation. Her skepticism was unfounded. If any of these bots had bothered to listen to the report he gave them before they set out to obtain the cylinder, then all of this might have been avoided. But no, 'old doc Hatchet' just made it a habit to shoot off his vocalizer for no reason whatsoever. Actually listen to him for once? Why would they want to do that?
His aggravation and impatience ringing clearly in his voice, Ratchet reminded them all, "The cylinders originated from Cybertron's golden age, predating the Autobot/Decepticon divisions-"
"So it wouldn't consider any native of Cybertron to be a threat." The two-wheeler finished for him, a slight smirk on her lips. She knew he hated it when people finished his sentences for him.
Optimus nodded. "Only alien life-forms, such as humans."
Ratchet looked over at the pink-haired girl on the catwalk with optics a little softer than usual. Which was not at all soft, the medic reminded himself, for the record. She stood there with her shoulders hunched forward, rubbing her arm. An apologetic expression was pasted on her soft features. Miko was obviously beating herself up over it, and Optimus' last words were certainly not helping matters. Surely he could have found a better choice of wording.
But someone else would have to fix her hurt feelings. He knew his own talents and comforting hurt, self-blaming little girls was certainly not one of them. It wasn't like he could just hit her upside the head with a wrench and tell her to quit being a fool.
That's how Ratchet normally dealt with things.
"So." Arcee said, gesturing to the walls that were now covered in equations, formulas, and chemical combinations. "Are we looking at genius? ...or gibberish?"
Ratchet hummed, leaving his work on the terminals to face them now. "I do not wish to falsely rally anyone's hopes... but these equations appear to be the formula for synthetic Energon."
"We hit the motherload?" Bulkhead asked excitedly, forgetting the medical attachments and leaping to his pedes, tearing them from his helm. Thankfully, the medic had figured he'd do that, and had, as a precaution, already disconnected them. "Miko, do you know what this means?"
The girl looked up at him blankly. "Um...?"
Arcee's voice was more excited than she'd been in quite a while, though she seemed to be recovering from Tailgate's demise much faster than Ratchet had expected. It was good to see that she was in fact going to recover. He'd done all he could to keep his patients functioning physically, but emotionally... he was a medic not a counselor.
That had been Jolt's thing. Which was also why his electric blue apprentice had left towards the end. There had been so many to counsel at that point... Ratchet didn't blame him for wanting to leave.
However, this discovery could very well help give the team a much needed morale boost. Especially after the whole Terabyte ordeal. He still wasn't sure whether she could be trusted or not. On one hand, he saw was the murderous creature that attacked them, outnumbered three to one, and could likely have won had he not sedated her with enough meds to put Megatron on his aft for a good week. On the other hand, he saw that frightened and confused femme - hardly more than a youngling - crying into his chest-plates.
His audials tuned back into the Arcee's explanation, "...ch short supply here on Earth, this could solve a whole lot of problems."
Optimus' baritone rang with a weary hope, "Such as providing us with the edge we need to turn the tide of this war."
"Or better yet," Ratchet interjected, newfound hope burning in his spark, "handing us the key to revitalizing Cybertron."
The green Wrecker snorted, a beaming smile on his face, "We got the goods and all Megatron got was an empty bucket." He chuckled, standing up and knocking his helm, which, admittedly, made a rather hollow-sounding clang, "How often do I get to use my noggin to save the day?"
Meanwhile. Crew quarters, room E.
Skyquake followed Cliffjumper into his quarters with heavy steps. Neither of them had gotten any recharge in far too long, and his HUD was beginning to give urgent warnings to defrag. The red mech looked just about as tired as he, Skyquake, felt.
The red warrior sauntered into his quarters and flopped down on the large berth in the main portion of the room, seeming to have forgotten about the paroled prisoner that he was supposed to be escorting. The jet had hardly gotten the door locked - he didn't know the code to unlock it, but he locked it anyway - before he heard Cliffjumper's systems shut down into recharge. The loud, worn out vents slowed into a peaceful whir, confirming Skyquake's assumption that he'd been forgotten.
A mech can only go so long without recharge, and he was personally glad that they'd been sent to recharge. The strong orders and - in the case of Ratchet - threats of being turned into a toaster if they didn't recharge, were quite unnecessary at this point.
He watched the red Autobot recharged for several astroseconds, still somewhat stunned at how at ease the mech was as he recharged. He either had no fears that Skyquake would harm him, was completely glitched in the helm, or was simply too tired to care. However, if the faint smile on the mech's face said anything, the former was the truest.
All that aside, Skyquake still had a minor problem with all this. For one, Cliffjumper had lost the bet, and bet said winner got the big berth. Surprisingly, this wasn't really the problem as far as the jet was concerned; it was, after all, the frontliner's room. The problem was that since Cliffjumper was on that berth, he really had nowhere to recharge.
His wings meant that he wouldn't fit in the small side enclosure that Cliffjumper normally occupied. That meant he could either attempt moving the mech - which he seriously doubted would go over well - or he could recharge on the floor. Which really didn't sound all that appealing.
If he hadn't locked the door as he came in, he could've gone to the brig. At least there was a berth he fit on in there. But he'd locked himself in here with a mech who currently sounded like something died in his main vents. Skyquake heaved a sigh and sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall. His wing-cons still ached from that blow Blitzwing had dealt to the most sensitive part of his already-incredibly-sensitive wings.
The jet would say that the idea of purposefully doing that to another winger shocked and disgusted him. Except, he had exploited that particular weakness in battle with Autobot wingers more often than he could count. So it didn't surprise him, though the longer his wing-cons ached, the more it disgusted him.
'Cons weren't afraid to fight dirty.
He'd been a 'Con for a long time, and before that, they'd been in the Pit. The Gladiatorial Pits of Kaon were not a nice place; a mech either fought dirty or he ended up scrap to be swept up by the drones. Granted, most mechs in the Pits weren't there by choice, at least not at first. Most Pit-fighters had been kidnapped or deceived at a young age, then... encouraged - via whips, if their master was kind - to stay and fight for their sparks.
As for them, for stupidity or for greed or simply in the hopes of a better life - Skyquake snorted at the idea, if only they'd known - they had chosen to go to the Pit. They'd thought it would be better at least than Kolkular's streets. So when they heard that the recruiters/kidnappers were in the city just past the state border, they had searched for the recruiters until they'd found the mechs. Imagine those twisted mechs' faces when they asked to be taken to the Pits. To be trained by the King of the Pits himself.
Megatron had been very pleased. Two young, strong mechs that actually wanted to be there. The silver gladiator had killed his own master to become a master himself, rising his way through the rankings of the Pits. All that heard his name trembled, and soon, under his harsh training, all that heard their names also trembled.
Skyquake scowled at his processors. Last he checked, it wasn't normal to refer to one's self in plural. A glitch from his processor being physically torn open? His spark told him that he hadn't been in the Pit alone though. In fact, he hadn't been alone for any of it, not even when he was stuck guarding this dirt ball for seven vorns. That he wasn't complete when he was alone. But he'd always been alone...
Hadn't he?