Disclaimer: Refer to last chapter?
Warning: Edited in two days, so please excuse anything I might've missed; there are also some of me pretending to know science. I apologize if anything sounds odd. XD
Please enjoy!
XIX
"I hate him."
I hissed through clenched dentae, and punched at the console as I entered lines upon lines of codes.
"I absolutely despise him."
I spat out, biting my jaw joints and glaring at the screen displaying an aerial alt-mode.
"I hate him with all my spark, you hear me?!" I shouted as I worked. "There isn't a single wire inside him that doesn't repulse my very being!" I hit the buttons on the console so hard that my fingers hurt, wings trembling and fury radiating with the flare-out of my energy field.
"How dare he." I snarled, optics narrowing. "How dare he allow that slagheap molest me with his filthy hands?!" My fingers curled. My fists shook. "Such utter humiliation will not go unpunished." I gritted out, joints straining with tension. "I will make him pay for every transgression he's ever dared to commit against my person!"
I slammed my fists down on the console, and shot up from my seat. The chair clattered to the floor. The noise pierced the silence, bouncing between the walls before fading into the quiet hum of machinery. As I cycled gulps of air and fumed, no one in the room made a single sound. They remained completely silent, not wanting to draw any attention to themselves, a very wise choice considering my current mood.
Just thinking about the previous cycle made me nauseas with anger, or better yet, eager to destroy an Autobot city all by myself. I was certain if something else did not explode then, I would, spark a swirling furnace. I sent another seething glare at the model of an unfinished proto-type of a modified Striker Jet, and clenched tighter my jaws. Frustration was fuel for my boiling rage. It erupted, a shriek followed by hurling fists at the console keyboard.
"Aaaarrgh-Stupid schematics—Why won't you work?! Why?! Why do you have to be so slagging difficult?! Like that scrap-helm bucket-aft! Why?! Why—?!"
I punched and kicked at the console, unleashing the entire spectrum of my explosive rage. I assaulted the machine as though it could feel my wrath, and got angrier when all it did was emit tiny beeps. Urgent pedfalls reached my audials, and not a klik later, arms tore me from my victim. "Y-Your Highness," Nightfire's voice was a mere whisper compared to my screaming, "Please remain calm!"
"Calm?! Calm?!" I could feel my optics flash as I thrashed and bucked and swore up a storm. "You have no idea what he did to me! No idea! You have no idea!" I yelled. I swung my legs, and struggled in his arms, which remained clamped around my torso despite my exertions. I kicked at the air until my peds were completely perpendicular to the floor, and pawed at my scientific advisor's arms, fingers digging into the plating.
"Please, Sire!" Nightfire cried out, yanking me away to keep me from harming the equipment, "You're—You're overheating!"
No slag.
I growled.
I was fragged off! Of course I was overheating!
Mouth falling wide open, I offlined my optics, and screamed. It was high-pitched, shrill, and painful, even to my own audials, but I did not give a slag. I must have blown something important in my system, possibly an inhibitor of some sort in my emotion center. I have never been so angry in my entire existence, spark overfull and spilling with molten, spiking rage.
There was a yelp, and the frame behind me jumped. Nightfire was undoubtedly in agony as I blared like a siren, volume and pitch battling to rise above each other. I was vaguely aware of running footsteps and hushed voices asking what had happened to me, but they barely registered. I only continued to screech, whipping my limps about and pushing my vocalizer capacity to new heights that none had done so before.
Until a hand slapped over my mouth.
My optics onlined in a flash.
Nightfire…
…had dared…
…to cover my mouth!
The—The sheer audacity!
Did he not know he was hindering my spark-rights?! My designation is Starscream, for pit's sakes! Not Star—let's-be-quiet-and-sulk-like-a-normal-Cybertronian!
I shrieked harder, and made even more aggressive efforts to free myself. I must have done so for a very long time, because when I finally tired myself out, every joint in my frame was sore, and my vocalizer ached like a shot from my null rays.
Groaning, I hung limp in Nightfire's arms. The Space Shuttle waited, and did not release me until he was finally convinced that I would not start again as soon as he were to let go. He picked up my discarded chair, and placed me back into it. I flopped forward, helm and arms flat against the surface of the console. I heard him sigh. A moment later, tentative digits started to rub small circles on my twitching wings.
There were murmurs asking if I was alright, but Nightfire dismissed them. Everyone else left by the Space Shuttle's instruction, and silence settled, interrupted only by my spluttering vents. "…I was humiliated!" I blurted out, lips quivering as shame and hurt replaced the evaporating anger. Nightfire did not reply right away. His hands paused, hovering as though he was confused.
"You mean…" He asked, "Just now…?"
I growled low in my chassis.
"No, you aft!" I snapped, wings jerking upright and smacking into his hands. "I meant last cycle!"
"Oh…" Nightfire said, and I huffed through my vents.
"Oh? That's it? Oh?" I sneered, tone bitter and terse. "I was shoved faceplate down to the ground and forced to endure unspeakable perversions and all you can say as my everlasting, faithful advisor is 'oh'?!"
Nightfire's hands returned to my wings. He did not reply at first, but there was a small, muffled splutter.
He was laughing at my miserable expense.
I gave a snarl of a warning. Not that doing so stopped him. The laughter burst, and he managed to slip in an apology, squeezing gently around the edges of my wings.
"Come now, Star." He said as he calmed down. "Perversions? That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"
If he was trying to comfort me, it was not working.
"That's exactly what it was!" I retorted heatedly, "How would I know if that monotoned frag-box didn't pry all of my deepest secrets from my processors while he smeared his fat, disgusting fingers all over my wings?!"
"He was applying paint, Star, not groping your helm." Nightfire replied evenly. His utter lack of sympathy toward my woes was downright infuriating.
"He's a fragging telepath! He doesn't need to grope me to read my thoughts!" I shouted, and punctuated my statements with a slam of a fist.
Nightfire made a soft hum. As he thought of a response, his fingers reached my wing tips, and kneaded down in a small pinch.
My intakes hitched. I let out a choked back squeal, back erecting to an arch.
"I'm sorry," Nightfire hurried to rub my wing tips. "Did I hurt you?"
I hastily shook my helm, and bit down on my dentae. His rubbing seared my neural nodes, leaving tingles of heat that spread and pooled at a place completely inappropriate to his intentions. I did not dare say anything in case I accidentally exposed my reaction to his touch. I held my glossa, and squirmed as I waited out the yearning burn in my spark, swallowing down the urge to ask him to pinch me harder.
"Well," Nightfire, oblivious to my inner torment, continued to speak in that low, lecturing tone of his, "You should be relieved to know then, your Majesty, that his 'perversions' had nothing to do with trying to dig for your secrets." Nothing could put a damper on things faster than the mention of Soundwave. "If he doesn't need to be in physical contact with you to exercise his telepathic abilities," Nightfire's voice held a smile, "then there's no reason for him to do so just to get you suspicious, is there?"
Grumbling about his stupid logic, I quieted down, and allowed myself to enjoy his attention on my wings. With Skywarp distracted by his Decepticon buddies and Thundercracker busy placating an unhappy Vos, I was left without trine mates to tend to the cricks in my wing joints. Thankfully, I had a Space Shuttle friend, who'd gladly take over these neglected duties while my Seekers were preoccupied. The past several cycles had been tough. I was surprised I'd made it this far before lashing out in anger.
I heaved a deep sigh through my vents, and offlined my optics, resting my helm on my folded arms. I needed a moment, a break, overwhelmed as I have been by both Vosian and Decepticon responsibilities. It was tedious work, trying to figure out where my generals and soldiers stood in the Decepticon army. On top of that, Megatron has been pressuring me to finish second-alt designs for Blitzwing, not to mention shoving data pad after data pad at me to read. Most of them contained boring text files explaining Decepticon philosophy and codes of conduct. They were not the highlight of my cycles, but they did help when I had trouble falling to recharge.
Why in the pits would gladiators and criminals need codes of conduct anyways? What was the point when such rules will only end up being disobeyed? And who did Megatron get to write these dry, lengthy files?
I bet Shockwave was behind them. They were just as boring and unimaginative as he was, the one-opticked fragger.
My own fliers did not make the transference of power any less stressful. Civilians aside, my advisors have been very verbal to the change, expressing without trouble how displeased they all were. While Nightfire and Skywake, my director of Commerce, did not press their opinions, others were not so compliant. Bladeflight had been the most vocal, dead-set on the belief that Megatron was exploiting Vosian tradition. The aged Fighter Jet was convinced that the Decepticon Lord had a ploy which would inevitably harm Vos, and he was not the only one holding to such suspicion. They all shut up and held their glossae when I told them to, just as they should. However, I was well aware that there was more to come from their distrusting sparks.
I knew they all had the best of intentions, especially Bladeflight, since he undoubtedly worried about me, but I was not a sparkling anymore. I could take care of myself and my citizens.
Now, if only Megatron would stop being a slagger and start treating me like a proper second-in-command…
The memory file of last cycle's events resurfaced, and I bit back a groan. I wanted to forget about it, but it stayed, stubborn like a certain aft who had a bucket for a helm. Everything began innocently enough. Megatron asked me to go to Kaon for my official "coronation" as air commander and his second, which was surely a joke, since I was being demoted if anything, from the supreme ruler of a city-state to some ex-gladiator's subordinate. After a speech from Lord Slagger himself, more boring things happened, and before I knew it, I was being pressed down on the floor so that Soundwave could slather his dirty hands all over me!
I had only protested in mild bursts when the proposition of Soundwave painting my wings came up. If anyone were to mark me, it had to be Megatron, not his creepy, tone-less underling. What absurdity was Megatron sprouting from his rusted processors anyways? I deserved better. When I told him such, his response as the generous, almighty leader of the Decepticons was to shove me faceplate down to the ground just to endure the utter humiliation of being gawked at while Soundwave stabbed at my plating with a brush! What in the pits?!
Why couldn't Megatron paint my wings?
The answer was simple.
He could not paint.
What the frag?!
It was a symbol. Not a life-sized portrait of Sentinel Prime's deactivated aft. One did not need to be Sunstreaker to paint four Decepticon symbols onto wings!
Just thinking about it made me want to give the fragger two scorch marks courtesy of my null rays. As if sensing my once again rising ire, Nightfire ran his fingers down my wings, and massaged the joints. The bubbling irritation was immediately gone, dissolving as I became too distracted by how wonderful it felt to have my wings cared for.
"…I really hate him…" I murmured into my arms, cycles of air even and deep.
"I'm glad to hear that." I could imagine Nightfire smiling behind me as he pinched along the bottom edges of my wings. "I'd worry a lot less if you do."
Before I could ask him what he meant, a ping from my comm.-link lit up.
:Yes?: I took the request without much thought.
:Starscream,: Megatron's voice came through, :Status report. When will Blitzwing's second-alt designs be ready?:
I groaned, and buried my faceplate deeper into my arms as though they could hide me from Lord Slagger's pestering. For the love of Primus, he nagged more than a glitching, overprotective carrier.
:Can't you leave me alone for one cycle?: I shot back. I was not whining, definitely not. :I don't need checking up on, Megatron! As I'd already told you numerous times last cycle: I will contact you once I'm done, so stop asking!:
:You clearly require constant supervision if you have yet shown me any result. It's been deca-cycles, Starscream. Your lack of progress is hardly reassuring. Shockwave has made many breakthroughs in his research, and he is not my second-in-command.:
I growled. What the frag was his problem?!
:Need I remind you, all-knowing leader,: I sneered, :that I've only been your second-in-command for six cycles! And I have a city to run, unlike that uninspired Shockwave. What's he accomplished? How to express oneself with only one optic?:
:I do not appreciate your sarcasm, Starscream.:
:Then stop comm.-ing me!:
:I do not appreciate you behaving like a sparkling either.:
:Maybe if you'd stop treating me like a sparkling and annoying me when I'm trying to work, I can give you some result!: With a huff, I pushed off the console to sit up, and onlined my optics.
:Starscream…: His voice gained a warning edge, but I only scoffed.
Oooooh, big bad Megatron who was all the way in his dingy little base in Kaon was getting irritated, how terrifying.
:Look, I'm almost there, alright?: I glanced over the screen, and answered snappishly. :I just hit a snitch, but if you'd only stop pinging me every single joor and actually let me work, I can figure it out by the end of the cycle latest. I will comm. you when I have the first prototype.:
:Good. I expect a report before then.: With that, he ended our call.
I was left speechless, staring wide-opticked at the screen.
Ugh! How rude!
My optics narrowed.
That was it! I would have to make extra sure that an accident was going to happen in Vos, hence rendering me unable to accomplish my task by the end of the cycle. That would show him to treat me in such a manner.
Pleased with my decision, I reached for the keyboard to save my work. I was more than ready to leave my tower for a brief flight around the city. Nightfire's hands paused in their rubbing. I did not need to turn to know a frown had appeared on his faceplate.
"Sire?" He inquired, "I thought…we were going to work on the design for the remainder of the cycle."
"Oh I'm sure something will turn up that will require my attention away from the monitors, so I might as well take a break before it happens." I answered with a chirpy, playful lilt, a small smirk on my lips.
"Your Highness…" There it was: Nightfire's tone of disapproval. "Be it not my place to question your decision, but…you are our Crown, our representative to the ground pounders. Perhaps we should finish the design, and then take a break?" When I glanced over my shoulder to give him a glare, he smiled, and leveled me with a beseeching look.
"After all," He explained, "We don't want to give the impression that we Vosians don't keep our word, correct?"
Damn, he was right.
Stupid Nightfire.
I groaned for the countless time during the cycle, and turned my optics back on the design.
He was right. I should not behave like a sparkling just because Megatron thought I behaved like a sparkling. I would show that rust bucket to doubt my credentials as an accomplished scientist. If anything, I was definitely a better scientist than Shockwave.
Determination renewed, I perked up in my seat, and reached for the keyboard.
"Nightfire, do a virtual test-run on prototype two-A." I instructed, and my scientific advisor bowed before returning to his console.
"Affirmative, your Highness," He smiled as he answered, taking his seat in front of the monitor.
Several trials later, we finally found a design that should, theoretically, be able to carry Blitzwing's grounder weight and frame. After much bragging to Megatron, we scheduled a meeting for Blitzwing to try out the schematics. I had not been so actively involved in a scientific pursuit for a very long time, so naturally, when the cycle arrived, I was very excited.
Skywarp teleported Thundercracker, Nightfire, and I into the Decepticon base, where Megatron, Soundwave, Shockwave, and Blitzwing were waiting. Peds touching new, foreign ground, I looked around, and recognized the place as a training arena. There were several ground pounders sitting on the risers, but they did not speak, only giving our group curious glances. Not one deterred by onlookers, I straightened my back, and spread out my wings so that they would catch all the light in the large chamber.
"I hope you've prepared proper rewards, Megatron," I sauntered toward the ex-gladiator, a haughty, pleased smirk on my lips. "What I have accomplished with my scientific unit is nothing short of pure ingenuity. A breakthrough, if you will," I sent Shockwave a flicker of a look, "of innovation, creativity, and hard work." My wings flicked higher. "All of which are essential qualities of utmost importance for an accredited scientist."
"Your devotion to the bettering of our cause is minimum requirement, my Second," Megatron replied, voice flat and severely lacking the awe I deserved. "Why should I reward you for doing what is expected?"
Pleasantry gone in a jerk of a wing, I stopped right in front of Lord Slagger, and felt my smirk drop to a scowl. However, before I could tell him exactly where to stuff his "minimum requirement", a certain purple mono-optic cut in:
"If I may speak, Lord Megatron," The yellow bulb blinked as Shockwave tilted his helm in a gesture of inquiry. Upon Megatron's slight nod of consent, he carried on, turning his attention to me, much to my discomfort. "What we are about to witness is indeed very remarkable. I am curious, and most eager to be present at the unraveling of what can quite possibly be the most significant and revolutionary advancement in modern Cybertronian science."
Well, for a mono-optic, he sure knew how to properly appreciate what he sees. I puffed up my chassis. My wings perked higher. The proud smirk began to reemerge.
"I will decide how significant Starscream's work is after he shows us just what he has done." Megatron gave me a hard stare, and my smirk wilted.
"Just because you are an uneducated dolt does not mean everyone else has to stoop to your level, Megatron." A familiar sneer formed on my faceplate. It had an exceptionally high appearance rate whenever I was in the company of the infuriating ex-gladiator.
Megatron's optics narrowed a little in warning, but I only huffed, and looked away.
"…Perhaps I should give Blitzwing one last scan before we start, your Highness?" Nightfire asked tentatively, addressing me before casting his optics to Megatron. "And…" The Space Shuttle made an awkward expression, "your…Lordship…?" He added, frowning. "May I?"
"Of course you may," I snapped before Megatron could answer. "You are my subordinate, Nightfire. No need to ask an uneducated dolt about anything."
The line Megatron's lips had pressed into tightened. "Blitzwing is a Decepticon, Starscream, as are you." A threatening tinge darkened his tone, but my sneer only grew larger.
"Blitzwing is the subject of study, and I am the head scientist leading the experiment, so I naturally hold authority."
At my words, Megatron narrowed his optics further. However, I only glared back, and stood my ground. The air between us grew heated with tension. Neither of us was willing to give. Backing down was not an option, not when it would infringe my rights to my research. I thought we were going to stand there for joors until Soundwave stepped forward, and dipped his helm.
"Suggestion: Allow Vosian Scientific Advisor Nightfire access to assessment of Triple Changer Blitzwing." His boring, droning voice dulled the simmering animosity like a bucket of coolant. "Logic: Beneficial for current main objective."
With a look that articulated better than words what he thought of my behaviour, Megatron nodded, and angled his helm to the side. "Proceed, Blitzwing." He said, and the purple and beige ground pounder shuffled forward, looking a little nervous as he glanced between Megatron, Nightfire, and I.
"Please remain still, and stand with your arms lifted, joints locked, extending straight." Nightfire instructed with a kind smile. He approached the triple changer, and took out a data pad equipped with necessary applications from subspace. The grounder complied, and my Science Advisor started to scan his frame, making several readings.
"I was under the impression you already have all the information you need," Megatron said as he watched, optics a dim glow while Nightfire poked at Blitzwing with other equipment he'd brought from Vos.
"We do," I answered, noting with great mirth how uncomfortable Blitzwing was despite Nightfire's attempts at easing the procedure. "Nightfire is only rechecking the results." I decided to not elaborate, since Megatron obviously would not understand.
A few breems later, Nightfire tapped at his data pad, and turned to me with a bright grin on his faceplate. "Everything looks good, Sire. Shall we proceed?" His optics shimmered, and I was compelled to return his excitement as my spark skipped in giddiness. If all went well, Blitzwing would become the first ground-bound Cybertronian to attain an aerial alt-mode. By the pits, I felt like Primus.
"Affirmative," I nodded, and couldn't stop a big smile from tilting the corners of my lips in time. Nightfire nodded back before turning to the rest of our group.
"Please take several steps back to give Blitzwing an amble amount of room."
All of us aside from Nightfire and Blitzwing backed away to the sidelines. I stood with my trine mates, while Megatron and his subordinates retreated to the opposite side of the arena.
"Blitzwing, you may stand or you may sit, whichever is most comfortable for you," My science advisor touched the triple changer's shoulders, and gave him an apologetic smile, "I'm afraid, however, that we don't have a berth for you to recline on if you wish to lie down."
I sent out an irritated huff through my vents, and crossed my arms over my chassis. That was all Megatron's fault. If he did not pull his rank on me, we would be in the comfort and hospitality of my large, well-ventilated science lab instead of some dark, dank hole of an arena. I thought having Blitzwing try out his new alt-mode would be most appropriate in my city, since he was going to acquire his wings. However, Megatron had been insistent that his Decepticon remain in Kaon, some slag about the importance of the creation of a new line of soldiers being at his base of operations.
Blitzwing had decided to remain standing. For a ground pounder about to enter the realm of the air, he looked awfully distressed, and unwilling. His joints were pulled stiff, posture rigid, while his peds had parted to standard combat position. He visibly flinched when Nightfire manually opened the hatch to the medical port at the base of his helm, and his jaws tightened.
"Engaging hardware connection. Please relax, Blitzwing," Nightfire murmured, pulling out a cable from the data pad and gently plugging it into the medical port. Blitzwing winced. His fists clenched, though he did not make a sound. "Commencing data flow to central core processor starting in three…two…one," Nightfire dutifully explained each procedure so Blitzwing would not be surprised, but even still, the triple changer made a face when the data flow began, gritting his dentae.
Such direct hardware transfer of data, into the deepest processor unit no less, was hardly an enjoyable experience. Unfortunately for Blitzwing, there was no other way to ensure that he received every line of code needed to learn something completely unnatural to his ground pounder frame. Feeding the information and instructions to his transformation chip was the only option. Well, aside from long joors on a surgical berth of painful reconstruction and reformatting. The triple changer would simply have to bear the small price of gaining a pair of wings.
"Please wait for all data to transfer and fully integrate into your core processor," Nightfire instructed as he kept careful watch on the display on his data pad. "If, at any point, you feel the data flow is too much, please let me know, and I will slow it down."
Blitzwing only let out a soft grunt, and offlined his optics. For a long moment, only silence could be heard in the arena. Suddenly, the triple changer jolted. His faceplate scrunched into a grimace especially unpleasant, and he made a strangled, bitten back groan. Nightfire immediately steadied him with a hand on his shoulder, moving to stand behind our subject of study in case he falls. "Should I slow the transfer speed?" My science advisor asked, a frown knitting his brow-ridges when the grounder gritted out another small whine of discomfort.
"N-No…" Blitzwing's voice was barely a whisper. His frame began to tremble, and he looked almost ashamed.
"The overexertion of your core processor would be counterproductive to our objective." Nightfire explained in soothing tones. "Would you prefer a slower transfer speed, Blitzwing?"
"I—I'm not overexerting," Blitzwing squirmed on his peds, and hung his helm forward to hide his faceplate in shadow. "It's just…very strange…" He did not elaborate, keeping silent while his body periodically shivered.
"Are you encountering any resistance from your base programming?" Nightfire's optics met mine for a brief moment. I hadn't realized until that moment that I was frowning much like my science advisor.
A backlash from Blitzwing's basic coding was one of the major concerns. I was aware that conflict was inevitable, but we had all hoped that Blitzwing's unique acceptance to different alts would make the eventual adaptation of aerial schematics possible. The probability of full integration was relatively high, but failure was not uncommon for even the most well-researched experiments.
Blitzwing still had not answered. He remained suffering in silence, limbs sometimes making a minute jerk.
"…It's…not bad," He finally replied, after a long, tense moment of waiting from all onlookers. "I'm working around it."
"Good," Nightfire heaved a quiet sigh of relief. "Please refrain from fighting your base programming. Allow them to run their course. They must accept the data loading into your core processor, so help them along. Do not push them aside." To my surprise, Nightfire lowered his hand from Blitzwing's shoulder, and placed it on his back. The Space Shuttle rubbed circles right between the triple changer's upper plating, where fliers would have their wing joints. The effect was not immediate, but, after a few kliks, Blitzwing slowly relaxed. His ex-vent stuttered, but his shoulders sagged a little, joints easing from their rigidity.
I did not expect such a physical gesture from Nightfire, even less did I think the rubbing would help. But then again, Blitzwing was our subject, so it made sense for Nightfire to offer support to ensure the experiment's success.
"Better?" Nightfire asked, peering forward as though trying to catch Blitzwing's expression.
Blitzwing only nodded, as he ran even, slow cycles of air through his system.
Another moment passed, this time without interruption. A small ping sounded from the data pad, and Nightfire glanced down, rubbing paused. A pleased smile appeared on his faceplate, and his hand left the triple changer's back. The Space Shuttle tapped at the data pad, and made a small hum before reaching for the cable connected to Blitzwing's medical port.
"All data has been transferred and integrated. Disengaging hardware connection." Nightfire took a hold of the base of the cable, and made a tiny squeeze. With a click and a hiss, it was disconnected, and Blitzwing made another flinch, reaching back as if to rub.
"The soreness does not come from the port, Blitzwing." Nightfire nudged the hand aside, and closed the hatch. "It will elevate within the next few kliks."
Blitzwing nodded, and let out a mumble. He took his hand back, and stood stock still, staring at Nightfire as the Space Shuttle typed happily away. Nodding to himself, my science advisor deactivated the data pad, and returned it to subspace. His optics shimmered as he looked up, and he took a big step back, smile expectant and field swirling with tangible anticipation.
That could only mean one thing.
"You may begin the transformation, Blitzwing." Nightfire was obviously restraining himself from bouncing on his thrusters.
"What?" Blitzwing turned fully around and gaped. "That was it?"
"Of course," Nightfire laughed a little, breaking his professional demeanor. "Do you not feel ready?"
"Well…I…I don't know…" Blitzwing fidgeted, and I felt a scowl begin to taint the grin on my faceplate.
What was the stupid grounder waiting for? He was about to gain a pair of wings, for Primus's sakes!
"The change is not supposed to be glaringly obvious, Blitzwing. That was part of the point." Nightfire encouraged the triple changer with patience I did not possess. "One of your previous alt-modes has been removed, though, has it not?"
"Yeah…" Blitzwing still hesitated. "I still have my tank alt, but in the other slot there's just…something else."
A blast of hot air left my vents. Of course there was something else! That was the whole purpose of the experiment!
"Hurry up, ground pounder!" I blurted out, and everyone in the arena glanced at me before turning their attention back to Blitzwing. The triple changer pursed his lips, and finally, if not slightly reluctantly, he began his transformation sequence.
In a flurry of shifting parts, he lost his bipedal form. Soft noises of panels and joints snapping into place accompanied the universal sound of a Cybertronian transformation. Blitzwing's arms and legs disappeared into the mass of moving components. His new alt was emerging. He began to resemble a modified Striker Jet, and my optics widened, intakes spluttering to a stop. From deep within the triple changer, I could see them – brief glimpses of a pair of wings.
Clunk.
I jumped, as did Nightfire.
The shifting abruptly stopped, followed by a forced, painful whirr. Arms unraveling around my chassis, I took a step forward, and felt my spark lurch. I pinned the still unfinished transformation with round optics, lips parted and breath held.
"Blitzwing?" Nightfire asked, leaning forward as well with a worried frown on his faceplate.
Blitzwing did not reply. More whirring came from the mass as parts jammed against each other, but they stopped after a while.
"Uhh…I'm stuck…" Blitzwing said, voice muffled and embarrassed.
"We can see that!" I snapped before I could stop myself, fists clenching by my sides. "The design is perfect. You obviously did something wrong!"
"But I—"
"I have no desire to listen to your excuses of incompetence! For Primus's sakes, you can't even transform right. What kind of a Cybertronian are you?!" I sneered in disgust, and glared at the triple changer who failed what he was sparked to do.
Blitzwing remained in his sad, humiliated half-transformed mess, and visibly sagged under my words.
"…I'll try again…" He mumbled, sounding like a scolded sparkling. I crossed my arms over my canopy once again, and let out a hiss of annoyance. The triple changer shifted back to his bipedal mode, helm lowered and not meeting anyone's optics. However, just the sight of his base mode alone left many in the arena gaping in awe.
His frame was different. A significant amount of alterations could already be seen. Where before straight, angular lines were has now smoothed out, and a new distribution of weight has left him with a more streamlined form. He still carried much bulk, at least for a flier. However, he no longer held the usual heaviness in ground pounders, much lighter on his peds than before.
A stray thought floated over my processors, wondering if Blitzwing could still be a tank. Not that such mattered. Why would anyone want to be a tank when he could be a jet?
"Interesting…" A quiet musing from Shockwave summed up the sentiment shared by every mech in the arena. As much as the mono-optic irritated my flight sensors, I could not bring my spark to care, not now. Blitzwing looked around. It was apparent that he did not like being gawked at, but he said nothing. If it weren't for Nightfire, the triple changer was probably going to endure a whole joor more of staring before allowed to attempt transforming again.
"Please try one more time, Blitzwing," Nightfire gave him an encouraging nod, and prompted the subject of our study with a smile. "This time, however, refrain from haste. Give the sequence some time. It's expected to take longer than your usual transformation."
Blitzwing nodded, and stood up straighter. With a deep cycle of air, he activated the sequence once more, though this time, he was much more thorough and slow. His peds folded and lowered him to the floor. His arms rotated and bent at the joints before disappearing into other moving components. His helm disappeared. He lost all resemblance to base mode. A breem later, he reached the same step where he had previously gotten stuck. My intakes hitched, and I watched, jaws tight and wings stiff.
Blitzwing slowed further, almost reaching a complete stop. Pieces were still shifting, but they came from inside him, soft murmurs of rotating parts. Quiet, skidding clicks, then his armor slid apart. Suddenly, there they were: two wide expanses of purple plating swinging up out of his frame before folding and snapping into place.
My optics grew round. My lips parted in wonder and astonishment. My arms loosened, and fell to the sides. They dangled, limp, as my spark held completely still inside my spark chamber.
They were wings.
Not large ones, but they were wings nonetheless. They had the right shape. They had the right thickness. They were firm, smooth, and they displayed proudly in a manner any flier would.
The transformation was complete. A modified, fully formed Striker Jet sat in the middle of the arena platform, showcased to all spectators.
A large grin overtook my expression, and I let out a bright bark of laughter, wings flicking high on my back.
I have just given justification to Blitzwing's designation.
"…Primus…!" Skywarp whispered from my left, and I felt sheer bliss sweep my swelling spark with a wave of pride and triumph.
Primus indeed. I offlined my optics, and soaked in the feeling of creation.
This must have been what our Holy Creator had felt when he'd sparked the first flier into existence.
Blitzwing did not wait for orders this time before transforming back into base mode. As he once again stood on his peds, a pair of wings flanked his sides from his back. He looked so stunned as he stared behind his shoulders that, for a moment, I almost worried that his optical glass were going to splinter. With a hand, he tentatively reached back, and gave his own wing a squeeze. The wing jerked under his fingers, and he startled, but I could not determine whether he was surprised by the sudden influx of new sensations or the abrupt reaction from his wing. He hastily retracted his hand, as though sheepish. However, he continued to stare, wide-opticked and slack-jawed, at the wing.
Slowly, the wing made another flick, tilting slightly upward and dipping down before returning to its standard position. Blitzwing continued to watch, fascinated as the wing began to wave back and forth, a gesture eventually joined by his other wing. They started to move in unison, in little twitches and flutters. It was very distracting, to say the least, watching a novice send out a myriad of mixed signals he had not the faintest clue of making.
"I'm, uhh, getting a bunch of readings I can't understand." Blitzwing frowned a little. "My sensors feel different too…They're picking up more information than before, I think." He reached behind him again, and his digits brushed against of his wing tips. The touch instantly wrung out a whole string of curses from the triple changer, followed by hissing intakes as his entire frame jolted and tensed. "Slag, these things are sensitive." He muttered, and sent his wings wary glances.
"Yours are not half as sensitive as an actual flier's," I shook my helm clear of the euphoric haze at success, and approached the triple changer, "but they will do." I stopped beside him, and gave his wings an appraising once-over. "Your sensor range has been recalibrated to maximum capacity so you can keep track of conditions in the air. You won't be able to match a real flier in the sky, but there is much you can learn." I smiled, and patted him lightly on a wing. "With some upgrades, you will be able to take flight for the first time. You have remember something very important now, Blitzwing," I tossed a deliberate glance at Megatron and his entourage, "You are not a ground pounder anymore."
Blitzwing looked every bit as overwhelmed as he must have felt, optics turning dazed as he undoubtedly tried to process what I had said. Just to make thinking harder for him, I kept my light stroking on his wing, taking great care to trace the sensors lacing the edges. For unfathomable reasons, I felt more kindred toward the triple changer. He no longer looked repulsive. His expression was no longer stupid. His curiosity toward his wings reminded me of flier sparklings before they had their first flight, experimenting with the wide range of sensations they could receive through tactile input.
"He might not be a ground pounder," Megatron's voice and arrival instantly yanked Blitzwing out of his stupor, "but he is and will always be a Decepticon, despite any newfound penchant for the sky." The ex-gladiator gave me a pointed stare, and I scowled, jerking my hand from Blitzwing's wing despite his small noise of protest. The underlining message was clear: just because Blitzwing grew a pair of wings did not mean he was under my rule. I huffed, and crossed my arms. I did not need a ground pounder to tell me that the triple changer's new alt-mode did not make him a citizen of mine.
"Is he able to fly?" Megatron asked, giving Blitzwing a once-over.
"Have your audials been glitching this whole time?" I scrunched my nose bridge in disdain. "I clearly stated that he still requires upgrades before he can take off for the first time."
Megatron clearly did not appreciate my pointing out of his obvious faults, but he did not interrupt when I continued to explain, "He might look like he has all the parts, but he doesn't. Besides, there is much more to flight than just physical modifications. Blitzwing still needs new programs installed to his central processors. He will also need to undergo proper flight training like a flier sparkling does. Codes settle better when they're learned."
"If all fliers are able to receive upgrades, what makes one better than the other?" Megatron looked at Blitzwing and Nightfire before turning back to me, an honest curiosity in his optics.
"Well, if you were listening like you should, Megatron, you would know the answer," I bit at him, but decided to humour his interest since I was in a good mood:
"Flying goes much beyond what your parts can do. Beside obvious differing physical conditions, even within the same sub-frame type, every flier's processing power and sensory relay speed is different as well, amongst other things. Certain skills can be trained and honed, but there are limits to how far a flier can push his system. I'd wager a guess that ground pounders work in similar ways? You were a gladiator once. You must have fought countless opponents who were the same size, if not bigger than you, yet you triumphed, so there is obviously more to superiority in strength than just bulk."
Megatron listened, optics a bright glow in our dim surroundings. He hummed thoughtfully, and nodded as I finished. Suddenly finding myself at the center of his avid attention, I decided to flaunt a little. "Though of course," I placed my hands on my hips, chassis jutting forward and wings perking high, "Physicality also has much to do with a flier's superiority over another.
"Take me, for example," I smirked, tilting my chin upward, "I am utmost perfection of the flight-capable Cybertronian frame-type, resulting from generation after generation of careful breeding to ensure topmost, flawless excellence of my frame." Megatron's optics flashed as they zoomed in on mine, and my smirk grew wider and bolder. "Not a single flier in existence is able to catch up with me, as my coding does not contain any sequence from another sub-frame type of Vos aside from my own." I swayed my hips, the slight sweep of a ped accentuating every sleek line of my body.
"I am the perfect Seeker," I stated proudly, daring anyone in the arena to say otherwise. "I am as pure to Primus's design as the Firsts he had sparked at the Beginning of the World." That had been my favourite berth-time story as a sparkling. "Only the fastest and the most beautiful has ever had the honour and luxury of becoming Royal Consort."
Megatron's optics flickered. He studied my frame, phantom touches over my heating plating.
"I am the epitome." Whom he desired. "I am what every flier strives to become." My spark swelled. "I am the unachievable." I waited until his optics once again rose to catch mine. "I am the ideal which every pair of wings in the universe is based upon."
His gaze scorched.
"I am the single most dangerous creature you will ever see pierce the sky." I looked back in equal fervor, voice a purring whisper that stirred the flaring of his energy field. "I am ruler of the wind, the spear of your war." I paused, and the smirk on my faceplate stretched, its tilt most vicious and arrogant.
"…And I, am—"
"-Mine…" He finished with a low growl, and, in that instance, all words dissipated from my processors, like smoke without ember. My train of thought had gone, trailing to nothing before I could even remember to snatch it back, but that did not matter.
He was watching me, completely, utterly captivated by the essence of my being.
All that mattered was that his optics once again held that unreadable emotion, one that outshone even lust and the desire to conquer.
I could not breathe.
My intakes had frozen.
With a forced splutter, I shuffled back a tiny step.
"…Don't be ridiculous." I hissed, optics darting as my hands tightened around their perch on my hips. "I am not yours."
"Yes." A single syllable, one that ignited the blazing intensity unique to only my Lord. "You," His lips slowly lifted, the smile of a tyrant, "already are, Starscream."
…My wings shivered, their painted sigils prickling my flight sensors. I pressed my lips together, and fought to stay silent, to stay still, in case the impulse to reciprocate his claim became too much to bear. I took several cycles of air into my system, counting each one religiously. A long moment trickled past before I finally regained my voice, one that did not quiver or rasp with desire.
"Temporarily, perhaps," I said, quiet but certain, "Permanently, no."
His energy field flared in response. It throbbed with heat, and the need to possess.
"I do not like the implications of your words, my Second." His optics pressed me down as he stressed my rank. "Your assumptions are more ambitious than you can afford."
"Assumptions?" My optics narrowed, and my gaze steeled. "Only time can tell, mighty leader."
His title hung in the air, which had begun to heat between us. We seemed to have reached a stalemate, unwavering in our stance as we dared the other to make the next move. Neither of us was willing to look away, hence admitting defeat, so it was no surprise when the silence grew tight and heavy. The onlookers around us started to get restless. I could hear them shuffling on their peds, until a breem later, Skywarp finally got tired of waiting and spoke up:
"So, what happens now?"
His voice tore the mounting tension. It left an almost audible rip.
"Now," I answered my trine mate, lips spreading into a pleased, expectant smile, "Our most generous Lord Megatron will give me my well-deserved reward for accomplishing my task. After all, a good leader should always know when to extend proper praise to his loyal and humble subordinates for their hard work done well."
"Do you need my praise so desperately, Starscream?" Megatron asked, voice smooth with amusement. Whatever miniscule sliver of appreciation I had toward him evaporated in an instance. Annoyance surged like a fountain from my spark, and my hands left my hips, curling into fists by my sides.
"Why is it so difficult for you to give me the recognition I deserve, Megatron, when you give it so freely to the more inept of your followers?!" I spat out, and took an offensive step forward, smile morphing into a pronounced sneer. "You cannot possibly be so stupid as to think my accomplishments unimpressive!"
"Don't discredit another's work to boost the value of your own." Lord Slagger replied airily, and had the nerve circuits to smile as though my reaction humoured him.
My fists tightened. "I call it as I see it." I hissed, and glared hotly up at the ex-gladiator. "I have done so much for you, yet you continue to brush aside my work as worthless. For Primus's sakes, that very cannon on your arm was of my making!" I pointed at the fusion cannon, "I have yet expressed consent to giving it to you, Megatron, so I am entitled to take it back anytime I like!"
"Bringing up irrelevant matters is not going to help your case, Seeker." The damned ground pounder was still amused, smile growing even bigger as his optics began to—to—
-twinkle.
Twinkle!
It was infuriating!
A tremour shook through my wings, and I shouted:
"Stop smiling, you scrapheap, and give me what I deserve!"
I should have suspected that whatever slag he came up with could not possibly reflect the magnitude of my ingenuity, especially when his smile never dwindled in the slightest despite the unflattering names I kept calling him. However, at that moment, all I was concerned with was getting any acknowledgement from him at all.
"I do have something I believe you will enjoy," Megatron squared his shoulders, and strode toward me, optics shinning like twin suns. I was half a processor away from skidding back like a startled sparkling when he suddenly came so close that his energy field brushed against mine, but I caught myself, plating my thrusters firm to my spot.
"Yes?" I snapped, stilling and freezing rigid. He slowly leaned forward, until the tips of our nose bridges almost touched, and, with great alarm, I spluttered, cheek plates flushing with heat. I had to physically restrain myself from squeaking and backtracking away like an undignified, twitchy young spark. A predatory edge sharpened his gaze, though the Primus-damned amusement remained, stubborn and prominent in his expression.
"It is something, I think, only a Seeker of your caliber can do." His voice was quiet, but its deep, rumbling quality carried just enough delightful malice to excite my spark with a quiver. However, I gave no outward indication of my inner turmoil, even as he began to languidly trace the Decepticon symbol on my right wing.
Argh—slag him to the pits, it was hard to think!
My brow-ridges furrowed in a deep frown, and I held my intakes, trying my best to ignore the tickling sensation.
This did not sound like a reward…
And it was not.
This mysterious "something" Megatron molested my wing over turned out to be a scouting mission to the outskirts of Tarn, where the largest storage and shipment facilities were. As I shot across the sky with my trine mates in tow, all I could do was screech my vocalizer off, cursing Lord Slagger the Rust Bucket to the next pit and back.
"How could he. How could he?" I shouted indignantly as we pierced through the air in standard position. "How could he send me, his Primus-damned second-in-command, on a scouting mission?!"
"'Caaaaause he wanted to give you lots of flight time?" Skywarp answered, unhelpful as always, and I felt my left wing twitch.
"I can fly in my own Primus-damned city, Primus-damn-it!" I would have made an exceptionally disfiguring sneer had I been in base mode.
"Then why didn't you say so?" Thundercracker sounded genuinely confused. "You just stood there, staring at him, muttered something unintelligible, and walked away. That was very unlike you, Star."
I did not want to explain, so I remained silent.
"C'mon, TC, you saw the way ol' Megs looked at Screamer and touched his wing." Skywarp snickered, and I felt the onset of bubbling anger. "I was surprised Screamer could still walk straight with his interface equipment running so hot."
"They were not running hot!" I shot back immediately, wings making an agitated jerk.
"Oh yeah? Then why was your energy field all over the place?" I knew Skywarp would be grinning audial to audial by now if he were in bipedal mode. I just knew. "Now what I wouldn't give to find out exactly what Megatron did to lubricate your port so fast…"
"Skywarp!" I shrieked, half horrified and half disgusted by his crass comment. I was not alone. Thundercracker almost fell out of the sky, stumbling and breaking formation with a violent startle. He hastily gave his thrusters a boost, rising in altitude, and caught up while a certain purple idiot cackled.
"Skywarp, that was highly inappropriate and distracting…" My blue trine mate said, tone quiet and dry.
"Distracting?" Skywarp was not deterred in the slightest. "Do tell exactly what was distracting you, TC. I'd love to know." The mischievous and mirthful lilt in his voice, joined by a low purr from his engine, instantly put me on guard. Whatever he had brewing in his processors, I did not want to hear it, or acknowledge it, or have anything to do with it at all.
"Shut up! You're not here to make me the subject of your crude jokes, Skywarp!" I wanted to toss him a glare, but in jet mode, it was not possible, so I settled for a snarl instead. "We're almost on location, so be quiet and prepare for descent."
"Affirmative, Star." Thundercracker replied like the good, responsible trine mate that he was. Skywarp only snickered some more, but, thankfully, he shut his vocalizer as we started dropping in altitude.
Tarn was the biggest and one of the wealthiest Autobot cities on Cybertron. It held the largest commercial center on the planet, and business flourished here, giving the city a strumming metropolis that bustled with traffic even during late joors of the night. The same could not be said about the surrounding outskirts, however, which stretched to the horizon and remained mostly lifeless. Only warehouses were situated here, rows after rows of massive storage facilities laid out in a neat and orderly fashion. Drones did most of the work, keeping track of inventory, stacking up newly received goods, and preparing large crates for shipment, which happened three times per cycle. The only job the dock workers really had here was to watch the drones while they loaded commercial hovercrafts and put the cargo into storage.
However, the little number of workers did not equate a lack of security. Surveillance here was keen and precise, since much of the raw crystals mined from deep within Cybertron was kept here before they were shipped to factories to be processed. Even before the war, this place was heavily guarded, with enforcers constantly stationed around the perimeter. Now, there were even more. Luckily for me and mine, life was so boring here that those stationed were prone to slacking off. These mechs often got sidetracked into doing other things while they patrolled, fooling around for entertainment and sneaking off on extended energon breaks, which consequentially gave my trine just enough blind spots to slip through.
As we got closer, we disengaged our thrusters, and glided overtop. What little noise we made floating over the wind went completely undetected by the grounders, who were busy sharing jokes and guffawing with their blasters deactivated. Prior to our leave, Soundwave had given us scramblers to attach onto ourselves to hide our energy signatures. The cameras took longer to disable, but the Decepticon Communications Officer had little trouble hacking into the main surveillance system to loop the video feed. As long as my trine was careful, we were practically invisible to the Autobots.
Spotting an appropriate landing location, I sent my trine mates the coordinates and slowly swerved in the air. Swooping down without much noise, I aligned my nosecone to the warehouse, and waited until I was right on top of the building before transforming. Dropping down onto my peds, I cushioned my landing with a careful crouch, lightening the impact of my thrusters. There were still audible thuds as my trine mates and I landed, so we kept ourselves low, and waited for several kliks before straightening up.
:This would've been so much easier if I were to simply dispatch some Stealth Jets,: I grumbled over our trine link, surveying the area to pinpoint the Autobots stationed around us. :Missions like this are what they're sparked for.:
:Awww, but Screamer,: Skywarp grinned when I sent him a brief glare, :If Megatron didn't send us here, we wouldn't have the chance to see Tarn before we attack it.:
:What's there to see? All grounder cities are the same. Besides, we aren't even actually in Tarn.: Heaving a frustrated but quiet sigh through my vents, I completed my scan of the area, and turned to my trine mates. :What information are we scouting exactly?:
:Let me check…: Thundercracker took out a data pad from subspace, and activated it to holo-read. Our mission objectives appeared, and I walked closer, peering around my blue trine mate's shoulder for a look.
:All Megatron wants is a map?: I sneered. :Soundwave can easily hack into the Autobot Archive mainframe and download one!:
:But if he asked Soundwave, this wouldn't be our mission anymore!: Skywarp exclaimed, optics widened as though the notion dismayed him. :And we wouldn't be able to see Tarn!:
I just stared at the idiot I had for a trine mate, sneer growing bigger. His stupidity had expanded to such degree that I did not even know what to say.
:Aside from a map, we're supposed to find out which warehouses stored energon crystals.: Thundercracker scrolled down and summarized, :After we find out which warehouses those are, we have to locate all surrounding guard posts and count the number of Autobots stationed there.:
:Oh, joy.: I could not help but let out a sarcastic drawl. I could think of at least a dozen more stimulating activities to do during the time I was going to spend playing "spot the Autobot".
:Why do we need to know how many Autobots there are when we're just gonna slag 'em?: Skywarp frowned, turning away from his curious staring at the warehouses to give Thundercracker and I a look of confusion.
:Because, genius, we can't just bomb the place to the smelting pits like we did the prisons.: I sent out a curt blast of air through my vents. :We need the energon crystals in tact, not exploded.:
:Awww, that sucks.: Skywarp whined, sticking out his downer lip component in a pout. For once, I actually agreed with his sentiment, though toward different subjects. This really did suck. Stupid reconnaissance mission…
:Is that all we need to do?: I glanced at the holo-read, and asked.
:Well,: Thundercracker scrolled down further,:we also need to do a total count of all Autobots stationed here in the outskirts, plant a hacking device for Soundwave into the security mainframe for the upcoming attack, and approximate the amount of energon crystals that's stored here after locating the appropriate warehouses.: He answered dutifully before putting the data pad back into subspace. :That's a lot of work waiting to be done. I suggest we start soon.:
Skywarp groaned, and his wings sagged a little. I sighed one more time, and grimaced.
No wonder the Autobots were so slack around here. This place reeked of boringness.
:I think we should split up to hurry things along.: I comm.-ed, dividing the tasks in my processors. :I will do the overall Autobot count and write the map while you two locate which warehouses store the energon crystals. After they are found, Thundercracker and I will do the guard posts, and Skywarp will count the crystals. As for Soundwave's hacking device, we'll deal with that when everything else is done.:
:Ugh, so many warehouses to scan…: Skywarp's wings sagged even further, helm hanging forward as he started making his way to the edge of the building. :I'll take this side. TC can take the other.: He waved with a flick of his wrist, and promptly leapt off the warehouse we were standing on. Due to the need for quiet, we could only fly with minimum thruster power, which was why finding a high landing spot was important.
:Do you want to be higher for your part of the mission?: Thundercracker asked, lingering by my side. :I can give you a boost.:
:Affirmative, a boost would be most helpful.: I nodded, and waited as he got into position.
Thundercracker knelt down, and laced his fingers together before placing them over the upright knee. The boost was simple. I would step onto Thundercracker's hands, and he would give me a push as he activates his thrusters, thus giving me momentum to reach higher altitudes even without applying much force. When he got ready, he looked up, and gave me a nod, a small smile on his faceplate. I walked toward him, and steadied myself with his shoulder vents before lifting my right ped, and placing it into his palm.
"…Wow…"
A soft, hushed exclamation of amazement startled me so much that my null rays activated before I could even hop back from Thundercracker. Swirling around on my thrusters, I swung up my arms, and pointed my charging compact cannons right in the direction the voice had come from. A mostly red and blue ground pounder was watching us, paused in mid climb up the side of the warehouse. Wasting no time, I aimed straight at his helm, but before I could shoot, the mech spluttered, and held up his arms in surrender.
"W-Wait! Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" He waved his hands, "If you shoot the Autobots will hear you!" He whispered, optics wide as he looked around. "I won't tell them you're here. I just—…I just wanted to come see you. That's all!"
Though I did not fire, my null rays remained charged. My optics narrowed, and I sent him a small jerk of my chin.
"Get up here where I can see you, ground pounder." I hissed, optics following his every move as he slowly finished his climb. The mech stayed low, frame hunched over as he held out his hands in front of him, in plain view. His obvious lack of weapons or Autobot badge indicated that he was a dock worker. How did a slagging dock worker spot us when none of the Autobots did?
He was slimmer than most ground pounders I have had contact with, faceplate sporting an innocent, open gape. He was clean, plating polished to a nice sheen, and his optics were bright blue, round and full of wonder as he looked back at me with unmasked interest. He had a very boxy chassis, with only a large pane of glass shielding his spark chamber. He was very bland as far as looks went, but he had a certain sense of unabashed naivety that was…curious, that reminded me of—
"What are you doing here?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. Thundercracker stood up as I asked. I could not see what he was doing, but he did not activate his null rays, probably because our intruder was a civilian.
"I—…well, I was on my break, so I was at my usual spot, doing some reading when I saw you, the three of you, flying!" A broad smile appeared on his faceplate, and his optics sparkled. "You were so incredible. I had to come see you up close!"
For a long moment, I could not decide what to do with this grounder. All of my intention of killing him vanished as soon as he started beaming at me, and, somewhat awkwardly, I lowered my arms.
"Um…Yes. We were…flying." I replied.
"I assumed you're here in secret, so I didn't say anything to anyone, and I won't tell any of the Autobots either. I promise." Seeing me lower my weapons, the mech stood up, and slowly made his way toward us, smile growing into a grin. "Wow…" His optics glided over my frame in appreciation, but they did not hold any lewd intention at all, only that of utter worship. "I honestly—" He clasped his hands in front of his chassis, "-would've never thought that I of all mechs would have the chance to see Seekers, real Seekers, up close like this!"
"You…know we're Seekers?" I was surprised. I glanced back at Thundercracker, and saw that he was just as surprised as I was. After all, it was not often a ground pounder distinguished fliers so quickly.
"Yeah!" The dock worker nodded eagerly, giddy on his peds as he practically bounced on them, "I-I read all about you! Fliers are all so mesmerizing, but Seekers have always been my favourite!" He suddenly paused, cheek plates darkening in a blush. "I—I'm not trying to—to suck up on you or anything." His optics grew round as he waved his hands in front of his chassis as though afraid he had offended us. "I honestly find Seekers to be the most intriguing, not to mention the most impressive, being the fastest flight-capable frame type." He continued, voice soft but excited, "There's not much a mech can read on Vos, but I've read all of Skyfire's essays at least ten times now, and the one on Seekers? I've read at least fifteen!"
Skyfire.
My spark gave a shuddering squeeze.
My fuel tank churned, and a small, bitter smile appeared on my faceplate as I looked away to the side.
"Ahh, yes…" I murmured, wings losing their perk, "Skyfire's essays…"
"Did I…say something wrong?" The ground pounder asked, fingers fidgeting as he frowned, tone unsure and apologetic. I shook my helm to dispel my uncharacteristic lapse. I did not know what was wrong with me. It usually took much more than a mention of that designation to dampen my mood.
"Why are you helping us?" I chose to ask instead, stare pointed and suspicious. "If you hadn't seen the Decepticon sigils on our wings from afar, you must have noticed them by now, so why are you not alerting the Autobots?"
The dock worker gave my trine mate and I each a long, wide-opticked look, lips slightly parted. When he still has not answer after several kliks, I frowned, and gave my wings a large jerk that instantly snapped him out of his stupor.
Was this mech damaged in the processors?
My thought must have reflected on my faceplate. The ground pounder rebooted his optics, and, sheepish, laughed a little, rubbing the back of his helm with a hand.
"Sorry, I'm just…a little overwhelmed right now. I mean…wow!" He bit his lips, and gave my frame another praiseful look. "…Beautiful…" His optics dimmed a little, and a shy, admiring smile tilted up his lips. He wore such an enthralled expression of adoration and rapture that I was left equally as speechless as he was.
I had never before met a ground pounder who had looked at me with such untainted worship.
"So…why are you helping us?" Thundercracker, always the helpful one, repeated my question that had completely slipped my mind.
"Oh! Right!" Snapping out of a stupor for the second time, the mech shook his helm, and his cheek plates tinted. "I-I just…Well, I, uh, I mean…" He grew flustered as he stuttered, but he quickly composed himself, taking a deep vent. "I-I'm not saying this just because you are Decepticons, but I actually—…I really support what your Commander is trying to do!"
I shared a skeptical look with Thundercracker, and turned back to the dock worker.
"And what, pray tell, do you think Megatron is trying to do?" I lifted up a brow ridge, unconvinced that this civilian had any idea about what he was trying to say.
"Renew Cybertron, of course," He answered as though stating the obvious. "The Senate system is old, and it carries too much weight. I'm not as well-informed as some of my friends are, but I know a lot of mechs have it harder than I do, and I don't think that's right at all."
I was once again surprised by this mech's answer, momentarily rendered without words. I was very aware of the propaganda the Autobots were spewing about the Decepticons and Vos, and, as far as I knew, the Senate's efforts have been very successful in swaying the weak-sparked. I had assumed that all civilians were afraid of war and its consequences, which meant they would all unquestionably support the Autobots. Apparently, I thought wrong.
"So few have so much. So many have so little," The dock worker continued to say, brow ridges knitting in sadness and disappointment. "Freedom is every Cybertronian's right. As this planet's inhabitants, we should all enjoy what it has to offer."
Slowly, I shook my helm in disbelief. There was something about this grounder, something about him that reminded me of…of my sire creator. The thought was downright laughable, of course. My sire creator was King, much greater and wiser than this youthful, naive common laborer. However, this mech, who has been nothing but painfully genuine since the beginning, held a quiet, tranquil strength that struck me as being very remarkable.
"…Who are you?" I asked.
"I am Orion Pax." He smiled, optics bright and glimmering. "But please, call me Orion."
"Orion," I repeated, a small smirk quirking up the corners of my lips. "Quite a designation for a dock worker."
He laughed, the sound soft but warm, as he dipped his helm in slight embarrassment.
I studied him for a moment longer before the urgency of the mission returned to top priority. "Well, talking to you has been fun," I spoke the truth, which was rare, "but I'm afraid my trine mate and I have much work to do ahead of us, so farewell." I acknowledged him with a nod, and turned away. "We'll probably never meet again." I gave Orion a small wave over the shoulder, and waited as Thundercracker once again knelt down on one knee in preparation to give me a boost.
"Wait!" A call from the dock worker stopped me in my track. Humouring him, I tilted my helm, and waited for him to speak.
Orion clutched his fingers together, and shuffled on his peds.
"Do—Do you think it's possible that—…p-perhaps we could—…" He nibbled on his lips. "…I just…" He took a deep intake. "I would love to see you again!" His voice was hopeful as he took a small step forward, optics sparkling like blue gemstones on his pale, ordinary faceplate.
I only stared, jaw slack and lips parted. This mech certainly had a knack for rendering me speechless.
"Orion…" Thundercracker sighed, "I'm sure my trine leader is very flattered, but…" His voice definitely held a disapproving frown, "…You undoubtedly have no idea who you are speaking to, so I am certain your boldness will be excused. However, I'm very sorry to say that there is absolutely no way that—"
"-Yes."
The word left my lips, and I was just as stunned as my trine mate when I realized what I had spoken.
Orion's optics grew so wide that I was worried he was going to short circuit them by stretching too far. "…R-Really?!" He asked in a hush, as though afraid that speaking loudly would change my decision.
Finding his reaction very gratifying and funny, I nodded, and smiled. Orion returned my smile with a large grin, optics glowing even brighter.
"I'll give you my comm. frequency!" A ping in my comm.-system alerted me of his invitation. I accepted, and watched his grin grow. Still amused, I turned my attention back to my trine mate, and placed my right ped into his hands.
"May I—…have your designation too, please?" Orion asked, tone hasty and expectant as I put my hands on top of Thundercracker's shoulder vents.
I turned to the dock worker one last time, and flashed him a delighted, but teasing look.
"You have to earn the privilege first, ground pounder."
Without another word, I tapped against Thundercracker's vents. My trine mate sprung up from the warehouse, thrusters activating in a burst and disturbing a film of dust. With a push, he threw me into the sky, and I transformed, easily catching a current that would allow me to glide. I flew away, keeping altitude with minimum thruster power, and wondered why I had answered this simple dock worker's request.
That was thought for another time. Now, there was a mission to do. Floating over the outskirts of Tarn, I started to code a map, all the while keeping count of the Autobots. Recent memory files pushed back, I focused on my objective, but my spark continued to swirl in amusement. Orion was one of the very few who was bold enough to actively request my company. The gesture was refreshing, and who knows? If he proved himself worthy of trust, maybe he could aid the Decepticons in securing possession of the energon crystals.
Who would have thought that Megatron's unappreciated joke of a reward could actually turn out to be rewarding?
Notes: I'm so sorry for how late this is. Choir took a few of my weekends, so I didn't have much time to do edits until reading break this week. I'll try my best to keep the updates to at least once per month, but I can't promise anything, since there will be more weekend rehearsals during the rest of the semester.
Please be patient! I can only hope that the content of the chapters will make up for the long wait. XD
Special thanks time to everyone who's reviewed! To Suki-Angel91494, Pandablubb, Rozelith, HighxOnxCrack, Random523, Devlinn Reiko, Balrog Roike, VyxenSkye, Cjade, Koluno1986, ladyredvelvet, The-writing-Mew, Ashcola17, lildevchick, Skylark Starflower, tiedwithribbons, riah riddle, Kyrmana, PwnKage, Cloud Kitsune17, jessfoisy, Eiswolf-Zero, loverofmythology, JenksBoJangles, Guest, Rin, and A. Non, hearing from you has really made my days that much brighter. Thank you for the anniversary congratulations as well! Really appreciate it. :/)
Hmm, now this chapter, I don't really have much to say about it, haha, other than…surprise with Orion Pax? I took the idea of him being a fan of Seekers from this fan-comic I once saw online. Unfortunately, I've lost the source, so if anyone knows what I'm talking about, please let me know!
This chapter is pretty much the beginning of another peak in the "rising conflict" stage, hence why nothing big happened. I guess one notable thing, aside from Pax, is that of course hearing his own voice praise himself would rile Starscream up like nothing in the universe. XD
Oh, and also, to read Starscream's favourite berth-time story, please look for "Genesis" on my profile page.
Please review! As always, I look forward to hearing what you think. : )