Chapter 13
Hi all, a great big thanks to everyone who reviewed! I hope all of you here on the US East Coast have been surviving the heat wave all right, and had a great Fourth! Also, a quick note on FF net's ratings policy: yes, it's obnoxious, prudish, and kind of silly, but it's their right to impose their Victorian morals on their users if they want. It is a free service, after all. This also means that as the providers of their FREE content, we are just as able to go elsewhere. Personally, I do not think "adult" content is in any way inherently bad, and besides which, people too young to handle it should not be trolling fanfiction sites without adult supervision. It's not called the "pit of voles" for nothing.
I do not approve of censorship, and would be very upset if either of my stories were removed. If they are, they can be found on my Livejournal, where I am Thornwitch1. I've let my updates there lapse, but I'll try to make a point of keeping my journal up to date on the fics. I have also put in for an Archive of Our Own account. Many of the writers here have their stories there as well.
Also, I re-wrote the first section of this chapter after some concrit from a reader.
Optimus had a sudden sense of utter glee over the bond, and saw a brief flash of a very pointy grin over Sentinel's shoulder, when the other Prime was abruptly swatted away. There was a brief shriek of metal on metal, and then an extremely loud crash as Sentinel Prime went flying into the wall hard enough to become embedded in the low density metal. Optimus winced.
Suddenly, he was very glad that they had all those surveillance cameras trained on them, because he was pretty sure this was going to get him in trouble.
Megatron had palmed Sentinel's head like an NBA star with a basketball, and was looking like he was trying to decide if he should go for a three pointer, when Optimus recovered from his surprise. He darted forward and grabbed the other grey, clawed servo as if descended towards Sentinel's clavicle struts.
"No! STOP!" he bellowed, managing to slow the onrushing talon s before the bigger mech could get on with his obvious plan to start disassembling Sentinel in as messy a fashion as possible.
Megatron did, with an expression that said clearly that he did not see any good reason for the interruption.
"You-you're not supposed to be able to harm Autobots!" Sentinel sputtered, obviously shocked by the suddenness of both the violence and finding himself partially stuck in the wall.
Megatron wasn't grinning any more, but there was a small, satisfied, alarmingly malicious smile hovering around his mouth components.
"Silly little Autobot." He purred. "You threatened my master. His irritatingly quick reflexes are all that stopped me from removing the threat. A pity, it's been ages since I've gotten an actual workout. Being a slave is so dull, and the Prime here hasn't been using me to rain down destruction on his enemies or anything."
Could he use Megatron to rain destruction down on his enemies? He didn't actually have any that needed destruction-rain, unless you counted the Decepticons, and he certainly wasn't going to try to make Megatron fight his own. That would be Wrong. It was unsettling to have the possibility brought up, though.
Optimus got between Sentinel and Megatron, put a servo on Megatron's chest, and pushed. The implicit order was clear enough that the Decepticon reluctantly stepped back, abandoning his prey. He looked distinctly put out by this.
Right. First order of business, assuming he wasn't about to get court -martialed for this, was to find Megatron a hobby and get him some exercise. Optimus realized that he was still touching the mech, and backed off in a hurry.
He turned to look at his old friend, who was futilely attempting to pry himself out of the wall. He didn't look too damaged, probably because Megatron had only been getting warmed up. "Sentinel…"
"You, you, Decepticon Sympathizer!" the other Prime bellowed. "How dare you let your slave attack me!"
"That's enough, Sentinel!" Optimus snapped. "The fragging code makes the enslaved mech a bodyguard for the master, which you know perfectly well! You came out here looking for trouble, and when you found it, you couldn't handle it! Let me think, does that remind you of anything? I am through taking the fall for your bad judgment, because you keep making the same bad calls again and again! Well, you had a second chance with Elita, and you blew that. She didn't listen to me, but she might have listened to you if you had managed to rise to the occasion for once in your slagging existence!"
Optimus stopped, vents roaring as he fought to regain his composure.
"Oh, do go on, master." Purred Megatron. "I am finding this little meeting most enlightening. I take it you have history with this imbecile?" Oops, he had forgotten for a click that they weren't alone. Megatron looked interested. And he was smirking, which was never a positive sign.
Optimus took a deep, calming in-vent. "All right, this is not the time or the place for this. Sentinel, if you want to have a constructive discussion at some point, you know where to find me. Come on Megatron, let's go home."
As they left, a couple of guards and a medic arrived to start prying Sentinel out of the Citadel's walls.
As they flew home later, it occurred to Optimus that things could have been worse. Megatron could have been bonded to Sentinel. The thought of the biggest blowhard in the Elite Guard in charge of the commander of the enemy faction was horrifying on multiple levels. Power had a tendency to go to the other Prime's head, and his use of it was not always entirely honorable.
Wait, he was doing that "too nice" thing that Ratchet scolded him for again. Ok, he wouldn't trust Sentinel with a small, yappy pet drone, let alone a Decepticon warlord with a nasty temper and a large collection of grudges.
In general, having Megatron around wasn't nearly as bad as he had been expecting, but apparently there were some complications he hadn't been aware of before. Well, it had been a nice vacation, all things considered, but obviously it was time to start working out how his existence was going to work with its dangerous new addition. He needed to start doing some serious research, and solidify that fragging bond so that things like this didn't catch him quite so off guard.
Good thing he had so many knowledgeable resources to draw upon. First things first though. He was going to have to deal with the aftermath of Sentinel and Megatron's little meet and greet.
To Optimus's great surprise, it turned out not to be a big deal. Apparently, there were whole codes of conduct, and entire regulations built around dealing with enslaved war builds, and neither Optimus nor Megatron had actually violated them.
Optimus made a point of downloading the whole mass of data, and spent the next several days integrating it. He was more than a little bothered by the fact that this situation had once been common enough to have entire sections of law regulating it.
And it was tank-churning how little of it seemed to be for the protection of the enslaved mechs. Most of that seemed to be aimed more at protecting valuable property (and a war-build slave had been considered very valuable, once upon a time) than the mech him (or her) self.
Megatron was in a disturbingly good mood for a little while, then took up prowling around the apartment like a Dinobot in a too-small cage. Ratchet had rather sarcastically suggested that Optimus take the Decepticon "walkies," but Optimus wasn't quite ready to do that until he had more of a handle on exactly what to expect when he and his…slave interacted with other Autobots.
Obviously, the code did NOT prevent a mech from being dangerous to others. In fact, if a slave's bond-master was in physical danger, the slave got quite a lot of leeway to protect him. This included overriding orders (like not harming Autobots) if it meant keeping the dominant mech in the relationship physically safe.
Optimus wondered what other fun loopholes he needed to know about. It could be very important to everyone's long term well being to become a subject matter expert in the practical administration of that slagging code. After all, it was pretty obvious that Megatron already was, and was playing those particular gambling icons close to his chest armor.
So he did research, and talked with Ratchet, Arcee, and a few of the oldest mecha he could find, and learned about the coding.
Megatron was bored. He was not suited to idleness. Since he was both a political prisoner and a slave, he was denied his usual pursuits. At least as a part of Isaac Sumdac's laboratory décor, he had been able to plot, and take over drones for his amusement. Right now, there was a distinct lack of pawns to direct. It was most vexing.
It wasn't like he had any duties, either, and the Little Prime didn't seem inclined to wander the city with his bodyguard, so there wasn't even the stimulation of seeing new sights or gauging possible threats. Too bad he wasn't getting any further opportunities to beat up his Autobot's rivals. That was always fun. Especially given how annoying some of them were.
At least the medic showed up regularly. The snark was refreshing. Nevertheless, he needed to find something to occupy himself.
Masterminding a jailbreak for his comrades would be the ideal use of his time, but he didn't have much to work with. Hopefully his remaining officers were on the problem, because all he had was a data connection and the occasional visit from a bunch of mechs who were rabidly loyal to his master, and unlikely to be of any use unless he had some kind of leverage. Besides which, the younger ones were twits.
In the meantime, he needed to avoid loosing his processor from boredom. Perhaps he could taunt his owner. The Prime was so disgustingly sympathetic that it seemed ungrateful to rub his olfactory sensors in the slavery issue, but there was always the less than stellar behavior of the Elite Guard, and Cybertron's current levels of hysterical xenophobia to work with.
They were huge transforming mecha, for Primus sake. They did not need to run away from squishies unless they were gigantic and breathed fire, like those wyrm things on that one planet...Or the venomous spiders that Blackarachnia still occasionally had nightmares about.
The other officers had made fun of her for that little phobia, until she had somehow acquired a few of the things and loosed them in Blitzwing's quarters. That had been some quality entertainment, to be sure. He had put her in the brig for that stunt, of course, but he and Strika had laughed their afts of about it later.
His Autobot was reading a history file. It was actually one of the less egregiously inaccurate ones, but still had a fairly high level of Autobot propaganda. He made a mental note to threaten, bribe, or cajole access to some archives for raw data and primary accounts. His Autobot was not as malleable as could be hoped for, but he was not a fanatic, and could be swayed by well-presented arguments, particularly when backed up by concrete facts…
"You seem restless." The young Prime observed.
Such an observant little Autobot. "I am unaccustomed to such inactivity." He said shortly. "The last time I was idle for so long, I was a disembodied head trapped in a human's lab."
Warm blue optics studied him sharply, and the mech seemed to come to some conclusion. "I agree." Said the Prime. "Lets head to the Elite Guard training areas. We can spar for a while. Perhaps go flying after that."
"Oh joy." Said Megartron. "And how many of your fellows will shoot me at once if I appear to be menacing their future leader and current idol?"
Those pretty lips turned up in a smile. "There's an easy way to avoid that, you know. We just have to invite some of the other guards to watch. You're a legend, you know. None of them would turn down the opportunity."
Megatron harrumphed, but couldn't exactly argue. At this point, he had been physically idle for so long that his cabling felt stiff and his gyros rusty. A nice sparring match with the best the Elite Guard had to offer sounded wonderful. He had always enjoyed fighting with his Autobot Prime.
In the low lighting typical of a Decepticon Warship, several bulky figures and a few smaller, spiky ones met.
"How does our liege, Reflector? Asked the deep voice of the leader, an ancient and powerful Decepticon. She was one of the rare femme warbuilds. Her heavy armor and utility-over aesthetics design were highly unusual to the optics of newer mecha, but once they had not been so uncommon.
The mech on the conference screen held himself at attention. "Far better than we expected, General Strika." He said. "The Autobot scum of the council was partially overruled by the Iaconian Medical board when they were screening potential Autobots to accept our Lord's code link. The Prime they chose appears to be an honorable mech. I have witnessed no abuse of our lord by him or any other since they were bound."
Strika sighed. "That is good news, but also alarming. Have you or your team discovered any information on the Spark compatibility of this Optimus Prime to our lord?"
"No, commander. I have been unable to remotely access the Citadel's medical records, which are kept separate from the network. Without a mech on the inside, they remain out of our reach." Reflector answered.
The general's optics narrowed. "And our infiltration of the Citadel?"
Reflector bowed. He was extremely glad that he had better news on that front. Everyone knew that Strika would raze all of Iacon to the ground before she allowed her consort to be bound by slave code.
"Our agent is making excellent progress, commander." He said.
"Good," Strika said. "Proceed with plan Alpha, using the greatest possible speed. I wish to see my consort free as soon as possible. Now, I need you or one of your agents to make contact with our liege lord."
As Optimus had predicted, the training room was packed. Of course, most of the mecha there were pretending to be present to work on their own skills, but the were really not fooling anybot. He spotted Jazz and Hot Rod, among other familiar face-plates. Most of the crowd was watching Megatron with barely-concealed apprehensiveness.
He had more-or-less gotten used to the huge grey war-build's growly, looming presence by now, but the audience hadn't. There were a lot of wide, fascinated optic trained on the Decepticon. A lot of the mecha present had probably never seen one in person before. The ones who had were acting more wary, but not as nervous.
Besides giving a heads-up to his friends in the Guard, he had invited one of the elderly mechs who he had been consulting with on the slave code. Kup was even older, grumpier, and more practical than Ratchet, which was something that Optimus would have considered impossible before hearing it for himself. Kup had trained half of the senior officers in the guard at one time or another, and was more than happy to spend hours talking about the Bad (but exciting) Old Days.
He had agreed to referee, and had also been thoughtful enough to program the training weapons fabricator to create base metal dummies of Optimus's axe and Megatron's swords. Optimus had decided not to ask why Kup had the specs for Magatron's weapons handy.
The training weapons were the standard blunt edged versions, meant to cut down on post-training trips to the med bay or accidental limb removal. When Optimus had been in training, his sergeant had told them it was to keep them from "cutting off their own fool heads." Megatron looked pleased when Kup handed his over with a curt nod. He spun the dummy weapons expertly, probably testing the balance.
The crowd looked a bit alarmed, but not too much more than they had earlier. Megatron ignored them all with a supremely self-confidant air of unconcern. Optimus was impressed. He didn't think he would be that calm if he was in a room filled with enemy mechs. He decided that he wanted to achieve that level of poise someday, and wondered privately if there were tutorials available on the infonet.
Well, he would just have to work with what he had available at the moment. He had allies in the room, and he had Megatron. Studying that mech would probably count as a master-course in confident bearing.
Hopefully Sentinel would keep his distance. He'd rather do this without a lot of (probably insulting) commentary from the carbon crisp gallery. Besides, he didn't entirely trust Sentinel to not do something stupid and give Megatron another opportunity to see if Primes bounced.
They circled, clashed, and circled again. Optimus deployed his grapplers, and Megatron took to the air to avoid them. The Prime was in fine form, despite his recent time spent pouring over historical documents instead of training.
Not that Megatron exactly blamed him for doing research. The younger mech was wise enough to know he was in over his helm, and was hitting the infonet to find out what he didn't know. It was actually quite laudable.
He dodged a swing with the axe. The Autobot had improved a very great deal since their first encounter, and in truth, he had been no rust-jointed drone then, either. His form was good, and had more than a hint of that trademark Cyber Ninja flowing grace to it. Somewhere along the line, he had picked up a fine array of tactics for fighting a lager, heavier opponent.
Of course, Megatron still had mass, reach, and of course, experience, age and treachery on his side. The little Prime had a long way to go before he was a match for that. He feinted with one sword and brought his other blade in for a stab at the vulnerable abdominal components to the left of the spark. His opponent managed to block the blow, but the force of it badly jarred his lighter frame.
It was almost too bad he wasn't a little bigger. The mech was clever, fast, and fought with a certain panache, but he would definitely be more of a challenge if he had greater mass. Not that Megatron was bored. This was most entertaining. The Prime was also giving his comrades a good show, which was undoubtedly the point of this whole exercise. Hopefully the winner of this little bout would get to spar the braver onlookers. He hadn't been given an order to throw the match, and his opponent had neither the Magnus hammer nor flight capability, so it was a foregone conclusion.
There- the smaller mech over-extended, and he had an opening. Megaron locked the axe with one of his weapons, and then disarmed his opponent with a twist of his wrist. A shoulder strike into his torso, and he went tumbling to the mats, one of Megatron's swords aimed for his spark.
"Time!" Shouted the relic who was proctoring the match. There was something strangely familiar about that mech. He would have to search his archives for information later.
Megaton pointed his practice blades at the floor and stood back, allowing his Prime to gracefully roll to his stabilizers.
He glanced at their audience. They were surrounded by a ring of wide blue optics, quite a few of whom were looking at the young Prime with considerable respect. There were more than a few apprehensive glances in his direction as well. Understandable, though a little sparring bout didn't provide much in the way of loopholes to his prohibition on harming Autobots. The programming understood "training" just fine, and he wanted to be allowed to do this often.
Their time stood at almost five Earth minutes. He had destroyed squadrons in less. The Prime was an excellent warrior for someone so young and small, and he had just showed it in front of an audience.
Hmph. Mission presumably accomplished.