Chapter 16
Megatron had woken easily and stretched luxuriously in the wide berth. The sun's light was streaming in the windows and warming his plating. He felt good this sol. He was alone in the room, and decided that the best policy was to avoid peering too deeply into his feelings about that. It was undoubtedly for the best. Certainly not disappointing. At all.
Something was bothering his neck cabling, so he reached up to scratch…and encountered the collar.
That brought him back to reality in a hurry. Unicron smelt them all. How could he allow himself to succumb to comfort and complacency in such circumstances? A wave of shame and self-disgusted anger flooded his mind. He would be slagged if he allowed himself to be made into a pet, happy for his master's attention.
He was Megatron, the slagmaker, the scourge of the elite, the leader of the Decepticons. He must not allow himself to be domesticated by some Academy washout with a gentle touch and a penchant for cuddling. All of Diamondsinger's cruelty had not broken him, he would not surrender to the little Prime's kindness.
Though…perhaps he could turn the other mech's softer instincts to his advantage. There was nothing wrong with using his master's weaknesses to manage him, after all. He just had to avoid letting himself be lulled into a false sense of security, or to allow his instincts to make him feel genuine loyalty to his Autobot master. He must never forget that they were on opposite sides of the war.
Megatron realized that he was absently clawing at the collar, and made himself stop. An EMP burst to his helm was not something he needed right now. If he triggered the defense mechanism designed to keep him from removing the cursed thing, he would probably wind up a twitching pile of metal on the floor. Probably for hours. The Autobot security techs didn't fool around.
He forced himself to get up and face the sol. No reason to sit here wallowing, just because he was wearing a slave collar and had let his master cuddle him. Things could be much, much, worse, after all.
The small red mech looked across the table at his compatriot, his faceplates set in a grave expression.
"You're sure?" He asked the blue and white Autobot. The other was, as usual, painstakingly well polished, his paint bright and his armor shiny. The winged sigil on his chest was crisply delineated against the background color. Really, he was about the opposite of what most bots outside the business would expect of a spy who specialized in stealth operations.
He was good at what he did, though.
The mech nodded. "Yes sir. At first I thought he was just another clone, but either it's the galaxy's best fake, or it's him. Which is impossible, of course."
Cliffjumper scowled. "Apparently not. Optimus's team must have made a mistake, and that winged fragger must have been only mostly offline." Both helms turned towards the projection screen. The image thereon was unmistakable, right down to the arrogant smirk. The source of that smirk still being online and loose in the universe was a giant pain in all their afts, and dangerous to boot.
"Fraggit." Mirage said feelingly. "I'd take a squad of regular Decepticons over one Starscream any sol. Especially if he's powered by Allspark shards. Those fraggers are nigh unkillable, from what I've heard."
"Have you found his base of operations?" asked the red mech. His informant shook his head, looking doleful. "No sir." He answered. "It should be easy, but the native lifeforms use a huge amount of power, and a lot of different types of communications. Plus he can hide among those drones they use. He's found the perfect planet to hide on."
Unsaid was the fact that Mirage had little background in dealing with alien worlds. It was not his specialty, to put it mildly. He was a mech who went unseen among other mecha, not a xeno specialist. On a mission requiring stealth and a thorough understanding of Cybertronian political infighting, he was a terrific operative.
Unfortunately the backwater planet where Starscream had been spotted required an entirely different skill set. They needed a specialist in organics and/or a subject matter expert for Earth. Since Longarm's betrayal had come to light, the Intelligence Division was short on trustworthy field operatives, and this was important. That slagging seeker could rally the Decepticons around him, given a chance. If they didn't find a way to stop him.
Cliffjumper irritably rubbed at a sensor horn. Using the correct tool for the job was a vital part of being the head of Autobot Intelligence. Mirage was unquestionably the wrong tool in this situation, but the problem was, he didn't have the right tool. He needed some mechs who knew Earth, knew Decepticons, and ideally, had encountered Starscream before.
If only he had mechs with that kind of experience…
Wait a click. He might not have them in his division right now, but it wasn't like they didn't exist. He just needed access to them. And as fortune would have it, there was a completely qualified Prime in the city right now who was sidelined for political reasons. He might need to pull some cables to get Optimus and his team, but Cliffjumper knew where enough of the offlined shells were buried to make it happen.
The Decepticon general bowed her helm over the report. An entire team of cytologists had hacked the information that Thunderblast had liberated from the stronghold of the accursed Autobots. It had been overkill, as the records had little more protection than was usually given to medical information (either their enemies had grown careless, or they wanted her mecha to know) but there had been many volunteers. She had not the spark to turn down any of the Ops personnel who asked to help.
The news was not good.
Her leader, the Great Megatron, the Liberator of the War Built Cybertronians, was trapped.
She and her advisers had hoped and prayed to Primus that their lord's keeper was a poor match. She would have seen to it that the Autobot's spark was snuffed out before he could do their beloved leader any further harm. Rumor and intel suggested that he was an honorable mech, so it would have been a clean, merciful kill.
But this…It was very nearly the worst possible news.
The Prime had been chosen as much for spark compatibility as for any other trait, and the two of them were such a match that assassinating the mech was a terrible option. Besides that, to make matters even worse, he had defeated Lord Megatron in combat shortly before their forced bonding. That would have primed their leader to accept the binding. The butchering of his programming would have been easy for the filthy lackeys of the Autobot High Council.
Strika fought back a keen.
Just because their easiest option was gone did not mean that they were beaten. She had her orders, to take command and carry on the fight. All was not lost. There were still options, and perhaps this Autobot Prime could be turned to their side. Spark compatibility had always been a double edged sword for mecha who dabbled in slaving, after all. Or, he could be taken and imprisoned somewhere his voice could never reach Lord Megatron.
The reports indicated that the Prime had protested the bond, had not wanted to take their lord as a slave. Hopefully that was true. She would prefer that her beloved Leader's captor was a good mech, if they could not free him without risk of damaging him beyond repair.
There was a polite ping to her comm. frequency, and she sent a command to open the door to her office. The lithe form of the Decepticon she had summoned stepped through the portal.
A strange one, this. But she had an intimate knowledge of the Autobots and had gone to their Academy in Iacon, even. And such converts were always unwavering in their hatred of those who had spurned them. Besides, this particular femme was nearly invisible to most security sensors, her organic side as good as any stealth technology for infiltrating automated guards.
"Blackarachnia. You are ready for your mission?" Strika asked.
Optimus decided that the two of them had been cooped up for too long. He was starting to really miss having a job to do. At least as part of a space bridge repair crew, he had something to occupy himself. Having "learn to coexist with Megatron" as a goal was all well and good, but he wanted to do something with some kind of visible results. Or at least a change of scene.
Too bad they couldn't just grab Omega and bridge back to Earth for some therapeutic time spent repairing things. That would be so much more relaxing than his current circumstances. Given that they needed to stay on Cyberton for the moment, a field trip was definitely in order. Where to go? He liked visiting with his team onboard Omega Supreme, but he wasn't really in the mood for drama, and he wanted to do something that Megatron would enjoy as well. That ruled out Autobot headquarters and the Citadel, so he'd have to think of something else.
Of course! The Iacon Museum of holography! It was a somewhat old-fashioned art form, but he had always loved it. There was a library, too. Plus it was always peaceful, and there were lots of researchers and scholars and the occasional loafing student there. The paparazzi would never suspect it as a destination. The two of them might need a diversion or something, though...
Megatron had woken up this cycle with approximately the temperament of a bear roused from hibernation in the middle of a blizzard, so keeping him away from the civilian population was definitely the way to go. Odd, he was acting almost…offended.
Optimus put a quick call in to Ratchet. Omega was going to do a nice, easy shakedown flight to test his repairs and stretch his thrusters. The two of them were going to use it for cover on their field trip. No one was going to notice a couple of extra mech sized fliers if a Supreme was going past.
Omega was enthusiastic about the idea. They were going to take a jaunt out to a landing pad up in the Hexalite mountains to the north of the city. It would be a nice change of scene, and give Sari, Bee and Bulkhead a chance to see other parts of Cybertron. Bulkhead and Sari had never been anywhere on the planet except Greater Iacon, since Bulkhead had spent his younger sols on an energon farm on one of their world's moons, and Sari was an alien. Well, more or less. Arcee was apparently from the mountains, and waxed enthusiastic about the area's beauty.
Megatron was in the sitting room, a datapad in hand. His armor gleamed like a finely forged blade.
Optimus leaned against the door frame, body language deliberately casual. "I thought we might take a flight today." He said.
The craggy head rose, scarlet optics focusing on him. Megatron didn't smile, but he didn't look displeased, either. "Are we going to your headquarters?" he inquired. "Perhaps another sparring session? Or have they finally called you back into active duty?"
If only. Optimus shook his head. "No, and I have a different destination in mind at the moment. I haven't been there since I was in the Academy."
They escaped the building with a minimum of fuss, soaring easily over the city while the populace was distracted. A few cameras probably caught them on their way up and out, but nowhere near the storm of attention that they had encountered on other occasions.
The museum seemed a bit smaller and shabbier than he remembered, but it was still lovely and peaceful. Optimus immediately set out for the entrance. He started into the building, only to realize that Megatron wasn't following. He stopped and looked at the big mech questioningly. "Is something wrong?" He asked.
The Decepticon shook his helm. "I-no." He said. "This place seems familiar. I have never been to a holography museum here in Iacon, however." He was frowning as he looked around. "Of course, the city has changed a very great deal since I was here last."
"This was one of my favorite places to visit, back when I was in the Academy." Optimus said, taking one of Megatron's arms to tow him towards the front desk. "It's got all sorts of lovely art work, and a lot of historical artifacts, too. Of course, at the time I liked it as much because the courtyards were such peaceful places to spend time studying. My suitemates tended to be on the loud side." He was aware that his voice had taken on an excited lilt, and made an effort to quash it. No need to seem like a total nerd in front of the Decepticon commander, after all. Even if they were recharging together these sols.
They approached the reception desk, and Optimus purchased two passes. There were a couple of bots there, though one was more than enough for the job. Probably volunteers. This museum was a pretty minor one, and didn't have a lot of funds or staff. One of them was a tall, sleek femme with a look and paint job that were either really convincingly retro, or genuinely antique. She looked up when they entered, and her optics went perfectly round in shock. The other was weathered, early model mech who looked alarmed, then furiously angry when his optics lighted on Megatron.
Optimus ignored the reactions. His official personal policy was to act like having a giant, glowering Decepticon war machine following him around was perfectly normal. It wasn't as if every mech on Cybertron (and probably all of the colonies and moon bases) didn't know about the arrangement, after all.
He led the way towards his favorite part of the museum, the courtyard. Much as he missed Earth, there were wonderful things about being back on Cyberton. Fitting in all the buildings, for one thing. This one was old, and the doorways easily accommodated Megatron, which was also nice. Come to think of it, all the city's older buildings seemed to have been designed with larger frame types in mind.
He made a mental note to look that up.
Megatron allowed the smaller mech to tow him into the slightly shabby edifice without protest. Obviously his Prime had been getting truly stir crazy, if he found this place so exciting. He didn't even seem to notice that he had hold of Megatron's arm.
So far, there had been a few nice pieces, in the entry chambers and hallway, but nothing extraordinary… Then they entered a brighter, less confined space, and he caught his venting. What an unexpectedly pleasant surprise. It was a lovely sun filled courtyard, bordered by elegant, columned porches shading comfortable looking seats, both benches and chairs with small tables. There was a central sculpture depicting two beings fighting. They were obviously stylized, but still recognizable.
It was a scene that used to appear regularly in popular art and the finer works as well, though it seemed to have been mostly forgotten among the Autobots of today, displaced in favor of works showing Ultra Magnus or others of his ilk fighting Decepticons. It was Prima doing battle with a trio of Quintessons (who were out of scale. The Quints' power came from their slaves and pets, not their physical prowess) and obviously winning.
The bright coppery color seemed more luminous than Megatron would have expected, until he realized that the piece was also a fountain. It was continuously coated by a sheen of liquid that pooled in a square basin beneath the sculpted scene. Surrounding it was a small but obviously meticulously tended patch of delicately striated metalolilies, a plant that he had assumed long extinct.
What a lovely place. He shot a sideways look at his Prime. The younger mech was smiling and relaxed.
"I think the courtyard as a whole is a piece of artwork", the tricolored mech said. "It's got such harmony, don't you think? Plus, the statue is amazing. It's supposed to be of Prima, but of course no one knows what he actually looked like. That's how I always picture him now, though."
Megatron approached the statue in its reflecting pool, circling it to see the warrior mech's face. Recognition hit him like a blow to the hydraulics. "Steelstong would have been happy to have one of his code-decedents associate him with such an illustrious figure." He said, still staring up at the unexpectedly familiar features.
Big blue optics looked at him in puzzlement. "Who?" Asked the young Autobot. "You… knew the model for the statue?"
Megatron's lips quirked in a small smile. "Oh yes." He said, reaching out to gently touch a sculpted servo, forever clenched around the hilt of a long, straight blade. "Steelstrong was a general in the last war against the Quintessons. I served under him in several campaigns. He was a brave, talented commander and an excellent leader. We all thought very highly of him."
"What happened to him?" his Prime asked, optics wide and fascinated.
"He died honorably in combat." Megatron answered quietly. "I am glad that he did not see what became of his comrades in arms after the wars were over and Cybertron's greatest foes were vanquished. Though, it is quite possible that with him as our leader in the times that followed, things might have been…different."
Optimus was fascinated by Megatron's reaction to the sculpture, with its portrait of a long offline commander. He had always associated Megatron with historical events, but for some reason he had never really thought too much about conflicts prior to the Great War with the Decepticons. Lately, he had been researching the social and legal framework directly before Megatron's original uprising, but that had been mostly centered around the use of slave coding.
"I know you served against the Quintessons," he said. "But what did you do afterward?"
"Hmmmm?" Megatron said, still studying the sculpture. "I attempted a civilian life, for a time. It didn't go well."
"What do you mean?" Optimus asked. He didn't want to be pushy or infringe on Megatron's privacy, but this was fascinating. It wasn't every day that you got an eyewitness account of major historical events. Especially if the most senior bots you knew never talked about the things he had seen. Not that he blamed Ratchet, as he had obviously had a difficult existence, but he was always curious about this sort of thing…
Scarlet optics glanced at him. "I had civilian occupation for a time, then found myself immersed in what you might call political activism. We very foolishly thought that there was some possibility of reform from within. I was a naïve little fool back then."
Optimus attempted to picture Megatron in a civilian occupation, and came up completely blank. He had to ask; "What kind of job?"
Gray lips smiled a little, though there was a touch of bitterness in the expression. "Construction, then mining. It became less and less possible to live and work as a military build, and I found myself back in the military, and dabbling in politics and a growing protest movement. Eventually, it became a hotbed of political dissent. Unfortunately, the rulers of the day found us and our methods…objectionable."
"Is that when you started the rebellion?" asked Optimus.
"Hm? No, that did not happen until later, truthfully. It was a long, slow decent into the chaos that later became armed revolt. First I was imprisoned for disruption of the peace and rabble rousing. The council and the Magnus considered the war builds and our allies a threat, and treated us as such." The gray mech answered. He turned his face up towards the bright light streaming down from above. "We were denied the opportunity to meet, to speak to those in power. Eventually they began using the Slave Coding. We suffered. Then we made war."
Those words were said in such a flat, matter of fact tone that Optimus almost missed their true meaning. He shuddered. The Great War that had devastated their world and its population, and which persisted even today. In this serene setting, watching the big Decepticon practically bask in the solar warmth, it almost seemed like a foreign concept, not a death and energon struggle they were still engaged in.
"There must have been another way, besides that." He said quietly. "We're all Cybertronians, and our sparks are from the same source."
Megatron looked down at him. "We had little choice, if we wanted to be free." He said. "As I said, things might have been different, if the Magnus or the Council had been better, nobler. Or if Steelstrong had been there to lead us."
Optimus heard the soft scuff of stabilizing servos approaching them across the flagstones of the courtyard, but it was just one of the museum volunteers. He started to return his attention to his Decepticon, when he felt a charge in the air. Something…wasn't right…
"What would have made a real difference is some Bot doing the Universe a favor and ending your miserable existence, you murdering scum!" Screamed the antique looking mech from the front desk. He had a gun in his arms, something ornate that looked at least as old as he was.
Then he opened fire. Both of them sprang away from the target area, reflexes honed in battle letting them take evasive action before higher functions even registered. Optimus hit the ground and rolled, and Megatron dodged and sprang into the air. Was this one of those assassination attempts that everyone had been fretting about?
Wait, the mech wasn't focused on him at all. He was trying offline Megatron, not Optimus.
"Monster! You killed them all! My squad, and you and your filthy con war machines tore them apart!" shrieked the mech from the desk as he brought the heavy (it was far too large and heavy for his frame) weapon around to follow Megatron's dodging. "But now I'll finally see justice for Bolts and ZoomZoom and Wrench!"
Optimus wasn't going to let some crazy senior citizen with a gun stolen from an exhibit offline his charge anytime in this functioning. He threw himself at the would-be assassin, who continued to shriek epithets at Megatron, who probably would have ground him into paste already under normal circumstances. Currently unarmed and unsure just how much violence his code would allow, the Decepticon was wisely taking evasive action.
The bot fought him, but Optimus was larger, stronger (he wasn't an antique, after all) and had recent combat experience. He managed to wrestle the weapon away, and trussed the other Autobot up with his grappler cables.
The mech shrieked, struggling futilely. "No! He killed my friends! They were only newbies! None of us had even seen combat yet, and they just rolled over us! The council should have offlined him when you captured him, not let him wander free among decent Autobots! Let me go and I can finally end this!" He looked like he was going to wrench his own joints out of their sockets, he was fighting the bonds so hard.
Optimus grabbed him and hauled him away from the discarded weapon. He could hear running pede-falls, probably the Autotroopers, or whatever passed for security here. Hopefully not more volunteers with traumatically violent pasts. He spared a glance at his Decepticon, and saw that while Megatron had obviously been hit, he didn't appear to have taken any serious damage. His armor had undoubtedly been upgraded a lot since whatever antique this fool had found to use in his assassination attempt had been built. He was just standing there, staring at his would-be extinguisher.
The bot sagged in his bonds, almost seeming to crumple in on himself. Oily tears began welling from the old mech's optics, and Optimus simply didn't know what to do. It was spark wrenching to witness another's despair like this. This mech had just tried to kill his…Megatron, but it wasn't like he himself hadn't nearly done the same thing only a short time ago.
Of course, the Decepticon had been actively trying to offline him at the time, not quietly discussing history in a garden. He wasn't going to let some random bot murder him, past deeds or no.
"I'm very sorry for your loss." Optimus said quietly. "But I cannot let you murder him. He's a prisoner of war, and my responsibility. Besides which, gunning down a mech in cold hydraulics is never the answer. I'm going to call the police, and they're going to take you down to the local station…"
"No." Rumbled Megatron. "It was an honest attempt on my life, with a perfectly reasonable motive. It is futile to engage the so-called Autobot justice system in this. This mech failed in his purpose, and owes me a debt." He hesitated slightly. "Or in some viewpoints, he owes you one. If he refrains from further attempts, I see no reason to pursue punishment."
He squatted down, bringing himself almost optic level with Optimu's prisoner. "I sympathize with your loss, but it was war, and mechs die in wars. I bore your friends no personal animus, and you must let go of yours. It is futile now, as I am caught by your faction, when I would have preferred offlining."
The old mech stared up at him. "Th…That's not a sentiment Id'a expected from a con like you." He rasped.
That bitter, lip component quirking smile was back. "I am not surprised. To you and your kind, we are nothing but tools for waring, turned against the servos that wielded us." Megatron said. "Master, it is time to go. I suggest we disable this weapon first, before someone is damaged with it."
A/N: Big thanks to Darth Krande for the beta reading and editing on this! She pointed out various things that I was forgetting or contradicting myself on.
The courtyard in this chapter is totally based on the one at the main branch of the Boston Public Library. I totally recommend stopping in if you're ever in town. Er, the statue is a dancing Maenad with a baby and a bunch of grapes, not Prima fighting Quintessons though.^_^.