Chapter 17
Thanks for the reviews everyone! Also, I don't own, no money is being made, Property of Hasbro, etc, etc. All this is just for my twisted amusement.
Also, I got a question about what Ultra Magnus was doing during Megatron's first enslavement and the subsequent Decepticon Uprising. He wasn't the Magnus yet. His rank was something like a lieutenant, and he was a loyal soldier troubled by what was happening to his former comrades, but he didn't join the rebellion. Thanks to Darth Krande for the beta read!
Megatron's attacker had been taken into Autotrooper custody awaiting a hearing, which Megatron had declined to participate in. Irritatingly enough, he was being incessantly questioned on his reasons. First, the surprisingly nice young mech in charge of the Autotrooper unit, and now this.
"Are you sure that you don't want to press charges?" his Prime asked. Again. "If you don't, they're going to let him off with just a fine for swiping that weapon from the archives and firing it in a public place"
Megatron sighed. Frag, he was actually going to have to explain himself, or the Autobot would never stop nagging.
"In truth, I did not mind very much" said Megatron. "It was not treachery, only an attempt at honest combat. He tried to end my life stream with the best means at his disposal. It felt…almost normal, compared to my experiences of late. Something I could avoid, or fight."
"Sometimes having a nice straightforward battle just seems easier, even if you get hurt." Optimus agreed. "But that's not all, is it?"
Megatron glanced at the smaller mech in surprise. Obviously his Prime had more hidden depths than he had originally thought. Perhaps the naïveté was an act? He studied the big blue optics and gentle expression. Probably not. That didn't make the younger mech a fool, though.
"You have been studying the laws from the time of slavery." He said. It wasn't a question. The Prime hadn't exactly been subtle about hitting the net for information.
"The…yes. Yes I have. I didn't want to encounter any more nasty surprises that I could avoid." Answered the Autobot.
"You are aware that enslaved mecha do not have all of the rights and privileges normally accorded to sentient, sapient beings?"
"Well…yes. But what does that have to do with not pressing charges? That mech tried to murder you in cold energon!"
Megatron sighed again. His Autobot wasn't getting it. "By the ancient laws, you could sue him for property damage. He did not attack a mech, a free Cybertonian, he attacked your personal property. If this accursed code is used on others, I want modern legal precedent established when the accuser is some sweet looking young jetbot or Autobot soldier, not the Slagmaker himself. I am not going to be a sympathetic figure to any legal body in this system. I want your court systems to decide that the old laws are hopelessly antiquitated and barbaric, and ignore the precedents from back then."
"But…" the Prime began.
Megatron frowned at him. "Yes, all this assumes that other mecha will have the slave coding used on them. Probably Autobots. I will admit that I have an undoubtedly futile hope that your Council has not become so mad with corruption, but I am not counting on it, and I have always been a great believer in planning ahead. If I am the one attempting to charge a free mech with assaulting me, your judicial system will most likely simply look up the old laws and apply them. If it is someone more sympathetic, like a nice young jetbot from the Elite Guard, there would be enough political fallout amongst the general population to force some changes."
His Prime stared at him, horror written all across his faceplates. Those lush lips were parted, the optics wide. Apparently this had never occurred to him. That was strangely adorable…
…His Autobot Master was not adorable.
"They are not going to use that code on Jetfire and Jetstorm!" The Prime exclaimed. "They're loyal Autobots! The populace would never stand for it. The Elite Guard would never stand for it! I know you think our entire government is evil and corrupt, but you're wrong about this!"
"Perhaps, Little Prime." Megatron said. "Nevertheless, I do not wish to take that risk with the potential futures of other enslaved mechs. Not all of them will be lucky in their masters."
Sari dreamed of wings. Again.
Metal wings and ice, and cold. Something trapped and still that should be alive and moving and vibrant.
There was something lost, that needed to be found, and two transformers that needed to be reunited.
More wings, a flock of them, swirling down together, like one being with many bodies. One of the flying mecha pulled away from the group, to greet a large green form…
There was also a big gold room with arches and carvings and lots and lots of mechs with blue swirls all over them.
Her eyes opened, and from the quality of the light, she could tell they were glowing. It was weird to have her own face be a light source like that. She growled, and thunked her…helm against the wall. "For cryin out loud." She said to the empty air. "Ratchet told me he'd take me to the Allspark Temple in a couple of days. We're on vacation right now. Kind of. Can't you wait?"
This cryptic slag was getting way past old. What she needed in the meantime was a ninjabot. Fortunately, she knew just where to find one. As soon as they got back to the city, she was going to go grab Jazz and get him to make with the wisdom-y stuff. She wished Prowl was here. He was good at this kind of thing, and she missed him.
He really shouldn't enjoy being fussed over and pampered by his Autobot master, especially over such pathetically minor injuries. On the other servo, practically any mech would like having someone like the Prime gently smoothing polish into his armor. Besides, it was practically a ritual for them at this point. Megatron was stretched out on his front, with his Prime working on the overlapping plating of his back and shoulders.
As near as he could tell, the Autobot found it soothing to detail him. The mech seemed to like having something to do with his servos, so buffing Megatron to a glossy finish was…relaxing for him. Or something. Whatever. He was hardly going to complain about it, given that it had become blindingly obvious that this particular Autobot was not threat to anyone not attacking him or his companions. If he ever won free of his slave coding, Megatron would have to find a way to keep him around. He was a decent fighter, too. Especially for a member of his weakling faction. He had taken out that erstwhile would-be assassin and barely gotten scuffed.
The Prime ex-vented softly. "Well, today could have gone better." He said ruefully.
Megatron cracked open an optic and craned his neck around to check the younger mech's expression. "True." He agreed. "But it also could have been much, much worse." His Prime was feeling guilty and responsible, obviously. "I have a request." Megatron murmured. "It appears that situations like today may be somewhat common in the future, and while this was a merely a minor inconvenience, it could have been far more serious. The attacker could have been more competent, or more powerful. There could have been several. Having my weapons restored to me would be highly beneficial in such a case."
The servos went still on his plating. There was a long silence in the quiet room.
"I, I'll…think about it, Megatron." The mech said finally.
The Prime was quiet for the rest of the sol, and Megatron didn't push. Anxious as he was to get weapons back (he felt like he was missing integral parts, without them) he didn't want to seem too eager. No need to make the Autobot wonder what he planned to do once he was properly armed again.
That night, he didn't fuss when his master curled up beside him on the berth. He simply stretched out on the soft surface, studying the younger mech as he recharged. A pretty thing, and wise for his age. He was teachable, but Megatron would have to be extremely subtle about it. Not what he would have expected at all, when he first found himself in this situation.
Nevertheless, he would find a way to win in the end. He had prevailed in far worse conditions, after all.
Blacharachnia swung into the window, a darker shape against the sky, where the lights of Iacon reflected on the low hanging clouds. She landed silently, her half-organic systems allowing her to move far more quietly than any normal Cybertonian.
She had come reluctantly, on General Strika's orders. Besides the risk, being back in this city brought back memories she would rather avoid, if possible.
Speaking of memories…she spotted a holo in a frame that was hung on the wall of the empty berthroom she was in. It was a familiar image, given that she had a copy herself. Probably she should have erased it long ago, but nostalgia was one of her weaknesses. She didn't want to forget that she had been a real Cybertronian once, before she gained her current monstrous form.
It was a picture of three young Academy trainees, bright and shiny with new Autobot brands. They had their arms around each other's shoulders, smiling and happy. She kind of wanted to slap some sense into the three of them.
Too late for that now, of course. She resisted the urge to bash the picture-Sentinel's face in. Now was no time for petty histrionics. She had a job to do, and needed to do it and get the frag off planet before she was captured and dissected in some laboratory pit hole somewhere.
Now, where were the occupants of this (very nice) apartment? From the few personal objects scattered about, she would have expected this to be Optimus's room. Here he wasn't, though.
Strika and the others had worried (aloud, and at great length) about Optimus taking advantage of having a mech slave-bound to him, but she honestly couldn't picture that goody-two-pedes doing any such thing. Sentinel, maybe, but Optimus? Not likely. Of course, it wouldn't be the first time one of her former companions had seriously surprised and disappointed her.
She mentally pictured Optimus and Megatron in a berth together. That was actually…kind of hot. Still, if someone was going to be the aggressor in that dynamic, she had a really hard time believing that it would be Optimus.
Obviously, she would have to go and see for herself. She decided to travel along the ceiling in her altmode, to better avoid detection from any security systems that might notice a strange biped. A quick search of the apartment's common rooms showed no occupants, which left…the master berthroom.
They hadn't even bothered to close the door, so she peaked in from her ceiling vantage point. There was Megatron, lounging on the berth like he owned the place, one arm behind his helm while the other servo held a softly glowing datapad. He was smirking. He also looked shiny and well maintained. How typical. His mechs were tying their processors into knots with anxiety over him and he looked like he had just come from a nice spa and was letting his polish set.
But where was Optimus?
She shifted a bit, and with the different angle, she could see that her former teammate was actually occupying the other side of the berth, curled up by Megaton's side like…like some kind of pet or something. Asleep, with the leader of the fragging Decepticons in his berth! She wasn't sure if she should be applauding his initiative or storming over and punching him in the faceplates. Or staging an intervention! What on Cybertron could that idiot be thinking!
Well, she supposed it was possible that he was taking advantage of Megatron…She looked at the expression and body language of the warlord in question…but she really kind of doubted it.
Well, she did have a job to do, and it would probably let her find out what the frag was going on with Optimus and Megatron, so she might as well get to it. She nudged the door, making it swing gently open the rest of the way.
A disturbed air current was what first alerted Megatron to the fact that they weren't alone.
Another assassination attempt? That was fast. Of course, he might not be the target this time. So much for the vaunted security in this building. He wished he had his cannon, or at least his swords. This state of being unarmed was profoundly unnatural and inconvenient.
Someone was at the door. He feigned nonchalance…and suddenly sprang at the intruder in the doorway, claws extended. Nothing…no. The attacker was above! He threw himself sideways, but not soon enough to avoid a shot of…webbing? His arm was stuck to the doorframe. Frag it, this wouldn't be a problem if he only had his fusion cannon!
He was vaguely aware that his Prime had just jerked awake and rolled out of the berth, grabbing his axe from subspace, when something whistled past, and the mech made an odd sound. He jerked his head around and saw a strange dart protruding from silvery neck cables. And the young Autobot was staring at the ceiling, which was occupied by a giant spider.
"Elita?" he said softly. "What are you…" then, the Prime crumpled to the floor.
Megatron snarled, tearing at the webbing with his claws.
"Lord Megatron!' it said. "I'm here to speak to you! On General Strika's orders!" This last was said as Megatron got loose from the web and wheeled to find his target.
The spider dropped to the floor, unfolding into a female shape as it went. Megatron checked his lunge, recognizing a familiar (and somewhat creepy, particularly in the low light) set of multiple scarlet optics. Also a Decepticon symbol. Mustn't forget the important things.
"What did you do to the Prime?" he demanded. Definitely not dead, or in any particular distress, but out cold. He knew what Blackarachnia's venom could do, when she really put her mind to it, so this could still be an attempt to assassinate one or both of them. For all he knew, Starscream had survived Earth and they were allied.
The spider looked faintly surprised. "Optimus is just knocked out. I can't very conduct a debriefing for Decepticon command with a Prime listening in." She said, crossing her mechanoid arms and affecting a nonchalant posture. "Orders. And besides, he's not such a bad sort, for an Autobot."
Megatron narrowed his optics. "Just how much did you give him?'
The spider femme shrugged. She was looking amused, frag her. "Enough to overcome his partial immunity." She said. "He encountered it enough times back on Earth that he'll probably shake it off faster than normal, too." She smirked at him. "You sound concerned, oh mighty Megatron. Worried that your pet will be damaged?"
He growled. Impertinent femme. Why were none of his scientists properly deferential? First Starscream, and now this. Perhaps it was somehow contagious. "I have plans for the Prime." He said coolly. "He recognized you, called you another name. You were a Prime-tracked Autobot before you joined us. Do you perhaps have something to share?"
Ah. Judging from the spider-femme's expression, there was something to that. He decided to get it out of his Prime later, though. Contact with his Decepticons was more important right now than prurient curiosity. He hauled the limp body of the Autobot off the floor and deposited him on the berth. His plating was warm and the colors bright and saturated, so hopefully he would be fine. He removed the dart, careful to avoid the poisoned tip.
"You said Strika sent you." Megatron prompted. He wanted to know how his Decepticons fared, not engage in idle banter. "They need to prioritize retrieving Shockwave, Lugnut and the others, before they wind up in my situation. Is Strika's power base secure?"
Dark purple shoulders shrugged. "From what I can see, they're just carrying on like they did while you were missing after you crashed on Earth. Strika has things under control. She'd like you back, not to mention Lugnut and Shockwave. They're missing a lot of senior mecha at the moment, and the troops seem kind of demoralized and angry that they're not attacking Cybertron and razing this city to the ground to get you back."
The techno-organic femme leaned against the wall, studying him with a somewhat disturbing analytical intensity. "Which leads me to the question, why aren't they working on slagging Optimus and cutting that collar off your neck, instead of all this sneaking around? Mecha kept muttering about you ending up like Starscream, but I basically fail to see how that's a possibility. Unless killing your master would turn you into a screechy seeker with chronic backstabbing syndrome."
Megatron sighed. He appreciated that his generals had wanted to make contact with him as quickly as they could, bus someone really should have explained the facts of life to the messenger. Blacharachnia was a scientist, and therefore naturally curious. That, and she didn't have the galaxy's greatest respect for authority. It was probably more efficient to simply explain things. Besides, being a former Autobot, she was much too young to remember any of this with first-hand knowledge. In fact, she was probably the same age as his little Prime.
"Starscream was one of my earliest followers". He said. "He was brilliant, loyal, a magnificent flier and leader of warriors. He commanded a seeker wing against the Quintessons, and after the war, he went to the science academy. Unfortunately, as prejudice against war builds mounted, his…less than diplomatic nature tended to get the better of him. He joined our movement, and was politically active in our quest for equal status in the civilian government. Eventually, he became a bit too troublesome for the Council of the time to tolerate. Like me, he was arrested on trumped-up charges and made a slave."
He paced a little. It was hard to keep still, on this dark sol where so many things had come full circle. "Unlike mine, his master was not cruel. Instead of a twisted sadist with little to recommend him but political connections, Starscream's chosen master was another scientist. He was a flier too, but not a warrior. His name was Skyfire. I am given to understand that he sought to be Starscream's master in order to protect him. They were…very close.
When many of us were suffering at the hands of the mechs who owned us, Starscream developed a strong and affectionate bond with his master. Unlike most of us, they were aware of each other's emotional states, and as time passed, they could even communicate over the bond. For the two of them, it was something much closer to a True Bond than a slave bond. I experienced no such thing with my own master. At most, I had a vague awareness of his moods, nothing more. I am forever grateful for that fact. He was a truly evil mech."
"What happened?"
"War happened. Those of us not bound with slave coding rose up, fought the military mechs and Guardbots who stayed loyal to the old Magnus and the Council. Then they started systematically killing any mech who was the master of another. I laughed in joy the day I regained my freedom. Starscream…not so much. Skyfire was shot down over an alien world, and Starscream went to pieces. He wasn't the only one. There were a small number of other enslaved war builds who also reacted badly to their masters' deaths. Eventually he seemed to recover, his faculties, but he was never the same again. It was like Skyfire's death stripped the loyalty out of him. Instead of my brilliant and loyal second, he was a scheming, unstable being, almost a parody of his former self.
He was very angry, too. I think on some level he blamed me for his loss. He became less and less stable as time progressed."
"Did you kill Skyfire?" asked Blackarachnia. Her voice was quiet, with none of its usual bitter sarcasm.
"No, but I put the circumstances in place for his death. When my old master was killed, I became the leader of the rebellion again. We used the new technology of transformation to hide in plain sight, to assassinate the rest of the masters, and every single council member that supported using the slave codes."
"I…never knew any of this, back when I was an Autobot." Blackarachnia said softly. She drifted over to the berth, her slender fingers reaching out to touch the Prime's bright armor. "Optimus is more like Skyfire than your master, then."
"Yes, but there is more to it than a master with a compassionate nature. It is a matter of spark resonance. Ours is a close match, and we are compatible on the level of our sparks. There were others who were fond of their masters who did not react like Starscream. The Prime was chosen as my master because our sparks are literally on the same wavelength, or close enough to it. I do not wish to spiral slowly into madness if he is offlined, and at present, my current situation is better than my own death."
"That was one of General Strika's questions for you. If you wanted them to offline him, and take the risk. Or both of you. That was an option too." The spider femme said soberly. "The general asked for instructions, and also offered to try to abduct you both, and lock Optimus away somewhere."
Megatron closed his optics for a moment. "No. I would still be compromised. I cannot lead the Decepticons if I have an unequal spark bond directing my actions. And orders he has already given me will not become invalid just because he is not there to reinforce them. I would be a danger to those around me were I to rejoin my troops in my current state. Strika is in command. She will lead the Decepticons now. Tell her to carry on the fight. And to prioritize getting Shockwave, Lugnut and the others free."
"So there's…nothing we can do?" asked the spider.
Megatron's mouthplates quirked a bit in a wicked little smile. "At the moment, there is little any outside force can do for me. However, that does not render me totally unable to influence events. I have learned a few things over the course of my existence, and I have been in far worse situations than this in my time."
There was a tiny movement from the berth. The Prime would likely regain consciousness soon. "Go." Megatron said. "And tell my General to remember how the poets and musicians of the canyon quarter used to communicate undetected."
"Yes Sir, Lord Megatron." Blackarachnia said, drawing herself into a crisp salute that would have looked at home on any Prime in the Guard.
Then she was gone. After checking to see that the mech on the berth was still unconscious, Megatron poured himself a cube of highgrade and went out on the balcony to brood. He wasn't in the mood to recharge next to an Autobot right now.
Inside the room, one blue optic opened a tiny slit. Well, he thought. That had been interesting.