Good news! I got a promotion! Bad news! I suddenly don't have 8 hours of mindless work answering phones to write! I apologize for how long this update took and wish I could say that they will come faster from now one, but I'm not sure they will. I'll do my best and thank you all for sticking with me!
An anxious silence hung over Charr. With the field cleared, the dead being seen properly to the Well, and the last straggling Decepticons captured or driven away, there wasn't much left to do but wait. As much as Ultra Magnus and the others of the command staff had tried to hide it, rumors of the bomb had spread like rust. No one spoke about it, but the threat was there, clinging to all of them in a way that they couldn't ignore.
As much as Ratchet pretended not to see his chronometer ticking away, he caught himself counting along with it at times. Six joors, three breems and 16 kliks until the day it was supposed to detonate. Ratchet didn't know when it would happen, or even if it would happen, but the thought was a constant presence in the back of his mind. He tried not to dwell, attempting to keep himself as busy as possible, but tasks were getting harder and harder to come by without an enemy present.
Ultra Magnus had ordered the set up of a more permanent base in Charr to keep the Decepticons out and well away from the neighboring citystate of Protihex. It would be fortified and protected—making them able to fight the enemy far easier than it had been in the trenches, if the Cons ever returned. Ratchet's help hadn't been needed now that Pharma had taken over, so he stayed to the sidelines, keeping his optics on Wheeljack and Perceptor and trying to occupy his time elsewhere. That distraction usually came in the form of Ironhide, when the red mech wasn't too busy. He and the rest of the present Wreckers were aiding the process of building the new base before their new assignment came through. And he'd been all too eager to share the news.
"You can't be serious," Ratchet said, his cube of energon frozen halfway to his mouth.
Ironhide smirked. "Dead serious," he said. "We've been assigned to demolish the energon plants in Praxus." He took a long drink of his cube and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's the least we can do. I'll be damned if I'm gonna let the Cons gain even a fraction of their energon from that city after what they did to it. The other half of our group's already there. My CO, Kup—he wanted us to finish the job here before we caught up with them. Now that Charr's been reclaimed, y'all don't need us anymore."
Ratchet set his cube down, no longer hungry. "Ironhide, that's suicide," he said. "Surely your commanding officer sees that?"
Ironhide shook his head. "Kid, I don't think you understand how the Wreckers operate," he said. "It's our job to do the stuff that the rest of the Autobots can't or won't. When everything else fails, we're the ones who go and make it right. It's why some of us were brought to Charr—Ultra Magnus needed the aid. We provided it, though the lotta good it did. We would've failed here if it weren't for yer engineer friend."
Ratchet stared down at his cube, fingers drumming anxiously along the side. "I think you're crazy," he muttered. "All of you."
Ironhide looked at him over his cube, optics hard. "You know… our last medi-bot, mech by the name ah Backdraft, he was recently killed in Charr. I've been on the lookout for a replacement." He let the unsaid question hang.
Ratchet's optics widened, suddenly feeling sick. "Backdraft was your…? No, you can't be asking me… there's no way you're asking me what I think you're asking," he said, a hand going to his helm.
"You know," Ironhide continued, as though he hadn't heard him. "I wouldn't even be bringing you into an active combat zone, so I wouldn't even feel bad about asking a civvie. All you'd need to do is patch us up after our mission's finished. And let's face it, Ratchet," he said, dead serious. "Yeh kinda owe me. You took one of my own. I need another."
Ratchet let out a quiet moan. "Please… Ironhide, I can't go back to Praxus," he begged. "I-I can't. I still have nightmares about that place. Going back, it—it'll-"
"It'll what?" Ironhide said. "No, seriously, tell me. How can the dead hurt you now? You think seein' Praxus again will make the nightmares worse? Make th' pain new again? Well let me tell ya, kid. While you're sittin' here talkin' about nightmares, the Decepticons are using the energon pilfered from Praxus t' help create new ones."
Ratchet's vocals let out an aborted hiss of static as he looked helplessly at the red mech. Ironhide got to his feet, clapping a hand against his back. "We're leaving in 10 joors, as soon as the drop ship gets here. Recharge. I'll find you when it's time."
He grabbed his empty cube and gave him one last, maybe even sympathetic pat on the back before walking out of the mess hall. Ratchet stayed sitting at the table for a long time, mechs coming and going around him with him barely noticing. His cube of energon started to lose its glow, a thin film slowly congealing over the top as it sat, untouched.
A part of him knew he could refuse. He wasn't under orders from anyone—even his charges for the death of Backdraft had been waived due to the aid he'd provided. Ultra Magnus had promised him transportation to Polyhex and it was well within his rights to take it and simply… go. But there was still the guilt that kept him rooted, made him consider. He wasn't sure if he could ever forget the way Backdraft's optics had widened in surprise as his gun had gone off. He'd taken the mech's life by accident, a sheer panic response, but that didn't make the guilt any less prominent.
As much as he wanted to get as far away from Praxus as possible, he knew he had to make this one last trip. He'd see it through to the end, no matter how much it hurt. Carefully, he dipped his finger into his cube and sloughed off the congealed film before forcing himself to take a sip, a silent toast and promise to the mech he had killed.
He got to his feet as he focused on his chronometer once more. Two joors and counting. Primus, what a day.
"Ratchet?"
He looked up, surprised to see that it was Perceptor hovering in the entrance to the mess hall.
"Hey Perce, what's going on?" he asked.
Perceptor hesitated, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "I um… well… Magnus has a live feed from Iacon and near the Rust Sea and I-I feel like I should watch but…" his voice trailed off again, a strange look almost like pleading crossing his face. "I don't want to watch it alone," he said at last.
Ratchet offered a small, commiserating smile. He'd seen glimpses of Perceptor's memories—if anyone could understand what the mech was feeling, it was him. "C'mon, we'll watch it together," he said.
Perceptor's demeanor lost a bit of its tension and he nodded, a hint of a smile flitting over his face before it disappeared. They fell into step beside one another. The sinuous tunnels of Charr stretched out before them like a maze, but their time here had dissolved any uncertainty about what direction they were heading or what turns to take.
Perceptor broke the silence first. "I'm scared," he said quietly. His voice was quiet and in it, Ratchet heard the old Perceptor, the mech far too young to be fighting in a war, let alone harboring so much guilt for something he had so little control over.
Ratchet hesitantly reached out and put his arm around the young mech's shoulders, and to his surprise, Perceptor leaned into him. He gave him a comforting squeeze and murmured, "Me too."
They walked the rest of the way to Ultra Magnus' makeshift office where he, Ironhide and Rung were crammed into the too-small space. Ratchet hesitated at the door, but Ultra Magnus waved them in. "No sign of anything yet," he told them. "All sensors are on high alert."
He and Perceptor squeezed into the small space, moving so they were in view of the screen as well.
"What about the evacuation?" Rung asked quietly.
Ironhide growled. "Lots of folks refused ta relocate. 'Specially the Tower's mechs—they're claiming no Tarnian scientist is smart enough to touch them. Elitist idiots."
Perceptor's optics paled at that and his hand gripped Ratchet's tightly. Ratchet squeezed his hand in return and Rung cleared his throat uncertainly.
"Perceptor, maybe it would be better if you went to the mess hall," he suggested gently.
Perceptor shook his head. "Whatever happens, I want to be here," he said, resolute though Ratchet could feel him starting to shake.
All optics were glued to the screen, watching, waiting, and none of them could miss the distinct sound of sirens as they started to wail through the speakers. Rung sat up a little straighter, Ultra Magnus' grip on his desk tightened and Ironhide's fingers stopped drumming against his arm. Perceptor started shaking harder, his optics wide and pale as he stared at the screen and Ratchet held his hand tightly, offering whatever comfort he could through the contact.
"He caught the coordinate change," Perceptor whispered, his voice hitching.
The sirens lonely wail sent shivers up Ratchet's backstruts and his optics scanned the screen for anything—a spec in the sky, an incoming flyer, something. Every mech in the room jumped as a sudden sheen of light flashed over the city in a dome, strange glyphs registering for just a moment before they were gone, leaving just a faint outline of light behind.
"The frag was that?" Ironhide asked and leaned a little closer to the screen.
There was no chance to reply. None of them saw where it came from, no black speck on the high definition screen to indicate where it had originated. One second, the Iacon skyline was there, the next, flames and swirling plumes of liquid hot plasma were curling out, obscuring the sight of the city in a massive cloud, brightening the murky sky.
Perceptor let out a quiet cry, somewhere in between pain and disbelief. Ratchet stared at the screen in shock, a strange numbness creeping through his limbs.
"Oh Primus," Rung whispered, one hand covering his mouth.
Ultra Magnus frowned and tapped a few commands on his console. "Something's off," he said. "I'm still getting radio chatter from Iacon HQ."
Perceptor stood, leaning over the blue and red mech as the plumes from the bomb started to clear. As the haze faded, the skyline of Iacon reappeared, perfectly intact and surrounded by a dome of wavering light. "Oh Primus," Perceptor whispered, optics wide. "Can you zoom in?"
Ultra Magnus tapped a command that made the camera focus closer on the city. Orange glyphs skittered over the city, reacting to the plumes of smoke that brushed against it, the only remains the bomb had left behind. A force field, but like none Ratchet had ever seen, entombed the city in its soft, protective light.
"Those symbols… they're in the Primal Vernacular," Perceptor said, his voice echoing how stunned they all felt. "It has to be a remnant of Old Iacon—some sort of city wide protection. The likes of it haven't been seen since before the Metrotitans disappeared. It… it's ancient."
Ultra Magnus waved a hand to quiet him, one finger on his audio as he listened to the radio waves. "Whatever it is, it worked," he said. "The city is safe—troops are being deployed to the outskirts. They're going to pass through the force field to see if it's safe and check for casualties who weren't within the field."
Perceptor put a hand to his head and Ratchet put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "How? I wasn't even aware Iacon had a protection system. How were they able to activate it?"
Ultra Magnus shrugged and instead of guessing, he patched his comm. with the console, letting the radio chatter flow out from the speakers. Voices overlapped but the comm. mech sorted them out well enough to be able to hear individual reports.
"Sectors 7, 8 and 9, clear."
"The Towers are clear."
"The effects of the bomb have passed—the city is clear outside of the force field."
"A group of bottom feeders got hit though—they've been scorched dry. I've never seen anything like it."
"Bring them back to HQ. I want to know exactly how this weapon operated."
"Radio contact to Iacon HQ's been reestablished. Prowl, sir, what was that?"
The chatter quieted as though every mech was waiting for an explanation. A voice answered, and judging by his tone, the chaos around him hadn't affected him in the slightest. "We activated a security system from Old Iacon. It was found in the catacombs under the city."
"Catacombs?"
"New Iacon is built on top of Old Iacon—there's a whole labyrinth under the city."
"Yeah, didn't you pay attention to history downloads?"
"How did you find something like that? This is like… Prima era technology."
"You can thank an archivist," the mech named Prowl said.
"An archivist?"
"Seriously?"
"Yes. He found the records of the force field and deciphered it enough to unlock it. He's one of three mechs I've ever met who knows the Primal Vernacular and he wasn't created anywhere near that era," Prowl said, sounding almost impressed.
"Who… who is this guy?"
"His name is Orion Pax."
Ironhide let out a bark of a laugh though his relief was almost palpable. "Orion Pax? Primus, that datapad junkie!"
Ultra Magnus stayed tuned into the radio chatter, fingers flying across the console. "That datapad junkie just saved all of Iacon," he said. "The reports from this bomb are… extraordinary." The big mech turned and looked at Perceptor. "Iacon Command is requesting your presence. They want your help to recreate this technology to protect other cities from possible attack."
Perceptor nodded though Ratchet could still feel him shaking. "I'll go," he said. In the background, the radio chatter continued though with the relief flooding the numbness from his system, Ratchet barely heard it.
He squeezed Perceptor's shoulder before looking at Ironhide. "Keep us updated?" he asked.
Ironhide took one good look at Perceptor and realized that the poor mech looked like he was about to faint, though it was more due to relief now than anything. He nodded before Ratchet carefully steered his friend from the room.