IV - Flying Mind
Wind whistled between my wings as I plummeted in freefall towards Earth's surface, reaching terminal velocity. The human pilots manning the other five jets seemed surprised by this tactic, merely circling above me in formation for a brief moment before regaining their wits and beginning pursuit. Their engines screamed down towards me, bullets pinging against my chassis in an attack so feeble one could nearly find it funny.
I flew upwards, passing them at speeds that their pathetic excuses for jets wouldn't even be able to follow with their sensors. The shot up after me, and one of them, presumably the leader, hailed my comm.
I reopened my comm frequency, "Oh, now what?"
"On the orders of General Bryce, we are permitted to use any force necessary to take you into custody. And if we are unable, then we will shoot to kill, Decepticon." The pilot announced, as if relishing the challenge.
"Stop." I commanded in the most authoritative tone I could muster, spinning around so my nose cone pointed at the leading jet. I noticed with a sinking feeling that each of them, and there were five, each easily larger than me. But to my surprise, they did. I took an intake, "This is all one rather large misunderstanding."
"Explain." The same pilot's voice ordered. "I'll give you one minute, and if we don't believe you, we will start shooting." I sighed, watching the seconds slowly tick down on my internal clock. Fifty-nine… fifty-eight…
I swallowed my ego and choked quite a bit, "I was Megatron's esteemed first lieutenant in the Decepticon ranks—you would know him as their leader. But my former master took me for granted," I permitted an edge of hurt and vengefulness to enter my tone, milking it for all it was worth. Forty-seven seconds left. "He punished me severely whenever I 'slipped up,' when it usually was his own twisted delusions getting in the way of things. We never had privacy; when he 'disciplined' me," my tone turned bitter, "he made the crew watch, the monster enjoyed making an example." I took another intake and collected my thoughts. Thirty-nine. "Having had enough, I deserted the cause, willfully surrendering my post to the next doomed mech to step up." Thirty. "And eventually, Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, found me. I was starving, weak, flightless, but he and the other Autobots nursed me back to health, and in the meantime aided me in correcting the error of my ways. I decided to join the Autobot collective, to bolster their meager numbers and work to end Megatron's tyranny."
I was satisfied, my little speech was a mixture of truths and white lies sprinkled throughout, in hopes of playing on their sympathies even more than I would have gotten with just the truth. Now was time to see if it had paid off. Four… three… two… one. I hadn't realized I was holding my intakes until the same pilot spoke up.
"You go by Starscream." He affirmed.
His question took me off-guard, "I do."
"And you said you were Megatron's second-in-command?"
"In the months preceding my flight," the bitterness reentered my tone and was even sharper than before, "he had stripped me of my rank in all but title, and then proceeded to execute an attempt on my f–life."
As the lead pilot seemed to mull it over, another spoke up. "As Decepticons, would you all—current or former—not have dishonesty down to an art form?"
A smirk tugged at the corners of my hidden mouth plates, "One would certainly think so. However, because you described it as an 'art form'… Megatron can fill canvases with his eloquent speech. As for myself, well, I tried, but struggled to even pick up the brush." The smirk turned into a grin. Oh, if they only knew.
A few of the pilots appeared to believe me, I could tell their grips around the controls had relaxed by how a couple of the planes listed to the side a couple degrees.
The leader did not, however. "What if that itself is a lie?"
"You are right; you don't know." I agreed, catching him by surprise. "But have I any reason to deceive you? After all, to achieve my aims means to sway you to my side. Speaking of sides," I allowed the smirk to enter my tone, "just ask Optimus, or any of the other Autobots. They won't disappoint."
"A moment," The lead pilot requested. "If you're thinking of trying anything, know we're still watching."
"Be my guest." I shut off the comm with a burst of static. The nerve of these humans! I almost just jetted off in the other direction, and they wouldn't be able to follow. They would be far too busy digging themselves out of my dust. But something kept me hovering there, awaiting their answer. Primus, it seems those few months of being stuck with the Autobots is beginning to show… but then again, is that such a bad thing?
After several minutes of conversing on a private frequency, the pilots broke apart from their cluster and trained their vessels' large nose cones on me once again.
"General Bryce voiced his own concerns–"
"That's why it took so long." I muttered.
The leader ignored me, "However, we now have a standing order to detain you until the general can confirm that you are on our side. It shouldn't be a problem, unless you of course are not."
"This is ridiculous!" I scoffed. "Do you even think you could hold me, much less transport?"
"Escort," he corrected, "and it is not my place to tell you what we are or are not capable of."
For a moment I just hovered there in the air, dumbfounded. "If General Bryce seemed skeptical, as you said before," my tone dipped into a growl, "why does he not just call up Agent Fowler and prove that I am right?"
"Special Agent William Fowler is unavailable at present, and the General has matters to attend to other than running an errand out to the Autobot base to ask Optimus Prime about you." The third pilot said.
A thought suddenly struck me. "The Autobot base, say?" I purred, tendrils of confidence warming my chest plate. "Are any of you still firmly attached to the thought that I am still a Decepticon?"
Another pilot piped up this time, "You tell me. After all, we have been having a conversation with a robot that looks like an F-16 who is supposedly from a distant planet. Anything is possible."
"Would anyone else care to object?"
No one objected.
"Were I still a loyal Decepticon," I drew myself level with the dubious pilot's craft, "and had I known the location of the Autobot base, I would have called in an airstrike within the minute I learned of it. And I would be leading the charge."
"That is precisely why–" the leader began to say, but I cut him off.
"Indeed it is, but not in the way you are suggesting." I began to circle slowly around the lead jet. "For the past three months, I have known the location of the Autobot base. My base. So go ask any of my fellow Autobots and see if they are still in one piece. On that note, I believe we are done here." I cut the comm link and whirled around, flying off high above Seattle.
Suddenly the familiar ping of bullets resumed its pathetic assault on my chassis. "You have got to be kidding me." I snarled at myself in frustration, "What use is edging one's speech with eloquent words when they cannot cut through thick human skulls?"
I figured it wouldn't take much for them to begin to use lethal force, and I had no idea what kinds of weapons they were packing on those jets other than standard, useless human automatics. I didn't want to find out.
"Ratchet, I require a ground bridge!" I barked into a comm. "Ratchet, frag, answer me you–" suddenly twin heat seeking missiles spiraled at my tail wings. I gasped, there was no way I could lose them, besides force them to crash into a human building. And the city was too far below me to reach one in time. It was just my luck that they were close enough that I would never be able to outmaneuver them… at least by standard means.
So I did what jets in combat should never do. I spun around and flew at the missiles, using their proximity to my advantage. They were so close to me that their sensors didn't have enough time to react as I shot through the narrow gap between them. An explosion behind me announced my victory. I laughed in triumph, but the grin was wiped off my faceplates as I saw the five jets banking around back towards me, guns blazing. Four of which still had a pair of missiles.
I fired both of mine at them, and they both somehow managed to miss. Curse my rotten luck. They exploded in the air above a jet, buffeting it downwards. The others fanned out, two flanking me on each side while the one I had missed approached my front. The four jets on my sides simultaneously readied their missiles beneath the unrelenting, mildly annoying spray of gunfire pinging off my fuselage and wings.
"Ratchet!" I barked into the comm again. This time, he answered.
"Starscream?" He asked in surprise.
"Who else?" I snapped, weaving out of the way of a jet. Its engine roared in my audials as it zoomed passed me.
"I was expecting to hear from you sooner. What are you–where are you?!"
"General Bryce was eager for a fight; he sent a few manned jets out to terminate me! And as for where, I am somewhere above Seattle. By Primus, send a fragging bridge already!"
"I am triangulating your coordinates. However, it would be beneficial if you would slow down…"
"Yes, if I would like to cease my function!" I snapped at him.
"At least I'm not trying to ground bridge you onto a moving train," he grumbled in reply.
I would have asked about what he was referring to had I not been desperately trying to dodge even more heat seekers that the jets had launched.
"Hurry up–AHH!" I yelped in surprise as one of the pilots slammed their craft into my side. I entered a dizzying tailspin and blasted my thruster to escape it, stabilizing myself with my ailerons. I found myself rocketing at a skyscraper. Seven's bad luck apparently had rubbed off on me. I shot around the side of it with plenty of space to spare. Little white flashes of light peppered me from the ground–I realized it was those pesky humans' satellite phones taking pictures. As long as I wasn't in my bot mode, I couldn't care less… "Where is that bridge?" I swung into a narrow gap between a pair of skyscrapers, just as a vortex materialized in front of me.
I transformed and landed gracefully on my pedes in the main atrium of our base, skidding to a stop.
"Cool moves, Mr. Heels!" Miko flashed me a grin. "I bet you could really cut a rug!"
I stood up straighter and gave her a look, dusting off my arms. "Call me that again and–"
"Hello to you too." Ratchet said, pulling the lever that closed the bridge.
"How was your flight?" Arcee asked.
"Pleasant, until I was nearly shot out of the sky." I grumbled. Unfortunately for me, dear Agent Fowler was nowhere in sight. I would have liked someone with direct connections to General Bryce to vent on.
"About that," Oliver jumped in, "did they think you were still a 'Con?"
"Yes and no."
"I am sure we can all talk about this in the morning over a fresh cube of energon." Optimus said with an air of finality. "As for now, children, it is late. I'm sure your families will be expecting you to be home soon."
"No sense in waiting, here's the door." Ratchet gestured bluntly at a new ground bridge.
"Who for?" Jack asked.
"The two of them." Ratchet jerked his helm at Oliver and Will, the latter of which had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since I returned.
Seven waved them off with a yawn, "Go on. I know, I know, you want to leave so badly, but we all will see you again in the morning." I hadn't even noticed my double, leaning on the wall in a shadowy section of the room, watching all of us through bleary optics.
"Is something wrong?" I asked my clone after the two humans had left, afraid that the virus had somehow had infected him as well.
"It's been a long day." He yawned again, wings fluttering tiredly.
"You know, Ratch, it isn't that late…" Miko trailed off, locking eyes with Bulkhead.
"Nuh-uh, Miko. No offroading tonight."
"But–"
The Wrecker transformed, flashing his headlights at her. "C'mon, I'll drive you home."
"Aww!" the girl groaned loudly, and made a big show of climbing into the passenger seat.
"No need, Bulkhead, I can bridge her home instantly." Ratchet suggested, already inputting coordinates.
"Thanks, doc, but I've been cooped up in base all day." And on that note, the green mech drove out, revving his engine. I smirked lightly, perhaps they would be doing some off-roading without Ratchet's optics on them.
"My name is not doc!" He protested, but the brute was already long gone.
[Let's go, Raf.] Bumblebee chirped, transforming. Arcee followed suit, and together with their humans, they left the base.
"Something on the processor, Optimus?" Ratchet asked, looking to the red mech. The Autobot leader had been unusually silent, like Will.
"He's pulling a Soundwave." Seven offered.
Optimus looked at me, his optics piercing through my spark chamber. "I have been thinking about Starscream's condition."
"You haven't uncovered anything new, have you?" Seven wondered.
"No. But I am puzzled by the lack of symptoms–"
"Hold that thought." I interjected, a new thought pushing towards the front of my processor. "What if there is one that I've been overlooking…"
Now I had Ratchet's attention too. "Such as?"
I met the medic's optics, "Well, there was one dizzy spell earlier today in the forest, which I blamed on energon loss at the time, but now I'm not so sure…" my brow furrowed, "… and this—I don't know what to call it—tingling sensation every once in awhile."
Seven rolled his optics and pretended to swoon.
"What is your malfunction?!" I snapped at him.
"That was harsh." Seven added, punctuating it with a tired sigh.
"Go get some rest." Ratchet ordered. The silver mech shrugged, wings bobbing over his shoulders, and proceeded to stroll off into the depths of our base.
"Thanks for caring," I hissed at my double.
He glanced back with a smirk so subtle it might have been my imagination, "It's in our nature, after all."
I couldn't argue.
"Have you noticed any other symptoms?" Optimus queried once my clone had made his exit.
"There never is an end to this, is there?" I grumbled beneath my vocalizer. "No, none other than that."
Ratchet was wrapped up in his own thoughts for a moment before speaking again, "Are you absolutely certain that you haven't noticed any others?"
My brow creased, "No, wh–wait. I remember now… something I had failed to notice previously." I paused, trying to comb through the tangle of my own thoughts. But to them I probably just looked confused, which wasn't terribly far from the truth either. "The underside of my chest plate has been heating up sometimes… it seems like every time after I transform."
"Would this include your blasters?" Optimus wondered, taking a seat on the berth next to me a respectable distance away.
"As far as I know, it is only when I go from bot into jet or vice versa."
Ratchet frowned at his scanner, "Oh, that isn't good." The Prime and I looked at him expectantly. Anxiety tore away at my insides. "It appears that the virus is spreading out from your T-Cog… and by the look of it, towards your processor."
Optimus turned to me, setting a servo on my shoulder. This time, I didn't shrug it off. "Starscream, for the moment I think it is best that you do not transform, lest it hasten the process."
"Until we can find a cure." Ratchet added, trying to sound upbeat.
"Until? UNTIL?!" I stood up so abruptly that I accidentally jerked the Prime forwards. "'IF' is better suited! You talk the talk, doctor," I got right up in his faceplates and jabbed a talon at his chest so hard that I might have scratched the paint, "but you don't know any more than the rest of us as for what it is! You don't even know if it will turn out to be fatal, where it came from, or anything that could–"
"Starscream," Optimus began gently, "he does know." That hit me like a blaster shot between the optics. "We did not wish to frighten you before, but withholding information now will do more harm than good."
"Then…?" I sank back down onto the berth.
Ratchet answered this time, "I still do not yet know what it is, but–well," he seemed to struggle for words, "unchecked, it will eventually extinguish your spark. That alone is clear." I let that sink in.
"How ironic, considering all these years we have been fighting and terminating each other," I said quietly, gazing at my servos that felt like they were coated in Cliffjumper's energon. "I always had thought that I would die at the servos of my enemies," I locked optics with Optimus, "but I suppose it is better to go out among allies."
Optimus smiled at me, "I could have not said it better, and am honored that you call me a friend."
"Well, maybe not yet–"
"Oh please, Starscream. Don't ruin the moment." Ratchet groaned.
The smile had vanished from Optimus' faceplates, "Starscream, there is something Ratchet has to say as well."
I cast a sideways glance at the medic, "And you say that I ruined it."
Ratchet rolled his optics in exasperation, "Don't be selling yourself for spare parts just yet. Now think, who had your T-Cog before you retrieved it?"
"I'm not sure where this is going, but I shall humor you, doctor." I grumbled, thinking this was a waste of time. "Silas, the monster."
"Yes, and what is MECH's goal?"
"You aren't saying–"
"I am."
My helm whirled with questions and revelations. "You think that they engineered a virus and implanted it in my T-Cog."
"We do." Optimus answered.
It was like I'd suddenly been spun around and around, then punched in the faceplates, and spun some more. Before I knew it, vertigo had me doubled over, purging onto the floor. Now I felt ill.
"I–I had a dream back in the Harbinger," I rasped, gulping down air. "I thought I was half-crazed at the time, but now…" I heaved onto the floor again, shaking.
"What was it?" Optimus asked. I went over and sat down beside the Prime, leaning against him for support. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, but rested his arm around my shoulder plates. I didn't resist.
My wings drooped, "I was back at the Cybertron War Academy, and went to the general's office. Except… I was there—I mean, a duplicate of myself."
"Seven?" Ratchet asked, beginning to clean up the floor with an air of disgust he couldn't quite hide.
"No, he claimed to be a future version of myself, come to warn me of some event that had yet to come."
"Which was…?" Optimus pried gently, tilting my chin up so I was forced to meet his azure optics, a stark contrast to my own.
"I'm not sure. I woke up, which cut him off. However, he told me to not retrieve my T-Cog from Silas, no matter what."
Ratchet huffed, "That's absurd, why would he do that? It was a dream, nothing more!"
Exasperated, I growled, "Perhaps because he somehow knew that MECH had inserted a virus into my T-Cog!"
"That is hardly possible!" The medic exclaimed.
"Then, doctor, enlighten me as to why he mentioned Seven prior to my clone's very existence!"
The medic blinked, "He did?"
Optimus hummed in thought, "What else did he speak of?"
"He…" I fought to remember, "he said that he was me, just from a year in the future, which would equate to eight months from now, if my math is correct."
Ratchet let out a resigned sigh, "Starscream, I think you may not know what you are saying–"
"I am perfectly coherent, doctor!" I snapped. "I may be ailing now, but I wasn't then!"
"You said you thought it was crazy at the time," he reminded bluntly.
"What was I supposed to think?!" I retorted defensively.
"Starscream," Optimus interjected calmly, pulling me gently so I looked at him, "why did you not tell us earlier?"
I wilted beneath his gaze. "I didn't think of it much…"
Ratchet cleared his vocalizer, "For what purpose would MECH plant a virus in your T-Cog?"
I stood and began to pace back and forth, tapping my chin, "What MECH wants more than anything, from what I had gathered in the meager stint I worked alongside them, is a living Cybertronian to perform their twisted scientific experiments on."
"And why not use the one that they have gotten their hands on before?" Ratchet added. "If they already have a sense of what makes you tick…"
"So," I sighed, "in doing this, those monsters left me with two options." Optimus nodded in understanding, knowing what I was going to say before I had uttered it. But I said it anyway. "I either let it take its course here, because I am sure that they did their best to make it incurable, or hand myself over to them."
"For whatever malignant things they would inflict on you, after they had ridded your chassis of the virus." Optimus finished gravely. "Rest assured, we are not going to turn you over to them, at any cost."
My voice grew steely and quiet, the opposite of what I expected, "What if that cost means my spark?"
"It will not come to that." Ratchet said sternly, as if challenging the universe.
I stalked off into the depths of the base the same way Seven had went, furious with MECH, with the other Autobots for being unable to do anything other than to offer their condolences, and at myself for not picking up on it sooner…
"He took that well," Ratchet said to the Prime in hushed, slightly sarcastic tones that he thought my audials wouldn't pick up.
I felt Optimus' optics drilling into my back as I walked away, "I think he had already guessed, old friend."