XXIX - Ships

"Where is Smokescreen?" I asked right after stepping through the bridge, swinging my helm around in search of the white mech.

"I'm right here," he said, walking out of a hallway. "Miss me that bad, huh?"

I snorted, "Hardly! Think fast!" I tossed him the Omega Key.

"You retrieved the third Key?!" Ratchet gasped.

I smirked and puffed out my chest plate. "Oh, don't act so surprised, dear doctor. The Decepticon vault had such scant security. They were no match for this–" I waved at myself with the arm currently in a sling, eliciting a few quiet chuckles and optic rolls.

"Did you uncover the location of the next relic?" Optimus pressed. "Though we all are glad to see you once again, our quest for the Omega Keys remains paramount."

My ruined wings flitted, "As I am well aware. And as for the final Key, the question isn't where, but who." I pointed to the white mech dramatically, "Smokescreen."

"What? But that's silly, Smoke would've known if he was packing a relic." Arcee scoffed.

A thoughtful expression dawned on Ratchet, "What if Smokescreen himself was not the holder of the final Key, but its container?"

"But that doesn't make sense," Bulkhead argued, "why send the last Key in a different 'container' from the others?"

"Perhaps my mentor, Alpha Trion, was pressed for time, as the Decepticons stormed Iacon." Optimus offered after a moment of thought.

Arcee nodded, I could tell by the look in her optics that she had a similar idea. "And what if instead of 'Cons…"

"Alpha Trion hit the kid's lights," Bulkhead finished, and jerked a thumb at Smokescreen, who stood on the edge of the room, digesting this with an eagerness I envied. "and stuffed the Key under his plating."

"There is only one way to find out," Ratchet agreed, and motioned for the white mech to come over while he activated the scanner on his arm. He swept its beam of blue light over the young bot's chest plate, and then synched the results up to the console screen so we all could see.

As it came into focus, I grinned. The last Key was unmistakable. "Whoa," Smokescreen breathed. "How do we get it out?"

"Allow me." I smirked maliciously, and made to unsheathe Valor. All free blasters were trained on me a second later. I let my servo fall to my side, "What? Have you all lost your sense of humor?!" I cried shrilly.

They transformed their blasters away. "You were with the Decepticons for months, what were we supposed to think?" Arcee snarled defensively.

I shook my helm wryly, and left to retrieve the phase shifter. When I returned, I strode over to Smokescreen. Ratchet was running another scan on his chassis, trying to find a way to get the Key out without hurting him. I shoved the medic out of the way.

"What was that for?!" he snapped. "Can't you see that I am trying to perform sensitive scans!"

"You'll see."

Optimus frowned at me with disappointment, "Seven, I expect more from you."

With a swift motion, I activated the phase shifter and stuck my arm into Smokescreen's chest plate. He gasped, and I wrenched the fourth and final Omega Key out of his torso.

I handed it to Optimus, who looked stunned, along with everyone else in the room. "Will this be enough?"

The Prime took it, sweeping his azure gaze over all of us with a forced stoic expression. "Now, I believe it is paramount that I should inform you about the existence of the Omega Lock."

"What?" Almost all of us exclaimed in unison.

"It is the device the Omega Keys activate, the very one which shall restore Cybertron." He finished.

[How do you know?!] Bumblebee whirled.

Ratchet was stunned, "And you did not think to tell us?!"

Optimus lowered his helm, his servo resting on the Star Saber's hilt. "It was conveyed by Alpha Trion in the message given to me by the Star Saber, and he did not wish it so. Likewise, I did not wish to plant false hope, should the Keys have fallen into Decepticon servos."

"But Optimus…" Bulkhead trailed off.

"It doesn't matter," I interjected, taking the reins of the conversation while directing my attention to the Prime. "How do we find this… Omega Lock?"

"It is on Cybertron, in the Sea of Rust." He stated.

"You know where it is?"

He turned away, "Alpha Trion disclosed its precise location to me in his message."

"Anything else you're hiding?" Bulkhead asked pointedly.

The Prime looked at him, "No. But your question was not unfounded, and for that, I am deeply sorry. I did not want to omit information."

Watching this, I was impressed and moved by how deeply the Autobots valued honestly. So much that I silently plodded out of the room, helm hung in shame. I didn't think anyone noticed.

I located my makeshift berth from when Starscream, the two humans and I occupied this sorry excuse for a ship and sat down onto it, helm in my servo. But not a minute had elapsed before I stood and began to wander the halls, not paying attention to where I was going, wrapped up in a tangle of my thoughts. The rhythm of motion simply helped me think. What use was I, to the Autobots or Decepticons, now that all the Omega Keys had been accounted for? The war was drawing to a close, I could feel it, but I didn't feel like I had a purpose anymore. Starscream had cloned me to have another set of servos—ones he could trust—helping around the Harbinger. Funny how things come full circle.

Starscream was dead, and I was tarnishing his memory just by existing. I was a clone, his clone, but not him. Close, but not identical, an imitation of what he used to be. And not merely because of the stripes on my wings. I, as Oliver and Will put it, was "too nice" to be a proper Decepticon, but still didn't fit in completely with the Autobots either, no matter how hard I tried. Even Megatron himself agreed. A sobering thought was that while I retained all of Starscream's thoughts and memories from prior to my cloning, my chassis was not even a year old. So much had happened that it felt much longer, but it was mid-autumn. The two humans and Starscream had cloned me early last November. And then there were the Autobots to think about. Yes, most of my time had been spent with them, but I felt like like that one piece of puzzle belonging to a different set, one that looked like it would fit, but once one pushed it into place, there was always a little gap on the edge and the colors didn't quite match up. Starscream fit better than I did, but he wasn't a copy. Slag, my name was a number for crying out loud!

But I just couldn't see the point anymore. It seemed almost certain that the Autobots were going to win now; the end of the war was in sight. And that was great and all, but what next? I just wanted to give up. I had no idea of what I was to do next, and it wasn't like I could ask Starscream.

I stopped in my tracks, optics widening: I had wandered into the very lab where I was cloned. I could even see the place where I had hung as a protoform. It sent shivers down my spinal struts to think about it.

"Hey," Arcee's soft voice spoke up from behind me.

I whirled around, suddenly feeling defensive. "What are you doing here?"

"I was about to ask you."

I ruffled my shredded wings, "Ah… reminiscing. This ship holds a lot of memories."

She nodded, walking in and went over to where the protoforms used to hang on the wall, examining the bot-shaped cavities. "I imagine. Did you and Starscream do much here?"

"Did Prime put you up to this?" I growled. She didn't answer, glancing back at me. Primus, I would never understand femmes in all my function. I finally sighed, "We didn't do much in the way of recreation, but yes, this was our base for awhile."

She looked at me once again, a new steeliness in her gaze. "Don't waste your time sulking, or our time, for that matter. Starscream's passing was hard on all of us, even myself." She admitted. That drew me up short.

"Are you serious? You always rub in how he terminated Cliffjumper…"

The femme nodded slightly, "Cliffjumper can rest in peace, and I'm trying to let my grudge go. Besides, that was awhile ago, and it just throws salt into healing wounds if we keep bringing it up."

"Excuse me, have me we met?"

She rolled her optics, "I meant mine as well as yours."

"Are you certain Optimus didn't put you up to this? Or Ratchet, perhaps?"

"No one else was going to check on you. Did the 'Cons do anything?" The femme pried.

"Other than the usual verbal abuse and what I've told you, no. But I did lop off Megatron's new arm." I grinned.

"Keep dreaming, Sev."

I made to leave the room, "Just wait; you shall see."

"I meant what I said," she added.

I stopped, "If I can speak on behalf of my deceased double," she looked at me, confused, "then I can say that he was deeply rueful about Cliffjumper. He made many mistakes in this war… we all have." I said flatly, feeling my wings dip.

A smile quirked a corner of her mouth plates upward, "You're starting to sound a bit like Optimus."

"Never in my function," I muttered.

"That isn't a bad thing," she added.

"Did I stutter?" I challenged.

She came over to me, and got right up in the center of my field of view so I couldn't ignore her unless I left, "Look, I get it. Scream was your closest friend, Cliff was mine. But sulking and pining over him won't bring him back, and it won't help anyone."

I forced myself to meet her optics, my voice trembling. "I-I know. With everything that's been going of late—I've been kept too busy for much grief. And now… when everything slows down and the end is in sight–"

"Exactly," she interjected, startling me, and laid a servo on my shoulder plate. "We all know the war is almost over. We have all the Keys—which wouldn't have happened without you. Don't sell yourself short, Seven." Her optics glinted, "Cybertron will be restored, and Megatron will be vanquished. But all of us have to keep fighting to get there, hear me?" I nodded silently, optics widening. "Cliff and Scream can't have died in vain. This whole war needs an end. We're closer than ever before, but everyone needs to be a team player. I have a hunch you already knew all that, so what are you waiting for?" She stepped back, optics steely.

"Nothing… not anymore." I answered firmly.

"Then keep fighting."

My optics widened.

Bulkhead suddenly burst into the room, "Hey, you two! Break up the romance, there's a ship about to land on our front lawn!" He exclaimed between pants.

The femme and I exchanged an exasperated glance. "Lead the way," Arcee said.

I sputtered indignantly, "Do we look like we're–seriously… she is not even my friend!"

Bulkhead laughed and Arcee shook her helm. She swept an arm at me, an expression of haughty humor on her faceplates as she looked at the green mech. "Don't be jealous, Bulk. He's all yours."

I glared at her, seething and disgusted. "You–"

Bulkhead laughed, playing the part, and scooped my chassis up in a crushing embrace with a single arm. My ruined wings pressed against my back, broken arm against his front as I scrabbled furiously to get out of his hold. The green mech could most certainly feel this as he laughed again and half carried, half dragged me down the hall back to the other 'Bots. "What's the matter, Sev? Too busy sulking to hang out with the rest of us?"

"I'll hang you if you don't put me down!" I snarled, trying to worm out of his grip even more.

He conceded, and promptly released me. I brushed my shoulder plates off and tried to salvage some dignity as they watched, guffawing. "By Primus, you both have something horribly wrong with your processors…" I dissolved myself into grumbles as the pair led the way outside the Harbinger.

We all raced outside to see the ship that was landing just outside ours. Well, if one could in any right call this derelict and dilapidated husk a even half of a "ship," which it technically was. I shielded my faceplates with my arms as it kicked up a cloud of dust, its engines screaming in my audials.

[Is it one of ours?] Bumblebee buzzed, transforming out a blaster. None of us answered, unsure. The ship was relatively small in size and not of standard Decepticon make, as I could tell. But it was unmarked, and it was only safe to be cautious. I edged backwards, shielded from sight of whoever was aboard the ship as a platform from the belly of the ship slowly lowered, hitting the ground with a clang.

A large mech stepped stood on the platform, an electric blue Autobot insignia emblazoned in the center of his chest plate. Venting a quiet sigh of relief, the few of us with blasters out transformed them away. The new mech's chassis had a similar structure to the Prime's, but his paint was almost exclusively blue, save for a few red highlights. His large shoulder plates protruded upwards, looking almost ridiculous. The mech had an authoritative air about him that I immediately disliked.

"Ultra Magnus!" Arcee exclaimed.

"Who?" I asked, confused. Starscream had heard of the Autobot commander throughout the war, but had never met him in person. Through him, me.

"He served as Optimus' SIC in the earlier centuries of the war," Bulkhead whispered to me.

The blue mech looked down at the femme condescendingly. She straightened up, "Sir."

"Very by-the-book," the green mech added in the same hushed tone.

He stepped off the platform and strode over to Optimus while the rest of us cleared the way for him. I skittered backwards, still unsure of what to make of him, and not knowing what he would make of me.

"Sir," he said to the Prime, "you're looking well."

"As are you, old friend. Have any others survived?" Optimus pried.

The blue mech's posture didn't change in the slightest, "Several escaped in the Ark, scattered across galaxies. Aside from them, I do not know." He swept his gaze around to us, "Are these the extent of your forces upon this planet?"

"At present, yes." The Prime answered solemnly. "We have gained and lost valuable bots, but while our numbers are small, they are strong. We welcome you into our fold once again, Ultra Magnus." He shook the blue mech's servo, then continued with the formalities, "Unfortunately, the Decepticons inhabit this planet as well, in which we sought refuge. And there are native life forms, humans. We believe the majority of them are not ready to learn of our presence on their world, but have learned to coexist with a select few."

"Are they a threat?" Magnus inquired.

"Well, if there's lots of 'em, maybe… but not other than that." Smokescreen butted in.

The blue mech fixed him with a stern look, "Did I ask of your opinion, soldier?"

Smokescreen straightened, "No. My apologies, sir."

Ultra Magnus turned away, apparently satisfied. I was liking him less and less. Optimus looked at him, "I take it your ship is capable of interstellar travel?" He filled him in on the details pertaining to the Omega Keys and the Lock on Cybertron, and how they can restore the planet.
Magnus looked mildly surprised, which was all the emotion he was ever going to show if I had to guess. "Indeed. But if you are planning on flying to Cybertron to restore it, that flight will take far too long."

My wings fluttered, "Not to mention that the Decepticons have access to their very own space bridge, hiding behind this planet's moon. They could reach our home planet in the blink of an optic."

The blue mech wheeled around at the sound of my voice, optics narrowing and they flitted down to the Decepticon insignia on my chest plate, partially hidden by my sling. I really needed to get that changed to an Autobot one. "Starscream. To what do we owe the pleasure?" He transformed out his blasters but didn't raise them just yet.

I laughed sharply, and his optics narrowed further. "Sir, you are sorely misinformed." The others watched our exchange, looking ready to intervene. I frowned at them, "This is between us."

Smokescreen huffed, "Indulge yourself."

I opted to give mister high-and-mighty the short version. I gestured at our half of the Harbinger behind me with my working servo, "Starscream stumbled upon this husk and cloned me with his energon several months ago, but only a week or two after that, we joined forces with the Autobots. Unfortunately for him," I forced my tone to become steely to hide any emotion, "he contracted a virus—long story—and died from it months ago. I, his clone, remain." I bit my lip.

He looked skeptical, but had transformed his blasters away. "An interesting tale, Decepticon. But I know your kind, and they are not ones to change their stripes so easily." His optics fell onto my banded wings for a moment, albeit they were shredded and it was hard to tell that there used to be two crimson stripes, a thicker one close to the tip, then a thinner one beside it.

I dropped all formalities, growing impatient with him. "Yes, yes, enough of that. Hello, my designation is Seven." I extended a servo.

After a second of scrutinizing it with distrustful optics, he took it with a grip so tight it was painful.

I gave him a sideways look, "I would let go or you might trigger one of my missiles." He hastily dropped my servo and I smirked, shaking my helm.

"Do not toy with me, Decepticon." He growled menacingly.

I raised my good servo mockingly, "Wouldn't dream of it, sir."

Ultra Magnus turned to Optimus once again, "General, does this mech always act so irresponsibly?"

Optimus looked at me shrewdly and I shrank away a bit beneath his gaze, "Seven, please, control yourself." Slightly ashamed, I allowed my ruined wings to droop and scuffed a pede in the orangish dirt.

They turned their attention away from me and began to plan of going to Cybertron and locating the Omega Lock. Ratchet excused himself from the conversation as we all walked back inside the Harbinger, and the medic ushered me away from the six other Autobots.

"What?" I asked.

"Allow me to repair your wings and have a look at your arm," he said simply.

I complied, and a whiny hour or so later, my wings looked good as new. I fluttered them, ready to leave.

Seeing this, he huffed, cleaning his tools with a oily rag, "We're not done yet. Now, your arm; I'm going to need you to keep it in place while I take this off. How did it happen, exactly?" he asked while removing the strap.

I watched as the medic finished with the strap and began to make quick work of the sling. "I'm not sure," I admitted.

He stopped and met my optics, "Oh, did it just break on its own then? If you do not wish to tell me, you could have just said that." the medic resumed his work as a slightly less gentle pace.

"No, I was fighting Megatron in the desert…" I wracked my processor to remember, "our blades collided and there was an explosion. The next thing I knew, I was on the Nemesis with my arm in the state it is now."

"I see." Ratchet examined it with a trained optic as I kept my gaze averted, then probed it. I jerked back instinctively, clenching my denta.

"Must you?!" I gasped.

"Yes," he said adamantly, "Seven, your arm isn't broken, just dislocated with a few minor fractures in the plating, lucky for you." I blinked, understanding, relief trickling into my frame. "I need to set it back into place, and this will hurt."

He didn't even give me a second to respond. His grip tightened and he pushed in two different directions. Pain suddenly exploded in my arm and I let out a scream, seizing up. Something seemed to snap back into place and the fiery pain abruptly abated to an ache in the joint.

Ratchet tossed the sling away, "You won't be needing this anymore."

"Thank you, good doctor." I sighed shakily, flexing my left servo.

"Please. It's the least I could do; you did ensure the retrieval of the Keys."

I puffed out my chest plate proudly and made to stand, flaring my wings out. "That I did."

He gripped my arm, "Yip, ip, ip. Idle your turbines, I need to run a final check on something." He didn't grab any devices, I noticed.

"What is it?" I asked, nervous at how vague he was being.

A smirk touched the medic's faceplates, but he still didn't touch any of the nearby tools. "Oh, I just thought your helm seemed to be larger than normal. You're cleared."

"Ha, ha."