Author's Notes: Wow, this fic has over 9,300 views as of this update! Wow, this is so cool! At this rate it could become my most-read fic on the site so far! Yay! Thank you all for reading, and I hope you like this chapter of "My Spark Still Shines" :)
Chapter 18
Love's Empty Shell
It had been a few hours since the Autobots returned with Smokescreen in tow. PR-35's pede was repaired quickly, and afterward Ratchet asked him to volunteer for exploratory surgery to map the Vehicon's processor in hopes of finding a cure for the memory loss. PR-35 agreed to do all he could to help. Now he was regretting that decision.
"Ow! Sire, do I really have to be awake for this?" PR-35 griped as the stylus ghosted over his exposed processor.
"I'm sorry Bluestreak, but yes," Ratchet replied as gently as he could while he was working, "If we're going to find where your memories are stored, then you have to be able to tell me what happens when I stimulate a certain area of your processor. Hm, this corroded red chip seems suspicious. I'm going to open its casing to expose the circuit array. Let me know if you need me to stop at any point."
PR-35 would have nodded, but his helm was held firmly in place by magnetic restraints. He was grateful at times like this for processor shielding. Still, this whole procedure made him nervous, even if he knew Ratchet was the best medic the Autobots had.
Ratchet carefully peeled back the casing on the unknown piece that was clamped onto Bluestreak's processor like a bloodthirsty tick. Ratchet just knew that something wasn't right about this chip, but at the same time he couldn't just yank it out without knowing what it was or what it did.
Ratchet stimulated a synapse on the upper right corner and asked Bluestreak what he felt or if anything was different.
"What!? Where am I?" PR-35 suddenly shouted as he tried in vain to sit up, "Wait a klik, you're an Autobot! I've been captured by the Autobots! No! I won't tell you anything you slagger! Let me go right now!"
Ratchet was horrified by what he was seeing. Stimulating that piece had somehow reset Bluestreak to his pre-cognitive Vehicon mode. Ratchet had to do something to recover his son's mind, so he tapped the same synapse again to see what would happen.
This time the Vehicon stilled, and then slowly turned his helm to Ratchet. Ratchet held his intake to see if what he had done had worked.
"Drone PR-35 awaiting core programming," PR-35 said in a lifeless monotone, "What are your orders?"
"No..." Ratchet whispered fearfully, "Bluestreak!"
Hearing the medic's shouting, Optimus ran into the room immediately.
"Ratchet, what happened?" Optimus asked worriedly.
"I think...I think I might've lost my son...again," Ratchet answered; his voice shaky and barely above a whisper.
"No," Optimus whispered in reply as he set a firm servo on Ratchet's shoulder guard in an attempt to comfort him.
"PR-35 awaiting core programming," The Vehicon repeated without inflection.
"Ratchet, if you need assistance-" Optimus began to offer, but was cut off when Ratchet snapped at him by saying, "No, Optimus."
Optimus gave his old friend a sympathetic look, and Ratchet sighed wearily.
"I'm sorry, but I'm the only medic here now," Ratchet pointed out, "If Bluestreak is going to get better, then I have to keep working. If I can find the key to unlocking Bluestreak's memories, then I can still save him."
"I see...Let me know if you need anything," Optimus replied sincerely before turning to go.
Ratchet watched as Optimus left, but as soon as the Prime was gone turned right back to his son's glitched processor. He couldn't lose him, not again. Not after losing Bluestreak once already, not after losing Cybertron...not after losing Prowl.
The New Polyhex Space Station had just been reclaimed by the Autobots, and Optimus wanted to be there to bolster the morale of his troops as well as help them get a supply chain going. Among those traveling with Prime was Ratchet, and for once he was looking forward to their next mission.
Prowl was going to be the new station commander, and Ratchet hadn't seen his son in 10 vorns. He was so proud of everything Prowl had been able to accomplish. He was a high ranking officer among the Autobots, he was hailed as a brilliant tactician that had won many victories for their people, and now he would have his own command.
The ship docked, and Team Prime walked through the entrance tube into the main reception area of the space station. Ratchet was surprised and genuinely touched when he saw that Prowl, Jazz, and Bumblebee were there to greet them. He knew Optimus was pleased as well, since Bumblebee was his youngest son.
"Optimus Prime sir, it is an honor to welcome aboard the New Polyhex interstellar space colony," Prowl greeted the Prime in a formal tone of voice, "Quarters have been arranged for yourself and your crew. Bumblebee will be your guide through the station. If you need anything I am at your service."
"And the wash racks are right down the hall," Jazz interjected with a cheeky smile.
Prowl sighed sharply at Jazz's crude sense of humor, but Ratchet could barely see the corners of Prowl's mouth turn upwards; as if he were fighting the urge to smile. Ratchet smiled himself when he saw that. Prowl tried so hard to be the stoic figure that could march through life with only logic to guide him, but Ratchet knew better. He still remembered when Prowl was a sparkling and would cry over spilled energon or huff when he was having a fight with one of his little friends.
"I appreciate how much effort you have put in to making us feel welcome," Optimus commended Prowl, "We can go over the possibilities for energon importers next orn. For now I have other duties to attend," Then in a lower voice he said, "Besides, your sire really wants to spend the orn with you."
Prowl looked flustered for a moment, but then recovered enough to say "Um, of course, sir. Thank you, sir."
Bumblebee eagerly showed Optimus around while Jazz helped the rest of the new Autobots find their quarters on the station's map, which left just Ratchet and Prowl. Ratchet smiled warmly at his creation, seeing just how little he'd changed yet how much of a mech he had grown up to be.
"I'm surprised Jazz was able to transfer to the same assignment as you," Ratchet commented with amusement in his voice.
"He's harder to get rid of than a rust infection," Prowl groused using his sire's favorite saying, though it was clear Prowl was only teasing, "Honestly Sire, Jazz is probably one of the most competent spies I've ever seen. I fear he's wasting his talents here, but he said he wanted a break. Frankly I think he just likes annoying me."
"He's probably afraid you'll be killed if he isn't there to save you," Ratchet observed, "You two have been closer than brothers for more vorns than I can count. With the rest of his family and most of his old friends gone I'm not surprised he's so protective of you."
"Not to mention Barricade," Prowl growled angrily.
"Barricade? Did he die?" Ratchet asked in concern.
"Worse, he's a Decepticon now," Prowl replied bitterly, "Perhaps we should continue this conversation in the commissary."
"Alright then," Ratchet nodded, "I'm sorry you two lost a friend. Megatron's rhetoric can be enticing to those who lust for power."
"Indeed," Prowl agreed, "Of course I've seen too much of his rhetoric in action to believe he is anything other than a monster. Bumblebee told me something interesting last orn. He said you were the field medic that saved his life after the battle in Tyger Pax."
"I didn't get there in time," Ratchet sighed ruefully, "I couldn't save his voice box."
"No, but you did save his life," Prowl replied undeterred, "He said Megatron tortured him for several joors. Now, I try not to get too close to the Autobots under my command, but with Bumblebee...he's too young for this scrap, Sire. Megatron almost killed him for information. He's only half the age Bluestreak would be right now if he were still alive, and yet he does the same job as Jazz. I can't help but fear for the future of our race when we send our youngest and most vulnerable 'Bots out there to face psychopaths like Megatron on a battlefield. I just wish this would all stop."
"So do I Prowl," Ratchet said quietly as he walked down the halls with Prowl, "So do I."
"I couldn't save him," Prowl abruptly said, and Ratchet didn't know what he meant at first, "Bluestreak, I couldn't save him."
"Oh," Ratchet replied; his spark heavy as he finally understood why Prowl was so upset.
"I was right there with him," Prowl lamented, "When the house came down around us, I could hear him crying; calling out my name. I don't know how long I was unconscious under all that rubble. When I managed to dig myself out I searched for Bluestreak, but I couldn't find him. I couldn't even feel our fraternal spark bond anymore. No matter how many lives I protect, I can never live that down. Our new scout Bumblebee just reminds me of that failure."
"You didn't fail," Ratchet consoled his son, "You didn't have time to react. No one could expect anything more of you, and I'm sure if Bluestreak were here right now he wouldn't hold it against you. Truth is, I've felt similar feelings about the whole thing. Wondering what I could've done differently. Should I have stayed home? Should I have paid closer attention to the news? Should I have taught you how to perform spark resuscitation? So many questions I can never truly answer."
Ratchet and Prowl didn't say much more to each other for a while after that. They didn't have to. They both understood each other's guilt and grief over the loss of their home city as well as the loss of the sparkling that had once filled their lives with chatter and optimism. As they refueled in the commissary everything seemed quiet and sepulchral; as if the loss had only just occurred.
Ratchet tried to pull himself out of that memory, but part of him just wanted to go back and live in it. He remembered Prowl showing him the improvements they made to the space station. He remembered the joy on Optimus' face plate when Hound managed to get time off and visit them there with his brand new son Drill Bit. It was the last time either of those two would be seen alive again.
Even though the memories were bitter, somehow it still beat staring his new failure in the face plate. He had reset Bluestreak's processor, and he didn't know if he could get it back. He might've essentially killed Bluestreak all over again. The medic's servos shook as he tried to get a grip. The Vehicon had stopped asking for programming, but it didn't move or speak at all. It was as if the Vehicon refused to move until it was given orders to follow.
Just then Smokescreen walked into the medbay, oblivious to what had just happened or the pain Ratchet was feeling at the moment.
"Hey Doc, Arcee said I was supposed to see you for my physical," Smokescreen explained, "Of course I'm sure you'll find I'm in excellent shape, but better safe than sorry, right?"
"Can't you see I'm busy right now?" Ratchet snapped harshly; too spark broken to care that Smokescreen hadn't done anything to provoke such a reaction.
"What, with the Vehicon?" Smokescreen asked casually, "His pede looks great. You can dismiss him now and we can get this over with."
"I have more important things to do than check your fuel pressure!" Ratchet practically screamed at Smokescreen, "I said I'm busy!"
Smokescreen flinched for a second, but then quickly recovered and retorted with "Oh come on, Doc. It's just a Vehicon! We kill these things every orn! It can wait outside until we're done."
Ratchet, unwilling to take anymore, slapped Smokescreen hard across the face! Smokescreen was stunned by the medic's actions, and Ratchet wasted no time in pushing Smokescreen out of his medbay and locking the doors behind him.
Smokescreen just stood outside the door looking at it for a moment, unsure of how to respond. He slowly walked away feeling dejected and uncertain about how to proceed.
"I saw what happened," A deep voice behind Smokescreen said ruefully, "Do you need anything?"
Smokescreen turned around to see it was one of the servant class drones.
"I don't get it," Smokescreen vented to the Vehicon despite not really knowing what it was doing in the base, "I've only been here a few hours, and it seems like everybody already hates me. Arcee is rude to me, Bulkhead and Ironhide hate my struts, and even Ratchet hit me and forced me out of the medbay! Has the whole universe gone insane?"
"Perhaps," The Vehicon replied; shocking Smokescreen by how blunt it was, "I cannot speak for everyone else, but I know why Ratchet is upset. I heard Optimus Prime tell Ironhide about it. Drone PR-35 has been reset and now he no longer remembers who he is or why he is here."
"Did he have some information the Autobots need?" Smokescreen asked worriedly.
"I don't think so. We drones are rarely told anything of consequence," The Vehicon shrugged, "However, VS-5000 has informed me that Ratchet adopted PR-35 as his own. Apparently Ratchet renamed him Bluestreak and has been forcing the drone to pretend to be his dead sparkling."
"That's...actually pretty creepy," Smokescreen commented.
"Oh I doubt PR-35 minded," The other drone chuckled softly, "I've met him on occasion, and he is a drone that craves attention. He will talk to anyone that will talk to him, and he desires more than anything for someone to care about him. If that love was based off a lie or a delusion from an Autobot torturer, well then I think that still would've been alright with PR-35. I am so grateful that I've always had love. It would be terrible to live my entire life without it."
"Your entire life?" Smokescreen repeated in confusion, "You mean Buckethead? He doesn't love you."
"I know," The Vehicon replied with a slow nod, "I was referring to my mate, ICN-994."
"Your mate!?" Smokescreen asked incredulously, "Okay, I don't know much about Vehicons so I'm not saying it's impossible, but how do you...I mean, how can you bond to something that doesn't have a spark?"
"You can't," ICN-995 replied bluntly, "That has never stopped us though. Just because we cannot share a spark bond doesn't mean what we have isn't special. I still remember the orn I onlined for the first time. I was standing in a line of maybe one hundred other drones. Shockwave was programming us each one by one. I just stood there waiting patiently for a while, but then I turned to look at the drone next to me only to find I was likewise being scrutinized. At first we just looked at each other, then I wiped some dust from the other drone's face plate, then she tilted her helm in a coy type way, and I felt it."
"Felt what?" Smokescreen asked curiously.
"I don't know how to describe it," ICN-995 shook his helm, "It was a feeling of warmth and comfort emanating from my chassis. We didn't speak to one another, yet we both knew. We knew we would be with each other forever, and that nothing could separate us. The feeling in my chassis left after my programming by Shockwave, but the love I felt for my ICN-994 never left. We have moved to several different mines over the vorns, but we have never allowed ourselves to be separated. I would rather die than abandon my beloved. I just hope the Prime will never find out how strong our feelings are."
"Why would you keep something that important a secret?" Smokescreen asked.
"Because he could use it to punish us," ICN-995 replied, "Then again, you will probably tell him. As a real mech and an Autobot warrior, I know you owe us nothing. I don't know why I told you all that. I guess I'm not the brightest cube of energon in the cupboard. I suppose we're doomed now."
"Optimus wouldn't use something as good and pure as love to hurt you," Smokescreen told him.
"Of course he would," ICN-995 argued, "He is equal to Megatron, and therefore can do whatever he wants. Vehicons do not matter to real mechs. I only hope I never do anything to anger him enough to kill her."
Smokescreen didn't reply, because he didn't know what to say. A few moments ago he had told Ratchet that Vehicons didn't matter because they were cannon fodder. Now, looking at one of these drones up close without the fear of death looming over him, Smokescreen could see it wasn't that simple. This drone had feelings. It was able to show empathy, love, fear, and desire.
"Hey," Smokescreen called out as the Vehicon attempted to walk away, "Do you have a name?"
"ICN-995," He rattled off without missing a beat.
"Really? That's it?" Smokescreen asked in distaste, "What does the ICN stand for anyway?"
"Iacon," ICN-995 replied, "Tens of thousands of drones have this serial lettering. The Decepticons manufactured many drones from parts in Iacon."
Smokescreen began to feel dread in his spark when he realized something about the drone in Ratchet's medbay, but he had to ask anyway.
"So, PR stands for...?"
"Praxus," ICN-995 confirmed, "Only 42 drones were ever built in the ruined city, and PR-35 is the only one left of that original line."
"I see," Smokescreen replied; his tone now glum and reserved, "My sire was from Praxus. He escaped the devastation by pure dumb luck. He happened to be in Helex when the 'Cons slaughtered everyone in Praxus. He used to tell me stories of how awesome Praxus was back in its glory days. I wish I could've seen it."
"I am sorry you never did," ICN-995 replied mournfully, "I know Cybertron deserved better than this. I am only a miner, but I still feel just as responsible as everyone else. We allowed our world to die, and I am sorry that young ones like you will only have vague memories of it in the vorns to come."
Smokescreen smiled wanly at the Vehicon before turning to go back toward the medbay. He knew it probably wouldn't make a difference, but he felt like he really needed to apologize to Ratchet. As he headed toward the medbay, he wondered what kind of personality that PR Vehicon had, and whether or not it was lost forever.