Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Are we okay?” Nautica asked, very softly. “I am going to miss you a lot.”

I opened one optic and glared at the chronometer. I would really rather have been sleeping. “I’m not mad at you, or anyone else here, really. And I’ll think of you after I’m gone, and I’ll smile when I do. But we’re not a ‘we’, and we were never going to be.”

Nautica nodded. “I know. You’re going to leave the ship and go back to Soundwave.” Then she frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t.” She fiddled with the diamonds draped around her wrist.

“Keep that,” I told her. “Yes, it was a gift from the captain. But he won’t be upset. He’s not an idiot. Megatron knows I can’t go back to Soundwave with his collar in my bag.” I didn’t answer the other thing. She’d known I was leaving since I sat down at her table in Swerve’s.

“I came here and I found out I could be someone different than I’d been before. And so did you. Don’t you want to find out where that goes?”

“I know where it goes, Nautica.”

“You’ve got friends that aren’t Megatron now,” Nautica said, and then stopped herself.

I arched my back, stretching, flexing my claws, and pulled myself out as long as I could. “I was friends with Ratchet, too, you know. I’ve known him longer than I’ve known Megatron. I have a lot of friends you don’t even know. And I miss them.”

“Like who?”

I rolled over onto my back and looked up at her. “You’re joking, right? You’re from Caminus, so there’s no reason for you to believe Decepticons don’t have friends.”

“You used to hide all the time and just watch people. I figured…” Nautica ex-vented. “I wasn’t popular, not really. I had friends, but…they weren’t real friends.” She didn’t say it, but I heard it in the spaces between her words: I thought you were like me.

“Misfire is the realest friend I have,” I said, and laughed, because I had no good way to explain how very real Flyhigh of Austerhex is. “Laserbeak and I have been friends since they planted us in frames that happened to be right next to each other. Buzzsaw and Glit are twelve different kinds of aft, and Buzzsaw is also a murderbird, but I love them anyway. And Howlback, and Skywarp, and Krok, and Esmeral…”

“And us? All of us, not just me,” she quickly amended.

“We have the potential to be actual friends,” I told her. “If luck works out in our favour, and we see each other again after I’ve left, I’m sure we’ll be friends someday. I have ‘faced you more than once, and I don’t ‘face people I don’t like if I have a choice about that. And Swerve’s pretty real. But there are plenty of people here on this ship that I’m not going to miss. And you know that.”

“I can’t believe you danced with Firestar like that,” Nautica said, sitting up cross-legged. “Would the person you were when we found you out on the other ship dance like that?”

I wouldn’t have. But not for the reason she was assuming. I laughed, very softly. “Long ago, it was part of my job to dance, on top of making and keeping records, and spying on people, and eliminating my master’s enemies. They couldn’t make me hate dancing, even though I hated the people I danced for.”

Nautica’s eyes widened with horror. Slag. She’d guessed what I hadn’t said, which surprised me.

I continued, because I was not going to talk about that. “Then later, I danced at the Conclave parties, back in the early days of the war. I didn’t hate that. I knew Soundwave and Megatron would kill anyone who looked at me funny unless I wanted them to.”

Nautica sighed. “A poet and a dancer. You’d have been happy on Caminus. Happier than me.”

“Probably,” I said, laughing, “except for all the people I would have had to bite because they couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.”

“We don’t treat dancers like that on Caminus—” she snapped, till I put one extended claw over her mouth.

“That was not what I meant.” I shrugged. “I haven’t been treated like that in millions of years.”

“Oh. Well, it shouldn’t have ever happened at all!” Nautica’s whole face went energon-pink.

I nodded. “That’s part of why we had a revolution back on Cybertron.”

Nautica nodded. “Look, Ravi, my point is… I’ve seen you do so many things, lately, that I didn’t think you were capable of. And not because you’re a cat. Things that I didn’t think you could do because I thought you had a terminal case of misanthropy.”

“I do,” I told her with a grin. “I’m just not the one who dies from it.” I mimed shooting a gun with one hand.

Nautica cracked up, but then her expression grew sombre. “I don’t want you to go back to being Soundwave’s hit femme.”

“I am actually not feeling very femme today,” I said, feeling bold. “If somebody called me 'he', it would not feel too weird, although 'she' will always be fine with me.” I waggled my brow at her. “Have you ever been…hetero-curious? I hope so, because you’ve just had a heterosexual experience.”

“As if that matters!” Nautica ex-vented. “I don’t understand Decepticon relationships.”

“Neither do most Decepticons,” I said with a snort. “Seriously, we don’t have rules. Most people don’t even bother with vows. You can be monogamous if you want to, but we don’t enforce it, although you’re considered a glitch if you lie to people about it. We don’t do that thing where we stare at each other for years, or centuries, and never actually frag, speaking of which, I do hope poor Drift has at long last been laid. On the other hand, we do do the thing where we’re lovers for millions of years and forget to conjunx. Which is the thing I want to go home to fix, Nautica.”

Nautica’s hand reached out, but she stopped just short of touching my shoulders and back because she saw me tense.

“Go ahead,” I said. “If I minded you touching me now, we wouldn’t have been ‘facing each other off and on for the past few days. But avoid my spine.”

“Erogenous zone?” She frowned. “I’d like to think I would’ve noticed.”

“More like instant irritation and enragement zone. The only person who is still allowed to touch me there is Soundwave, because he can release the charge that builds up there; he knows how I work.”

“That’s weird.” Nautica’s nose scrunched up, but she rested her hand on my shoulder. “It doesn’t make sense that they built in that vulnerability.”

“It wasn’t built in. It just happens sometimes, even in wild, nonsapient cybercats. And it’s exacerbated by things like cassettification. But I wasn’t meant not to be vulnerable.” I shrugged a little. “I’m disposable and an experiment. It’s a wonder I wasn’t designed to break down.”

“You’re not disposable,” Nautica said indignantly.

“I was when they made me,” I pointed out.

“I bet Soundwave doesn’t think so,” she said. “I know I don’t. I don’t understand you at all, though.”

“Don’t overthink it, Nautica. Conflict resolution through sex is a fine old Decepticon tradition. Sometimes there’s just a charge that builds up between people, whether or not they want it, and it’s either fight or frag each other. When there’s nothing really worth fighting about, you might as well frag. And after you apologised to me, we didn’t have anything left to fight about.”

“Are Decepticons always this unromantic?” Nautica groaned.

“We’re practical.” I licked her face, but lightly. Nobody likes to be slobbered on, unless it’s their spike. “It was fun,” I told her. “But I’m leaving as soon as we land, and you probably won’t see me again.”

Nautica got up and began to clean herself up. “Just…don’t hurt Swerve. I think he has a crush on you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” I said. “I know what it looks like when mechs want to frag me.”

“I’m not sure those are the same thing.” Nautica slipped out of the room and into her washrack. I sank into her recharge slab and went straight into defrag, do not pass Reboot, do not collect 200 shanix.

That was the last night I spent with her. Swerve threw me a send-off do, and it lasted all night, and then it was time to get myself all cleaned up and ready to leave.

The rendezvous was in the centre of town. Megatron knew the town and I didn’t, so he walked with me. Rodimus allowed it, because he thought we had special goodbyes to say, or something. I was surprised by that, because it would’ve been easy for Megatron to leave with me if he’d wanted to. I told him this on the way, and he said he was sure we were being watched, and he didn’t think I wanted him to come, and even if I did, he had given his word.

When we got to the park, we just kind of stood there. I’d said my goodbyes to everyone else the night before, or so I’d believed. We looked like idiots. Some big purple flowering tree was doing its thing and lavender petals were getting everywhere. We were probably going to have to pick them out of our transformation seams for cycles.

I looked up at Megatron. I might not ever see him alive again.

“Ravage,” he said. It was just the one word, my name, but I heard everything he didn’t say. I held my hands out to him, palms up.

Gently, he took my hands, clasped them together between his, and held them over his spark chamber, just for an instant—and I was afraid he might ask me to stay. And I wouldn’t, but I was afraid I might want to. A little. Enough to wonder forever. Our clasped hands were joined right over his stupid red badge. The sight of it made my optics water. I hated that thing. I hated that thing so much.

“This is so anime,” Swerve said, either to himself or to somebody else that I couldn’t see. Megatron had been right in saying we’d be followed, but I was amused that it had been Swerve.

I can’t stay mad at Swerve for any significant length of time. Which was good, because then he called out to me: “You can stay if you want to stay, Prom Queen!”

Megatron quirked a smile. “Go on,” he said. “Make me proud.” He let go of my hands.

I thumped that badge with a knuckle. “Rise up,” I hissed through my teeth, then instantly regretted that the last time I might ever touch him had been so rough. But Megatron was laughing, very softly.

Someone had walked up right behind me. I recognised the scent and the rhythm of the footfalls, but I was still feeling a little bit hazy despite the sober-up juice. I wasn’t scared. I knew they had to be one of my friends, because Megatron was standing right in front of me and was grinning right at them.

“Misfire,” said Megatron, with a nod. “Take care of her.”

Misfire was, in fact, behind me, and when I looked over my shoulder and up at him, his expression was this weird mixture of pride and amazement and concern and confusion; he started to salute, but then stopped himself, and finally put his hand on my shoulder. “We will, uh…Sir?”

“I know,” said Megatron. “Soundwave would have your heads if you didn’t.” His expression was almost purely mischievous. “I’m nobody’s Lord and I’m not your captain. Megatron’s fine.”

“Okay,” said Misfire, and I think he tried to say ‘Megatron’, but he didn’t quite manage to.

Megatron nodded to both of us and walked away. I watched him, unable to let any glimpse of him walking away be my final sight of him. After he turned the corner, Swerve walked right up to us. “Don’t forget you have friends here, okay?”

“I won’t,” I said, and hugged him, which he wasn’t expecting; his whole face lit up, and I loved it. “Take care, and for frag’s sake, stop giving Riptide your keys. He hangs out with Getaway!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Swerve muttered, and looked up at Misfire, falling silent at once. Misfire’s expression was kind of odd, too.

“This is my friend, Swerve. The bartender?” I turned to Swerve. “And this is my friend, Misfire, who’s going to give me a safe ride home.”

Misfire nodded. “I remember,” he said, and I wondered if he was okay, because he hadn’t made a joke of it when I’d told Swerve my ride would be safe.

“I want wedding pictures,” Swerve said, pointing at Misfire so directly I thought he might actually jab his abdominal plating.

“…what?” Misfire finally managed.

“Is or is not she going with you to get married to Soundwave?” Swerve demanded.

“Conjunxed,” I translated, rolling my optics. “Swerve, you’ve been watching too much TV again. Soundwave and I are not going to have a big…wedding.”

“The Pit you say, Rav,” Misfire replied, and put his hand back on my shoulder. “The entire faction—well, what’s left of it—has been waiting four million years for this. It’s going to be epic.” He grinned at Swerve. “I’ll take care of your picture needs, mate.”

“The entire faction is in tatters,” I muttered under my breath, “with frozen assets all over the place, as if taking all of our stuff will make us stop stealing from aliens. We do not have money for that sort of thing, Misfire.”

“It’s good for morale,” said Misfire, “and Soundwave is absolutely not broke.”

That was probably true, I had to admit (though I didn’t). Soundwave had money stashed away everywhere under a good few hundred aliases, and was also perfectly capable of unfreezing anything he didn’t much want to part with.

“I want his comm code,” Swerve told me. “And I want those pictures.”

“Give him my comm code,” said Misfire. The stupid purple petals were still floating in the air. They clashed with Swerve’s paint.

I should probably have saved the image, but I was still thinking about Megatron. When they found the Knights of Cybertron, I wouldn’t be there at his side. I wouldn’t be there when he died. But I didn’t want to be there when he died. In fact, that was one of the things I had told him before I left. If he wasn’t going to fight being executed, there was absolutely no reason for me to stay. I wanted to be there for him as his amica, but it was too much for him to ask me to watch him die without fighting.

It took a moment for Swerve’s request to sink in. “I’m happy to send you his comm code, Swerve. But I’m not so sure there are going to be pictures.”

“There better be,” Swerve said, and winked at me. “I’m not gonna say goodbye. See you later, Rav.” He turned on his heel and walked off.

I looked up at Misfire, feeling like I might have taken a wrong turn into a different reality. He was a little flustered, but he put his other hand on my other shoulder and turned me around to look down at me. “Cat. You’re more than half my height. What have those Autobots been feeding you?” he asked, before he picked me up in a full-body hug.

“Mostly standard rations,” I said into his shoulder, “though I had a little something from Caminus a few times.”

Misfire snorted and patted my back. “Let’s get you home,” he said, holding me up with one arm and taking my bags in his other hand. “The Boss has really missed you.”

I buried my face in his shoulder so that I wouldn’t be seen in case I started to cry, and his wings came up to shield me. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed him.”

“Oh, I think I have an idea,” Misfire said gently. “We have very explicit care and feeding instructions for you. Fortunately, while he can’t digitise energon treats, he sent us enough to get some badly needed work done on the ship and feed us all to the standard he means to keep you in. Fresh cheap takeout for all tonight!”

It felt strange to be laughing while trying not to sob. “You gonna replace Krok’s engex?”

“Already did. Well, technically it was your conjunx that did…but you know the drill, Cat.” He tightened his grip around me.

I let his scent waft over my vomeronasal sensors and sighed. He needed a shower, but I didn’t mind. It felt like I was halfway home already. “If Soundwave is already my conjunx, and I would be more than willing to agree that we’ve already done all four of the relevant acts millions of times, Misfire, why do I have to have a wedding?”

“To make it official,” Misfire said firmly. “So those chunderhelms of Galvatron’s stop dragging you. And also because we could all really use a party right now. We lost the war, Cat. But you two are the last true believers left from the old guard, and even the people who can’t get there will be able to get on the Big Conversation and see something’s happened that we can all celebrate.”

“All right.” He had a point. I nodded against his shoulder. “If that’s what Soundwave wants, anyway.”

“How could he not, getting you back after so long?” Misfire chuckled. “Emmy said she’d come out there and plan the whole thing, you know.”

I accepted my fate with a wistful smile. “You have to know that I don’t like the risks inherent in holding a big flashy ceremony when there are plenty of people who want us both dead. But if it’ll make people believe more in Soundwave and me, then I’ll do it.” It was my turn to vent. “But I want it known that I would be happy to declare and record our intention and the date of each Act with two witnesses, and that they could be you and Laserbeak, and then just lock ourselves in our suite for a decacycle.”

Misfire just laughed. “You could’ve done that, Cat, if you’d asked him even a vorn ago. But everything’s different now.”

“You have no idea,” I said, and he squeezed me.

“Give the faction their royal wedding, and then we’ll put Grimlock outside of your suite for a decacycle.”

“Frag, you sound like Thundercracker now.” I groaned, and then realised what he’d just said. “Also wow, I am out of the loop. Since when are the Dynobots ‘cons again?”

“About that,” Misfire said, as we boarded a transport out to the docks, just a jet and a cat and some bags, surrounded by a bunch of ordinary mechs just like us. Just trying to get by. “We got a new crew member. I was kinda hoping he’d remember you.”

Chapter Text

When Megatron came back to the ship, Rodimus was waiting for him in the conference room, and he looked absolutely crestfallen.

Megatron frowned. “You expected me to come back with her? You knew better.”

“I gave her a star,” Rodimus said.

“For ‘overcoming her social anxiety’. I know.” Megatron sat down in the conference room. “Thank you for not making a big deal of whether or not she was going to abandon ‘her evil ways’.” It was cutting, but he smiled when he said it.

Rodimus laughed, hollowly. “Well, she hasn’t,” he said, and ex-vented dramatically.

Megatron was almost tempted to pat his hand. “I think you can rest assured that she’s not going back to be an assassin again. For one thing, she has a book deal now.”

Rodimus raised one eyebrow. “Don’t look so proud of yourself.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have nothing to do with her book deal. Ultra Magnus won’t even let me write her a foreword,” Megatron said, very primly.

“I know you’re going to miss her too.”

“More than you,” Megatron said with a snort. “She’s not your amica, is she?”

“Amica.” Rodimus gave him a sidewise look, but said nothing more on the subject.

“Amica,” Megatron repeated. “And because I’m her amica, I know she needed to go, Rodimus. I shouldn’t have kept her from her conjunx endura.”

Rodimus dropped his rust stick. “…what.”

Megatron gave him a look. The look said, ‘you are rash and impulsive and poorly educated, but you know people, so I know you know exactly what I am talking about, but feel free to go ahead and disappoint me by making me tell you explicitly.’

“We’ve had Soundwave’s conjunx on this ship for how long?”

“I thought she wanted to leave him,” Megatron said diffidently. “And I was sure she’d want to leave him once that cassetticon coding was gone. I honestly should have known better, though. They were together when I met them.” He leaned back in his chair. “She came here to kill me.”

“You know she could never have done that!” Rodimus snapped.

“I’m sure Soundwave did, too.” Megatron smiled. “I’m satisfied with what happened. He tried to make her choose between us, even if Galvatron did goad him into it. And she chose herself.”

“Did she, though?” Rodimus ex-vented again. “Did she, really?”

“You know she did.” Megatron looked straight into his optics. “And you know you know it. You just have a Ravage-shaped hole in your spark. You suffer whenever anyone leaves, no matter how good their reasons are. I mean no disrespect, but if you’d been a Decepticon, you’d have been one of the captains who ‘faced your whole crew on a regular basis.”

Rodimus glared at him indignantly.

“Your imagination has gone rather florid,” said Megatron. “When we performed that ritual, we held hands and daisy-chained our wrist port cables.”

“We.” Rodimus didn’t repeat it. “You.” Then he glanced at the door. “Her. Soundwave. And her.”

Megatron shrugged. Rodimus was more right about that than he knew, but it wasn’t his business and he wouldn’t be happier for knowing about it. “Arguably, things got a whole lot worse when the practise fell out of favour. It wasn’t half as lascivious as you think. With that many people plugged in, it more or less defaults to being a spiritual experience.”

“I can see that,” Rodimus said, reluctantly. “I just can’t picture Decepticons trusting each other enough to do that.”

Megatron quirked a smile. “You see why I say things got worse when the practise fell out of favour?”

“Primus. We all thought that ‘army of lovers’ recruiting slogan was just propaganda.” Rodimus rolled his optics.

Megatron chuckled. “She wrote that, you know.”

Rodimus shook his head. “I so did not need to know that.”

“She had to go.” Megatron shrugged. “Think about it. What do you think happens if she doesn’t go back to Sanctuary?”

“I don’t know.” Rodimus picked up an energon cube and swirled a fresh rust stick through it. “You’re the one who knows those people.”

Megatron just cocked his head to one side and studied him. After a moment, he started to squirm.

“Stop that. Okay. Soundwave needs her. Why do we want Soundwave to get what he needs?” Rodimus gave him a truly impressive side-eye.

“You know that already,” said Megatron. “If I have to draw you a diagram of the remaining faction leaders, and where their loyalties go, I’ll be even sadder than I am right now. And so will you. Don’t make me.”

Rodimus rolled his optics. “Yeah.” He pulled air in through all of his vents. “I know you’re the one who published her work for her.”

“I’d be interested to see you show your work on that,” Megatron said idly, and took a rust stick himself. “Very interested.”

“For frag’s sake, you did it right under my nose. We were alone on the ship when the first batch of those files went up.” Rodimus scowled. “I don’t like it when you hide things from me.”

“I know,” said Megatron, and smiled again. “The Big Conversation has server nodes scattered from Ankokuyousai to Io. There are time dilation factors, and there was a DDOS attack on the site within breems of the upload. Ultimately, if anyone knows when those files were put up, it’s either Biteback or Esmeral.”

Rodimus rolled his optics again. “You painted a target right on her back and then you let her leave. Whatever happened to realising your life’s work was unsalvageable?”

Megatron ex-vented heavily. “Nothing whatsoever. My life’s work is unsalvageable. And every night I talked with her, or him, about that, in hand or in words, for breems or for half a shift, Ravage made it very clear to me, in no uncertain terms, that I could pass judgement on my own work, but I did not have the right to tell her that her life’s work was unsalvageable.”

“You told them all to stand down.” Rodimus looked ever so slightly betrayed, and this time not just on Ravage’s behalf.

Megatron nodded. “I was wearing a red badge when I said it and giving a speech that any person who’s actually read my books would be able to tell had been written by someone else. I understand why Optimus thought the Decepticons would accept that from me. I even thought he might be right, at the time. But I don’t understand why you ever believed that.”

“Are you saying you didn’t mean it?”

Megatron just stared at him. “Of course, I meant it. But I doubt it took five astroseconds for Soundwave to decide that he wanted me assassinated if I wasn’t planning a coup. Soundwave is a kind spark. He may have thought of it as putting me out of my misery.”

“Maybe she was better off with her social anxiety,” Rodimus muttered, half to himself. “What do you mean, Soundwave’s a kind spark?”

“Have you ‘faced him?”

Rodimus winced. “Of course not.”

“She wouldn’t be with him if he weren’t kind. And because he is kind, he will never be able to lead the faction without her. If somebody has to lead it, would you rather see anyone else do it?”

“Primus,” Rodimus vented. Clearly he didn’t want to admit what Megatron knew he’d been able to see.

“Don’t forget that even though she does have social anxiety, not to mention post-traumatic stress, and you have apparently become rather fond of her despite your nearly minimal interaction, she was a saboteur, and an assassin. She can take care of herself, Rodimus.” Megatron nibbled at the tip of his rust stick. He was hungrier than he’d thought he was. “She’s the truest of the true believers. It didn’t stop with the ‘army of lovers’ line. She wrote a lot of propaganda.”

“I can see them winning,” Rodimus finally admitted, a far-off look in his eyes. “Spectacularly, actually. I wouldn’t have thought so before, but…”

“She went down on the Vis Vitalis. I didn’t know what was going to happen when I made her go without her mesh, but I was impressed. A person who can make people ignore her is a person who can also refuse to let herself be ignored.” Megatron smiled at him. “I know you’re proud of her now. You’ll be prouder still if she takes out Galvatron, Shockwave and the DJD, then walks up to the Prime and our gracious Emperor Perpetua and forces them to acknowledge her. We could have genuine peace.”

“I’m starting to think you’ve been planning this all along.” Rodimus frowned.

Megatron shrugged. “Well…I wasn’t going to let her murder me in my sleep. And she would have, knowing the DJD was after me, if she had believed that I was too broken to deal with them. She would have considered it ‘a kinder death than I’d have had otherwise’ with a bonus ‘saving all of your new friends’ lives’. But no, I haven’t been grooming her to be the heir to the Decepticon throne for the last decavorn.”

“Just the last year and a half then,” said Rodimus, scowling into his own lap.

“No,” said Megatron. “Before I left, I never thought about having a successor; I figured that either I’d die in the field, or someone would eventually murder me. Probably not Starscream, actually, but of course it would have been someone I never suspected. After I took the Autobrand, it was out of the question and out of my hands. But Ravage told me she wanted this, in words and without them, from the moment she showed herself in that alternate universe, so I gave her the push and the visibility she was going to need, because there’s only one mech who has ever been able to give Lady Ravage of House Kymatos orders without making her think they were her idea. And even he can’t do that anymore.”

Rodimus looked up at him, his optics flared. “Lady Ravage of House Kymatos?”

Megatron shrugged. “If Senator Shockwave had had his way, that would have been her name…when he married her to his brother.”

Chapter Text

Krok looked tired. I hadn’t seen him in decades, I realised, and we were all older, but it was more than that. Nonetheless, he gave us a cautious smile when we boarded. I think he must have thought I was asleep, because he looked at Misfire and asked “How is…”

“She’s fine,” Misfire said, and set me down gently on my feet.

I confirmed this with a thumbs-up. I felt weirdly self-conscious at having wheels attached to my body under Krok’s not-actually-all-that-judgemental gaze, because I hadn’t had them before. They were elegant little things, but they were still signs that I do use my T-cog, even if what I mostly use it for is switching between biped and quadruped.

Krok was a monoformer; he’d had his removed a long time ago. “You’ve grown,” he said, and that was all he said about it.

“I suppose you could say that.” I smiled.

Misfire shook his head. “Still can’t believe you didn’t go for a flyer frame,” he said with amusement. “Or can the Autobots just not do them?”

I flushed energon pink, or rather I would have if my derma and plate hadn’t all been black. It seemed rude to discuss this in front of Krok. But then again, Misfire knew him better than I did. “The car I turn into is called a Jaguar. I thought it was funny. And pretty.”

I have also never wanted to fly, which almost everyone except Krok thinks is weird. I like having something under my paws that’s not air.

“You look well.” Krok ex-vented. “Done with Autobot shenanigans?”

I nodded, because I was seriously amazed at how relaxed I was starting to feel now that I knew I wouldn’t ever have to go back. “Yeah. Done with Autobots in general, really.”

“Good.” Krok patted me on the shoulder, awkwardly, then turned to Misfire. “They’re still arguing about who’s going to give up their room. I’ll probably give in and stay with Spinister. Mine’s probably the only clean room on this ship, anyway.”

I’d never spent the night on the Weak Anthropic Principle before, but I’d been on it before, and I knew—I’d known, going in—that it was a small ship. That was a part of its appeal, in addition to having my old friends around. “You don’t have to do that, Krok,” I said. “I can stay with Misfire, if he doesn’t mind. I’m not here to inconvenience anyone.”

“If you don’t mind Grimlock,” Misfire said. “He’s not what he once was, but he is getting better.”

Right. Grimlock. I’d gathered from context that he was the ‘new crew member’, but even so I was surprised. “Pfft. I think the real question is does Grimlock mind me? I can outrun him any day, but if he sits on me while I’m in defragmentation, it’s not gonna be pretty.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Misfire assured me, “and he has his own…sleeping area.”

Krok made a coughing noise to get our attention. “I was concerned about appearances,” he said, and shrugged. “Soundwave’s paying us more for this than we’ve made in a decivorn. We can’t treat you like our leader’s consort should be treated, but I thought we could give you some privacy. Also, Misfire’s a slob, you know. And he’ll steal your engex.”

Misfire looked a bit aggrieved, but there wasn’t much he could say. He is a slob, and he does steal fuel. Though he’d never stolen more than one or two of the treats Soundwave made me, back when we were all working together. Unlike some people. (Starscream had been in the habit of taking the whole box often enough that Soundwave had drugged all the blue ones in the box with a purgative once, knowing he’d eat the whole box in one sitting and spend the rest of the day running back and forth between the washracks and the recycler. It had been epic.)

At any rate, none of the things I already knew about Misfire were going to bother me. And I had liked Grimlock just fine when he had been one of us…a really long time ago. “If I can tolerate Megatron being a neat freak, I can tolerate Misfire being a slob. And I’ve always known about that. Besides. I was on that ship for ages, living alone in the ventilation system, before anyone knew I was there. That was all the privacy I can take for a while.”

Krok nodded. “Well, at least it’ll shut Crankcase up for half a breem,” he said with a wry little smile. “I’m sorry. You must be tired. I haven’t even found you a place to sit down.”

I groaned. “Krok. You’ve known me for eons. Please don’t be weird about this because I’m with Soundwave officially now. I’m still the same person.”

“That’s what I’m ever so slightly afraid of,” Krok said, with a nervous chuckle. “Please tell me you are going to settle down now, Ravage.”

He said it with laughter, but I knew it was a completely serious question. Hopefully Misfire hadn’t told him that I’d commed him from Nautica’s bed. And even more hopefully, hopefully no-one on Lost Light security had released any of the video from Megatron’s surveillance feed as revenge porn.

Soundwave would surely have scrubbed that…as long as he saw it before Swindle did. One could hope. I was doing a lot of hoping, suddenly.

“Are you asking me about my intentions, Krok? Yes, I am going to make an honest mech out of Soundwave.” I ex-vented, trying hard not to roll my optics.

“See that you let him make one of you,” Krok said quietly. “Please.”

I could hear in my head what Megatron would’ve said about that. He would’ve told me not to give up any of the prerogatives of rulership, because otherwise it’d look like I was accepting more constraints on myself in the interest of being A Credit To My Frame-Type. What Krok was trying to tell me, in part, was that until they got to know us better, people were going to think of me as Soundwave’s consort and of him as the real leader, even though Soundwave has never led anything in his life, and some of those people would have less respect for us both if they were allowed to think that I was faithless and he was too besotted to say anything.

I did not particularly care for either of those arguments. But I didn’t feel like complaining about it. I was done with being manipulated by Megatron, and I probably wouldn’t even see him alive again. I wouldn’t even have bothered with Nautica’s proposition—despite all the fun I’d had with it—if Soundwave had been there. My optics were fogging again, and leaking on top of it. “I will,” I said, though my voice was half caught in my throat. “And not for the sake of the faction. I don’t want anyone else anymore.”

“I believe you,” Misfire said, very quietly. “It’s all right, Cat.”

“Good,” said Krok, and patted my shoulder very awkwardly, as if he’d been having the Talk with a squeaky-geared new recruit to his troop, fresh out of the factory, and it had been just as much of an ordeal for him as it was for the victim.

It probably had been.

Awkward having peaked, Krok preceded us into the communal living area. “No need to switch rooms. She’s staying with Misfire.”

“And Grimlock?” Fulcrum cracked up.

Before I could even sit down, Crankcase called out, “There she is! There’s the trophy wife! How are you doing, Trophy?”

Krok facepalmed. I laughed out loud. Which was probably a better choice, except that Crankcase was now going to be calling me that for the rest of the trip. At least it’d be better than him thinking he could call me ‘Cat’, just because Misfire’s allowed to.

“Hello to you too, Crankcase. I’m fine.” Of all the Scavengers, I actually knew Crankcase the least well, though his head wound was a better introduction than the roof. Fulcrum was newer, but Fulcrum was, well, not Crankcase.

Misfire shoved a pile of junk off the couch so I could sit down and Spinister pulled out a can of engex from somewhere and gave it to me. “You’re braver than I am,” Fulcrum said as Misfire investigated the cartons of freshly acquired take-out.

I shrugged. “I won’t blow anything up if he accidentally steps on me.”

“Rude,” Fulcrum said, but he laughed and tossed me a carton. “I think this is something you liked the last time we saw you.”

Spinister frowned. “But I also don’t want the cat to go squish,” he said plaintively.

“Relax. I won’t go squish.” I opened the carton. It was, in fact, something I liked. Whatever whimsical clanger came up with the idea of turning energon gel into noodles, I owed them thanks. The manganese-flavoured coolant reduction was amazing.

“So,” said Fulcrum, “why did Soundwave pick us? Not that I’m complaining about all of this money, but it’s weird.”

“He thinks we’ll get her to the church on time?” Spinister muttered into his engex.

Krok and Misfire exchanged meaningful glances with each other and then with me. That was how I learned that the rest of the crew did not know they’d been Soundwave’s operatives for a very long time, nor that they still remained on call.

“Maybe it’s because you’re not an obvious answer to the question ‘To whom would Soundwave entrust his intended conjunx?’” I offered. “But I also commed Misfire and begged him to get me out of Autobot hell, and then I told Soundwave, who offered to pay for it?” I turned to Spinister. “What is a church and why do I need to go there?”

Spinister shrugged. “Just something I heard once,” he said, and peered at my shoulder. Without any warning at all, he clamped one hand down on it—I would’ve decked anyone else—and another on the back of my neck. Then I felt something twist, and I almost dropped my food, because it really fucking hurt.

Everyone was, of course, staring at us, probably because of the noise I’d made. But then it didn’t hurt at all, and the sudden rush of bliss brought home to me that it had been hurting. For days. “Thanks,” I said. “Could’ve warned me, though.”

“Needed you not to brace yourself so adjustment would work.” Spinister shrugged. “Protoform still expanding, exerted mass effect on cervicothoracic armature.”

“I thought Megatron fixed that.” He’d been gentler about it, but maybe that was the problem. Or maybe the problem was that I hadn’t been letting Megatron touch anything other than my hands for a tenday.

“Ongoing process.” Spinister laughed. “One more decacycle.”

I was starting to feel unbelievably buoyant. It wasn’t just the engex, or the noodles, or the absence of the shoulder pain. It was the feeling of not being judged. Even positive judgements are still running assessments. I had a Rodimus Star because I’d surprised him.

I’d been the only Decepticon on the ship, and the only beastformer everyone knew about, and people were constantly trying to figure out what my relationship with Megatron actually was, and some people wanted to pet me, and other people wanted to avoid me, and none of it had anything to do with who I really was. I was constantly being compared to what people expected of Decepticons, or beastformers, or the secret lover of the evil overlord, or the Infamous Decepticon Assassin and Saboteur. These people all knew who I was, more or less. That was why Crankcase thought it so funny that I was a ‘trophy wife’ now.

And absolutely nothing here was wired for sound. Not that I wanted to get up to anything here that I didn’t want broadcast throughout the galaxy, but it meant I didn’t have to care if my finish got scuffed or my optics were dull because I was overtired.

I was going to miss Swerve.

I was even going to miss Rodimus and Nautica, and Velocity, and...maybe some others, like Tailgate with his slaggy taste in boyfriends. And Megatron, of course, despite our differences.

But I felt freer than I had since I’d left Soundwave’s side on Luna-2, and when I finally broke down in tears in the middle of playing a silly video game, just because that part of my life was finally over, I got a lot of very respectful, well-telegraphed hugs before I was led to the ridiculously oversized recharge slab in Misfire’s room, where I fell into defragmentation as soon as I closed my optics.

Chapter Text

As posted to The Big Conversation by @cybercatastrophe (verified by Site Administrator @EmeraldWings):

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I loved the shadows when they hid me.
I let them wrap themselves around me like a wedding cape.
I walked on four feet, down at your knees,
And kept beneath your optics and your notice
Because I had learned it was dangerous to be beautiful.

Once in a great while, I showed myself.
I marched arm-in-arm on the barricades with my lovers and sang.
I posed for a portrait to show the world pride.
I danced on a pole in a palace on New Kaon
Where no-one who wasn’t bound to us all could see me
And no-one who didn’t love me could touch me.

But still I padded through shadows at night.
And the people who hurt us all fell,
Never knowing what hit them.

But now that you’ve all seen me dance
With the femme whose helm was on fire
And now that you’ve all read my poetry
Still you don’t see me.

I broke up with the shadows who loved me
I dropped my veils and my cape,
Slipped out of my gown of fine mesh
And spat out all my lanthanum chips.
And still you don’t see me.

Stop looking for all of the things I have been.
Stop trying to follow the tracks that I never left behind.
I’m standing right here, being more than the sum of those parts;
And you can’t stop the signal my love has been blasting from Destron’s heart.

Chapter Text

I dreamed of a world in which things had gone very differently; a world in which we were ruling Cybertron justly from a palace in Kaon. I was recharging in this dream; I was neatly tucked between Soundwave’s body and Megatron’s, pleasantly exhausted, content to feel safe, loved and adored, and completely immobile.

I woke up in reality to find myself the smallest person in a berth that, while large, would really not have been big enough for three people even if one of them hadn’t had wings and the other one hadn’t been Grimlock.

I was, however, no less immobile.

Grimlock opened one eye, which was uncomfortably close to my own eye. “Me Grimlock,” the big bot said. He was apparently stuck in his alt-mode.

“Ravage,” I said. We knew each other, though it had been a good few million years. I had liked him during the years that Soundwave and I had been helping Megatron organise the gladiators. My sister Howlback had liked him a lot. I had been rather less thrilled with him when he signed up with the Autobots at Ironfell, but what could you do? The Dynobots had been excellent fighters; of course the Autobots had wanted them, although I’d never understood why they agreed to support them.

Grimlock nodded. “Sneaky cat,” he said, and started to pat my head—but he stopped when he saw me flinch.

Misfire sat bolt upright, his eyes wide, which was only a little alarming considering one of his arms had been under my neck. “You remember Ravage, big guy?”

“Me Grimlock,” said Grimlock, nodding.

“Is that why you decided to sleep in here, mate? To say hello to Ravage?” Misfire’s expression was positively beatific. “He has his own sleeping area, but he doesn’t always use it.”

Grimlock shrugged. “Sneaky cat,” he repeated.

“He’s not wrong,” I said as I rearranged myself in a sitting position, laughing partly because it was funny and partly out of relief that he didn’t bear me any ill-will.

“Indeed he is not,” said Misfire, and grabbed something out of the pile of junk on the nightstand. It was a necklace, which he unceremoniously dropped over my head. It was a very cheap piece of jewellery, and if it hadn't been silvery rather than golden it would probably have turned green, because it wasn’t new. The stone in the pendant, which appeared to be a piece of glass but probably wasn’t, changed colours; it had been clear when he’d put it on me, but now it was deep onyx black.

“Aha,” said Misfire. “Feeling butch today, are we?”

“…what?” I blinked.

“Spinister made that for you to wear while you’re here. And after you go, if you want. So that nobody gets it wrong. Since you change and all.”

“How does that work? Are you sure that it’s not just a mood pendant? They sell those on the internet, although I’m pretty sure they’re fake.” I didn’t mind wearing a necklace on the ship. If it worked, it would save everyone embarrassment, although I usually don’t correct people if they get it wrong, because I’m rather infrequently male.

Soundwave would correct people, but he wasn’t around. (He said that it did bother me, and he might have even been right, but as a beastformer, I was happy with anything that wasn’t ‘it’ and happier with either ‘he’ or ‘she’ than ‘they’. The Functionists had considered us genderless, because even though gender is frivolous and almost always to be discouraged, only people have genders.)

“Spin made it.” Misfire shrugged. “You can ask Spin but I can’t guarantee that the answer will make any sense.”

“That’s true. Thanks I guess,” I said, and thought about hugging him, but I had been hugged enough.

He grinned at me, then turned to Grimlock. “Can you say Ravage?”

“Sneaky cat,” said Grimlock with a friendly smile that would have been much less alarming if there hadn’t been so many teeth showing.

“His name is Ravage,” said Misfire firmly.

“Sneaky cat from arena,” said Grimlock.

“Do you remember which sneaky cat I am?” I didn’t really want him to confuse me with my sister.

“Trick question!” Grimlock said, laughing. “Blue cat not sneaky!”

Misfire’s optics flared. “Six words,” he said in a soft voice, and gave me a broad grin.

I gave Grimlock a big thumbs up. If he was going to remember me from anywhere, the arena was really the best of all possible worlds. “Good enough, Grimlock, ” I said. “I just want the washracks and recycler. Please, let me up?”

Misfire got out of my way so I could get out of bed. “I want him to learn your actual name, though. He can write the first letter of his!”

“He remembers where he met me,” I said with a shrug.

Misfire sighed plaintively. “I guess…I guess that’s a good thing.”

“I’ll take it over T-O-R-R-A-X-I-S.” I sucked air through my teeth. “What happened to him?” It was probably a bad question to ask, knowing I needed the recycler, but…the answer turned out to be shorter than expected.

“I don’t know,” Misfire said, a little sadly. “We found him like this. Go, though, get yourself clean. I know you had a long day yesterday, so we let you sleep for a while.”

“How long is a while?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t say something alarming like ‘a megacycle’.

Misfire shook his head. “Two shifts. Not that we really have shifts officially here.”

Two shifts was good. I had no complaints.

I was standing in the washracks under the running solvent when I got the top priority ping to my comm. Soundwave was allowed past my firewalls, so I didn’t need a handset. “Ravage: is loved.” He was half a galaxy away, but his soft, unmodulated voice was right there, so close I thought I could feel warm air from his vents caressing the dermal mesh inside my audials.

“Ravage: is wet,” I said, then I laughed, because I hadn’t meant it in a sexual way. “In the washracks, I mean.”

Soundwave laughed quietly along with me. “Soon.”

I nodded, though of course he couldn’t see me. “Your real voice does do that to me. Honestly, it’s been so long that even your false voice might do it. Soundwave: is also loved.”

“Do not forgive me yet,” said Soundwave. It was the sort of thing I might have expected to hear from Megatron, not from him, but there was no sense of evasion or dishonesty coming through the sparkbond.

“No?” I laughed gently. “Did you do something else I’m going to be hacked off about?”

“No, but…forgiveness tastes better in person,” he said. “Ravage: has things that need to be said. And I am repentant, but also know that apologies also taste better in person.”

Nobody but Soundwave could have produced those sentences. My optics brimmed over with tears, but the solvent washed them away. “Want you,” I said; it came out in a keening whine, and suddenly I was considering non-standard applications of the shower head, trying to calculate the likelihood that someone else on the crew would come into the showers before I finished.

“Soon.” The sparkbond began to warm up and suffuse my entire frame with emotional bliss. It wasn’t something he’d never done before, but it was something he’d never attempted at this kind of distance. A shiver ran up my spine, and out from my spark through my head and my limbs and my tail. “Miss you too,” he continued, and I felt the ghosts of his fingertips trailing over the sensitive seams in my armour, the softness where joints bent.

The shower head won. I knew that there was a very good scientific explanation for how he could do this to me after spending a few million years merging sparks, but it was still a very new and unexpected trick. “You need to spike me as soon as I get home,” I said. “As soon as you get the door closed behind me. We can do it against the door.”

“Ravage: will want to talk. But yes, right after. Frag you right through the berth.”

It felt like being spiked by a ghost. There was nothing whatsoever in my valve, but my callipers felt like they were clenching on something, and that something felt a lot like Soundwave does. I could feel the cool slide of data cables embracing me, seeking out ports through my plating. Why had we not been doing this since I’d left?

(Because I’d been furious with him, of course. And also because he’d been seething with jealousy.)

I was making uncontrollable lewd noises and sure I was going to walk out of the washracks to a standing ovation. “There,” he said, and his vocals stabilised, which meant he wasn’t nervous anymore. “Spray that anterior node for me, brightspark.” His vents caught in his throat. “I remember what it tastes like.”

I overloaded on the spot. I heard a half-strangled cry from his end, and had to brace myself against the wall for the second one that would come to me when his hit. He growled as I came for him: “Mine.”

By the time I’d recovered, the solvent had begun to run cold. Fortunately, I was mostly clean. “Yours,” I said, rinsing the effluvia away. “Absolutely yours...”

There’d been a time in my life when I couldn’t handle hearing anyone speak of me like I was something they owned. But now that no-one could own me, it went right to my valve when he called me his own. I was going to have to figure out a way to take his comms in private. There had to be someplace on this ship that nobody went if they didn’t absolutely have to.

“Soundwave,” he murmured, “is also yours.”

There was no standing ovation when I emerged from the washracks. Crankcase just paused the show he and Fulcrum were watching, which had been turned up to near-maximum volume. “How’s Soundwave, Trophy?”

Krok buried his face in his hands. “How’s CONS4EVA?” he muttered through his digits.

I snorted. “Soundwave is fine,” I said, and stretched out on the other couch. It was that horrible Self-Hating Decepticon guy they were watching. “I hate that guy.”

“Really?” Fulcrum stared at me. “But he’s hilarious! You have yet to hear his Starscream/Ratbat routine—”

“He is, objectively, terrible,” said Krok, peering over to look at my necklace. “He’s also said things about Ravage that he shouldn’t have to listen to right now.”

“I don’t want to hear a fragging word about Ratbat,” I snapped. “He’s dead and I’m not and that’s the way I wanted it. Even Starscream doesn’t deserve—”

Crankcase was staring at me. “We’re not playing the Ratbat bit, Fulcrum.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Fulcrum sighed. “I’m new to you. I keep forgetting you know people.”

“Shut up about Ratbat.” Crankcase glared at him. I wasn’t sure what he knew and I didn’t want to think of him knowing, but I sure wouldn’t question it.

Crankcase tossed me an energy bar made of crushed silicates with a gelled energon icing, and I opened it up and ate it. “Thought you could use that after your vocal performance.” He snickered. I rolled my eyes at him.

“Let’s talk,” said Krok, and I was really glad my plate is too dark to see energon flush through, because I was completely embarrassed. I hadn’t realised how bad the soundproofing apparently was on the washracks.

“I’m sorry—” I blurted, but he stuck out his hands and shook them violently, like he was warding off radio revenants or something.

“Everyone does that,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “And nobody cares! They only know Soundwave commed you because he also commed me. We might run into some problems if we don’t plan the route carefully.” At that, he grinned. “I like having to make actual plans!”

“Oh.” I followed him into the captain’s room and sat down at the table. “So how long is this trip going to be?”

“We’ll get you home as soon as we can do it safely,” Krok said, “but you know we can’t just do a straight shot back to the Sol system direct from the last place the Lost Light landed without attracting attention.” He shrugged. “Do you have any idea how much Galvatron hates you, Ravage?”

“Let’s see. Galvatron hates beastformers, he’s basically a secret Neo-Functionist, he lied his aft off to Soundwave about the peace process…the only part of Megatron’s teachings he respects is that strength should be able to find its own level regardless of other personal characteristics, and he sure as scrap doesn’t believe that there’s anything wrong with challenging some of the strong harder than others, and then there’s the part where anyone claimed by what he defines as a more powerful mech is essentially their property and should behave as such—” I shrugged. “I think I get it.”

“I hope you do,” Krok said more quietly, and looked at me like I was a new recruit again. “We do not have peace yet, Ravage. We’ve gone from being at war with the Autobots to being at war with each other. Soundwave could probably have won against Galvatron on his military strength alone, but now you’ve turned this into a fight for the sparks of the Decepticons as a people. That means you’ve lost your conjunx some of the leaders who might have followed him otherwise. The people who want what Galvatron wants. I don’t know if Strika, Deathsaurus and I are going to be able to make up for that, but we’re going to do our best, because otherwise you and Soundwave are going to have to take Prime up on his offers.”

“I can’t go to him. And Soundwave wouldn’t.” I swallowed. “You don’t know what there is between us and him.” I glanced down at the floor. “Also, I don’t think we want those people. They’re backstabbing gasholes like Starscream and Scorponok, and who needs that?”

“If Galvatron takes Soundwave out, you’ll die at your own hand, or you won’t die clean. He has to destroy you in a way that will discredit all your teachings and beliefs. To him, you’re an animal who rose through the ranks on his, or her, back in the berths of the most powerful Decepticons in the old Conclave, and you’ve played them off against each other for the past four million years. And now, he thinks, you dare to think you’re a leader and have ideas.” Krok took a swing of his engex. “If you won’t surrender to Prime, then you absolutely can’t lose.”

I knew what he was getting at. He was getting at Ratbat having the last laugh at me, through Galvatron’s agency. It was not going to happen. “I do understand what you mean, but you’re forgetting Soundwave has a technological edge as well as military support. Where are Galvatron’s people going to get new communications and logistics technology? The Galactic Council? They just love Decepticons! The Autobots?”

“I just want you to be very, very careful. And to understand that while I have you on my ship, I’m also going to be extremely careful. You’re our Voice now, Ravage. We’ll get you to Soundwave as soon as we can, but also as safely as we can, which means that we’re going to be taking a more circuitous path than either you or he would like. He understands the need for it, though, and I hope you do, too. If we—or any other even nominally Decepticon vessel—went straight from the Lost Light’s last known location to Sanctuary Station, Galvatron would know that it was your chariot. And he’d make sure that you didn’t make it there. And not only would we not survive that, I don’t think Soundwave would, either.”

I thought about the Functionist Universe in which I had been scrapped and Soundwave had turned his own T-cog into a bomb, and I wasn’t about to argue.

As nervous as he seemed, though, Krok seemed happier than he’d been the last time I’d seen him. “You are enjoying this,” I said.

“I’m enjoying having purpose again. I don’t know what we’ll do with ourselves when you two take over and there really is no more war, but…” He shrugged. “For now it will do.”

“You’ll think of something.” I sighed, and took his hand. “There’s more to life than this, Krok. When I was very young, we used to take over old buildings in the Dead End, buildings that people officially owned, but had just been left to rot. We’d fix things up, let people live there. That’s one of the reasons we were in trouble. I taught Soundwave to dance. Vertically, even.”

Krok laughed. “Don’t talk like that, though—”

“I wouldn’t. He was the one who taught me to dance, horizontally.” I shrugged. “He taught me what pleasure was, actually. I certainly didn’t learn that from the Senators.” I was sure my cheeks were burning. “There will be dancing in our revolution, Krok. There will be things to do after the war. There will be healing, there will be teaching, there will be love. There will be restoration and recovery and hope. Whether we ever go back to Cybertron or not, we will have homes of our own and a place that is ours.”

I took his other hand. “I promise you this,” I said softly. “There will be a place for you, and it can be in our self-defence forces if that’s what you still want to do, but if you want another kind of life, you can have that as well.”

Krok took my hands and placed them gently in my lap, then let go, and then he got down on one knee. “I and mine are yours, Voice of Destron,” he said very quietly.

I leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Okay. Good. But only remember: I am still your friend.”

Chapter Text

The observation deck on the Lost Light was strangely quiet. It was a good place to sit and write poetry when you were tired of looking at the four walls of your habsuite and wishing desperately for the soft, sarcastic voice of someone you loved and would probably never see again. A good place to wonder why you lied to her about the energon. A good place to wonder if he knew he left the briefcase behind. A good place to look out at the stars and think about all of the planets you’ve wrecked.

An even better place not to think of a small house on a long-forgotten colony world, and a garden of flowers that were chosen for their scents by someone who knew scent better than anyone else could, doubtlessly long overgrown and either all dead or spread well past the courtyard.

The best place of all not to think of your regretted conquests, and the little one, Parvilla, who had let you frag her on the former planetary ruler’s desk, the one who’d held still while you licked all the blood that wasn’t her own from her muzzle.

“Optimus went back to Cybertron.”

Megatron looked up to see Rodimus standing there in the dim starlight. “Am I supposed to be surprised?”

Rodimus’ lip-plates were doing that quivering, petulant thing again. It made him look even younger than he was, and it made him look scared. Megatron groaned very softly.

“What’s he done now?”

Rodimus shook his head. “He messaged me. He wanted to know why I let her leave. He didn’t say a thing about you, by the way. I told him I let her leave because she wanted to go. He said it was a bad decision.”

“Ah, yes.” Megatron nodded. “That was the other reason I didn’t ask her to stay. It did occur to me that when the judgement was pronounced, especially if I were already dead, someone might take a wild notion to put her on trial, too, book deal or no. I agreed to let them do what they wanted with me. I didn’t make that agreement for her.”

“He said I didn’t know her as well as he does.” Rodimus’ optics were wide, wider than the lack of light would have ever explained.

“Well, that’s true.” Megatron flipped his datapad back on and projected an image onto the screen, directly from his own mind. It was the same image that had made such an impression on Nautica, except it hadn’t been censored. Four revolutionaries, arms locked around each other, singing on a barricade. “Do you see him there?”

Rodimus closed his optics. “I knew he was part of all that. But.” He ex-vented. “Someone kept putting her back on the list for prisoner exchange and release. We always told them she wasn’t a prisoner here. We told Soundwave that.”

“You didn’t tell Soundwave anything, and neither did I.” Megatron couldn’t help smirking a little. “I’m fairly sure I’m not allowed to talk to him anymore. Somebody else lied.”

“I don’t want to be glad she’s not here anymore,” Rodimus said, looking out at the stars.

“Do you think that I do? She’s my amica.” Megatron shrugged.

“Did we just start the war again?”

“I thought it was over, too,” Megatron said. “But I think we let Optimus convince us it was. He’s very convincing, you know. A terrible writer, but he has that voice, and he does that sad, disappointed thing with his optics, and sometimes I want to forget what has happened over the past four million years myself. But the war isn’t over just because the Autobots aren’t fighting in it anymore, is it?”

“I don’t know,” said Rodimus. “I know we still have a ship in the Sol system. I know Soundwave has a commune there. I know that Galvatron’s somewhere around there.”

“Well.” Megatron closed his datapad. “There’s not much you and I can do, out here, if it turns out there are fools who still want to fight. But she’s not one of them. She and Soundwave will probably have to fight anyway. But she doesn't want it. And you and I will not be part of it.”

@DEBONAIRSHARPSHOOTER: So this is not a wedding picture because that’s going to take a while, but I thought you might appreciate this.
@DEBONAIRSHARPSHOOTER: catsleeping.gif

@GiveMeARingSometime: Oh man! She just whitescreened, didn’t she? Can I put that up in the bar?

@DEBONAIRSHARPSHOOTER: Under normal conditions I would say yes but these are not normal conditions. Nobody’s supposed to know where she is, mate, I’m sorry.

@GiveMeARingSometime: Dude, the whole ship knows who she left with! But don’t worry about it. We’ve only got one Decepticon spy here now that the prom queen’s gone, and we know who he is.

@DEBONAIRSHARPSHOOTER: …you told the whole ship it was me?

@GiveMeARingSometime: …well, actually no. I guess they all just saw her leave with Megatron, and he came back. I think Nautica knows what your name is, cause I guess Rav was in her bed one time when you two were talking online, but she doesn’t know the name of your ship. Come to think of it, neither do I. That’s good right?

@DEBONAIRSHARPSHOOTER: …I guess it is for now. Maybe when this is all over I’d like you to know what it is though.

@GiveMeARingSometime: …really? Look, there’s something I meant to tell you.
@GiveMeARingSometime: I am going to be gone for a while.
@GiveMeARingSometime: And I don’t want Ravage to worry. Or you.

@DEBONAIRSHARPSHOOTER: I know they let Rav leave, but she wasn’t part of the crew. I didn’t think you could just frag off from that ship. Where you going, mate?

@GiveMeARingSometime: …I just need a little vacation. I might go to Earth.

@DEBONAIRSHARPSHOOTER: Earth? The wedding will be on a station near Jupiter. You sure you don’t want to come take your pictures yourself? I could save you a dance.

@GiveMeARingSometime: That really sounds nice. I wish…
@GiveMeARingSometime: Look, I won’t say goodbye, because
@GiveMeARingSometime: But see ya later
@GiveMeARingSometime: when I’m back online
@GiveMeARingSometime: …whenever that is

Soundwave was playing a gentle, meandering melody over the rhythm of the yellow, sulphurous Ionian snow crunching under his pedes. It sounded weaker in the low, thin and heavily volcanic atmosphere of Io, but it was still recognisable to his aviform companions as a theme he’d composed long ago when trying to express how he felt about Ravage.

He’d been searching the sky for voices he should have been able to hear, even if the shields on the other ship might prevent him from understanding the words. Cosmos was right. They weren’t there.

“She’s coming home,” Soundwave said, as he trudged to the edge of the cliff to watch the volcanoes spew and the lava pool on the ground below. The entirety of Io was like this. Most of the time he stayed inside the station, but not tonight.

“I told you, genius.” Buzzsaw circled lazily above him in the thin atmosphere, relying largely on his thrusters for support.

Laserbeak bunted her head into Soundwave’s masked cheek; she was perched on his shoulder. “Is she going to let you protect her, now?”

“She asks me to be Lord Protector,” Soundwave said quietly, beaming. “She put it in writing, because when I commed her last, all we could do was spark-play each other. What do you think?”

“That Cosmos will be so disappointed,” Buzzsaw said with a snort, “but the Autobot will get over it.”

“My spark is hers. And hers alone. And she will be mine alone.” Soundwave shrugged. “As for Cosmos…I don’t think he’s here to court me, but even if he were, I have told him about her. I think he’s here because he’s worried about his friends, and I’m afraid he might have reason to be.”

He wondered if Galvatron had really decided to attack the Autobots. It seemed like a really bad idea, right now. But Galvatron had been having a whole lot of bad ideas. Galvatron was much older than any of the other Decepticons, and sometimes he seemed to think he was still the warlord of the Darklands, or the butcher of Antilla. Soundwave had hoped that he could advise Galvatron the way he’d advised Megatron once, but Galvatron hadn’t wanted his advice, only his firepower and following.

“Took you a while to learn to be jealous,” said Buzzsaw with heartfelt approval, “but you seem to be getting good at it.”

“I could never have denied her anything that gave her joy,” Soundwave said with a sighing ex-vent. “But Megatron doesn’t. And he hasn’t in a long, long time. This is what she wants, too.”

“Good,” said Laserbeak quietly. “I still can’t believe you sent her off like that.”

“Neither can I.” Soundwave turned to look up toward the distant sun, thinking of Earth, and the Nemesis, there. He was unable to sense the Autobots on Ark-7, and the Nemesis wouldn’t respond, because Galvatron was no longer under the illusion that they were allies of any sort. If Galvatron had restarted the war with the Autobots…they were really going to be fragged.

Chapter Text

I’d been napping on one of the beat-up couches, but I woke up when I thought I heard Soundwave’s voice. When I headed in that direction, Krok’s door was ajar. It was definitely Soundwave, and they were discussing the route Krok was going to take, and whether or not the Scavengers should take odd jobs along the way—so as not to look suspiciously in a hurry to get somewhere else. Like Sanctuary Station.

“So, what about Demus? I told you when you asked me about him before that I don’t actually know the guy, but we talk on the Triple M board sometimes—”

“No.”

A ‘no’ like that from Soundwave never meant anything good.

“Stay away from Tebris if you can. I know it’s on the route, but if you can’t avoid the area—at least don’t land there,” Soundwave said after a moment.

“Okay,” Krok said. “I thought you were concerned about things you’d been hearing—”

“Soundwave: very concerned. Situation has changed. Investigate later. When my conjunx is not aboard your ship.”

“Got it,” said Krok. “Loud and clear.”

I knocked on the door. “Can I come in? I want to see him, if you’ve got him onscreen.”

Krok laughed and opened the door all the way. “I told him you were recharging, and he didn’t want to disturb you.” A familiar melodic theme began to come from the speakers—a piece of music he’d written shortly after we met.

“My beloved fool should know he’s always welcome to disturb me.” I walked over to Krok’s desk, sat down in his much-too-big chair, legs dangling, and kissed Soundwave’s masked face on the viewscreen. He bared his face and kissed me lightly back, and I could feel the echo of it in my derma and my lip plates.

“Ugh!” said Krok. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve cleaned that! Because I don’t!”

Soundwave and I both laughed, and put our hands to the screen. There was a faint warm electromagnetic tingle where our fingertips brushed one another. “I miss you,” I told him.

“Miss you too.”

“Do not make out in my room, please!” Krok sputtered.

“Understood,” said Soundwave. “Will comm Ravi-brightspark later.” His cheeks were silvery-lavender with energon flush, and I could not resist brushing my cheek against his through the screen. “My wife.”

“I know,” said Krok. “Spinister made her a pendant. It’s red today.”

Soundwave played a recording over the music. It was in English, a lovely, deep, old human voice: “Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale, her infinite variety—”

I shivered. “And to my spark he spoke with borrowed words; but no glyph could have ever contained all his love.”

“Even I know that one’s yours, Rav,” Krok grumbled good-naturedly. “Play the rounds on your own time.”

I sat back in Krok’s chair. Soundwave shrugged, blew me a kiss, and replaced his mask. “The Peace Without Tyranny came back,” he told me, “with settlers. Conditions for our people on Cybertron, worse than we thought. But we’re mining the Belt, and there’s energon on Europa.”

“Energon!” I beamed at him. “That’s wonderful.”

“It really is,” Krok agreed, resting one hand on the back of his chair, and squeezing my shoulder with the other. “I didn’t expect conditions to be good, but I’m glad people are coming to you. And energon…”

Soundwave nodded. “Got Cosmos to come inside.”

“That’s wonderful, too,” I said, “but he’d better not be flirting with you. Buzzsaw thinks he’s in love with you.”

“Soundwave: is not flirting back.” He put his hand up to the screen again, and I touched it.

“Good.” I blinked at him, long and slow. “He can find his own hot Decepticon. Sounds like you’ve got a bigger selection than ever.”

Soundwave blinked back. “More coming in every trip,” he said, reluctantly dropping his hand.

I looked up at Krok. “I’ll leave you both to your plotting, but what the Pit is the issue with Tebris? I’ve never heard of the place.”

“Will tell you after we fix it,” Soundwave said gently. “No need for you to know now: not going to go there.” He ex-vented. “My brightspark has worries enough.”

I frowned. It had to be bad if he didn’t want to tell me. And that probably also meant that if I knew what kind of bad it was, he would not expect me to be able to leave it alone.

“Don’t make me regret not making you tell me,” I warned him. “You’ve got enough to explain when I get home.”

“Understood,” said Soundwave, and I felt then that he wanted to tell me, but was also very afraid for me. I decided it probably had something to do with Galvatron’s movements, since Krok and he were both rightfully concerned about that, and did not press the issue.

“Comm me when you have time, my Lord Protector.” I blew a kiss back to him.

“Yes!” Krok shouted, delightedly punching the air, when he heard me say ‘Lord Protector’. I rolled my optics at him, fondly, then turned back to the screen and blew kisses to Soundwave. Who blinked at me.

“My Lady Voice,” Soundwave replied, tapping his helm. “Be well, and be loved, and rise up.”

Later, when I went back into the room, Misfire was sitting up in the berth looking rather morose. Grimlock had actually curled up with his head in Misfire’s lap.

I took a picture of Grimlock, but left Misfire’s unhappy face out, because it wasn’t funny and I meant it to be a playful revenge for the picture that Misfire had taken of me and had not promised not to send anyone else.

“He is kinda cute,” Misfire said, and handed me a little bowl with something burning in it as I walked over to the berth. The something in the bowl was charred and producing a whole lot of foul-smelling smoke that made me feel slightly dizzy. "Try this, Cat, it’s amazing."

“Gross,” I said, and found a cup that was empty except for the dried remains of some soda or energy drink stuck to the bottom, then upended it over the bowl so whatever it was would stop burning when it ran out of oxygen.

“Hey! Do you know how rarely I find something like that?”

“Not rarely enough. Relax, that cup was completely dried out, you can smoke the rest of it later. Have pity on my nose, magenta menace.” I laid down in the berth myself.

A large hand fell on my shoulder. “Not-sneaky-today-cat,” Grimlock said drowsily, and Misfire instantly brightened.

“No,” he said, “no. No she’s not. What’s her name?”

“Sneaky.” Grimlock yawned, gently pushed me aside, sat up, and transformed into root mode, a mech again.

“Works for me,” I told Grimlock as he walked out of the room. “I said I’d take it.”

I looked up at Misfire. “What’s wrong with you anyway, it’s early yet even for you to be getting high on…whatever that is.”

“I’m worried about your friend,” he said, punctuating it with an ear-skritch which I had not asked for, but could not say I didn’t really need. Then he shoved his open laptop into my hands.

I saw the picture first. “You sent that to someone? You absolute afthelm! And to Swerve, of all people?”

Misfire just laughed, but it was half-hearted. “Read the rest of it, Cat.”

So I did. He was right. It was a seriously weird conversation. But it was also…a little familiar. “Well, no, they don’t take vacations. And anyone’s free to go, except Megatron. But…there’s no reason for him to go. He loves his bar.” I looked up at Misfire. “Somebody has a crush.”

Misfire shrugged. It bothered me a lot that he wasn’t teasing me back. The messages bothered me too, but saying weird, confusing slag that nobody around had any damn context for was completely a Swerve move. It was probably some running gag from a Central American sitcom or something.

“I don’t think you should think too hard about this. He is not going to vape on you. Sometimes he says really loopy things when he’s been drinking. He’s only been mainlining the entirety of Earth’s collective broadcast output in multiple languages. For all I know he’s quoting something.”

“Really?” Misfire looked down at me, thoughtfully. “Sounds fake. But whatever.”

“Really,” I said. Though Misfire’s concern did have me wondering. It wasn’t like we could just go back to the Lost Light and check on Swerve.

“Really.”

I groaned. “I’ll send Megatron a message on our private channel and ask him to go and check on Swerve, okay? Would that make you feel better?”

“Would you?” Misfire skritched my ear again, smiling broadly, if worriedly. “Would Megatron do that? Really? I guess he might do it for you, but…”

“Of course I would, dumbaft.” I rolled my eyes. “And he’d want to know if something was wrong with Swerve, too.”

Misfire pulled me up into a tight, long hug. “Thanks, Cat. You’re the best.”

“You bet I am.”

Then the door flew open, and Fulcrum leaned in. “Pinhead! Catface! It’s time for Shoot Shoot Bang Bang!” That was definitely not his indoor voice.

I glared at him. “I don’t know what that is, but if you ever call me Catface again I’m going to shoot your face.”

“You’ll love it,” said Misfire, tugging me up by the wrist as he stood. “I won’t be surprised if you win.”

“Shoot Shoot Bang Bang” turned out to be ‘chasing each other throughout the ship while firing paint guns and suction darts at each other, and the last person not to have taken a blow that would’ve killed them with a real weapon wins.’

Krok went down first. There were multiple shots. One for each of us. He is not great at hiding.

For obvious reasons, Grimlock went down second and third, once as a mech and the second time in his dinosaur alt; Crankcase got him with a paintball in the face, and I was a little bit worried it might have actually knocked him out.

I won, because I got up in the vents (they were filthy, of course), where I took out Fulcrum and Misfire, then dropped out of the vents behind Grimlock, who was actually snoring. I then used my sniper training to take out Spinister and Crankcase from behind Grimlock's dinosaur aft.

Spoiler alert: Crankcase is a very sore loser.

I locked myself in the cargo bay and commed Soundwave. We talked for a while, then I went to the washracks to get rid of the dust from the vents that had probably been there for vorns. After that, I messaged Megatron and asked him to check on Swerve. I got his auto-responder, but it didn’t really worry me because he is the captain and was probably busy; I knew he’d get back to me when he could.

When Krok told me to come out and eat dinner, Crankcase was still bitching. “Trophy is not allowed—” He saw me come in and turned on me. “You! You are not allowed to play my game anymore! That was the shortest game we’ve ever played!”

I leaned back into a pile of cushions and shrugged, grabbing an open can of energy drink that was mostly still full and taking a swig. “Did you somehow forget who I am and what I do for this cause? I don’t care what Skullcrusher said on his stupid comedy show, I am not the High Command’s morale officer!”

“Yeah, don’t be rude,” said Fulcrum.

“Fine! Ravage is not allowed to play Shoot Shoot Bang Bang anymore. Because—” Crankcase leaned over and peered at me. I flashed the red pendant his way. “RAVAGE is not allowed to play Shoot Shoot Bang Bang anymore because she cheats!”

Those were fighting words.

“There is nothing in the rules that says I have to run around the ship like an idiot just because most of the rest of you do. I don’t care if you call me ‘Trophy’, but hiding behind Grimlock while he is asleep and sniping at people is a perfectly reasonable and valid life choice. Especially when I win!” I snapped.

Krok just handed me a chilly bottle of coolant, then gave me this very sympathetic and extremely tired look. I could see why he and Soundwave got along so well, as long as they didn’t talk religion. Soundwave has no particular issue with Triple M; he just hates religion, period.

I chugged the coolant. It was divine.

“There is now!” Crankcase snapped. “It’s my game and I make the rules!”

Fulcrum snorted. “Crankcase doesn’t understand how trademarks work.”

“Yeah,” I said. “You actually do have to register trademarks, Crankcase.”

Crankcase snorted. “How do you know? Did you trademark the way you suck spike, Trophy?”

The room fell silent. Krok and Misfire both glared at him. I looked right into Crankcase’s optics.

“Yes,” I said firmly. “As a matter of fact, I did. Nobody else can copy my tricks. So too bad for you, ‘cause you’ll never get it like Soundwave does.” Then I laughed, and so did everyone else.

Crankcase passed me the high-grade. “You win,” he said, looking ever so faintly terrified.

“That’s twice today,” said Spinister brightly.

Misfire sat down next to me with a tin of ametrine brittle, which I promptly dug into. “So did you hear from our Mighty Lord Auto of Bot?”

“Sorry,” I said. “Got his auto-responder. They must be busy having Exciting Adventures Again.“

“Well,” Misfire said companionably, “you won’t have any of those with us! But you might get to learn how to siphon.” He glanced in the general direction of Crankcase. “I’m sorry about him.”

“Don’t be. I already know how to siphon. And not just the kinky way.” I laughed. “So what if I like to give head, at least I still have all of mine.”

“What is wrong with these fragging headphones?” Fulcrum snapped. “I can’t adjust them at all!”

I looked up at him, saw what he had in his hands, and hissed. “Don’t you dare stretch those out—those are mine!”

“I don’t see a label on ‘em,” he said.

“Would it matter if you did?” Krok groaned. “Give them back to her.”

Fulcrum scowled. “I want to watch the Self-Hating Decepticon on my laptop, and everyone else’s suck. These sound great but they don’t adjust.”

“Of course they sound great, they were probably made by Soundwave,” Krok said, and took them out of Fulcrum’s hands and threw them to me. “But she can’t use everyone else’s. She can only use hers. So this is not one of those things we all share, Fulcrum.”

“They don’t adjust because they were made for my head and ears.” I draped them around my neck and resolved to keep them in my subspace or in one of my locked bags. “Your head and ears are, surprisingly, nothing like mine. I also don’t turn into a bomb.”

“Fair.” Fulcrum groaned; then a klaxon went off. “Hey, is that some kind of alert?”

Chapter Text

Swerve had had other visitors in the medical bay, but he had not expected to come out of recharge to find Megatron looking down at him. “I’m here to find out how you’re doing,” said the ex-Decepticon captain. “If you’re thinking of asking me why I should care, please don’t. Ravage and Misfire are worried about you, and I need to know what to tell them.”

“They are?” Swerve sat bolt upright in the medical berth. He’d expected Ravage to forget all about him after she left the Lost Light. After all, she hadn’t really been happy there, and she was going home to her lifelong lover. He hadn’t expected Misfire to continue chatting with him long, either. They’d only spoken for astrosecs. Misfire was cute, but he’d chosen to remain a Decepticon. And he was probably an important one; Soundwave had entrusted him with his conjunx electa, and Megatron had known his name.

“I’m glad you told someone something was wrong!” Megatron ex-vented heavily, and continued along those lines, but Swerve didn’t really hear any of it.

“I didn’t…I didn’t mean to upset them—” Swerve couldn’t remember what he’d said in his message to Misfire. He had been exhausted and delusional, but he’d tried to make it sound normal. “I upset Misfire enough to tell Ravage? And Ravage thought that was important enough to tell you?”

“Who else was she going to tell? So far as I can tell, her best friend here, outside of me, was you.” Megatron shrugged. “And Ravage is my amica.”

Swerve couldn’t help chuckling. “Glad you two worked that out,” he said—and then he realised exactly what he had said, and to whom, and stopped laughing at once. At least he hadn’t said ‘amica benefica or amica endura?’ like Riptide probably would’ve.

Megatron shrugged it off. “We’re both fortunate that Blaster hasn’t blocked her signal, probably because Rodimus won’t let him. We would have noticed the holoform planet you manifested, but whether or not we’d have noticed in time, I don’t know. So, what do you want me to tell her, other than ‘thank you for saving my life’?”

Swerve groaned. This was embarrassing. “I’ll talk to Misfire myself, and then…I guess he can tell Ravage. I’ll tell him I got a bad rust infection and I wasn’t thinking quite right.” He looked up at Megatron, wondering how much judgement he’d see in those scary red optics. “It’s true, after all...”

“Tell them whatever you want.” Megatron’s voice was gentler than Swerve had expected. “Ravage has a lot on her mind right now. I’d probably agree that they don’t need to know how sick you really were, or that you nearly destroyed yourself…but I know Ravage better than I know myself, and I know enough about Misfire to tell you this: they would both be very unhappy to know that you didn’t think people would miss you.”

“Oh, no…” Swerve groaned, having just remembered the message he’d sent to Misfire. “I told Misfire I was gonna go to Earth on vacation, and he invited me to Ravage’s wedding!”

“Ravage’s…what?”

Had the situation been different, Swerve would have patted himself on the back for confusing the former warlord so deeply. “Ravage’s wedding to Soundwave—get with the program already!” Swerve shook his head. “How do you not know this? It’s happening somewhere near Ju—”

Megatron’s hand dropped right over Swerve’s mouth and stayed there. “Don’t.”

Swerve briefly considered biting, but Megatron was both a captain and about five times his size. So he waited, and finally Megatron did let him go.

“Do not,” said Megatron, venting air. “Do not tell anyone else on this ship where Ravage is, or where she is going, if you care about Ravage. Or Misfire. You can tell them she’s going to have a ceremonial conjunx ritus, because she has already told both Nautica and you, so everyone already knows. But do not tell them where. I mean it.”

Swerve stared at him. “Why not? Is there more to it than that? Does Rodimus know?”

“Rodimus knows everything he needs to know,” said Megatron, which wasn’t worrisome at all, but then he went on. “Forgive me, but while you are her friend, I don’t think it wise to trust you with all the details. This is a matter of Ravage’s personal safety. And since you and Misfire seem to have developed an understanding of some sort…he and his crewmates are transporting her, so any risk to her is also a risk to them. And him, directly.”

Suddenly Swerve became terrifyingly aware that all of this was extremely serious business. When he’d been the star of his own show, it had mostly been a comedy, even if it hadn’t been more situational and less romantic than he might have liked. But the show in which he was supporting cast was something much darker. Something maybe he didn’t want to be one of the stars in.

“Soundwave better not start up the war again. I asked her not to let him.” Swerve had been very taken with the notion of Ravage and Soundwave as romantic soulmates, based on the things she’d said to him near the end of her time on the ship, and they’d become his OTP. Because of that he’d almost forgotten who and what Soundwave was, what he could do, and what he’d done in the past.

“He won’t. But he’ll finish it, if Galvatron makes him.” Megatron sat down.

Swerve was still uncomfortable with Megatron and had hoped he would go away. But he couldn’t help being curious. Especially not after learning that Ravage—and Misfire—actually cared what happened to him, and would probably have been upset if he’d actually died. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all. You sure?”

“Yes,” said Megatron, firmly and without hesitation. “Soundwave hated the war. It’s one of the reasons Soundwave hates me, now.”

Swerve was boggled. Soundwave had hated the war?

It made sense, when he thought of Soundwave as the romantic protagonist that Ravage had loved since she was a slave girl. It made no sense at all in the context of everything he as an Autobot knew about Soundwave, what Blaster had said about Soundwave… There were…a lot of contradictions in the world behind the door that Ravage had opened up in his mind.

Swerve groaned. “I know that Misfire and Ravage are both still Decepticons, and I still have a hard time believing you’re really an Autobot. But I guess if you’d wanted to run off and go back to them, you could have left here with Ravage.”

Looking back at the whole thing, it had…really been kind of insane for Rodimus and Ultra Magnus to allow Megatron to go down to the surface of that planet, alone with Ravage, to meet with the crew of the ship that was going to ferry her home.

“I’m sure that was a test,” Megatron replied. “I know we were followed, and not just by you. But you’re not wrong. If I had wanted to go back with her, I could have. I might even have been able to avoid being shot in the face by Soundwave as soon as we reached the meeting point.”

Swerve boggled again. Megatron was talking about being shot in the face by one of his oldest friends. And he was laughing about it. Swerve was never going to ‘get’ Megatron.

“Why don’t they…” Swerve sighed. He was too tired to ask all of the questions out loud. “Misfire’s a really nice guy. And Ravage puts up a mean front, but—why do they still wear the purple?”

Megatron shrugged. “Ravage is a beastformer, and Misfire is Misfire. And Soundwave is, at heart, a pacifist. They all have their reasons for despising the Autobot badge and the things that they each think it stands for. But they don’t want war. There are people out there who do, though.”

Swerve nodded. “There’s Decepticons who out there who still believe they can win the war. I know.”

Megatron laughed again, not in a mean way, then cocked his head to one side. “No, Swerve. Think about it. The Decepticons—even the ones who do still want to fight—can’t, right now. They don’t have the resources.”

“Not even Soundwave?” Swerve raised an eyebrow. “Blaster says he’s filthy rich.”

“Mmm, Blaster would say that.” Megatron ex-vented. “Blaster has his own reasons to hate Soundwave, and he’s not wrong that Soundwave spent a lot of time amassing a fortune that neither I nor the Autobots nor the Galactic Council would ever be able to touch, but Soundwave always intended to use that money for what he is doing with it now. His assets are tied up. Soundwave won’t do anything to disappoint, let alone endanger, the people who are coming in the hope of finding sanctuary.”

Swerve frowned. The idea of Soundwave running a sanctuary for anything, or anyone, seemed ludicrous.

Megatron shook his head. “I’m sorry to tell you this: but some of the people out there who don’t want peace are Autobots, and it’s not safe for our Decepticon friends for you to assume that none of those people are aboard this ship. Or going to your bar.”

Swerve almost choked. Decepticon friends. Swerve—had Decepticon friends? How did that even happen?

“Okay, old man, what’s Ravage about now anyway? You know she doesn’t like to be the centre of attention. You’re the one who pushed her out on the dance floor on the Vis Vitalis. You’re the one who published her essays, too—don’t even bother denying it. Why’d you do that to her, if she’s your amica endura?”

It was a question that had been bothering Swerve for a very long time, ever since he’d seen Ravage walk into the bar, dolled up and visibly discomfited, before they’d gone over to the Vis Vitalis.

“Did she look like she hated attention after she started getting it?” Megatron smiled wryly. “I rather wish I hadn’t missed it. I used to love to watch her dance, and I don’t just mean her performances—the way she used to dance with Soundwave and Deadlock—”

Swerve snorted. “She likes to dance. Doesn’t mean she wants the whole world staring at her.”

“She doesn’t hate to be the centre of attention,” Megatron said quietly. “She fears it, but after she’s in the middle of it, she floats on it. Ravage learned to associate drawing attention with being hurt, but it’s good for her; she draws strength from it, when she permits herself to.”

“Really.” Swerve frowned. “That’s easy for you to say, Megatron. I’ve never heard it from her.”

“I don’t discount the value of a fresh perspective, but I’ve known her longer than you. Of all the people aboard this ship, I think only Rewind has known her longer than I, and they are not friends. I didn’t meet her in person for decivorns after we first began corresponding, but because of it, she was honest with me in ways that she often couldn’t be.”

Swerve looked up at him doubtfully.

Megatron shrugged. “Ravage has chosen a path for herself that I wouldn’t have wished for her, but she is determined. Once I realised that, I did my best to make sure she’d be able to handle it—before I cut her loose to run on down that road without me.”

Swerve glanced down at his hands, unhappy and happy at the same time, not sure what to say. He didn’t know Ravage well enough to be able to tell if this was the truth, or just more of Megatron’s aftslag. But even though she had been furious—Ravage had blossomed in her last few days aboard the Lost Light. Swerve liked to think that it was partly his own doing, in that he had supported her, but…“You telling me that my two newest friends, whom I really like, are in trouble with a lot of the ‘cons and a few of us Autobots?”

Megatron gave Swerve a shrewd look, a look that made him a little uncomfortable, because of how suddenly visible he felt. Maybe he and Ravage had more in common than he’d thought they did. Or…maybe…Ravage was not as much like Swerve as Swerve had believed she was.

“That is exactly what I’m telling you. Because I think you care for them, and I know they care for you. You could do a lot worse. Be proud of her. I am.”

Swerve felt his struts lock into place and his cables tense. “So what can I do to help them?”

“I’ll let you know if I figure it out before you do.” Then, Megatron grinned in a way that simultaneously made Swerve feel proud of himself but also scared the slag out of him. He was beginning to understand why people had followed this mech even into horror and atrocity. And he didn’t like it.

Cosmos was in a snit. “It’s hard to believe you, of all people, didn’t know exactly what Blackrock was going to do.”

Soundwave had all of his psychic dampeners on, because he was trying to concentrate on the code. But the annoyance dripped from the tone and timbre of Cosmos’ voice, and Soundwave didn’t have bandwidth for that, because Soundwave had gone beyond annoyed into downright furious, and once he’d become too angry to think, he’d dropped emotional processing to the bottom of his priority tree, because there was too much to do.

Soundwave was currently aft deep in the server, only his legs exposed, cables and inputs spread throughout the entire edifice and deep-brain firewalls engaged, as he ran the extirpation routines again (and again) just to be sure. The back door they had found in the code would have allowed Blackrock an unprecedented amount of access to the Station’s systems. If Blackrock had wanted to, he could’ve pulled the whole thing out of the Lagrange point between Jupiter and Io and flung it into the giant red roiling storm on the surface of Jupiter.

“Soundwave: aware of his failure.” Soundwave would never trust Garrison Blackrock again. He would never trust anything named Onyx again. There was no such thing as coincidence where anything the least bit reminiscent of his brother was involved. “Query: Esquivel says?”

“A lot of things that do not translate into Neocybex, plus ‘I told you so’,” said Cosmos. “Why are we trusting this human? And please don’t tell me it’s because he kicked your skidplate in a hackathon when he was twelve.”

That might have been funny if Soundwave hadn’t temporarily disabled emotional processing. Or maybe if it had been true. If it had actually been a hackathon, and not the Occupation. Or maybe it wouldn’t have been funny at all, under any set of improbable circumstances. “Soundwave: fragged one thing up. Still not an idiot.” No matter how much he felt like one. His own voice came out of the server; weirdly, it was his actual voice, without the modulation. Later he’d have to figure out why. “Busy now, Cosmos.”

“You always are, lately.”

“Affirmative. Extirpating and isolating Onyx source code time-consuming, draining, and painstaking. Cosmos: assist?”

“When you talk like that, I know you’re uncomfortable, Soundwave.” Cosmos wanted to talk about feelings. As if Soundwave didn’t know everything there was to know about feelings. As if Soundwave had time for them now.

“Assessment correct. Current discomforts include processor ache, twisted neck cable, unidentified debris in lumbar joint plating. Will Cosmos assist, or not?”

“Aren’t you done with that server?”

Soundwave snorted softly. He was, but it wasn’t the only one. He began the process of disengaging his cables and ports, then winding everything back into place. “What else did Esquivel say?”

“Esquivel was also very busy,” said Cosmos.

One of the pins in Soundwave’s left brachio-ulnar top connection twisted and broke as he disengaged from the server, and he yelped in spite of himself. How could such a tiny piece of metal cause him so much pain? He reeled the cable in anyway.

“Are you all right?”

Soundwave didn’t dignify that with an answer. There was an alert flashing in the lower left corner of his HUD. He pinged back an acknowledgement. It was an outside transmission routed from Cybertron, not from a trusted source. He put another section of his firewall back up and started his antiviral routines, then his decryption routines.

“I need to know what’s going on!” Cosmos shouted. “What are you so scared of? Didn’t we catch this in time? Is the mass emigration threatened somehow?”

“Silence! Receiving transmission.”

Text began to spread across Soundwave’s HUD and disappear almost immediately. It was fast. Too fast for anyone else to record. But not Soundwave.

SPACEBRIDGE SECURED

NEW DESTINATION: ARK-7

GET US OUT OF HERE

WE’VE BEEN FRAGGED

Soundwave had asked Needlenose to manage the emigration, because he trusted him—even though he probably shouldn’t have—more than anyone else who was currently in place in Iacon. The emigrants were supposed to be coming to Sanctuary Station. There was no reason for anyone to be boarding the damaged Autobot flagship. Not unless Galvatron had ordered this.

Soundwave’s ‘working relationship’ with Galvatron had been beyond saving for quite some time; when he was honest with himself, it had really never not been. He had suspected that Galvatron might attempt to reroute the refugees heading for Sanctuary, but the Ark-7 had never occurred to him as a potential destination.

Ravage had always hated Galvatron. Someday, Soundwave was going to have to have a rueful conversation with Megatron about the inevitable consequences of ignoring Ravage’s advice—unless he blew his head off first. But he’d promised Ravage he wouldn’t. And Soundwave, unlike Megatron, was going to take her advice from now on like he should’ve done all along.

Patch me into the spacebridge. Any connection will do.

No one answered. Cybertron was too far away for him to force even an audio-visual connection through the electronic interface, and that was a violent act: the polar opposite of an appropriate reward for a tip.

Soundwave needed to get into the spacebridge’s systems and divert the emigration back to Sanctuary. He couldn’t do that easily from under this particular server, and his informant had signed off. He finished rewinding his data cables and pushed himself out from under the server bank so quickly he almost knocked Cosmos over, running at top speed to the command centre.

There would probably still be Onyx code running on the Ark-7. The glimmerings of a Very Bad Idea began to take form at the edge of Soundwave’s conscious processes.

Cosmos couldn’t run as fast as Soundwave could and was flying along behind him. Soundwave wanted to move faster--could Cosmos tow him? Frag those idiots who had convinced him to go along with the EDC and install the gravity modules.

“What’s going on, Soundwave?”

Soundwave played a recording, because he wasn’t sparing the processor time figuring out what to say: it was a harsh male human voice, speaking in a British accent: ”We're all fucked. I'm fucked. You're fucked. The whole department's fucked. It's been the biggest cock-up ever and we're all completely fucked!”

“What’s Galvatron done now that you swear you had no idea he was planning?” Cosmos snapped, but he let Soundwave grab him and engaged thrusters anyway, to the great dismay of about fifteen new residents they almost ran over outside of the dining hall.

Soundwave didn’t answer him because he was too busy commanding all the doors in the corridors to stay shut and all the command centre doors to stay open, forcing a connection with the mainframe, and swearing in every language he knew as a method of keeping his emotional processing from jumping up the priority tree of its own accord.

When they got to the command centre, there was an image of Horri-Bull’s dead body filling half the main viewscreen. It was captioned in blinking bold font, outlined in black and coloured in white: “It’s 0200: do you know where your conjunx is?”

Soundwave reflexively glanced at the chronometer on his HUD. Of course it wasn’t 0200. “Get that slag off my screen!” he bellowed, and someone made it disappear even before he took the command chair. What a stupid way to try and distract him. He knew exactly where Ravage was: on The Weak Anthropic Principle, safe in the unorthodox but loving embrace of the Scavengers.

“You have a conjunx?” Cosmos sputtered indignantly.

Fortress Maximus was trying (and utterly failing) to pay attention to the intricate details of Red Alert’s latest conspiracy theory when the alarms went off. He hadn’t expected dealing with Demus to be precisely easy, but a firefight in the Tebris system had not been even close to the top of his list of potential disruptions. Both ships were Cybertronian. The smaller one, apparently barely more than a shuttle, displayed no faction marks at all, nor was it registered in any legal or criminal database.

Red Alert got a match on the larger of the two. “It’s an exploration vessel, model 84: The Weak Anthropic Principle. Autobot-registered, but allegedly linked to a bunch of Decepticon deserters known as the Scavengers.” He frowned. “This entry’s been scrubbed and rewritten at least three times within the last two decacycles.”

“You know who did the scrubbing?” Fortress Maximus asked quietly. The smaller ship was on the offence. The W.A.P. was primarily engaging in evasive manoeuvres, but it had already taken a couple of hits that a ship the size of the smaller one should not have been able to deliver.

“Someone who outranks you, apparently,” said Red Alert with a shrug. “Prime? Starscream?” He frowned. “Does Ultra Magnus still have access to your feeds? He was the Enforcer of the Accord before you, after all.”

Fortress Maximus was even more confused than he’d been before, and he didn’t like it. “I don’t know, but why would any of them care about a bunch of ‘con deserters?”

“We could put a stop to this and then find out,” Red Alert suggested.

Fortress Maximus considered this briefly. “No. We know what Demus is probably guilty of, and we have to find Agent Blackcat. If they’ve caught her, she’s in trouble. If either of those two vessels is involved in Demus’ efforts, he’ll find out we’re here if we intervene. We’re going to continue our mission, and pick up whoever wins on the flipside. I’m not getting distracted by what’s probably a Decepticon or ex-Decepticon internal squabble. Just tell me what we know about who we might run up against on the way back.”

Chapter Text

It was dark in the hidden compartments of the cargo bay, but that was all right. I’m comfortable in the dark. It was the quiet that bothered me. I knew that Krok and Spinister would be hard at work repairing the engines, but we were on Tebris VII, which was the planet Soundwave had ordered us to avoid, and I didn’t know why he’d been so adamant about it because he hadn’t wanted to add to my worries.

If I survived, we were going to have to stop doing that to each other.

Grimlock was out of it; he’d had a fit after the second shot hit us, and I’d had to stun him; even Misfire had understood what was at stake. Misfire, who’d got a couple of really good hits on the afthelm who’d shot us down. Maybe that was the reason they hadn’t come down here after us. I could only hope. It’s not true that Misfire can’t hit what he’s aiming at. He can, if he wants to badly enough. The trick is making him want to. That was some of the best shooting I’ve ever seen him do. He hates doing it, but there are things he hates more.

I took off the pendant that Spinister had made for me, finagled my mesh of deflectors out of my bag and slipped into it. It had always felt like a second set of plate, but now, for some reason, it itched. Not in an actual, scratchable way, but in an uneasy way, as if it held some kind of charge that my frame found weirdly repellent.

The last time I’d been locked in a dark space like this, I’d been locked in from the other side. I’d been with Megatron. I’d been half afraid we were all going to die, and half afraid that we weren’t. Now I wanted to live more than I had in a very long time, so of course here we were.

I felt like I should’ve been up there with Misfire, and Fulcrum, guarding us while the others worked hard to put the ship back together. Krok had insisted that I stay hidden, even though he damned well knew I could hide in plain sight if I wanted to. So here I was in the dark. It felt like I was waiting for the executioner. Or a Vosni princeling, a hostage in an old romance, the sort of thing that Thundercracker used to loan me when I was bored, back on the Nemesis. There were worse things than being an assassin and a saboteur, I decided, and one of those things was being the love interest. Love interests get fought over, whether they like it or not, and not always by people they even want to be with. And sometimes they get killed for no reason except to make the protagonist even more hurt and more angry than they already were.

If I had to die, it was going to be because of my own decisions, not because of the tears or the energon some other mech was going to spill on my behalf. “Frag this slag,” I said, to no-one in particular.

“No sneaky cat cry.”

Grimlock’s red optics were online, and he was a mech again.

“’M not,” I protested half-heartedly, because at least I wasn’t sobbing, and optical lubricant overrun is a known issue with experimental systems like mine, or at least that was the story I’d planned to stick to.

“Me Grimlock take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself,” I grumbled.

“Never hurt to have friends.” He patted my shoulder, awkwardly, and I resisted the temptation to bite, because it wasn’t him I wanted to bite.

The panel above me moved and Misfire jumped down into the compartment with us. “Hey. Krok’s going to go see if he can’t get Demus to sell us some scrap so we can finish patching the hull. They know each other from Triple M, after all.”

“Isn’t that the person Soundwave specifically said we should completely avoid?” I asked, feeling more and more trapped and more and more sceptical with every astrosec.

“Well, yeah,” Misfire said. “But where else are we going to get it?”

I started to laugh, and it sounded a bit hysterical. “I don’t know, Misfire. We could try stealing. I know that’s a totally new concept for everyone here and it’s nothing any one of us has ever done before, but…”

Misfire chuckled. “Relax, Cat.” He pulled me into a hug. I only half-heartedly tried to slug him.

“I wanna go home,” I said, not caring if I sounded like a sparkling again.

“I know,” Misfire murmured against the top of my head. “I’ll be in the shops with you, finding your cape for the ritus before you know it, okay?”

“I’d be happier guarding your six,” I retorted. “I feel like the fragging Mistress of Flame, not someone you’ve been in a trench with before. And that might even be okay, except we do not have her entourage. We only have each other.”

“Yeah.” Misfire sighed. “You ever hear from Megatron?”

“Something something rust infection, fever and delirium, your crush is all better now.” I laughed and laid my head on his shoulder. “Just before we strapped into the gunner coves, but there wasn’t a chance to tell you then.”

“So now all I got to worry about is right here.” Misfire grinned at both of us.

I wanted to cry again. He felt more like a brother than Glit ever had. He reminded me of Stalker, before Ratbat killed him…and wasn’t that an unsettling thought. “Don’t leave me here. We did all right in the gunner coves, didn’t we? That was some mighty fine shooting I saw you do.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Misfire said, and tried to press his helm into mine, but the shape of my head was all wrong for that and my muzzle kept getting in the way. “Got a reputation to look out for.”

“You better not be trying to kiss me,” I said, and we both laughed, and he started to say something about not wanting Soundwave to murder him, only then I blurted out something I’d never even consciously thought before, which was: “It’s nice knowing someone loves me this much who’s never tried to frag me.”

Then it was Misfire’s optics that were gleaming with lubricant. “Aw, Cat,” he said. “I don’t believe I’m the only one out there like that. There’s Krok, for one. And Emmy, and Swerve… You’re really not the morale officer, no matter what that bludger Skullcruncher says, and I’m not tryna pash you.”

“Me Grimlock love sneaky cat too.”

I laughed softly and grinned at him. I’d have taken it more seriously if he’d been able to remember all of our previous acquaintance and not just the good parts, but there were times when I was going to take what I could get and this was one of them.

“I hope you always feel that way,” I said.

Of course, the Scavengers left without me anyway. They tried not to make me feel any more like a damsel in distress than I already did—they pointed out that someone would have to watch Grimlock—but leave they did, and there we were in the dark again.

“Me Grimlock sorry they not take cat too,” Grimlock said quietly.

“Eh,” I said. “Just don’t empty your tank on the floor again. We’ll be fine.”

Grimlock laughed. I wondered how Soundwave was doing. I hoped he was sitting at a table in the dining hall on Sanctuary, sharing some really incredible high-grade with Cosmos and Howlback. And I hoped he’d just been being careful when he’d warned us off this planet, even though I knew that was stupid.

The rest of them hadn’t been gone more than a breem or two before I heard pedes on the floor above us. I moved to the console on the wall and pulled up the security feed. There was only one other person on the ship with us, and there was nobody outside. I decided I wasn’t going to get cornered, and I motioned Grimlock to stand with me under the false floor that hid us, pointing up.

Grimlock put his hands against it. When our unwanted guest was standing squarely in the centre of it, Grimlock pushed, and then leapt up, transforming in the air. I followed him; there, underneath Grimlock’s pedes, was Lockdown.

Lockdown looked up at me ruefully with the optic I didn’t have the business end of my blaster shoved into.

“I guess I’m not worth what Galvatron paid you,” I said, looking smug. “Did you not at least bring back-up? Or was that the afthelm Misfire shot out of your gunner cove?” I shook my head, laughing. “Primus’ dripping valve, that poor guy died embarrassed.”

“Bitch,” said Lockdown.

“Wrong species,” I said quietly. “What were you going to do, put my head on a pike and give it to Galvatron in the hope of a sign-up bonus?”

Lockdown laughed bitterly. “Actually,” he said, “they paid me to take you to Demus, and then to bring you back to Galvatron alive. For certain values of ‘alive’.” He ex-vented, looking rather like he’d like to shake his head. “In case you didn’t notice, I surrender.”

“The problem that I have with your surrender,” I said, “is that I don’t trust you to stay surrendered if you think you have a chance to get the drop on me and pull this off. I don’t have a bloody clue why Galvatron wanted you to take me to Demus, but I’m sure when I figure it out, I won’t like it. So the stakes are much higher here for me than they are for you. The worst thing I can do to you is kill you.”

Lockdown was starting to look even more uncomfortable than he had before. I’ve always been uncomfortable with the notion of a ‘fate worse than death’, because you don’t come back from death unless your name is Optimus Prime, and pretty much everything else that can be done to you is reversible. I’ve experienced a few of the things people consider a ‘fate worse than death’, and I’m definitely glad I survived them.

But Galvatron had apparently decided I deserved the metaphorical ‘fate worse than death’ and was probably also planning to use whatever it was to break Soundwave.

“I’m not feeling charitable, Lockdown,” I told him. “If you want a chance of surviving this, you’d better tell me what the frag my friends are about to walk into.”

“Demus makes the Roboids,” Lockdown blurted out, uncomfortably.

I nodded. “And this relates to me how?”

“He doesn’t make ‘em out of scrap. Or even corpses.” Lockdown groaned. “Frag, just shoot me. You’re gonna do it anyway.”

“Too right,” I said. But I didn’t shoot him in the eye. There was a chance Swindle might pay for him, and that was worth considering. I shot him directly in the T-cog, twice, then once in each knee and once in each shoulder, ignoring his screams, while Grimlock held him down. And I didn’t feel bad about it. He would’ve seen worse done to me, and if I did decide to let him live, I didn’t want him getting up and coming after me.

“Why not just kill me?” he groaned.

“I could ask you the same,” I replied. “I don’t know what a Roboid is exactly, but I don’t want my friends to be used for parts either.”

Lockdown laughed through his pain. “Only beastformers,” he said, looking up at me. “They’re domesticated.”

“Right,” I said, and then I didn’t care what Swindle might be willing to do or pay to get him back. “Say hello to Unicron for me.” And then I took the rest of Rossum’s Trinity away from him, because after all, he was just getting paid for this, and I’m really not into the whole ‘prolonged torture’ thing.

It had been Demus’ idea to do this to people like me, and it had been Galvatron’s idea to have it done to me specifically, as much to hurt Soundwave as me. But that didn’t mean I was willing to let anyone else who was willing to be part of it go on drinking energon.

“Cat did good,” Grimlock said firmly.

“I’m glad you think so, big guy,” I said. “So did you. Wait here while I go to Krok’s room and find out where this Demus fucker told them to meet him.”

Grimlock nodded. I wondered how much of the entire exchange he’d understood, but I decided it was enough. For now.

Once I had the coordinates, I closed my optics briefly and pulled myself up to my full height. To my surprise, my T-cog activated, and I could hear my seams opening as parts of me shifted and I pulled more mass I hadn’t even known I had out of subspace. When I opened my optics and looked at the mirror in Krok’s quarters, I saw something a lot like Tripredacus feliformata look back at me. Not quite as bulky as the being in the images Megatron and Ratchet had shown me before—I didn’t feel completely dysphoric, as I had when I’d looked at that being and tried to imagine myself in the unrelieved and unbearable exaggerated maleness of that body—but I was far more physically powerful, and bigger, than I’d ever been before.

My attention deflector mesh was also torn on both sides and bits of it were scattered across Krok’s floor. I’d deal with it later. I wondered if I’d even ever needed it. I did grab more guns, just in case, and slung them over my back.

Grimlock was still a dinosaur when I met him in the cargo bay. He wasn’t fazed at all by my further transformation. “Cat want ride?”

“I’ve always wanted to be the cavalry,” I said, breathing out. I looked down at the corpse and tried to feel even a little bad about it, but I couldn’t. He was dead. I wasn’t dead, and neither was Grimlock, and neither of us were lobotomised. And that was the way I’d wanted it.

“Autobots roll out,” said Grimlock as we left the ship. Under the circumstances, I didn’t feel much like bothering to correct him. He’d figure it all out in due time.

Chapter Text

Nothing was going according to plan—or possibly, everything was; it just wasn’t the plan that Needlenose had signed up for.

The day had begun with an anonymous message including an image of Horri-Bull’s corpse, which someone had turned into a meme that would have been nasty and mean-spirited even if it hadn’t been sent to him. It had taken him two breems he didn’t really have to dial his emotional processing down to a functional level again and get to the spacebridge with Brawl, using a passphrase that Starscream would never acknowledge having given him to get into the system.

Tracks had shown up to the rally. Needlenose had hoped—just for a klick—that he’d decided to come to Sanctuary—but of course that wasn’t it at all. He’d threatened to inform Optimus Prime.

Brawl had fragging shot him. Needlenose had objected to this, and that was when he found out that Brawl, Onslaught, and Dreadwing had been talking to Galvatron privately, and Galvatron and Soundwave were no longer allies.

Needlenose wasn’t really surprised about that, but it did put him in a bad position with respect to the other three. The emigration was still on, but instead of going to Sanctuary Station, they were headed somewhere else in the Solar System.

Galvatron—and Dreadwing and Brawl—had decided they were going to board the Ark-7, and Dreadwing had reprogrammed the spacebridge coordinates that Needlenose had prepared. The Autobot ship. Needlenose had wondered, unhappily, if that was because Galvatron’s crazy sister was there.

A quick assessment of the crowd was disheartening. There were people who would back him up if he decided to turn on the other three—a lot of them. But there were almost as many able-bodied, well-trained mechs on Galvatron’s side as there were on Soundwave’s side. According to the raw numbers, Soundwave had double the number of followers; but the people who were actually there to make new lives on the Station had brought their families, including civilian conjunxes, aging mentors, and a handful of fretful, terrified sparklings.

Needlenose managed to get a message out, but there wasn’t much else he could do. He also knew that Starscream would deny any knowledge or approval of the emigration if a riot broke out. Then the spacebridge controls stopped responding to anyone.

“Needlenose, what the frag?” Brawl tried to shove him over to the side.

“Shut up, Brawl,” said Squeezeplay helpfully.

The controls weren’t responding anywhere. Not here. Not at on Io, which was currently only set up to receive a bridge, not to transmit one. And not on the Ark-7.

Needlenose could hear the Autobots on the Ark, and they were furious. There was a virus loose on the Ark, seeking out a specific type of source code to rewrite, and there was a lot of that code—whatever it was—in the “new and improved” operating system. The virus was therefore eating up so much processor time that it was essentially a denial of service attack.

As hilarious as it was to hear Alpha Trion use language nobody currently living would ever have thought he knew—and as reassuring as it was to hear that Arcee was apparently not in on this at all—the bridge was opening. They would need to go somewhere.

The Ark-7 was not an option.

Every time Needlenose tried to reclaim control and redirect the bridge to Sanctuary, Brawl tried to stop him. It would’ve been funny, given that Brawl was a lot less smarter than Needlenose was, if not for the blossoming garden of colourful alerts that popped up across Needlenose’s HUD. Was he aware that they could be discharged into deep space? Did he know that there was a 62.318% possibility of opening up a new shadow-zone? Was he sure the intended destination would adequately sustain mechanoid life?

An unfamiliar voice came through the comm from Sanctuary. “Hey, this is Howlback, what’s going on over there? Soundwave is losing his mind.”

“It’s probably still stuck up Ravage’s valve!” Onslaught snapped, as Brawl attempted to shove Needlenose away from the console, only to fall right on it because Cindersaur had sapped him from behind.

By this point Needlenose half expected the whole thing to implode on itself, but apparently Brawl falling into the console had functioned as percussive maintenance, because all of the little lights flared back into life.

Needlenose redoubled his efforts to redirect the spacebridge connection, and then, the other end finally opened. It was all he could do not to be trampled. He had to forget about Brawl, and Tracks, and Swift, and the sparklings—he had to forget about everything, except moving forward so as not to be crushed under hundreds or thousands of pedes, and hoping that they wouldn’t find themselves in a shadow-zone; even the Ark would be better than that. As soon as he could get clearance, he took to the air, as did most of the other flyers.

They arrived on Io, as originally planned.

Needlenose hadn’t been down on the surface before. The thin atmosphere was full of soot and smoke from the active volcanoes all around, and the rocky plateau they were on was lightly frosted in yellow snow. Rivulets of lava flowed everywhere below the cliffside. Most of the refugees stopped and stood stock still as soon as they felt they were safe from potential trampling, looking up at what passed for a sky in wonder. There was little in the way of atmosphere and the stars above were very, very bright.

Sanctuary was supposed to be a place of peace, but they were greeted by armed warframes. Needlenose recognised Sky-Byte and Red Wing at once. There appeared to be several Lugnuts. Wasn’t one Lugnut really enough?

Had Galvatron taken the Station—?

But then he saw Soundwave, and…Ravage?

Hadn’t Ravage left Soundwave over a year ago? Wasn’t she supposed to have run off with Megatron? But the cat-mech was giving orders. There were shuttles—transports which had brought the security force, and which would take the immigrants up to the Station—and even some quickly impressed asteroid mining shuttles. Astrotrain was also present.

But you had to go through the security force to reach them.

Someone Needlenose didn’t recognise had put Brawl in stasis cuffs and was leading him off in Astrotrain’s direction. Needlenose glanced around desperately, hoping he’d see Tracks—either up on his own pedes, or possibly in some kind bystander’s arms. Needlenose wasn’t sure he trusted anyone right now, but he didn’t think that Soundwave would turn an injured person away—not even an Autobot.

A lot of the enforcers were beastformers, most of them in dark blue paint, or with dark blue badges. They were, of course, the Cobalt Sentries, who had once worked in tandem with the DJD, but had apparently defected here. It wasn’t surprising, since a lot of them were cassettes. Soundwave had let it be known that complete cassette manumission was now both possible and being performed on the Station. As if that wasn’t something that should’ve been handled millions of years ago.

“You. Stand aside.” The voice was that of a femme, and a young one, but she looked a Pit of a lot like Lugnut. She was slightly smaller, and slightly daintier—compared to Lugnut.

Needlenose had heard that Lugnut had been cloned, and he’d only just seen the evidence, but he hadn’t expected any of the clones to be femmes. He also hadn’t expected that they’d all have Lugnut’s empurata; what was up with that?

“I thought we were pacifists,” said Needlenose, but there wasn’t much conviction behind it, because Dreadwing was already in a one-on-one with Sky-Byte, who had not been cloned. The Cobalt Sentries were herding the people who weren’t fighting away to be cleared, giving preference to the very young and the very old.

“We are when we’re allowed to be. Lord Soundwave forbade us to kill anyone, and we won’t,” the femme replied smartly. “Even those we know to be our enemies will be given the choice to leave and go elsewhere. But we don’t know what happened out there, and…I’ve been instructed to bring you directly to our glorious Lord Soundwave.” She held out stasis cuffs.

“Glorious Lord who—?” If that hadn’t been such a blatant betrayal of Soundwave’s stated principles, it would’ve been outright hilarious. He let her cuff him. “Lead on.”

Soundwave’s optics glowed through his visor, which wasn’t surprising at all, given how very hacked off he must have been. Ravage and Strika were directing the operations, which was only to be expected, but Ravage pulled herself away and returned to Soundwave’s side.

Needlenose glared right back at Soundwave. “What the frag, Soundwave? I got us through—”

Soundwave thrust a datapad under his nose. “Did you send me this?” It was the same ugly meme that someone had sent him that morning.

“No—?!” Needlenose shuttered his optics; he couldn’t look at it. “Why would I send you something—something like that?”

“It is 15:32, alpha local,” said Soundwave. “Query: does Needlenose know where Ravage is?”

That was when it sank in that someone out there had sent that image not only to him, but also to Soundwave, for reasons that Needlenose could not fathom. “Isn’t she standing right next to you?”

“No!” said a feminine voice—the voice of ‘Howlback’, which he’d heard only klicks ago.

Needlenose opened his optics. The cat-mech at Soundwave’s side had golden optics, not red ones, and when the lights from the surrounding shuttles hit just right, she was not black, but brilliant blue. Her Decepticon badge was golden bronze against that deep, rich blue. “I’m her sister, Howlback of Stanix.”

Needlenose looked back up at Soundwave. “Then she’s on the Lost Light,” he said. “Isn’t she?”

Trying not to think about the dirty rumours people had spread about Ravage and Megatron was exactly like trying not to think of a turquoise pachytron, but…Needlenose had been hearing that she was Megatron’s ‘berthwarmer’ from various less than kind sources for ages, now.

“Ravage is mine, not Megatron’s. And that is not a synonym for conjunx electa,” Soundwave said evenly. “It is also a strange way to pronounce ‘operative’.” Nonetheless, he relaxed. A little.

“Does he know where my sister is?” said the Cobalt Sentry.

Soundwave got that distant, troubled look that preceded the awkward sensation that rippled through your frontal lobes when he really wanted to know something. “No, Howlback. He doesn’t.”

“I’m the one who warned you—!” Needlenose sputtered.

Soundwave ex-vented, slowly. “The image. It made me think someone was threatening Ravage—”

“That is not something I would have sent you,” said Needlenose, furious, even though he didn’t think it was actually Soundwave he needed to be furious with. “Why would I do that?”

Soundwave just winced. Then he turned to Howlback. “Ravage is unharmed and unafraid. She is, however, annoyed. I would not be surprised to learn that she has killed what I can only assume were Galvatron’s agents. At the moment, she is engaged in the activity of ‘kicking aft and taking names’.”

Howlback glared at him. “You might’ve told me that before this exchange,” she grumbled, then shrugged. “Clobber. Let him go.”

The Lugnut clone uncuffed him. “Sorry,” she said. “We can’t be too careful.”

Howlback snorted. “Galvatron’s screwing with all of us. There’s no time for this garbage. Put it in stasis till the spacebridge is closed—both of you!”

The way she ordered Soundwave around, Needlenose was surprised there weren’t more people calling her by her sister’s name.

“Why would I want to hurt Ravage?” Needlenose felt…almost hurt, that Soundwave could even imagine this of him. Hadn’t Soundwave been in his mind, even if only his conscious mind, often enough to know better?

“If you’d gone over to Galvatron…” Soundwave’s voice trailed off. “This is his first direct strike against me, you know. There are doubtlessly going to be more. And everyone knows she’s my weakness, as well as my strength.”

Needlenose couldn’t argue with that. “I have no idea what Ravage has been doing with Megatron, but if she hadn’t started posting on the BC again, don’t you think the riots in Iacon would’ve been worse?”

“Everything’s fucked and we’re all paranoid,” said Howlback. “Garrison Blackrock built a back door into here. Cosmos and Soundwave found it just before the scheduled emigration time.” She paused for a moment. “Also,” she said, “somebody brought a half-dead Autobot through and I had them take him directly to Glit—”

“I’m sure that’s my brother,” Needlenose said, and tried not to smile, because it was good news, but the news wasn’t actually good. “He tried to stop us, but then Brawl stopped him. I’d like to see him—”

“I’m sure Glit will let you, once he’s in shape to talk,” said Howlback. “If he’s your brother…” She looked up at Soundwave.

Soundwave shrugged. “If Tracks needs to stay for a few days…he can.”

Needlenose blinked. “But he’s an Autobot—”

Clobber—the Lugnut clone—actually laughed. “So’s the little green fragger who’s trying to seduce Soundwave, but we put up with him around here.”

Krok had known something was wrong since they’d first approached the perimeter of Demus’ scrapyards. Although Demus had clearly been looking for workers, he had not expected to see the place deserted, without so much as a guard in place to prevent any thievery.

Misfire had suggested they just take what they needed and leave. Fulcrum and Crankcase had been all for it. Spinister had had nothing to say.

But Krok had become concerned, even though he barely knew Demus, and had quietly cursed himself for not asking Soundwave to send whatever intel he had when Ravage wasn’t around. Then he’d clicked on his ‘communicator’ to soothe himself, and learned that they were surrounded by hundreds of Decepticon sparks.

The five of them were the only people around for as far as his optics could see.

When Demus finally came out to greet them, he looked nervous: far more uncomfortable than the presence of non-monoformers could explain, and he’d started in on a pitch about how anyone who expected to work for him would have to be willing to use an anti-transformation chip while on the premises. He kept looking over his shoulder.

Krok raised a hand. He wanted to plant that hand on Demus’ chest, and tell him to calm the frag down, and ask what had him so spooked. But he didn’t. “We’re not here for work. We have an employer. I just need scrap that I can use to patch my ship’s hull till we can get to a proper repair shop. And I’m willing to pay a fair price for it.”

Demus stared at them all, as if there’d been a script and they had torn it up right under his nasal strut. Then his optics flared bright, as if he had just been handed a winning lottery chit. “Fine,” he’d said. “The price is your prisoner.”

Krok’s jaw would’ve dropped—to the ground—if it hadn’t been welded on. “We don’t have a prisoner.”

“No?” Demus frowned. “You don’t have a Dynobot on your ship?”

After that they were all talking at once. Talking and comming. An argument out loud and another one that Demus couldn’t hear. Spinister and Crankcase were one hundred percent in favour of turning Grimlock over; Fulcrum thought it sounded like a bad idea, and the sort of thing that that they as Decepticons ought not be doing.

Misfire was losing his mind, and at one point he had looked like might pull a weapon in order to protect his addled friend.

“Misfire,” Krok said gently. “You cannot kill everyone here, fix the ship by yourself…and complete our mission alone. Let’s consider this like functioning adults.”

Misfire loved all of his friends, hated fighting, and could only hit a target if there was no ambiguity in his feelings. Krok was sure he knew that this did not set well with him, either. And if Demus actually needed workers so badly, there probably wasn’t anyone here but him, which meant they could take whatever they needed.

On the other hand…he could also see Crankcase’s point. There was no balance to be found between the incredibly bad feeling he had about every single bit of this, the reaction Soundwave had had to them coming here at all, his own Decepticon ethics, his affection for Misfire, the difficulty of paying for repairs to the ship when they weren’t actively in Soundwave’s employ, the number of those repairs that had been necessary because of Grimlock’s actions…and the necessity of getting Soundwave’s conjunx electa back on her way without anyone finding out that she was aboard the W.A.P.

Demus’ face brightened, because it sure looked like he had them over a barrel, and there were at least two members of the crew who were actually enthusiastic about the idea of giving up Grimlock. That was when he got careless about his words.

“Hey, Krok—you can have whatever you want out of here if you’ll also give up your passenger. There are people looking for her, you know.”

Krok was livid with rage, confused as to how the frag Demus had even known that they had a passenger and simultaneously tormented by guilt given that they had left Ravage alone on the ship—with Grimlock as her sole and singular defender.

Before he could say anything about that, Spinister transformed into a feral blur of spite and blew Demus’ fragging head off.

“The toys!” he cried out, indicating the stacks of Roboid toys on pallets, prepared for shipment, that were everywhere around them. “The toys! They’re people!”

Before Krok had even the glimmering of an intelligent response to this, Fortress Maximus came barrelling around the corner, guns blazing, and put a shot directly through Demus’ spark and spark chamber. This left Demus instantly and irrevocably dead; being a monoformer, he had long ago had his transformation cog removed and destroyed.

That left all five of the Scavengers staring across Demus’ dead body at Fortress Maximus, and Red Alert, who had joined him.

“We’ll be taking Grimlock back with us,” Fortress Maximus said quietly, “and for that matter, we’re taking the rest of you, too. Who’s your passenger, anyway?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Red Alert replied, interrupting Krok’s impassioned speech about how they would die before they gave up that information before he got the first word out.

“…what?” Krok finally managed. Even Misfire was reduced to incomprehension.

Red Alert rambled on. “If Demus wanted the passenger, it’s got to be Megatron’s missing cat. The DJD probably figures old Megs’ll do whatever they want him to do if they can get Ravage turned into one of these…whatever those are.”

Apparently Spinister had been…right?

Chapter Text

Grimlock and I circled the perimeter of Demus’ scrapyards, observing each entrance carefully before deciding which to take. I had expected to see comings and goings from them all, but only two had been recently used. We chose to go in through the one where the gate had been blasted open, because the security system appeared to have already been disabled, but we were prepared for trouble. Someone had done the blasting.

I was searching for familiar scents—particularly Misfire’s, since I knew it better than those of the other Scavengers. But once we were inside the main building, my nasal and vomeronasal sensors were immediately drenched in a miasma of rancid beastformer pheromones. The top notes were painfully bright metallic sparks of shock and disbelief, fading fast but still fizzing up over the main accord of despair, defeat, unrelenting pain, mindless fear and unwilling submission, with basenotes of voided waste, spilled energon and purged fuel. So many of my people had lost their lives here that I could not even discern the scents of rare frametypes, let alone single individuals. This wasn’t a scrapyard, it was a death camp.

I immediately understood why Soundwave hadn’t told me his suspicions. He’d been right that I wouldn’t have been able to leave it alone if I’d heard of it. But now that I knew, it was all I could do to take the first step past the threshold. People like me—and only people like me—had suffered here. I wanted to go in and set the entire place on fire, but I couldn’t pick up one pede and put it in front of the other.

Grimlock leaned over and sniffed me. “Us keep moving,” he said, very softly. His hackles were raised. I looked up at him, and be bunted his head into mine, and I knew he was also aware of the carnage that we were about to walk into.

One of the guns I’d dragged out of Krok’s room was a lightweight laser cannon. I slung it over my shoulder. I didn’t have contacts to use it as an integrated weapon, but it had a trigger that probably worked just fine.

“Someone’s gonna wish they were never sparked,” I said to Grimlock, lightly resting my hands on his flank, so that we could both feel that we were alive and in motion. I dropped my emotional processing routines to a much lower rank on the priority tree; I needed my rage to move forward through this, but I needed to be able to control it. And I didn’t need the fear that welled up from my animal soul.

My optics adjusted easily to the dimness inside the warehouse, where I was confronted with pallets stacked with brightly-coloured boxes, each with the stylised image of a lovely, lively mechanimal printed upon it. ROBOIDS, the boxes said, in a cheerful stick-like font. The glyphs had been made to look like they had been drawn by an inexperienced newspark, programmed to write by hand but with very little practise. But they hadn’t been. They were far too artfully balanced not to have been the work of an artist.

This wasn’t a one-mech operation. There were no workers here now, and I wasn’t sure why, but someone had drawn the artwork, had printed the boxes. Someone had packed them. This couldn’t be the work of only one mech.

The Autobots wondered why I mocked the notion of the Reintegration Act, as if we’d ever even once been integrated. But no matter how many laws they said they’d enacted, I still couldn’t walk down a street without encountering someone who’d cheerfully see me destroyed just for being what I am. They had to be polite to me in public, now—for values of polite that didn’t exclude trying to pet me before asking my name—but they hated me still.

Krok had met this Demus on The Big Conversation, so he’d apparently been a Decepticon once. But so had Galvatron. Not everyone whose help Megatron had accepted had shared our ideals. Megatron had not been able to keep hate from sinking into him too; but at least in Megatron’s presence, the haters had had to be polite—and also, keep their hands to themselves.

Without Megatron, people like me were never going to be safe in any faction at all, unless Soundwave and I stepped up as we were planning to do. Two of us, doing the job that one mech had done before. Would we be able to balance each other and keep ourselves sane?

How could I fight a hate this entrenched and malignant without becoming hateful myself? It wasn’t something I could kill, and it wasn’t something I could wash away with love. Even if I were capable of loving someone who hated me as much as these people did—and I absolutely was not—they wouldn’t be able to accept it from me.

The boxes were of various sizes. Some were small enough to fit an aviform like Laserbeak or Buzzsaw. Some were even smaller. Some were big enough to fit someone like me, at least as I’d been before my frame refit. And some were bigger still.

I found myself growing used to the stench, which revolted me. I walked up to the boxes and read the text on them, almost immediately wishing I hadn’t.

“Fully responsive to tactile stimulation! Lifelike simulation of emotion and sensation!”

The picture showed a person, some sort of immature organic, petting a mechanimal, who arched up into the touch. I knew that wasn’t the intended use for these toys. And the emotion and sensation would be real for the being trapped inside.

This was what Galvatron wanted for me.

Galvatron and I had spoken less than a half-dozen times in the past four million years. He’d never spared a thought for me as long as I’d been one of Soundwave’s cassettes; he’d assumed I was just as much a toy as these beings who surrounded me. That was the place he wanted to put me back into.

“Configurable token resistance for training play!”

The picture on the box showed the immature organic training a small mechanimal with treats. I knew that wasn’t really what the caption meant. Somehow, on the innocent face of what I was meant to think was a child, the artist had managed subtly to capture the lewd expression on Senator Ratbat’s face when he’d brought the brace of us home and smiled at me, before he had led me away from my siblings to tell me I was going to be his special favourite, and to give me my first taste of high-grade before he laid claim to me.

The ability to express token resistance would only make things worse. Particularly the process of learning exactly what sorts of token resistance one’s master liked, and which would get one hurt worse. Learned helplessness is a terrible state, but learning it is even worse.

I had wanted to think of the room as a mausoleum, and the boxes—almost beautiful—as coffins. But you’re safe inside a grave. Being thrown into a smelter would have been better than dying this way; at least it had an ending.

Grimlock had transformed into a mech again. He opened one of the boxes clumsily and set its occupant on the ground: it was a quadruped, something like a turbofox, but smaller and blue. I leaned over and switched it on. Its optics came online, and it stood there, motionless, waiting to be told what to do.

Grimlock looked down at me. “Dead?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. It appears to be functioning. Sort of.”

I opened a second box, but I dropped the occupant in shock. I’d never been close to Slugfest, but I had never wanted to be reunited with any of Soundwave’s other operatives like this. His panel flipped open when he fell, and I saw that all his arrays were in place, both spike and valve present and probably working, because of course they would have to be working.

With three well-aimed shots from my blaster pistol, I put Slugfest out of his misery forever, and resolved not to tell Soundwave, even though I knew that he’d probably get it out of me with time. Then I whirled on the wall of boxes, laser cannon primed, but Grimlock ran in front of me.

“No! Cat not shoot!”

“Wouldn’t you want me to shoot you if you were them?” It came out half a sob. I despaired of him understanding me; he wasn’t all there. The still small part of me who remembered being left on Ratbat’s desk with energon puddling under her on the blotter was very much there, and she wanted to scream until somebody noticed her.

I didn’t have time for her now. At least she’d been able to scream. I decided not to waste any energy on keeping the tears in. I could try to keep quiet, or I could try to keep my optics from leaking, and quiet was more important.

Grimlock put his hand on my shoulder. “Misfire,” he said. “Maybe help.”

“Sure, buddy.” I knew that whatever Misfire was doing for Grimlock, however kind it had been—and Misfire was one of the kindest people I knew—it would not be enough for the people in these boxes. I would never feel guilty for ending Slugfest’s misery.

But I didn’t know that they couldn’t be saved.

I was on autopilot, and I opened more boxes, and I was really grateful not to know any of the other people I found inside them. The occupants stood there, waiting to be commanded. I had to fight with myself not to blow them away.

“What sneaky cat doing?”

I wasn’t sure I had an answer for that, but when I opened my mouth, words came out of it: “Shock troops.”

Grimlock nodded, and started to open the big boxes—the ones I couldn’t even have reached the tops of. Inside them were equiforms. They were huge—they were big enough for Misfire and Krok to have ridden—I couldn’t imagine what sort of organic child we were meant to think could have ‘played’ with them.

“Follow,” I said to them all. As we moved through the warehouse, the Roboids moved with us, silent as dead things, stopping when we stopped to open another box, marching along as we marched.

Then I heard Spinister screaming that all of the toys were people, which was followed by two shots. Someone else started speaking, and Grimlock froze. Whoever it was that was talking, he knew them. I hugged him, and I wrapped my field around us both. I couldn’t send him comforting thoughts like Soundwave could, or lance the festering abscesses of inexpressible pain. But I could be there for him, and be glad he was there for me, too.

“Us keep moving,” I whispered. He transformed back into his alt-mode, leaning over to let me mount, and I got back up on his back.

I listened: two hostiles, and my friends. The hostiles intended to take us all captive. Frag that.

The equiforms assembled around us. They also waited in eerie, unsettling silence. “Cry havoc,” I said under my breath, “and let slip the beasts of war.” It wasn’t as funny as I’d hoped it would be, but it made things a little less awful.

I pointed at the door into the office. “Charge!” I shouted, and the Roboids did. So did Grimlock.

“Nobody’s going anywhere!” I shouted, and went straight for the biggest of the two Autobots, not so much because that was my intention, but because that was where Grimlock wanted to go. I didn’t know him, but the markings and kibble and size said Fortress Maximus. And that was who had been in charge of Garrus-9 when Grimlock had been there, so that made sense. I thought about telling Grimlock not to kill him, but I wasn’t sure if I was actually opposed to Grimlock taking him out, given the wrench I was sure he was going to toss into our plans.

I recognised Red Alert, but apparently he didn’t recognise me. “That can’t be Ravage!” he yelled, leaping out of the way of a rampaging equiform. “That might be the cat that ate him though!”

“Grimlock, calm down!” Fortress Maximus snapped. “We need to have a little talk, you and I—”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I think you and your friend need to get the frag out of here before anything worse happens.” The equiforms and the smaller bots were running wild. They wouldn’t stop until I gave the word. They weren’t really able to tell who was a friend and who wasn’t, and that was a bit of a problem, but they were keeping Fortress Maximus and Red Alert from drawing a consistent bead on my friends.

“I’m not afraid of a herd of equiforms, an escaped prisoner with half his wits, and six Decepticons who weren’t even expecting me. Not after Simanzi,” Fortress Maximus said, although we had him backed up against the wall.

Red Alert looked at him as if he were out of his mind, but it was the kind of big talk I expected from someone like Fortress Maximus.

“And yes, Red Alert, that’s Ravage. We paid to refit his frame on board the Lost Light before he took off for parts unknown. He doesn’t seem to be feeling a whole lot of gratitude, which doesn’t really surprise me--”

“Would you mind using the right pronouns for her?” Fulcrum snapped. I thought it was awfully sweet of him, even though that was no more than five spots from the bottom on the list of things that were currently irritating me.

Fortress Maximus just looked up at me across the laser cannon I had trained on him, his expression incredibly calm and relaxed. I didn’t let his calmness bother me. I’m pretty good at that psych thing myself, though I’d never tried it with him.

“Ravage.” He smiled. “You know,” he said very quietly, “we haven’t had your trial yet. You want to make things worse for yourself than they already are? We’re not falling for that Knights of Cybertron trick again. Your ship is damaged, and you and your friends won’t be able to get away from mine. Maybe you should’ve stayed on the Lost Light. They had almost started to trust you there. But you’re like any other Decepticon, aren’t you? Only thinking about yourself.”

“Of course,” I said evenly. “That is exactly why I came this far out of my way to liberate all of these other beastformers.”

“And not because another ‘con shot you out of the sky?” Fortress Maximus appeared to be deeply amused. That made one of us. I wondered if he’d even noticed the lubricant running out of my optics. Frag.

“All right,” I said. “You got me there. But I thank you for your concern on behalf of my people. Wouldn’t it be better if you just looked into this operation and let us go? Or do you really think one guy did all this by himself?” I gestured to everything around us.

“I think I’m looking at some of the other parties to this,” Fortress Maximus replied.

“As you appear to know,” I replied, “I’ve been on the Lost Light until very recently. Even if I didn’t care about others like myself, I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to get involved in something like this.”

Fortress Maximus looked closely at each of my friends. I kept my attention firmly focused on him. “You wouldn’t have, no. But the rest of them?” He shrugged. “Here they are, with both Grimlock and you on their ship. For all I know, that little firefight was a benefit performance just for me.”

“Really.” I glared at him. “Then why are you the only person in this room that Grimlock wants to tear apart? He’s not frightened of anyone else in here! Let me tell you who the guy that shot us down was. His name was Lockdown. He’s been a bounty hunter since the end of the war. He was paid by fragging Galvatron to deliver me here. He’s lying in the dirt outside of the W.A.P., where I left him after I killed him. I am so fragging tired of people deciding to hurt me because they want something from Soundwave or Megatron. I was a member of the Conclave and the High Command on my own accord, and I have things to do that you are between me and doing.”

Fortress Maximus’ optics flared. He hadn’t been expecting that from me. “I’m perfectly aware that you’ve been quite destructive on your own account. I know better than to believe those people who say you can’t fight the bestial instinct to submit to those more powerful than you.”

“Good,” I said, “because repeating it won’t make me lose my wits whether you believe it or not.”

Fortress Maximus shrugged. “And I certainly don’t think you were ever ‘just following orders’. Your writing hasn’t made things easy for the enforcers on Cybertron, or anywhere else. Everyone who’s been paying attention to what’s going on in the Decepticon enclaves knows what you really believe.”

“Including you? Then you know I won’t submit to a show trial at the hands of a government I consider illegitimate, when I am one of the sovereign rulers of Destron,” I told him firmly. I hadn’t precisely intended to declare myself to the Autobots at exactly this point in time, but I wasn’t going to get out of this by pretending I wasn’t someone important.

Still, it sounded like Krok was choking behind me. I felt a little bad for him about that, especially since I couldn’t take my optics away from my opponent. That’s not how psych ops works, especially not when your face was designed to evoke ridiculous primal fears about big bad Predacons twice your size.

“There is no ‘Destron’,” Fortress Maximus replied, in an infuriatingly condescending tone that really did make me want to leave claw marks on his face, especially given my absolutely calm and settled state of mind after walking my way through that warehouse. “It’s a legend, a myth, a story you people like to tell yourselves to help yourselves recharge at night. It can’t exist without the Decepticons, and Megatron disbanded the Decepticons.”

I laughed out loud; he’d certainly picked a terrible group of Decepticons to pull that line on. “That speech that Orion wrote for Megatron wasn’t his dumbest move, but it certainly wasn’t the smartest. An Autobot can’t disband the Decepticons! The moment he put on that badge, Megatron lost every legal claim he ever had to authority over any of us! He doesn’t have the legal or moral right to disincorporate our party or our claim to sovereignty.”

“Yeah!” said Crankcase from somewhere behind me. “You tell him, Trophy!”

“So what were you doing on the Lost Light with him?”

“Aside from the obvious?” I snorted. “None of your fragging business, Fortress Maximus. After I realised that I was pursuing a lost cause, and no, I will not tell you what cause that may or may not have been, I cut my losses like a sensible person.”

“This is not a convincing argument as to why I should let you leave here alive outside of my custody, Ravage,” said Fortress Maximus, in a very self-satisfied tone.

“Here’s the thing you don’t understand,” I said. “If you want the Decepticons to really stand down and accept things the way they are, you need to let them go. It’s actually really sad that you can’t see I’m trying to help you. Real peace doesn’t come from putting people in the kind of ghetto Soundwave’s been getting refugees from. When you decide to deal with us, with the ones of us who actually don’t want to continue Megatron’s war, you’ll find that we’re surprisingly reasonable, even if our reasoning isn’t the same as yours. Meanwhile, if Galvatron hasn’t taken your spacebridge yet, he’s about to, and Soundwave is likely to be the person who stops him.”

Red Alert scowled at me. “That checks out,” he grumbled. “There was an attempt on the spacebridge. Whole bunch of mechs got through, though.”

“They went to Sanctuary,” I said. “Not Earth. And not any ships or bases you may or may not have in that system, even though the EDC has an alliance with us. You can thank my conjunx for that. Soundwave Kymatos, big blue guy. Prettiest face you’ll never see.”

“You’ve all committed war crimes!” Fortress Maximus snapped, starting to get a little bit heated.

“So have you,” I said. “We’re willing to acknowledge the legitimacy of your government if you’re willing to acknowledge the legitimacy of ours, and then we can sort this out like adults. All of the assets you’ve stolen from our people seem to me like a reasonable start on reparations, but we’re not turning anyone over to be tried by a jury, especially not one that’s not of their peers.”

“Do you have any respect whatsoever for the rule of law?”

I cycled air back through my intakes, and then I shook my head. “The law doesn’t rule. People rule. That’s true even among Autobots. People interpret the laws very differently.” It was the first time I’d consciously considered the notion, but I strongly suspected that Ultra Magnus would have enforced the Tyrest Accord very differently in this place at this time. Or maybe I just hoped so, given that he hadn’t had any problem benefitting from the regime which had oppressed the rest of us for millions of years while he hid his true nature; I couldn’t like him as much as Megatron did.

I continued. “If I were going to consent to let your people try me, you’d have to find enough beastformers to fill the stands, since I can’t trust anyone else not to think I’m a filthy piece of shareware with barely enough processing power to run a dimmer switch. Starscream spent just as much time fragging Megatron as I did, and somehow people still think he’s got brains enough to run a government. I think that’s because he hasn’t got a muzzle and he’s never been a quadruped, but what would I know about that in a universe where this place can exist?”

Fortress Maximus winced when I mentioned Megatron. “That’s only a rumour.”

“No it isn’t,” I said with a snort. “I saw them do it on his throne. He’d say the same thing about me, and we’d both be telling the truth, but I don’t deny that I did it as well.” Then I shrugged. “But we’re amica now.”

Red Alert burst out laughing. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of diverting any attention his way.

Somewhere behind me, I heard Misfire shout, “Spinister, no!” just as the floor under Fortress Maximus and Red Alert’s afts and pedes disappeared with a loud explosion. Below us, there was a lot of broken ceiling, a lot of dust, and a really freaky looking lab with tanks full of something organic that looked profoundly disgusting. Then the roof just above it fell in.

I herded all the equiforms to stand on the piece of fallen roof. “Stay there until the sky is full dark,” I told them, hoping they understood. “Then do whatever you want.” I looked at the rest of them. “Stay here, where it’s safe. Don’t follow me.”

“Let’s get the frag out of here,” Krok said stiffly.

Spinister had an unconscious green feliform with black accents who looked a Pit of a lot like I had once looked slung over his shoulder. She had an Autobot badge. I frowned, because I didn’t know her. Which meant that even after the project in Stanix had been shut down, someone had made more of us. I wondered if her alt had been a cassette, and if I should take her home with me.

Once we had enough scrap to patch the hull, we made our way back to the W.A.P. in silence, wanting to put the place behind us as quickly as possible.

Chapter Text

As posted to The Big Conversation by @cybercatastrophe (verified by Site Administrator @EmeraldWings):

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When we acknowledge that telling lies about what people deserve and what people owe leads to the enforced assignment of some to toil on the behalf of others, and from there to taxonomies and hierarchies, the logical conclusion for many of us has been that we can only ever have that which we can take and defend for ourselves as individuals, and that only the very strongest of us can afford to take care of another person.

But there is a fallacy here, for this too leads to the establishment of hierarchies. In their purest form—the empire of unsheathed blades and hungers—the hierarchy is constantly shifting, and it is impossible to accomplish much of anything, because we are all at war with one another. As a result of this we fall into place behind our leaders, knowing that we are stronger together than apart, and our leaders become warlords.

There is a third way.

The third way is hidden from those who live without attachment, but obvious to those of us who are voluntarily bound to one another. If you have an amica, or a conjunx, or a former mentor, or a newspark under your guidance, or even a friend, you are already aware that there are many kinds of strength we can draw from each other, and that caring for someone else does not have to be a burden or a drain on our resources. Nobody is forced to care for the people they love; they do it because the other person’s happiness and welfare is essential to their own. This only becomes a weakness if we do not appreciate, respect and nurture in others what we live in ourselves.

It is impossible for us to survive in a world where all bear an equal burden of labour and all must defend themselves at all times, except in an army where we are at the mercy of our leaders. We are not all able to work. We are physically able to work when we come into the world, but we have no discernment and cannot make wise decisions, even if we were fortunate enough to have come online with a complete library of factual information, multilevel emotional processing, and motivators unconstrained by hierarchical coding. It takes a combination of mentoring and life experience for a mechanism to develop the necessary pathways to create robust value equations.

We are not all equally able to fight when we come into the world. We have frames of differing sizes, strengths and abilities, and while form does not dictate function, it is by the developed will that we function outside the constraints of our forms. We do not come into the world with a developed will. It is our right to develop it, but how do we develop it if we are forced to defend ourselves before we are ready to do it?

No-one is owed support or defence, but we give it to those whom we love when it’s needed, and to give it gives us strength. We draw renewed purpose and will from those whom we love. We are cared for by those whom we love. My conjunx makes me energon sweets and brings me things that I want but can’t find. And once, he held me in his arms and taught me the difference between intimacy and abuse. I shield him from the overwhelming world outside when he is tired and make everything smell beautiful. And once, I showed him how to guard himself against a world he was born plugged into and unarmoured. My amica infuriates me, but reminds me that I and I alone are responsible for fulfilling my Will and my Purpose. He has failed more desperately than anyone I know, because he dared more than anyone else ever had, and yet he still finds it within him the strength to encourage my daring. Some of the people my conjunx has mentored continue to help with his work, however they can—and some of them remain in our lives and are always there when the darkness is deepest and we are besieged.

Here is the truth of the world.

We are all supported by a net of connections. This is what I call ‘concordia’. Your conjunx has an amica; your amica has a conjunx; the people who mentored you, if you were so lucky, have colleagues and friends. You have colleagues and friends. If you have creche sibs, or were created with a group of the same or similar models, you have siblings, and they have enduring partners, and they mentor, and you have enduring partnerships, too.

As we go through life, we suffer injuries and infections, losses and adversities. We may be temporarily or permanently rendered unable to defend ourselves, to perform intellectual labour, to perform physical labour. But our lives are not worthless to us, nor do we cease to give affection, purpose, will and strength to those whom we love and are loved by.

It is wrong to say that the young must work for the old. It is wrong to say that the old must give up and pass into darkness for the young. It is wrong to say that those who are injured are not worth repairing unless we can measure their physical contributions to the world. It is also wrong to force others to make these repairs against their will. But it is not necessary.

No-one has the right to make use of our labour or demand our protection without our consent. But we can freely choose to give protection and share what we have. We cannot force anyone else to do this. But the more of us who recognise that we live in a web of connections, the stronger that web will be, and we can help one another voluntarily. Those who refuse to participate cannot demand support and protection from others, but even then, we are still free to give.

Even if no-one has a right to anything they cannot grab for themselves, we can acknowledge the many ways in which people support and protect us, and honour that, rather than demanding that those who are weaker than we are must ingratiate and demean themselves to make it worth our while to help them care for themselves and for us.

The failure of our Cause is rooted in the misunderstanding of the difference between rights and obligations. We all have the right to whatever we need—and to take it, if no-one will give it, provided we can. But none of us exists in isolation. We cannot compel others to care for one another or to contribute to the common good, but in a world that is at peace, those of us who are willing to give, to protect and to help will always outnumber the others. That is concordia. It is not the intimacy of amicitia or conjunxion.

We don’t have to collect taxes by force. We can collect from those who are willing to give; there will always be enough, if no one is compelled and none is set over another. Love is what moves us to care for those who cannot care for themselves, and love is voluntary. It cannot be compelled, nor can it be reliably evoked by any form of relation.

Sexual contact does not create love. Taking a sparkling into your home does not create love. Even spark-merging does not create love, if it is not already there; the merging of sparks without caring is dangerous, and when compelled, is just as much or more destructive than any other form of forced interface.

But love can be transitive, and we can recognise that love is transitive. The foundation of broader social relationships is rooted in uncompelled choices made through the understanding of reciprocal love. My amica owes nothing to my conjunx by virtue of being my amica, but my amica has had to learn that I cannot be happy if my conjunx is in pain. As long as any of us is in pain, we are all a little less happy; those who will not voluntarily share and alleviate pain will experience it anyway, because hunger, disease and cruelty cannot be contained if we permit them to flourish.

Although such words as ‘amiconara’ are not considered proper in the lexicon of Neocybex, people still use them, because they understand that when multiple persons are in relationship with a single person, they move into relationship with one another, and that denying that will lead to misery. Love cannot be compelled, but love of a third party can bring the needs and wishes of two individuals who do not love one another into alignment. We also need to preserve and care for those with whom we work toward common goals.

Therefore, through relationships of amicitia and conjunxion, mentorship and collegiality, we find ourselves connected to persons for whom we care, even to the point of being connected to those we have never met; for if we would ensure our own happiness, and that of those whom we love, we have to acknowledge the mutual interests of many others, and seek to live our lives in an alliance of mutual concord.

Concordia is the reason why we voluntarily choose to support one another, even though we do not permit ourselves to be forced into the support of another. When extended to logical (but absolutely truthful) absurdity, a conscientious person may acknowledge that any person with whom they must interact may either currently or in the future be a person of importance to their own people of importance.

So: understanding the truth of the world makes us unsheathe our blades and take them into our hands. But understanding the truth of people guides us in deciding when the use of the blade is the most appropriate response, and also when extending a hand is more likely to produce the results we desire.

Self-preservation is also transitive. Those who understand this will choose to defend our society as a whole against invasion, unmerited violence, and disease, even if the role we must play in that defence is constrained by the state of our health, abilities, natural and wilful inclinations, and range of tolerable functioning. We protect the loved ones of others, because allowing those people to suffer and die creates resentments that will destroy our society.

Even those who have always lived in disjunction and may never be able to comprehend this sense of connection can be supported and protected by these webs of care and connection, and those who choose to do so are acknowledging that there are many kinds of wounds, it is impossible to heal a wound by force, and that even the rankest villain among us is still a sapient being—and when we fail to acknowledge the basic dignity inherent in sapience, we damage our own collective sense of our dignity. Even when someone must be removed from the world for the good of all others, it can be done in a manner that is personal and dignified and does not compel anyone else to become an executioner.

This is the foundation of rule and justice without compulsion, and the heart of peace without tyranny. Life in Sanctuary requires a commitment to the maintenance of concordia, as well as a commitment to truth and an unwillingness to be deceived. These two truths we hold to be self-evident: no-one has the right to another person's labour, protection, or love; but none of us exists alone, and we can choose to share with everyone who shares with us, or we can choose to fight for everything until we can’t, and then we choose to starve, or die alone.

We choose to live together, and not to die alone.

Chapter Text

I knew something was dreadfully wrong among my friends, because Crankcase didn’t laugh his aft off watching me drive like a squeaky-geared newspark over uneven ground with a loud, unhappy cougaraider pacing between my ‘driver’ and ‘passenger’ seats. I had only practised driving on exercise tracks aboard the Lost Light.

Misfire and Spinister could, of course, fly. Spinister carried Krok. Misfire carried Fulcrum. Crankcase and Grimlock carried the scrap metal. But it still took longer than I’d hoped to get back to the W.A.P.; even if I’d been able to drive as well and as fast as my hot Jaguar XK alt-mode might have suggested, everyone was weighed down by something or someone else.

Once we arrived, Spin took my little passenger inside and disappeared into his laboratory, which was also our infirmary and probably the only place on the W.A.P. where it would even have been possible to set up a sterile field. I’d made an attempt at cleaning my second day into the trip and then given up.

Grimlock, who was rightfully exhausted, went inside the ship to recharge. The rest of us got down to work on the ship, because even if we weren’t all skilled at ship repair, we were welding scrap to the hull, which is not exactly something that requires a brilliant engineer, and we wanted to leave. We needed to get the frag off Tebris VII before Fortress Maximus and Red Alert got out of Demus’ warehouse and laboratory.

I was sincerely hoping they would prioritise rescuing the innocent Roboids and deem that laboratory worth examining. If I was in luck, it would not only be something disgusting, but also dear to Galvatron’s sick, twisted spark, that the Autobots would completely slag up and save us the trouble of having to get someone else past them and out here.

“What’s up with Spin?” I asked softly. “Does he really think he can fix her?” I thought a little guiltily about Slugfest, but I couldn’t say I would have blamed me if I’d been him. Soundwave wouldn’t, either. Honestly, if the Autobots hadn’t been trapped in that lab they’d have probably all had to restrain me bodily to keep me from filling the place with ordnance and firing into it from low orbit. Until we knew the domestication process was curable, I wasn’t sure there was any better solution.

“Probably,” said Crankcase. “I hope he’s right. He’ll be scraplets to live with for days if he fails.”

“Just like always,” Fulcrum grumbled. His bad mood wasn’t going away any time soon. Fancy fuel was the surest way to calm him down, and we’d eaten all of the takeout; we were back on standard rations. He could subsist without complaint on siphoned energon and minerals an Insecticon would have thought twice about consuming…but normalcy didn’t suit him well.

Misfire picked up Lockdown’s body. “Why’d you throw him out of the ship like that, Rav?”

I shrugged. “What do we usually do with corpses? There’s not time to bury or smelt him.”

Misfire pulled me into a side-hug, which was a little gross given how dirty we all were, plus the part where he had a corpse in one arm. “That’s not what we do with corpses, silly Cat.” Then he picked up the body and dragged it back into the ship. “You made the kill. You get first call if we find anything good on him.”

I sat down on the ground in kind of a heap and laughed: just wild, hysterical laughter, with my optics overflowing again. Krok came over to sit with me but I waved him off. “No,” I said. “You should work. We all should. I will when I have my aft back under me, promise.”

Krok gave me a dubious look, but I wasn’t wrong, so he did go back to the work.

When Misfire came back, and I had achieved tank-waste consolidation, got up, and started working myself. Everyone was alarmingly quiet. The only time that I had ever seen Misfire be quiet that long before, he’d had headphones on, was plugged into his laptop, and was trolling the Big Conversation.

“My Lady Voice,” Krok finally said over the din of hammering metal into shape and welding it into place, “you really are completely outside the bounds of rationality. You know, you almost got us all killed. If Spinister hadn’t shot the floor out from under them—”

“I’m still learning?” I looked over at him and tried to smile. “I tried to con him but I failed and then I defaulted to old-school Decepticon radical honesty and righteous anger.”

Krok gingerly patted my shoulder. “You were triggered,” he said. “So was Grimlock. It was obvious to anyone with functioning optics.”

“I’m not sure I know what that means,” I said, “so probably not?” I finished hammering a plate and started welding it down. “I suppose I could have tried to convince them that Rodimus and Ultra Magnus sent me out here as a special agent instead of telling them I was one of the faction’s sovereigns. There are people I would have tried that with.”

“Really, Trophy?” Crankcase laughed. “I kinda liked your direct and forthright approach. It was stupid as frag, but at least you had style.”

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Fulcrum grumbled.

“I’m all grown up and a big girl now,” I said to both of them in a warning tone. “Whatever you were all fighting about, it’s over. Right, Krok?”

Krok shrugged. “I hope so. Exactly how would you have pulled that off?”

“On those two? Not at all,” I said. “But I have this big gold medal in my subspace that looks like Rodimus Prime’s face on a star. It’s called a Rodimus Star. He gives them out on the LL when he’s pleased with you. Most people outside the LL haven’t seen them.”

I finished the weld on the other side. “Anyhow, he gave it to me for ‘getting over my social anxiety’.”

Krok gave me a meaningful look. “Checks out,” he said under his vents.

I raised a brow ridge at him and went on: “I put a primer and some nice paint on the back of my Roddy-Star and used an engraving pen to inscribe it. It said: ‘The bearer of this warrant is acting on behalf of the Thirteen Primes and the Knights of Cybertron in the service of the Cybertronian people; please extend him every assistance.’”

Krok chuckled. “I read that book.”

“He’s right, you’re nuts,” Misfire said from his corner, and grinned at me. Krok made a face at Misfire. That was one of the words that Krok didn’t like, and I wasn’t sure why.

I grinned at Misfire. “Well, I never disputed that, actually. If any of us were sane, there’d have been something wrong with us all along.”

“Why ‘him’?” Fulcrum asked, and started hammering out a new patch.

“Someone else is supposed to have written it, and if I’m using it for that, I’m probably using a fake identity.” I shrugged. “Femmes are rare, and people notice us, and it’s still the Neocybex default pronoun for sapient moral agents.”

“So, you’re one of those that think Rodimus is the true Prime?” Crankcase asked, raising an eyebrow.

I took a moment off from the gossip to test my weld, but it was holding fine. “I don’t think there is such a thing as a ‘true Prime’,” I said, “because I think it’s all scrapwaste. But if there were, do you think he would act like Optimus does?”

“Actually yeah,” said Crankcase. “The Primes were all afthelms.”

“Solus wasn’t so bad,” I said with a shrug.

I pulled out my little engraver’s pen and inscribed the piece of metal I’d sealed my breach with: Ravage Stanixa made this, with love to her Knights, the ScAvengers. There is no peace without justice; rise up and transform the world.

We worked. The silence was a little more companionable. I wanted to ask what the frag happened, but not until we were all safe aboard the W.A.P. and preferably out of the system. After we had an intact hull, we all went inside, and Misfire got to dismantling Lockdown. It took me back to my Dead End days. Soundwave or Gasket had usually processed the corpses—a beastformer taking a corpse apart to salvage fuel would be shot on sight, and Drift was usually high—but as the Voice of Destron, nothing my people had to do could ever be beneath me…so I helped.

We should’ve taken off and spaced whatever was left of him when we were done, but this was a very familiar routine for the rest of them and they were confident it wouldn’t take too long. When Misfire and I went out to get rid of the parts of Lockdown that even Spinister didn’t think he could use, Fortress Maximus came over the hill on the back of an equiform. “Stripping the bodies,” he said. “Classic Decepticon move.”

“Where’s your sidekick?” I shot back at him.

“Red Alert’s cataloguing everything we found in the laboratory and packing the Roboids back up so we can take them to Cerebros,” said Fortress Maximus. “I’m here to get the lot of you, starting with you, ‘Queen Destronia’.”

“I don’t fraggin’ think so, mate,” said Misfire, stepping between me and him.

“Yeah nope,” said Fulcrum, and jumped down out of the ship between Fortress Maximus and both of us. Misfire picked me up and set me down on his shoulders, presumably so I could look the slagger in the optics while I told him off.

“If you so much as touch her, that whole place is going to go up in a flash. You might be able to see it from fraggin’ Cybertron. All those innocent Roboids…” Fulcrum shook his head sadly, tossing a training clicker from hand to hand. Any beastformer who’d ever undergone programming at a postnatal centre would have recognised it, which meant that Fortress Maximus would have no idea what it was. “She mined the whole place for me while Demus and us were talking, before she came in to shut you two down and tell you where to stick your spikes.”

“But half of them are Decepticons,” Fortress Maximus said, scowling.

“Every mech for himself,” Fulcrum said with a shrug, even as he very obviously was putting himself between trouble and me and his friend.

Fortress Maximus gave me the ‘so disappointed’ look. I itched to tell him that Rang has 8000 levels in that look and compared to that, his was the real disappointment. “What about you, Your Majesty?”

I looked him straight in the optic and laughed again, bitterly. “Unless you can give me an absolute guarantee that they can and will be returned to full functioning, without any lingering slave coding, even if they’re Decepticons, blowing them up might actually be the right thing to do.”

He stared at me in genuine shock. It will never cease to amaze me how stupid some people become when they don’t know how much privilege they have. “You really can’t see this from my perspective at all, can you? You’ve always been big, and bipedal, with pretty, regular features that don’t remind anyone of a deadly Predacon or a cute little mechanimal.”

Fortress Maximus commed Red Alert, and they conferred for a moment, and then I heard Red Alert reading Fulcrum’s forged Autopedia bio back to him. Demolitions expert. Commendation for bravery. I set a reminder for later that night to go look up what they’d written about me, and resolutely schooled my face so I didn’t look like I was about to start laughing again.

Fortress Maximus lunged toward Fulcrum. He tossed me the clicker. I guess it looked enough like a detonator. “Don’t even,” I said sharply. “I’ll do it and I think you know that.”

Fortress Maximus gave me a look of absolute loathing.

“Backatcha, big guy,” I said, and then we were all startled. The green cougaraider with the Autobot badge slipped down the boarding ramp, made a figure-eight around Misfire’s legs, and dropped a datapad on the ground at Fortress Maximus’ feet.

Fortress Maximus took it and tried to grab her, as well. She leapt away, skittered back up the ramp, crawled up Misfire’s back, and then crawled up mine, where she settled herself, purring.

I felt very worried and slightly uncomfortable. She clearly wasn’t all there yet. But if she had this much volition this quickly after whatever Spin had done to her on the fly, that had to be a good sign, right?

“Everyone back in the ship!” Krok bellowed through the outside speakers; the amplification made it feel like my ears were going to start bleeding just from the pain. Fortress Maximus jumped back involuntarily as the boarding ramp began to lift and retract and the ship turned around.

As we gathered around the viewscreen inside, Krok continued: “It’s very simple, Fortress Maximus,” he said. “You leave here all by yourself, and we take off, and in three breems, you get the rest of Spinister’s instructions for reactivating the rest of them narrowcast to that datapad. Or you don’t, and maybe you actually shoot more holes in my ship. Then Ravage and Fulcrum blow everyone up over there with Fulcrum’s new toy, because you obviously don’t care what happens to any of those people anyway so they might as well. Which is it gonna be?”

“You also have to promise not to put any of the Decepticons you find over there in jail!” Spinister blurted out cheerfully.

“Or else what?” Fortress Maximus snapped.

“Or else you’ll find out what I can do with the briefcase I stole,” I shouted. “Ask Ultra Magnus about it and then take a long hard look at yourself in the mirror, you self-righteous piece of tinshear!”

Apparently Ultra Magnus had told him about the briefcases, because his entire face went blank and I thought he might just short-circuit in front of us all, before he turned on his heel and stalked off in the direction of the scrapyards.

Krok switched off the viewscreen and gave me a long, searching look. “Did you really steal a ‘briefcase’?” he asked me quietly.

“I did,” I said. “Do you know what it is?” I was pretty sure he didn’t.

“No,” said Krok. “Do I want to know what it is?” He looked like he was pretty sure he didn’t, either.

“No,” I told him firmly. “All you need to know is that it isn’t on this ship. It doesn’t even work for my spark-type. I stole it for Megatron. Who will tell Ultra Magnus that I was bluffing. And I assure you…Ultra Magnus will believe him.” I grinned. “Particularly if he smiles just so and looks up at him out of those big red optics of his.”

“…you know…that actually almost makes sense. I could see it.” Krok snorted, and Misfire cracked up.

“I don’t want to see it,” I said, “so I try not to think about it. Pardon me if I’d rather not be one degree away from the Ultra Magnus on the proverbial frag chain.”

Pretty much all of them cracked up after that. Then Krok shook his head at me, pretending to be scandalised. “Wait. You left something like whatever a ‘briefcase’ is with the Autobots, Ravage?”

“Nope,” I replied. “I left it with my amica endura, who has temporarily deluded himself into believing that he’s an Autobot. He said he’d take care of it. Megatron knows why I gave it to him and what I intend him to do with it. Either he’ll do it and save himself when the time comes, or he’ll throw it into a sun somewhere. I hope it’s the former.”

Autopedia entry for "Ravage of Stanix Hotcattistan":

Ravage of Hotcattistan, Morale Officer of the Decepticon Army, secretly rules the Decepticon Empire using her outlier power of making everyone who sees her fall in some kind of love with her. Fortunately for everyone outside the Decepticon High Command, no Autobot ever sees her, because she is an unparallelled saboteur and deadly assassin, and that would be inconvenient. For her.

This may also be why few of the Decepticon recruiting posters that feature her, which were designed to challenge arbitrary Functionist standards of desirability, remain available on the open market.

Her loyalty to Megatron is rivalled only by her loyalty to Communications and Logistics Officer Soundwave. She is known for her ability to argue persuasively with Megatron without ever taking a blow from him. Sometimes they conduct their arguments in linked verse. Many examples of this are available on The Big Conversation, although the attributions there are of necessity unclear.

However, rumours of a mystery feliformer who can disappear into shadows, reappear without warning, dance her way into your spark, and escape with your worldly possessions, leaving a trail of grey frames and regrets in her wake, may not be unfounded. She is said to travel often in the company of the debonair sharpshooter Misfire of Pretendia.

Chapter Text

“Hey Swerve, you readin’ The Big Conversation again?” Riptide rolled his optics. “Don’t even try to convince me I don’t know who got you a login. You really need to get over your crush on Soundwave’s whatever-she-or-he-is.”

Swerve grinned to himself. He wasn’t even tempted to give Riptide some well-deserved scrap over talking like that about Rav, because Riptide was totally, utterly, completely, 100% wrong about the identity of the person who’d got him that login, not that he would have ever admitted that to Riptide. Who objectively had a louder, bigger, and stupider mouth than Swerve did himself.

Swerve was, however, absolutely reading The Big Conversation, and at the moment, he was cracking up over the Necrobot Debate topic. Misfire really did care a whole lot about that issue. It was…kind of adorable, actually.

Swerve had tried multiple times to get a message through to either Ravage or Misfire, but they weren’t receiving (and honestly, he was a little bit worried himself), even though he really badly wanted to tell them how touched he was that they had been worried enough to comm Megatron. And he’d tried again, after learning where they were going to go next, because he’d been so excited about how excited Misfire would get when he heard about that. But now…

Now, maybe Swerve was beginning to think that it would be even better to surprise his cool new Decepticon friend. In fact, he was about to become Misfire’s white knight, in a manner of speaking, because he was going to get a selfie with the Necrobot if it was the last thing he did.

And it wouldn’t be. Because he was not going to die, not anymore. He was going to the Necroworld. It was going to be awesome. And the only sad thing about it would be that he wouldn’t be able to see the look on Misfire’s face when he sent him the pictures.

He’d considered making it a double surprise by simply posting them to the forum, but then he’d decided against it. He had an Autobot badge after all, and he didn’t want to lose his login.

The Big Conversation was the best place to roll like a troll in the entire galactic infoweb. Autobuddies.org was a great site to hang out, but you had to be chill there, and anything they didn’t like would get deleted pretty fast, like that poem that had strongly implied that Ravage and Soundwave and Megatron had had a four-way with Optimus Prime before he was Optimus Prime. No matter what the wanker who’d posted it thought, Swerve knew that couldn’t have been one of Ravage’s, because she absolutely hated Optimus Prime.

Anyhow. This was going to be epic.

How exactly was Misfire so cute, anyway?

Megatron looked down at the so-called ‘Necroworld’ from space, frowning, because he’d almost imagined the sound of four soft pedes padding into the observation deck, but there had been no smooth dark weight to settle at his side…and he missed her.

“You don’t think this is a waste of time?” Rodimus’ voice sounded slightly sceptical.

“No,” said Megatron. If Ravage had been there, he’d have taken her paw in his hand and spoken more freely. He would have told her he was all for wasting time. That he knew he would probably die at the end of the journey, and somewhere along the way, he’d found himself wanting to live.

“That’s not what I expected you to say.”

“I don’t always do what people expect me to do,” said Megatron. “You might have noticed that.”

Rodimus laughed very quietly. “Ultra Magnus said to bring you by his office if I found you here. He’s our SIC, but technically…”

“He’s also my parole officer.” Megatron laughed wryly.

They walked together to Magnus’ office, closer together than they’d have been even a tenday ago. “You miss her.”

“You have no idea,” said Megatron. Maybe he was more selfish even than he had imagined. It wasn’t fair to Ravage, not at all, that now that she was gone, he wanted to live more than ever. Not because he didn’t want her around. But because he couldn’t bring himself to imagine dying alone, without even being able to say goodbye to her. ‘I can’t stay here just to watch you die’ had been one of her hardest limits, second only to ‘my spark is for Soundwave, and Soundwave alone.’

She was the only friend he still had left from those days, and even though he’d willingly given the sexual side of their friendship up, she was the only person left in his life who remembered him as he was. Who knew the entire trajectory of his brilliant success and his savage failure.

“I actually did tell you about my conjunx, Cosmos.” Soundwave laid back on the couch in his quarters, petting Laserbeak idly. “I told you she was coming home to me.”

Cosmos frowned and drank his cube of high-grade, slowly, sip by sip. “You mean…Ravage?” To be fair…that was the only person in Soundwave’s life that he talked about much at all, and most of the conversation had been about how much he missed…her? Him? Them? It’s not always clear. He probably ought to have noticed that.

“Who else would he mean?” Laserbeak sputtered in a flurry of high-pitched bird noises that hurt Cosmos’ ears. “They haven’t officially declared themselves, but they fulfilled the requirements at least four million years ago, before the war ever started. I remember when Ravage brought him home. He was a mess.” She bunted Soundwave’s head. “Still is, but he’s functional now.”

Soundwave snorted softly. “We were collectively a huge mess,” he said, but he was smiling; he’d taken his mask off.

Cosmos sighed. Soundwave had a very pretty face. It was also irritating that all the Decepticons on the Station seemed to know so much about everyone else. Some of them had never met Soundwave before they came here—they regarded him as a hero, and a sort of celebrity—but they sure did all know his business. They all read The Big Conversation and a bunch of other sites and periodicals that were absolutely incomprehensible. Howlback and Clobber had been doing quizzes from Venus (“the magazine for Deceptifemmes!”) the other day and giggling like they were still in mentorship, or whatever the equivalent stage in their lives had been.

“Hasn’t Ravage been living on the Lost Light with Megatron?”

“Sent him there,” Soundwave grumbled. “Big mistake. Told her not to forgive me too quickly.”

“Told…her? Not to forgive…you? For sending…him…there?”

Soundwave gave him an irritated look, probably because he knew what Cosmos was thinking, which was that that was probably exactly the reverse of how that conversation ought to go. And also that Cosmos was legitimately confused when Ravage’s pronouns changed between sentences in a conversation.

“She was a he when I sent him,” Soundwave replied. “She’s a she right now, as she usually is, but tomorrow, she might be a he again. It seems to change more often when Ravage is stressed.”

“How do you know what she is right now?” Cosmos asked, trying not even to think about all the questions he had about this, lest Soundwave pick up how much he was judging Ravage. He wasn’t judging Ravage about the pronouns—he could’ve cared less about that—but the part where Ravage had been living with Megatron since the Lost Light took off seemed more than a little bit shady.

“Cosmos. I am truly sorry. I only ever meant to help you,” Soundwave said. “But Ravage is the one fixed point at the centre of my moral, emotional and experiential universe. She helped me design the shell that holds me together, and she built the first layer with her own paws.”

“He means they’ve been merging their sparks for over four million years,” said Laserbeak, with a soft expression that probably meant she felt sorry for him. “This isn’t even close to being the longest they’ve been separated. It’s just the longest time they’ve voluntarily been kept apart. I think about fifty percent of their innermost energon came from the other, when they were wounded.”

She flew across the room and perched on the chair next to his shoulder. “If it’s any comfort,” she said, very gently, “the only reason he didn’t tell you that is that he thinks it’s written all over his face.”

Cosmos pulled away before she could bunt her head into his face. “It probably is. But he’s almost always wearing a mask.”

Ultra Magnus was very troubled indeed. He didn’t waste time. As soon as the door closed, he spoke his mind. “Megatron…does Ravage have a briefcase?”

“Absolutely not!” Megatron said, with a soft laugh. “Ravage has a lanthanum-positive spark; she couldn’t use it even if she had a quantum drive at her disposal. Which she doesn’t. Why would she…?”

“The Scavengers could help her sell it, for a cut,” Ultra Magnus pointed out, with a half-hearted twinge of uncertain relief. Ravage was eccentric and often threatening, but she had also nearly been erased from existence in the medbay as a result of Brainstorm’s folly. It seemed likely that she would remember that.

As Rodimus doubtless had noted. “She’s not an idiot!” he sputtered. “Where is this even coming from, Mags?”

“Don’t call me that.” Ultra Magnus made a face, then glanced away. “She threatened Fortress Maximus with it.”

Megatron burst out laughing, and said, “Of course she did,” just as Rodimus blurted out an indignant “What?” followed by an equally indignant “Why??”

Megatron grinned at Rodimus. “I concur. Those are some very good questions. Do you know anything more about this than that?”

Ultra Magnus sat down as if he’d been dropped. Were his co-captains actually...in cahoots together now? He had been told the whole story, albeit from Fortress Maximus’ point of view, which he knew very well not to be even remotely impartial. If he was lucky he’d stop having recharge hallucinations about it before the end of the tenday; he couldn’t imagine what Ravage must have been going through, and he really wished he could have brought himself to contact her and tell her so.

He had never quite got over the notion that she was judging him, no more and no less than he had judged her, and he wasn’t sure what that said about either of them. She was an anarchist, but he’d finally had to acknowledge she meant well. Even when she wrote essays that strongly implied it was incumbent upon anyone who believed in her cause to make every effort to prevent Megatron’s execution—not because Megatron hadn’t done anything wrong, but because it was immoral to employ an executioner.

“Well…he let her go. And he also let the Scavengers go.” Ultra Magnus suspected that this had been the right thing to do, and that he wouldn’t have been nearly so insistent on arresting everyone. He wasn’t sure if that made him a better person, or a worse one, than he’d been before.

“Of course,” said Megatron. “If my amica endura was on her way to an Autobot prison—or to a prison run by Starscream’s government—I’m sure you’d try to cushion the blow more than this.” He ex-vented. “Starscream tried to murder her on several occasions.”

Ultra Magnus did not—very much did not—want to think about why Starscream might have done that. Fortress Maximus had told him some other things that Ravage had said, things that had made him feel deeply angry and deeply ashamed at the same time, over something he had had nothing whatsoever to do with. “No, Megatron, this is not about anything that happened to her. She and her friends discovered an atrocity. Together with Fortress Maximus—but not intentionally so—they also ended it, and then he tried to take them in, and Ravage…well, Ravage apparently conned him. Are you really sure you want to hear this before you recharge?”

Megatron put his hand, tentatively, on Magnus’ arm. On the armour, anyway.

Within the armour, where nobody else could feel it, Minimus Ambus shivered, and looked up into those dark red eyes. It would have been so easy to reach for Megatron’s hand, but he couldn’t do it. That was Megatron.

Why had Ravage left him? Why had they decided to call themselves amicae? Why would she go back to someone who’d kept her in bondage for millions of years? Was she insane?

It didn’t matter. He would be an idiot to let himself feel whatever it was he was very much, not even a little bit, not feeling at all, only to end up grieving the rest of his life over someone who objectively didn’t even deserve to be grieved.

He’d had a dream about Ravage, a few nights after he’d stiffly bid her farewell. She’d sat down at a table across from him and addressed him as Minimus, as if they had been friends. “He likes you, you know,” the dream-Ravage had said. “You’re his type—well, you’re one of them anyway—same type as me, ridiculously philosophical, tiny, and wild. Only not in love with his other best friend.”

Minimus thought it was very strange that he’d dreamed about Ravage, whom he’d never much cared for. And he supposed that Soundwave and Megatron had been best friends, long ago, but that wasn’t the case anymore. In the dream, Ravage had glowed. It just bothered him, knowing that Ravage had found the body of that other Minimus Ambus. Had seen it. Had smelled it. And never said anything, not even a word. She might have told Megatron…but Megatron hadn’t mentioned it. And she certainly hadn’t told anyone else.

“You really can tell me what’s on your mind,” said Megatron quietly.

Minimus found that his voice wasn’t working. If he told Rodimus and Megatron about what Fortress Maximus had found, and so soon after having so many new questions come up about what had happened to his brother…what would happen if he broke down?

What would Rodimus do if he guessed the truth?

Did Megatron know? Had Ravage told him? He had no idea, and he was afraid to find out.

Megatron ex-vented, heavily, and looked over at the co-captain. “Rodimus,” he said gently. “I’m sure there are preparations that need to be made—”

Rodimus vented air through his dentae, and then his eyes lit up with mischief. Minimus couldn’t imagine what he was thinking, but he didn’t like it even a little bit, especially when he gave Megatron an actual wink, and Megatron actually growled a little.

But Rodimus departed with alacrity, if not with grace, and left him sitting there, with Megatron. Alone.

“Tell me,” said Megatron quietly. “Joy shared is doubled; pain shared is halved. Or something like that; I didn’t write that one.”

Minimus smiled, almost fondly. “You’re never that trite,” he said, and it felt like his spark was shivering. “Not you.”

Chapter Text

It was still too quiet on board The Weak Anthropic Principle.

I didn’t like it.

Misfire and Fulcrum were at odds with Crankcase, and to a lesser degree with Spinister. Krok didn’t seem to know what to do about that, and I didn’t either. For a little while I’d felt high on my righteousness and my anger, but now I was just sad. The silences between my friends left me with a sharp reminder of the limits of my power. I’d written essays that had apparently riled people up on Cybertron, but I couldn’t do anything to help my friends get along again.

The little green cougaraider kept close to me. I’d thought she’d want to be close to Spin, because he was fixing her, but at this stage in her restoration, she wasn’t capable of understanding the difference between hurts that were meant to harm her and hurts that were meant to restore her. Sadly but fortunately, after where she'd been, she didn’t look up at me with betrayal when Spin came to get her; she didn't assume that I or anyone else could protect her. She just snuggled against me when she returned and purred to soothe herself. I’m normally loath to pet another beastformer, but she sought it out, pushing her head into my paws, so I did, and she settled.

Grimlock watched us. It was as always difficult to know how much he understood, but I knew what he remembered, because I’d been there too.

In short…I was coming down from the high of We Got Away With It, and We Fixed It, and falling down into the dumps of I Could’ve Got All of Us Murdered, and Will This Cat Who Looks Just Like I Did Once Ever Be Herself Again.

Krok would give me sympathetic glances from time to time. I knew he knew his old unit was really gone. I didn’t need to make him admit it. I just sat on the couch and petted my new little friend.

“You should give her a name,” said Krok.

I looked up at him and shrugged. “She already has one. We just don’t know what it is. I don’t even know why I think she’s a she. It’s a placeholder, really. She could tell me tomorrow that she’s a he and his name is Devourer.”

“I don’t think Autobots have names like that,” Crankcase said, laughing.

Krok shrugged back at me. “I changed my name. I’m not the same person I was. Even if she wakes up and remembers everything she ever knew, she won’t be the same person, either.”

I glanced at Crankcase. “Yeah. Krok’s right. I know Demus was one of us. But she might not be an Autobot when she comes out of this, either. Because we’re not.”

Grimlock made a grumbling noise, even though he was in mech mode. I wasn’t sure if he was protesting that he was still an Autobot, or fervently denying it.

I looked down at her finish. Viridian green, with black struts in her legs, and for some odd reason, red front paws. “I think I might call you Viridian,” I told her.

She chirped and trilled at me. They were noises I made when I liked things.

“That suit you, Viridian?”

Viridian trilled again and rested her head on my knee; I petted her gently, and she purred.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” Spinister said from the galley, drinking milky-white Sluushii coolant right out of the carton. I was never going to drink that again.

“I’ve been Soundwaved, haven’t I?”

“Not yet you haven’t,” Misfire said, laughing, and Crankcase cracked up, but Fulcrum elbowed him.

“Show some respect, pinhead.”

Krok looked down at me, fondly. “Looks like it, Ravi.”

I looked up at him, smiling in spite of myself. I could get to like her head on my knee. “Thank you for not calling me Lady. Or Lord, for that matter.”

Misfire cracked open a cube and poured it into a bowl. When he brought it over to set it in front of Viridian, I was relieved to see that at least it looked clean. It apparently tasted just fine, because she got up and lapped it right up.

“I’m sorry,” Crankcase finally said, and everyone except Viridian, myself included, stared at him. The only sound in the room was Viridian’s purring. Grimlock, who had been half-asleep, even stopped snoring. Nobody wanted to miss whatever was going to follow that.

Crankcase fidgeted, uncomfortable. Finally, he continued. “I was wrong.”

Fulcrum’s jaw dropped. Viridian reached out with one paw in Cranky’s general direction, looking rather concerned. She still had all her emotions, even if her processing power wasn’t what it once was, and apparently she had some empathy, because she jumped down off the couch and nosed at him.

Crankcase looked at her like he was sincerely afraid she might bite him, but after he unfroze, he leaned over and patted her head. “Go back to your momma,” he whispered.

I gestured to her, and forcibly stopped myself from saying ‘ps ps’ like she was an actual cybercat, because she was acting like one, but it wasn’t her fault in any way, shape or form. She jumped back up on the couch and into my lap this time. I am still substantially smaller than most mecha are, and she didn’t quite fit. I wondered if sitting in Soundwave’s lap was going to be that awkward now for me. She looked up at me sceptically. I knew what I was supposed to do, so why wasn’t I doing it?

I sighed, and went back to petting her. I actually do like being petted. Just not by strangers. And mostly only by Soundwave, unless the servos stay on my shoulders and don’t stray lower.

“I was wrong about Grimlock,” said Crankcase, hanging his head. Grimlock sat up straight and looked right at him. This had the potential to be interesting.

“You were,” Misfire said in vehement agreement. “You gonna stop being a bludger?”

“No,” said Crankcase, predictably. “But Grimlock belongs with us.” Then he chuckled. “And Trophy belongs with Soundwave, but for now, she’s gotta settle with us.”

“I do look forward to sharing my berth with only one mech twice my size,” I allowed, moving the energon bowl back into Viridian’s reach.

“I bet he even changes the sheets!” said Spinister cheerfully. “I was wrong too.”

Misfire ex-vented, and immediately seemed shorter, because the ramrod had flowed down out of his spine and he had relaxed right into his usual talking position. “Thanks mates.”

“From now on,” said Krok, “we don’t discuss selling people out. Ever again. And we also don’t forget that we’re scavengers, when we need to be.” He raised his fist in the air.

“Scavengers,” Misfire sniped.

“So say we all,” I said, “and all will be one.”

“So we have said,” Krok replied. “We will not be deceived.”

I allowed myself to flop over on the couch, half into Misfire’s lap. He began to skritch my ears, exactly like I was doing for Viridian.

Oh, the indignity. Not that I minded.

“So if he actually paid us for Grimlock, over and above the scrap,” Fulcrum asked, “what would you even have done with the money?”

Krok thought for a moment, but it looked more like he was struggling to find the right words than that he didn’t know what to say. “I want to start a clinic for people like us. Fragged up by the millions of years of unending war. There’s…well, there’s got to be something we can do for ourselves and each other without sticking needles into our heads. I realised…I’m a lot saner than I used to be, and it’s because of all of you.” He glanced at me. “Even Grimlock. And Ravage. And possibly even Viridian. She’s determined. I like that.”

“Fine,” I murmured drowsily. “Absolutely no selling people. But a clinic? Soundwave and I would be willing to help fund that.”

“I got that impression,” Krok said dryly, watching my daughter sneak up closer into my arms and nose my face.

“We gonna become a bunch of do-gooders?” Crankcase asked, looking more amused than offended by the notion.

“Yep,” said Misfire. He turned to Grimlock. “I’m taking the locks off the outside of your door. Just don’t repay me by flushing your tanks on our stuff?”

“Thanks,” said Grimlock, in an actual full grammatical sentence. “I appreciate it.”

Misfire’s eyes widened, then he glanced back and forth between us. “You’re really getting better,” he said after a moment. “I was worried about you—about both of you, really—after being in that slaghole.”

“Sneaky cat helped,” Grimlock said quietly. “And I helped sneaky cat.”

“You sure did,” I murmured into Misfire’s neck and Viridian’s scruff. I glanced over at Krok. “Honestly,” I said. “All I did was just trust him.”

I didn’t mention that I hadn’t had a choice. I didn’t want to rub it in their faces that they’d left us there alone to get jumped by a bounty hunter, even though we’d all got a cut of what Lockdown had been paid for my immobilised body, and his innermost energon was powering us back to the Sol system.

Misfire picked me up—without dislodging Viridian—and carried us back to the berth.

I woke up in the middle of the night to a ping on my internal comm.

“Ravage: status report?” Somehow, he managed to say it like his spark was on the verge of shattering.

“I’m fine, my love,” I said, even as I felt his invisible arms pull me into his broad chest with gentle, but absolute force.

“Doubt it,” Soundwave murmured, and made it sound like his voice was coming through the top of my head, not my auditory nerve connection. “Knew you were alive. Didn’t know…didn’t know how much hurt.”

“A lot,” I admitted. “But everyone helped. Especially Grimlock. We went in there together, separate from everyone else. While the others distracted.” I wasn’t going to tell him—not now, when I wouldn’t have to, because of the distance—that they’d left me alone. They’d thought I’d be safe. But I was weeping silently again, and Viridian was pawing my face.

“Wave?”

“Yes, Ravi-brightspark?”

I swallowed, even though there was nothing in my mouth but oral lubricant. “No more sparing my feelings when it comes to this kind of intelligence. Yes I would have lost recharge time. Yes, I would have been livid. Yes, I would probably have tried to convince them to take me there. But I would not have walked in there not knowing what I would find.”

“Copied,” Soundwave said. “One more thing for you to forgive, I suppose.”

I shook my head. “I’m not angry with you. But I did kill the fuck out of Lockdown.”

“Lockdown?” His voice actually squeaked, somehow. “They sent Lockdown?”

“He did.” I winced. “And we’re flying on his innermost.”

“Suppose that’s a good thing.” Soundwave sounded more than a little morose about that. I felt ghost-lips brush mine. “I…Ravage.”

“You had no idea.” I petted Viridian, thinking about what could’ve happened to her. Or to me. She pawed my wet cheek-mesh again.

“I have a daughter,” I said. “So it could’ve been worse. She used to be an Autobot. She’s green, so I named her Viridian, unless she tells me someday she’d prefer to be called something else.”

“Red paws and badge?” Soundwave could see through my optics, of course. “That’s Agent Blackcat.”

“That’s a slave name,” I grumbled. “Might as well call me Felixi, for FEL-IX-1-9, or Megatron D-16. I’ll use it if she ever wants me to, but right now she seems to like Viridian.”

“I love you,” Soundwave vented out into my mind’s ear, and I felt myself hugged again. “But I have to go. I think we finally raised Thundercracker.”

“I love you,” I replied, into the darkness that was suddenly empty enough to break, even though I was lying in a berth with Misfire, Grimlock...and Viridian, who tried to lick the tears off my face, even the ones that were really for her and for Slugfest and everyone else who had ever been broken in that place.

Chapter Text

Viridian recharges fitfully. Any loss of consciousness is terrifying. She isn’t sure she will wake, but her frame gives out, so she can’t resist it for long.

In a recharge hallucination, she prowls through the warehouse of boxes, runs when she’s noticed, falls through the floor and into a tank in the laboratory below. She drags herself out of the tank, shaking the foul-smelling fluid off, and hides.

Then she wakes. A helicopter person picks her up and says a lot of things she can’t understand, and next sprays something cold into her face. That scares her more than pain. She falls back into darkness again.

Words should make sense to her but they don’t, not even in her recharge hallucinations. Only one word is clear: Viridian. It isn’t the name she doesn’t remember, but at least it’s a name.

She stares at a poster on a wall. The poster’s edges are torn and they’re taped to the wall with discoloured old tape. The person in the poster is draped with strings of rubies.

Strings of rubies.

And a broken chain.

This person is black and silver, but her frame is just like Viridian’s, and reminds her of someone she thinks she likes. The person’s red optics are comforting but ought to be scary. The words on the poster make no more sense written down than words spoken aloud.

Viridian wakes, and wakes again. Sleep, defragmentation, recharge: they drag her back into their clutches when her body sinks like lead. Even when she’s clinging to the other cat, the one who purrs, and whispers soft unintelligible things, the one who wears rubies like the cat in the poster, Viridian cannot escape.

Now they are lying between a jet-person and a dinosaur-person. The other cat holds her close. The others do not resist unconsciousness. The other cat purrs. The jet’s engines thrum. The dinosaur snores. All is at peace, except for Viridian.

The other cat rolls in her sleep. Viridian jumps free and prowls through the halls. Most of the doors are ajar. All of the others are at rest. Viridian laps at the last few drops of fuel in the bowl the jet set out for her. She paws at the door of the box where the cubes are kept until it comes open. There are cartons that smell like coolant, one opened but resealed; she knocks it down off the shelf and runs a claw along the top side of the carton until it opens wide enough for her to lap up what’s left with her tongue.

The coolant feels good in her throat as it drips down into her tanks. It tastes good, too. She’s not aware that this is the first time she’s got her own fuel since before she forgot her old name. But she feels dimly proud of herself, anyway.

The couch is not a recharge slab and is not restorative in the way that a bed is, but it is still soft, and it smells like all of the people who live here. Viridian can’t hear the other cat purring, but she also can’t hear the dinosaur snoring. The claws of the darkness drag her back into recharge again.

She is too weak to fight. She gives in.

She runs through the halls, through the laboratories and the surgeries. She is looking for something. She used to know what it was.

She doesn’t find it this time, either.

Swerve groaned as Nightbeat transformed and attempted to ram the door of the Necrobot’s citadel, only to have it slammed in his grille. Under other circumstances he might have thought it was funny, but he had plans for this trip. If Nightbeat had fragged everything up by being an aft…

Well, he didn’t know what he’d do about that. But something. He munched on a pink rust stick, and tried not to think too hard about failing, suddenly glad he’d decided to surprise Misfire instead of promising him the vindication he craved. Then the door opened anyway, and the Necrobot dragged Nightbeat inside. Too fast, unfortunately, for Swerve to get even a blurry picture. He’d have to wait.

Chromedome and Rewind strode off together into the fields of blue flowers and statues. Swerve was disinclined to follow them, because he knew they were there to find out what had happened to Rewind’s first conjunx. Swerve thought this was a dumb idea, but he knew better than to say so.

Megatron sat by himself, looking perhaps even more morose than he usually did, and what bothered Swerve the most about that was the part where he cared how Megatron felt—about anything. But of course, he missed Ravage. They all did. Didn’t they? Everyone except Blaster and that afthelm Getaway, anyway.

“Don’t think about her,” Swerve said, sitting down next to him. “Ravage is fine. She’s going home to the mech who loves her more than anyone else in the universe does.”

“And what would you suggest I think about?” Megatron asked quietly, which was neither an admission nor a denial that he had been thinking of Ravage. “It’s nice out here, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” said Swerve. “I like the flowers. I don’t understand why they’re all the same kind, though. I would’ve chosen more colours than just blue, if it had been up to me.”

Megatron laughed. “Mostly, what I was thinking about was that the journey’s almost over. Next stop, Cyberutopia.”

Swerve considered that. “You wish there were a few more stops?”

“I’m not in a hurry to get it all over with,” Megatron said with a shrug. “Would you be?”

“I’m not the right person to ask,” Swerve said after a moment. “I was willing to let it all go just a few days ago. But I’ll admit. I’m glad I didn’t.” He ex-vented. “For what it’s worth…things might not turn out how you think.”

“I want to know how it ends,” Megatron admitted.

Swerve looked up at him, not sure what to say…not even sure what he was talking about. “I don’t think it does,” he finally said. “And I don’t think we get to understand it all until after. So if everything goes the wrong way for you…at least you’ll have that.”

Megatron gave him a long, wary look, and then finally shrugged again.

Swerve hated not knowing what to say. The air was too damned quiet. There wasn’t any music, and it didn’t feel right to play any, either. So he sat on a rock with Megatron, who was very definitively not his friend, and waited for the Necrobot to reappear.

Needlenose came in first. He was thinking about the image macro they’d both been sent, and grief, betrayal and anger radiated out of his field. They both wanted to know who had sent them that image of Horri-Bull’s corpse. He sat down in the chair directly across from Soundwave’s desk.

Soundwave was glad that Needlenose couldn’t read his mind. If he had been able to imagine a better way of dealing with Horri-Bull’s idiocy than killing him, he would have chosen that alternative instead. But there hadn’t been time to think. Horri-Bull, unlike his conjunx, was stupid. And stupid people came up with ideas on the fly Soundwave would never have considered—because they were stupid—and then he had to figure out what to do. With Ratbat right there (which was his fault), and Ravage on the edge of a highly understandable nervous breakdown because of it.

Howlback splooted herself on top of a table, shoving datapads out of her way. She stopped just short of pushing them all off the table entirely and onto the floor. Soundwave had to laugh at that, even though it broke his heart a little to look at her, because she still looked a Pit of a lot like Ravage, whose absence was an ache that filled his frame.

Howlback was irritated with Soundwave because he had never told her about Horri-Bull, and now they were sitting on top of a minefield playing cards. She knew, intellectually, that probably only Ravage had ever been told, and that she was better off not knowing, but she expected to be kept informed, because she was Security.

Clobber leaned against the wall next to the door. She was just concerned about everyone present.

Buzzsaw perched on the back of Soundwave’s own chair, as he normally did, and he was, as always, defiantly willing to defend Soundwave even if it meant he died. That devotion was uncomfortable, given the power Soundwave still held over him, by necessity and his own insistence. It was worse when Soundwave wasn’t sure he deserved so much love.

Strika stormed in, still furious with Soundwave for not having killed more of Galvatron’s people during the disastrous emigration. Soundwave had tried to explain that he did not want to execute helpless prisoners, and had even ended up quoting Ravage; Strika had flatly told him that she and Lugnut and Howlback would’ve been pleased to handle the problem on his behalf, and that Ravage herself would have probably blown Dreadwing’s head off. “What do you want, Soundwave?”

“An end to the fighting,” said Soundwave. “And Ravage home safe.”

“We all want that,” said Strika. “But if we end the fighting too soon, it will not be finished.” We’re just going to have to fight them again. Possibly when we least expect it. Why are we letting them go?

“Station: was not designed to hold prisoners.” Soundwave looked into her optics, trying to be calm. This is not a police state. “Soundwave: unwilling to waste limited resources, including space and time, on individuals who will work to destroy what we are creating. But I will not execute angry people for desiring their vengeance, even if I think their anger is misguided and their vengeance is misplaced.”

“That is why I suggested shooting them in the field,” said Strika.

Needlenose frowned, because he hadn’t wanted the prisoners shot, either. Some of them had been his friends. Or at least he had thought so.

Soundwave managed to smile at him. It had been easier before. On the Station, he felt very pressured to do the right thing at all times, even when it wasn’t possible. But Needlenose would never have come to the Station with Horri-Bull; Horri-Bull would not have been willing to agree to the Code of Concordia. “You also want peace.”

“I do,” said Needlenose. “But I want it to last.”

Soundwave wanted to share his thoughts with them—to make them feel it as he did—but that, too, would be wrong; and even though he would never have done it, the presence of Needlenose would have made it impossible. “Sanctuary is a second—or a third, or an nth—chance for everyone. I had to offer them the chance to choose Sanctuary, and the choice had to be free, not coerced.”

“It makes us look weak,” Howlback murmured.

“To Galvatron, yes. I know,” said Soundwave. “But Galvatron will think that we are weak, no matter what we do. Compromising in this will not make us look stronger.”

“We certainly cannot trust someone who believes in Galvatron’s principles—” Strika began.

“Or lack thereof—” Buzzsaw helpfully added, cutting her off.

Soundwave couldn’t help laughing, but then he demurred. “A few of them did reconsider their actions sincerely. We have the Rainmakers now, Strika.”

“I know you are able to tell if they are sincere, but…I still do not want to give Galvatron back the worst of his bullies,” said Strika, frowning. “Soundwave—my lord—you must understand…”

Soundwave looked at her, more anguished than he felt he ought to have been. He had trusted Dreadwing once, but…things had changed. More than he’d ever believed.

“Strika: I do understand you. I do.”

Strika winced, but then she nodded her assent. “We have to decide what to do with the rest of them, anyway.” She was already thinking of ways to get rid of a few of the worst ones. Soundwave didn’t know if he wanted to stop her.

Soundwave wondered if Needlenose realised that Horri-Bull would have been one of them.

“So what was the deal with Ravage?” Clobber finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Ravage: is well.” Soundwave said with a shrug. It was all he was willing to say.

Needlenose frowned, then looked directly into Soundwave’s optics. His own were burning bright. “Why,” he finally asked, drawing out the words out painfully, as though that would postpone or potentially even change the answer, “do you think they sent me that image? Anyone who was both dead and conjunct would have done the same job of upsetting you—as long as you knew who they were, of course—but why my conjunx, and why send it to me?”

“To make you fight with Soundwave,” Strika said. “Stupid, I know. The Autobots killed him, and they are not here. But if you are angry, you’ll fight, just like anyone else, with whoever’s in front of you.”

Soundwave considered telling the truth, even though it was an incredibly bad idea. He would not be blackmailed. Not by the Prime, nor by Arcee or Galvatron, nor by anyone else. Especially not over this. It had been an operational decision. It had been a necessary decision. They could not have afforded for the Autobots to learn that they’d disabled their chips.

“Galvatron would say or do anything,” Soundwave finally said, “if he thought it could drive a wedge between me and the others on my personal council.”

Needlenose shrugged. “If there is anything you want to tell me…”

Soundwave frowned. Needlenose suspected something. “Query: what made you stop Brawl?”

“Is there anything,” Howlback said, looking directly at Needlenose, “that any of us could have done, and because of it, you would have helped Brawl send those people to Galvatron?”

Needlenose scowled. He knew something was wrong. He also knew that nothing could have made him willing to send the sparklings, and the disabled, and the civilians to Galvatron, who would’ve destroyed the disabled and forced the rest into war. “No. Whatever happened, you wouldn’t put Silverwing out on the front lines with null-rays so big she could barely fly with them.”

Soundwave knew that Needlenose was right on the verge of deciding that Soundwave might not be the mech he had thought he was, and that he wasn’t wrong. Even though he’d only done what he’d had to do…no-one could be the mech some people thought he was. Nobody.

A sudden wild sympathy for Megatron spilled through his emotional firewalls. He had loved Megatron once, but he had never understood how Megatron could be so ruthless with his own people, or at any rate people who had once been his own.

Buzzsaw leaned over and bunted him. “In the end,” he said, “you’ll do what you have to do, genius. Just do us a solid and don’t let it wait for too long.”

Censere—the Necrobot—was surprisingly friendly. Megatron watched with deep amusement as Censere put his arm around Swerve and lifted him up so he could get his selfie. The flowers were very lovely, and unlike Swerve, he didn’t think they were less so for being only one colour. It was soothing that they were all the same. It was a gorgeous tribute to the lost, and he approved of it whole-heartedly.

After the selfie, Megatron drew Censere aside. “May I enter the Citadel? I have something I’d like to share with you privately. I know we’ll be meeting each other again soon enough, but…”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” said Censere. “Things don’t happen until they happen.” But he took Megatron in through the door he’d come out of with Nightbeat, anyway.

Megatron took the briefcase out of his subspace and laid it down on a table. It was a single, swift motion, and yet it was unbearably difficult, while at the same time being nearly automatic. “I think you should have this,” he said. “Even if you can’t use it—I don’t think anyone else can be trusted with this.”

Censere gave it a long, searching look. “I think I can,” he said after a moment. “You know I won’t use this to change the past. Not even yours.”

Megatron nodded. “That’s why I trust you with it. I don’t trust myself with it. I can’t use it properly, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t find someone who could.”

Censere nodded. “I’ll take good care of it,” he said. “And when the time comes—whenever it comes, I’ll try to take care of you. For what it’s worth, I don’t blame you for anything. We’re all murderers, and we all have our stories and reasons. There are those who will want you forgotten. I will make sure that you’re not.”

“Thank you,” said Megatron, and he meant it. It was one more choice he was relieved of. There was a part of him that didn’t want to have to make any more choices, because he was terrible at it.

Censere studied him. “You’re going to go look for your statue. Aren’t you?”

“You said yourself—the day of reckoning always comes.” Megatron ex-vented slowly.

Censere looked down at the briefcase, and then he put it away in a cabinet. “Do yourself a favour, and look for your old lover’s, too. They’re surprisingly similar.”

“Optimus made choices, too. But he might have made different ones,” Megatron mused. “If I had made different ones.”

“Your choices were also not unaffected by the choices of others.” Censere shrugged. “Just don’t go alone.”

“The person I’d want at my side isn’t here,” said Megatron quietly. “I let her go.”

“Then find someone else,” Censere replied, and led him back to the door. “Your co-captain, perhaps. He seems like a good sort.”

Megatron tried not to laugh. Whether or not they also visited Optimus’ statue, Rodimus was not the companion he wanted for that.

Censere went back outside, and Megatron had to follow him. Feeling aimless, he went with Nightbeat to the monument of the Disappeared. It was…something…to see the look on Rewind’s face when he realised that Dominus Ambus wasn’t dead. It was also something he didn’t belong there for.

Dominus Ambus.

Megatron winced. Just because Dominus Ambus wasn’t dead…did not mean whatever had happened to him wasn’t his fault. But he hoped not. There was another Ambus whose good opinion he valued. He commed Ultra Magnus. “Come down here,” he said in a soft voice. “Please.”

“I told you that I know he’s gone. Is Rewind all right?”

Megatron made a small, exasperated noise, because he of all people should not be finding himself at a loss for words, and then finally answered the question. “Rewind is fine. But your brother is on the list of the Disappeared. His death has not been confirmed. And that’s not even why I commed you.”

“Oh?”

“I need you, Minimus.” Megatron hated the way his voice sounded. He was not a weak person. He didn’t need people, because he couldn’t, because they died, because they failed, because no-one was perfect.

But he wasn’t, either.

“I’ll be right there,” Minimus Ambus said, and an hour later, they were standing together on a ridge, looking up at Megatron’s statue.

And down, down at the fields of flowers, nothing but blue, as far as their optics can see.

And when Megatron crumpled, first inside, and then with trembling knees, until he dropped into a seated position on the ground, to sob as ugly as he'd done when he'd left Terminus behind…Minimus Ambus stood beside him, one hand on his shoulder.

Chapter Text

As posted to Autobuddies.org by @originalJazzman:

This just went up today on The Big Conversation. This person—and we all know this is Ravage—is asking questions that deserve a good answer. Megatron’s fate may or may not be out of our hands, but how are we going to deal with the rest of them?

I don’t think it can be said often or loudly enough that before the war, most of these people were deliberately excluded from our culture. They weren’t educated, and the moral education they were given consisted only of exhortations to follow orders they knew were not meant for their benefit.

A lot of us find it comforting to believe that they don’t have a culture or a morality of their own, but they absolutely do, and they’re not going to give all of that up just because they lost the war.

As posted to The Big Conversation by @cybercatastrophe (verified by Site Administrator @EmeraldWings):

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When people debate the morality of execution, they normally spend a great deal of time discussing whether or not there is any crime for which death is an acceptable atonement or punishment, or the problem of ascertaining guilt, and whether or not it is preferable to execute the occasional innocent person or let the occasional guilty person go free.

One thing that you almost never hear them bring up is the question of who will be tasked with enacting the sentence. But who is the executioner?

It’s not a secret that I’m opposed to Megatron’s execution. A number of people have said things about that, and most of them are at least a little bit true, but none of them is the whole of the story.

“Well, of course @cybercatastrophe would say that! Consider their relationship! We all know what he’s been to her, and she to him!”

“Well, of course @cybercatastrophe objects to the death penalty! If he’s ever held responsible for all the things he’s done, he’ll end up just as dead as Megatron!”

“It’s very special of @cybercatastrophe to object to institutionalised killing, when she was a saboteur and an assassin, don’t you think?”

It’s true that I have loved him. It’s true that I have spilled a lot of energon. It’s true that I will still kill, if I have to, to protect myself, the innocent, and those I love.

It’s also true that I was an assassin, but I’m not one, now. And I will never be again.

The heart of Sanctuary is concordia, the recognition that we all depend on one another, that in a functioning society we have ties to others, who have ties to others still, and that love and caring can be transitive; that we should be able to give without being compelled, in the recognition that we are all one—not all one in the eyes of Primus, but truly, all one; that our society is a living thing.

It is our ideal to avoid violence whenever possible, and yet we also understand that it won’t always be possible. We are fighting for the spark of Destron, and we want to wage those battles with words and ideas, but there are still those who wear our badge who refuse to acknowledge the rights of all sapient beings to self-determination. (Perhaps you thought those were the words of Optimus Prime. Well, he stole them. He stole them from Megatron, who didn’t live up to them, but they are still his words.)

If we have to fight with swords and blasters to defend ourselves and those who must depend on us, we will. If those who do not want peace are willing to take off their badges and leave our territories, they may do so; we would rather use our resources to rebuild our society. But if they will not give us peace, we will destroy the infection that seeks to invade and take over our culture as kindly and swiftly as we are able. But we will do it in our own names, on our own behalf, to protect what we have built. And we will do it with the consciousness that the infection is the way of thinking, and the people who carry it are still people like us.

We will not be executioners.

I was an assassin. I was sent out to kill people, early and often, and for most of my life, the mechs who were sending me out to do that work were the two mechs that I have loved most in this life. You can’t imagine how truly fragged up that is. It took a toll on me. It took a toll on them both. It took a toll on our relationships. It made us sick, physically and emotionally. And yet…I think I was better off than some of the other trained killers. I thought, then as now, that it would be even worse to be so ordered by a stranger, and compelled by force alone, without any love and without shared ideals.

If I had been built in a time when people could choose their own work—and there has never been a time when everyone has had that freedom—I would have chosen to be a poet, a dancer, a teacher. And if I had been allowed to continue working to organise my community in Rodion, to find people places to live and distribute whatever energon we could acquire—I would have done that, but of course, the enforcers brought all of that down, and we found ourselves back in the Senate’s service whether we liked it or not. The caste system was not going to be brought down with dancing and poetry and fair distribution of stolen or salvaged energon, or any of the other things I didn’t hate doing when I was a young mech. There were people who had to die for that to happen.

Megatron has said that wasn’t true, but he said it in a fit of remorse, in which he could not understand that where he went wrong was in killing people who didn’t have their pedes on our necks.

But at least I chose to fight. So many others were dumped into battlefields almost as soon as they came online. And killing is ugly work.

Most of the jobs people think of as ‘low-caste work’ don’t have to be horrible. In a just society, where all are allowed to choose what they do with their lives, and all who work are treated with dignity, there will be people who will choose to mine energon, clean buildings, provide hospitality of all kinds, and fight to defend their society when it is endangered.

What the people who do that work hate is being mistreated, because the rest of society has decided that even though this work is essential to the functioning of society, those who do it are not worthy of being respected as persons, and will not be recognised, so that society can work them to death and pay them very little for doing work upon which the state of the world as we know it depends.

If we pay the people who do these kinds of work fairly, ensure that their working conditions are safe, allow them to refuse orders that are too degrading or dangerous, and give them the respect that is due to those who keep our society functional—the same respect that is due to medics and teachers and priests and artists—people whose temperaments are suited to this work will take it. And they should be respected. If there were no priests the world would be little different. If there were no miners, we would all starve.

These are low-caste jobs simply because the people who have all the wealth want to work those people to death in order to take what they earn from them, and to do that, they have to depersonalise them. They equate form to function so they can pretend that the objective differences in form and shape between people justify the mistreatment of those on the bottom of the pyramid. They want the rest of us to believe that it was Primus who decided these things.

If you are going to make some jobs so unpleasant that nobody with a choice would ever want to do them, you have to have a caste system; if nobody wants to do a kind of work that is deemed essential to social functioning, someone will have to be forced to do it. And in order to abolish the caste system, we have to dismantle the idea that some work is inherently degrading to the spark.

And yet.

Some things that are called ‘work’ actually are inherently degrading to the spark. These things should not be called ‘work’ because nobody needs to do them, and nobody should ever have to do them.

Killing helpless mechs is not a job that anyone healthy or sane would ever actually want. Not even if it paid what the Senate once paid the Senators. Killing is dirty, ugly, soul-reaping work. To be a soldier in a time of war is hard enough, but if we love our homes, we will fight to defend them. War is a thing that nobody sane or healthy loves, but sometimes it’s the only alternative to being destroyed.

Gladiators are forced to kill for the entertainment of others. This is inherently degrading to the sparks of those who have to do it, and to those who choose to entertain themselves this way. Blood sports have no place in a civilised society; and I speak here as someone who has known and loved gladiators.

Executioners are also forced to kill for the vindication and relief of others, only they are forced to kill people who cannot resist them. It is no less a blood sport than gladiatorial combat. It is a performance of something we want to believe is justice.

At least an assassin in the service of Destron or Cybertron can tell himself or herself that the work is in the service of a cause.

An executioner will be some poor low-caste mech who has been put into a position where he has to kill people who are restrained and helpless, who haven’t done anything at all to him, because some other clean-handed mech has decided that it must be so. What do you suppose happens to the spark of a person who is given the work of killing the helpless?

My belief, as those of you who read my work already know, is that the state (insofar as there should be a state at all), should not be in the business of retributive justice—only restorative justice. So the state should not be set up in such a way that there have to be desperate, uneducated, unhappy people who are willing to come to work and kill helpless strangers just as a job.

I do understand that some people simply will not feel restored until they have taken the life of the person who hurt them or killed the person they love. Let them try; let them have their hearing, file their intention to kill. If the conjunx of someone I killed for the cause comes after me someday, so be it; only let them come after me, not someone whose only crime against them is loving me. I will fight back because I want to live, but I would not begrudge them the right to try.

But if a judge, reading laws from a book with clean hands, wants to sentence a mech to death for something that caused them no personal suffering, then I say, they had better be willing to kill that person themselves.

There are two things that happen when you learn to kill easily and well. One is that it stops being easy to imagine yourself living in a world where you are truly safe, and another is that it stops mattering so much. It should never stop mattering. I would rather have a murderer in my vicinity than an executioner.

If someone tells me, “yes, I killed him, because after the atrocity he did, I couldn’t stand to exist in the same world with him,” I understand it—as long as it is personal, and as long as it is an atrocity. At least with that person I’m safe, as long as I don’t draw his rage down on me.

But people who have to kill routinely, frequently coarsen. They become cruel to their families and friends. They treat themselves and others badly, because they have had to give up on believing that other life matters.

If someone who lost their amica to Megatron’s direct action tore out his spark, I would mourn him, but I would let it go.

I cannot say nothing while a bunch of nodding heads decide the fate of someone I love—or for that matter, the fate of anyone else, even my singular enemy—and order some MTO or prison guard who’s never had the chance to make a real choice in their life before to snuff him out while he is bound.

I may not be able to stop it—but if I am able to stop it without restarting the war, I will, and if I am not able to stop it without restarting the war, I will forever hold my own desire for vengeance, not against the hand that dealt the blow, but against the nodding head who thought that wage slavery was an ethical way to compel one person to kill another, another who has been made helpless to resist.

Most of those who want to see people thrown into the smelter or snuffed out like candles have no idea what it would be like to do those things. You don’t know the sense of power it gives you, the false sense of power that can make you a cheerful murderer; and you don’t know the pain that this act inflicts on your spark, even if you’re already desperate and have been forced to make so many bad choices you can no longer feel that pain consciously.

You need to think about what you are asking people to do when you ask them to do the vengeance for you that you will not do. If you do not want someone dead badly enough to stand there yourself and watch the light die in their optics, you don’t have the right to ask anyone else to kill them.

COMMENTS:

Please remember that comments which violate Autobuddies.org community guidelines will be deleted. This isn’t The Big Conversation here.

@Ultra-Magnus-VERIFIED:

I’m not sure she cares what our answers are, although some of the people who read her essays might care.

What bothers me is that I understand why she doesn’t care, and that I know she’d be saying these things even if he weren’t her amica.

@Latest&Best-Enforcer:

She is a pest and you should have done something about her when you had the chance.

@Ultra-Magnus-VERIFIED:

What would you have suggested? We couldn’t just space her.

I understand why you’re angry with her; she made a fool of you. She’s done the same to me.

We may find her principles difficult to understand, illogical and sometimes cruel, but we can’t truthfully say that she doesn’t have them.

@SpectralSword:

You are all forgetting that we are not her audience. (I haven’t spoken to her in years, but if that’s who she is now, good for her!)

She isn’t writing this for us, although she doesn't mind that we are reading it, but it's intended to be instructive to other Decepticons. This is a gloss on several of Megatron’s positions (like everything else she writes that’s not poetry). She’s also not wrong about what the job does and did to those who did it.

This is also a slap in Galvatron’s face, because she’s telling him, if he’s reading this, and I’m sure he is, exactly how and why her moral philosophy will not stop her from destroying him.

I'm not criticising any of you for being appalled or questioning what she’s saying. But I am reminding you that we all have our spiritual and ethical journeys, and none of you started out from where she did.

These essays are meant as a course correction to follow Towards Peace and The Sacrifice of Violence. She's also having an argument with Tarn in the comments of the original post, and better her than me. I'm not sure if I admire her for that or think that she's wasting her time. I think I'll stick with the comfort of the ambiguous edge between uncomfortable truths on that one.

@originalJazzman:

Speaking as someone who knows her, to somebody else who apparently knows her—

Why does she assume that the people reading this don't understand what it's like to work in that capacity, especially for the High Command?

@SpectralSword:

People on the Warworlds are reading this. People on Ankokuyousai are as far removed from recent events as people on Caminus are.

The site admin who's been verifying all of Ravage’s posts since her account got hacked is a Warworlder. It's been four million years. We're not the only people who've lost track of our colonies.

Chapter Text

The first thing that woke me up was the yowling coming from outside the berth.

Viridian was lying on the couch in front of the big screen with her legs in the air, kicking at something that only existed in her recharge hallucinations. She was screaming so loud I couldn’t believe the whole ship wasn’t up. My hearing is better than that of most mechs, but not that much better.

I grabbed a mesh blanket off the floor in front of the couch and prepared to get clawed as I tossed it over her, leaned over and quickly swaddled her in it, as tight as I could, and held her close to me, purring, until she stopped moving and started making what I can best describe as emotional noises—she sounded like she was trying to talk to me, but couldn’t make the words come.

I tried as best I could to answer her tone with soothing words. I rocked her the way Soundwave rocks me when I wake up from a bad one, except that I couldn’t at the same time touch her mind soothingly. When she stilled a little more, I stroked her cheeks and ears, until she started to purr, and to knead my chest.

That’s when I realised that I was exhausted. I sank back into the couch cushions with her. “You’re gonna be a whole lot happier when you can understand what I say, I bet. And even more when you can talk, yourself,” I said. “And we are, too, but there’s time. I just wish I knew what to do for you.”

She tucked her head under my chin, as if to say I’d done just fine, and I dozed off with her.

The second thing that woke me up was Misfire. Even though we weren’t in his room. He was making the most astonishing whooping noise; it seemed to ricochet off every wall and corner on the ship, and it woke up Viridian; she hissed and jumped out of my arms to hide behind the couch.

I walked back into Misfire’s quarters just as a pillow bounced off him and almost hit me. I didn’t blame Grimlock, but after I had to jump out of the way of the Dynobot pillow, there was a zero percent chance of me slipping back into recharge.

“Misfire, what the fuck?”

“Swerve met the Necrobot!” he squealed. (One would not think that a jet Misfire’s size could produce a squeal. And one would be wrong.) I blinked and rubbed my eyes, because he did not just say that.

When I finally had a little more processing power back online, I stared at him. “That is a very strange way for you to react if Swerve just had another near-death experience, let alone one that close! And I repeat: what the frag is wrong with you?”

“Who cares?” Fulcrum bellowed from the hallway. “Figure it out when we’re all awake, Ravage!”

“No, no, no, nothing’s wrong with him! They went to the Necrobot planet, they met the Necrobot, Swerve took pictures, and Swerve took a selfie with him!” Misfire’s optics were glowing with glee. “Wanna see?”

I pressed both palms into my face and massaged my aching forehead with the heels of them, then dropped down onto the floor, sitting down upright because I needed my hands to deal with my processor ache. “Yes,” I said, “of course I do, but give me an astrosec. This. This is such a Lost Light thing.”

Suddenly, Misfire looked almost concerned. “Did Megatron not comm you about it? Swerve said he was there. I would’ve commed you if I’d been there and I’m not even your amica.”

“…no?” I replied. “I can’t see Megatron being all that excited about anything having to do with dying, can you?”

“…oh,” said Misfire, and frowned as that sunk in. “But you’re his amica.”

“And I am sure he’ll tell me when he’s ready to talk,” I said—

—just as we all heard Crankcase: “What wild animal left coolant all over the floor last night?”

I could not believe he was using that kind of language, except that I really should’ve, because he was Crankcase. Viridian darted into the room and hid behind Grimlock, who was trying and failing to go back to recharge. I groaned and went out into the ‘living room’ to yell right back at him.

Sure enough, there was a torn coolant carton on the galley floor. And very, very little coolant on the floor, because she’d torn it open to drink it, not to make a huge mess and annoy Crankcase.

“Viridian, you complete and utter afthelm! And she’s not a wild animal!” I sang down onto the floor, grabbed a rag and began to clean up the infinitesimal mess. “My daughter just wanted a drink and she got it all by herself without waking anyone up, which is less rude than anyone else has been on this beautiful morning! Anyhow, there’s hardly any spill, she drank it all right up—aw, frag!”

I was a terrible guardian. Misfire had been the one to remember to feed her and neither of us had thought about getting her coolant. I resolved to make sure she knew where to empty her tanks before she gave somebody else a reason to yell at her. “It’s not her damn fault, Cranky. I’m actually pretty proud of her for getting the fridge open all by herself. Means she’s probably getting the use of her fore-thumbs back.”

Crankcase actually looked visibly chastened, probably only because he remembered where Viridian had come from. “Yeah…yeah, Trophy. I’m sorry,” he mumbled, as I handed him an unopened carton.

“I’d tell you to put your name on it because Spin drinks from the cartons,” I said, “but we all know how much good that would do.” Then I ex-vented. “Misfire got Necrobot evidence and you apologised to me. Wonder what the third miracle of the day’s going to be?”

I got my own coolant and energon ready, and then some for Viridian, too. I wondered if she also liked them swirled together in a fizz, but the best way to figure that out would be to let her taste mine. She was pacing uncomfortably when I saw her, so I showed her to the ‘cycler, and was relieved that she remembered how to use it.

Of course, Misfire quieted down real fast once he got his laptop out and started posting. I read over his shoulder for a while. “Don’t forget to blur out Swerve’s badge or they might put two and two together and freeze his account.”

“I’m not a complete idiot,” said Misfire, but he promptly opened the photo editor.

“Yes you are,” said Fulcrum with a snort. “Won’t they know the guy’s a Bot if his badge is blurred?”

“They’ll know he’s trying to be respectful of our space,” I said, “and not flaunt what he’s getting away with by being there. You know, like Megatron does? Esmeral must’ve banned him at least five times. You do know Maestro is Jazz, right?”

“Seriously?” Krok looked hurt.

“Soundwave and he co-mod the music forums.” I munched on a rust stick. “And obviously, Soundwave hasn’t had much time for that lately, so I’m fairly sure that lately it’s been mostly him and Glit.”

Glit. I sighed. I hadn’t thought about him since the last time Megatron and I had talked about that, but he’s my brother. I didn’t even know where he was, and that was embarrassing.

Krok looked even more hurt. “Not that stupid rumour again,” I grumbled, then rolled my eyes and lied to save his feelings. “Krok, they’re not even friends. Jazz and Soundwave just like to trade music.”

“Megatron needs to learn to fake his IP,” Misfire grumbled, shaking his head.

“I don’t think it matters if you hide your IP if you name your account @Unit-D-16,” Cranky said with a snort.

“His last alt was @TarnWantsToKissYourConsort,” I said. “I’ve never seen her ban anyone that fast!”

“Rude,” said Fulcrum.

“How would Tarn even do that?” Crankcase wondered aloud, just to make sure we stayed classy.

“Also not true,” said Krok.

“He doesn’t have lips,” Crankcase continued obliviously.

“Just like the Jazz thing?” said me.

Krok shrugged. “It’s still a spiker that he cross-posts your stuff to Autobuddies. I should’ve known Jazz was on the BC. Fortress Maximus is still hacked off you got away, FYI.”

I burst out laughing, much to Viridian’s annoyance. “You have an Autobuddies account?”

Krok shrugged again. “Some of the technical stuff they post’s pretty interesting.”

Viridian padded over to Krok and pawed at his laptop. Krok looked down at her. “You have an Autobot badge,” he said thoughtfully. “Can you…can you type?”

“Should be able to,” said Spinister, who was playing in a corner with a couple of pieces of scrap metal. I would’ve sworn he thought he was making them kiss. Or frag. Or something.

Viridian raised her red forepaws and stretched out the joints, separating the dewjoint from the rest of her paw, which is how we do opposable thumbs as quadrupeds, and then partially retracted her claws. Krok gave her the laptop. I moved over to read over their shoulders, because I already knew what Misfire was going to post—and keep posting, probably all day.

Viridian signed Krok out of his account and signed in as “Velvet Green”, but then she stared at the webpage in deep confusion.

“Can you still read, little girl?” Krok asked gently. “Apparently you can still type.” She just looked up at him and let out a plaintive miaow.

If only Soundwave were there, I thought. To tell us what was going on in her mind. I’m no medic, but even I know that brain injuries are weird and do weird things to the way you process language. I stroked her ears. “You can do it,” I told her, and then looked over across the room. “Little help, Spin?”

Viridian gave me a dirty look as he came over.

“I know some of the things he does hurt,” I told her, “because he helps me, too. But unlike at the other place, he’s trying to help you get better.” She seemed to understand me a little more than she had last night, because she made a ‘something smells bad’ face and ex-vented out of only one side of her mouth.

“I tried to fix her vox but I don’t have the right parts. Even if you were dead I couldn’t use yours, you’re too big,” said Spinister, who has no social sense whatsoever. He pulled a bunch of odd wires and pieces of metal and plastic out of his subspaces, then switched a penlight in one of his digits on, took her muzzle in one hand, and shone that light back into her eyes. I winced in sympathy. If there is anything all cougaraiders justifiably hate, it’s having light projected directly into our optics. But even as she tried to hiss through his hand, I could hear the lenses in his own eyes switching as he tilted his head from side to side, and finally switched off the light.

Viridian growled very softly in the back of her throat. “Don’t,” I told her. “No biteys.”

“A guardian is appropriate,” Spinister said, a complete non sequitur as per usual. “This is a very young being. See? Growth plates and protoform bands.” While he spoke he was twisting his wires together. I was only slightly alarmed that he used his dentae to cut them.

I wasn’t sure what he meant by ‘growth plates and protoform bands’, but I figured I could ask one of the medics who isn’t Spin when we got to the Station.

After a moment he placed one of the braided wires at each of her temples and knitted them together. “If she hasn’t voided waste fluid yet, she might.”

Viridian growled again. I didn’t blame her, but I hoped she was just expressing her opinion and not making an actual threat display. “She has,” I said. “Pretty recently.”

Krok raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, Krok? She’s a good girl. I had to show her where to go.”

“Port,” said Spinister, and held out his hand. I realised in shock he was talking to me.

“I’m not going to ‘face her!” I sputtered, and Spinister just rolled his optics.

“Medical port.” He took my wrist and stared at me. I sighed and opened the panel, and let him connect me to Viridian. Spinister twisted the wires on top of Viridian’s head; the world before her eyes went white and hot, and I felt something pulling at a module in my operating system.

“Cursed literacy code-wiggler,” said Spinister. That made sense, insofar as anything Spin ever said ever did—it sounded and felt like he’d replaced corrupted OS files by copying mine. I let him remove the cabling. I was just relieved that neither of us was sitting in a puddle, because Grimlock would never have let me live that down.

Viridian chuffed softly, then pulled up her user profile editor. It was a good idea; then we’d be able to see all the identifying information she’d provided to the site.

“How much of her language difficulty do you think is due to corrupted code?” I asked.

“It hasn’t shown me all the cracks,” said Spinister, shaking his head. “Multi-layered archaeological dis-inception required.”

Viridian erupted in hisses, snarls and a frustrated yowl. The screen was doing something that apparently required it to display a twisted blaze of flashing colours that would probably have hurt anyone’s optics, let alone her dark-adapted ones, or mine.

“Frag,” said Krok. “Her profile deleted and scrubbed itself.”

I frowned. “Did you see anything useful, at least?” Hacking his victims’ social media accounts seemed a little next-level for someone like Demus, but we had no idea whose laboratory it was underneath his office, and I couldn’t just comm Fortress Maximus and insist he tell me what he’d found down there.

Krok shook his head. “She barely got her second passphrase in.”

I took the laptop away from them both, slammed it shut and hit the recessed second power button with a claw. “Reboot it from backup,” I said, but then smoke came out of it and Spinister grabbed it and ran in the general direction of the airlock.

Krok just groaned. “You can send Soundwave the bill?” I said hopefully. “It’s not the ship’s computer, at least.”

“No,” said Krok, frowning, because he would absolutely have let her do the same thing from his desk, and we both knew it.

Viridian made another soft, frustrated noise. I rubbed that spot between her ears I knew she liked, because I liked it too. “I don’t suppose you can write with a pen?”

“Who has a pen?” Fulcrum grumbled.

Krok rolled his optics. “I do,” he said, “but what does she write on?”

Misfire tossed a crumpled up wrapper from a takeout place (which I hoped was the last one we’d been to) in what was supposed to be our general direction. It hit Fulcrum on the nose, and he tossed it to me.

“I don’t want to hear anyone complain about the mess in here for at least three solari,” Misfire grumbled. “I cannot believe some of these aftrods, by the way! Some chunderhelm says I must have shooped the whole thing just because I blurred out Swerve’s Autobot badge!”

Viridian was writing sloppily on the thin greasy paper.

VIRIDIAN, she wrote.

VIRIDIAN = SARDONYX OF KALIS
AUTOBOT DESIGNATION: BLACKCAT

After a moment, she began to get more comfortable holding the pen. I was impressed, because I hate writing anything down by hand myself, even with actual paper that isn’t sticky with grease.

Ravage of Stanix did not carry me. But you are my mother. I accept you as mentor and guardian, but I left the Decepticons once before.

“That’s…that’s kind of you,” I said gently, “but that’s an awful lot of trust to place in someone you just met. I’m perfectly happy to help you whether or not you decide to stay with me or my faction—”

Her face screwed up in frustration. She started to draw some kind of chemical diagram, but the paper was too greasy and the pen ran out of ink a few times.

Spinister, who had just returned from his trip to the airlock, looked at me sidewise. “Did you think it was a joke when I said ‘Happy Mother’s Day’?”

“…yes?” My voice quavered slightly.

EXPERIMENTAL, she wrote, and underlined the word three times. I won’t have anything to do with Shockwave, she added, laboriously.

“That’s fine,” I said, and ex-vented. Twice, when I realised how much waste heat I was building up. “I’m not a fan of his, either.”

Krok frowned and passed me his can of engex. “Don’t drink the whole thing.”

I didn’t. But I did take two gulps of it. “Was he behind that mess we got you out of?” It had looked like the sort of thing Shockwave might do.

Viridian shook her head. Never did find out who was running that show. But puzzles are what I do best.

Chapter Text

Soundwave had, perhaps foolishly, thought that everything would work out once he’d rerouted the spacebridge. And then, he’d thought that everything would work out once he’d got all the information he needed from the people who had turned on him.

A fair number of those people were idiots, but they had been Soundwave’s idiots, once.

It was hard to shoot your own idiots. Soundwave had a renewed appreciation for Megatron, who had never had much trouble with that, except when it came to Starscream—and that was a very uncomfortable feeling.

And talking to Needlenose made him feel guilty. Not that he’d regretted stopping Horri-Bull from betraying them all to their Autobot captors for a hot astrosecond. Except that he did, even though he had had no choice. He knew how much Needlenose had loved him. Even though Horri-Bull had been a complete idiot, and nothing at all like Ravage, and had probably been one of the people who’d joined the Decepticons simply because he liked to break things, make messes and bully people.

The comm from Thundercracker had been a welcome relief from their most recent conversation. At least, he thought it was from Thundercracker, unless Buster had learned to use a computer. As smart as Thundercracker believed his dog was, there were limits, and it didn’t seem likely. It was, however, cute. And that was nice. “I hear Rav’s coming back?”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave said, and that was nice, too.

“Good job. Don’t frag it up. Ravage needs to know how important he—uh, she…uh, they? Are to you. I mean it. I’m sure Warp would say the same thing, if he was talking to me right now.”

Marissa Faireborn laughed in the background.

“She,” Soundwave said quietly. “Ravi-brightspark is lots of things, but ‘she’ is what I believe she prefers to be called.”

“I’ve always shipped you two,” said Thundercracker, with a grin in his voice that Soundwave didn’t need to be Soundwave to hear.

Cosmos and Howlback had just joined the comm, and Cosmos groaned quietly. “I should’ve known,” he said under his breath. “I read that fic.”

“Which one?” Thundercracker asked, completely oblivious to the context. “There was a whole series. Sometimes I’d write one just because Ravage looked sad.”

“Thundercracker,” said Cosmos, just as Wheeljack (whom Soundwave had not been expecting) joined the comm, “I believe you have a video filter up.”

“Yeah,” said Thundercracker. “I use it for OnlyFans, I don’t want all my fans to know that I’m an alien yet. Marissa’s trying to help me get it off.”

At this point, Wheeljack cracked up. “I just bet,” he muttered sotto voce.

Marissa Faireborn’s voice cut right through Wheeljack’s laughter. “You’re on OnlyFans? Seriously? Do you know what that’s actually for?”

Sadly, Soundwave, who had spent more time monitoring Earth’s datanets than he would’ve liked, did know what most people used OnlyFans for. He also found it entirely believable that Thundercracker had naively used it the way people were allegedly supposed to use it.

“I’m here live,” Thundercracker said, irritably. “Everyone here does know that I’m not a dog?”

“We know,” said Arcee.

Alpha Trion just politely screenshared a set of instructions for removing filters, and then the filter came down, revealing Thundercracker in all his glory, and Marissa, whom he gently placed on the arm of his chair, and Buster, who was asleep on his shoulder.

“So what’s going on over there, Soundwave?” Wheeljack was clearly not in the mood to waste time. “You don’t know how hard it was for me to keep Starscream off this call, but I told him you helped me get control of the spacebridge back.”

“Galvatron lied,” Soundwave said quietly. “He never intended to form an alliance with the Earth Defence Council. But I did. That is why I diverted the refugees to Sanctuary, which was undoubtedly where Galvatron told Starscream he was going to send them, before I returned control of the spacebridge completely to you.”

Marissa nodded. “So what was he going to do?”

“Send the refugees, accompanied by a number of his trusted agents, into the compromised Ark-7, land the Ark in Shanghai, and try to take over the planet. I didn’t know what was going on aboard the Ark, but until the spacebridge activation, I had no idea whether I was unable to sense the presence of living minds where they had been before because of new and improved Autobot shielding, an internal malfunction, or action on Galvatron’s part.”

“You had suspicions,” Cosmos pointed out. “I warned you that I couldn’t raise the Ark either.”

“That’s not helpful,” said Howlback, recognising that Arcee was about to go ballistic, and also that Soundwave was very unhappy and feeling betrayed, even though his face was as usual hidden from view. “If we’d acted on suspicions alone and been wrong, it would have been an act of war.”

“Howlback is correct,” said Soundwave, and ex-vented. It was a considerable effort for him to maintain normal syntax and modulation under this much stress, and the only reason he was actually able to do it was a backup translation routine he’d programmed for himself. As a result, he was running extremely hot, and grateful that Clobber kept refilling his coolant pitcher.

He’d started drinking from the pitcher directly. It just made things easier.

“So you’re telling me you had nothing to do with all the systems failures on the Ark,” Arcee began, and Soundwave cut her off:

“I had everything to do with resolving them. I took a virus I’d used to remove and replace the Onyx Interface source code from the Station’s systems, and loaded it onto your spacebridge controller so you could regain control over your ship.”

Arcee glared at him. “But now you can take control of the Ark.”

“I won’t,” said Soundwave flatly. “It was the Onyx code they were exploiting. I don’t know Garrison Blackrock as well as I thought I did, but I don’t believe it was named Onyx purely by coincidence. Shockwave has used the name Onyx as an alias consistently for quite some time. Just write some code of your own; is it really that difficult, Arcee? You could always ask Esquivel for some help.”

“And I suppose you’re conveniently not working with Shockwave anymore, either,” said Arcee.

“I communicate with him far less often than you do with your brother,” Soundwave said quietly. “Speaking of whom, I must thank you for arranging the delivery of Prime’s message to Galvatron.”

Alpha Trion’s optics began to glow, and he glowered at Arcee specifically.

“I don’t know what the Pit you’re talking about,” said Wheeljack.

“I’m not surprised,” said Soundwave. “But you probably also did not know that Arcee is Galvatron’s sister. Did you think that I didn’t know that, Arcee?”

Arcee glared at Soundwave.

“That is a very strange way to thank Soundwave for helping us save our own ship, Arcee,” said Alpha Trion very mildly. Arcee continued to glare at Soundwave.

“Are you saying that we need to eliminate all Onyx interface-based products?” Marissa’s voice was firm, but Soundwave could hear a barely-suppressed quaver under the top notes. “I was only able to help restore the Ark’s systems because I had Blackrock’s tablet, and now…now it’s worthless. Your virus destroyed it completely.” She frowned. “There was a lot of information on there that I would have liked to access.”

“I’m sorry,” said Soundwave, “but you do still have Blackrock?”

“He’s under Federal investigation now. He might be hiding out with Galvatron.” Marissa breathed in and out slowly.

“Warp might know,” said Thundercracker. “And sometimes he comes to visit Witwicky.”

Soundwave winced. “I tried to contact Skywarp, but he didn’t respond except to say he was tired of being ordered around by people who weren’t trying to help him. I find it hard to believe he was more responsive to Galvatron, which leads me to believe…”

“Exactly,” said Thundercracker.

“If you can get through to him, though, I will help.” Soundwave shrugged. “I never understood why Galvatron wasn’t doing more for him. I still don’t understand that.”

“Galvatron does what Galvatron does,” said Arcee, finally willing to speak again. “I talk to him because I’d rather know what he’s thinking than not. I report anything potentially useful he says to Optimus, but I’m sure he’s aware of that.”

“I think you should be telling Starscream,” Howlback said quietly. “He’s the actual ruler, isn’t he?”

Soundwave was slightly alarmed that she was speaking over him, but at the same time, nobody could accuse Howlback of just being petty for wanting to keep the Prime out of the loop, and Alpha Trion and Arcee, at the very least, were old enough to remember that Orion Pax had been a Decepticon once, in all but name, though he had never taken the badge.

“I’ll consider it,” said Arcee, in a tone that made it clear she would do no such thing.

“I might be induced to consume my own visor, with cheer, if Prime does not do something stupid in response to all this,” Soundwave said as mildly as possible. “He is just as inclined to rash action as Megatron was.”

Alpha Trion made a pained face, but didn’t try to deny it.

“I might hold you to that,” said Arcee.

It was, of course, at that moment that Starscream chose to join them. “Soundwave,” he said without preamble, “what was Ravage doing on Tebris VII? After all the trouble she made for Fortress Maximus, I think we have a right to know. She took an Autobot operative with her when she left. Do you have any thoughts about why she chose to do that?”

“I have many,” said Soundwave. “Few of them can be appropriately expressed in a gathering of this nature. I do know that the person she chose to remove was a grievously injured cougaraider, and nobody’s better qualified to assist that person than Glit, who is here.”

“Next you’re going to blame that mess on Galvatron, too,” said Starscream idly, inspecting his claws.

“No,” said Soundwave. “Ravage is still in transit and I have not had a chance to debrief her. But the little that I’ve been told doesn’t sound like Galvatron’s work.”

“He’s not exactly a science guy,” said Howlback, her dentae gritted, because Soundwave had told her, and also told Glit, about the situation.

Soundwave nodded. “We do know that Galvatron was aware of that situation, because Lockdown shot Ravage and her companions down on Tebris, and he told her so before she killed him. If you’ve been briefed at all on what they found on Tebris, you can probably imagine why they shot Ravage down. Under the circumstances, given that the planet is still in orbit, I think she showed admirable restraint.”

Starscream frowned, but he looked directly into his screen. “I’d have to agree,” he finally said. “I’ve told Fortress Maximus not to pursue Ravage or her companions, unless of course they commit a crime in territory under our jurisdiction.”

“You should tell him to share his findings with us,” said Soundwave. “More of my people than yours are likely to be affected, or to be looking for someone who’s missing.” He thought of Dominus Ambus, Ravage having shared with him who Ultra Magnus really was, but did not bring it up, because he wouldn’t out Minimus Ambus unless he was given a very good reason…and he hoped he would not be given such a reason. Disclosing a beastformer’s secret would never sit well with him.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” said Starscream. Soundwave knew very well that he probably wouldn’t. At least the thing had been said.

“We would like you to offer those survivors bearing Decepticon badges safe passage to Sanctuary,” said Soundwave. “I know that they are still fond of locking people up back there on Cybertron. But those people have already served sentences far worse than anything your courts would be able to impose on them, Starscream. And you know it.”

Starscream made an annoyed little moue with his lip-plates, and shrugged. That meant he really would consider it, so Soundwave nodded and let it drop.

“If you want to borrow my spacebridge again,” said Starscream, “you’d better not pull anything else like this.”

“It wasn’t him,” Wheeljack said wearily. “He helped me fix it.”

“So he says,” Starscream acknowledged. “It’s even probably true.” He quirked a smile. “I’m off to refuel with Windblade and the Prime. Shall I tell him you said hello, Soundwave?”

“Please don’t.” Soundwave looked around at the others. “What else do we need to discuss?”

Alpha Trion made an odd sound in his throat, like a human coughing up something disgusting, and started to speak.

Twelve breems later, Soundwave accepted Howlback’s offer to do all the talking with Needlenose. Then, he dropped into a hot oil bath into which he’d dumped half a bottle of Ravage’s favourite self-made botanical extract, just so he could pretend she was in it beside him.

He should’ve asked them to open the spacebridge again for her, and the W.A.P. He would have, if only Wheeljack and Alpha Trion had been present; but Starscream and Arcee had been there, too. And he couldn't trust either of them, especially not the one who was Galvatron's sister.

Ravage's ping to his comm came just as he was about to reach for a bottle of high-grade, and he set it back down and closed his optics as he greeted her. Even though he couldn’t gather her actual body into his arms or take off his mask and bury his face in her neck cabling…if he let his thoughts wander out through his spark and their bond as they spoke, he could feel her, and that was what he needed, more than anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Accepting all I've done and said, I want to stand and stare again
Until there is nothing left, and it remains there, in your eyes
Whatever comes and goes, I will hear your silent cries
I will touch this tender wall, until I know I'm home again..."

Soundtrack: Ninja Sex Party, "In Your Eyes" (additional original lyrics)

Chapter Text

Crankcase was apparently serious about not letting me play ‘Shoot Shoot Bang Bang’ anymore. Viridian was allowed to, but she went back to our berth to rest. I was relieved. I did not think it was a very good game for a traumatised half-grown cougaraider to be playing with people the size of Spinister, Fulcrum and Grimlock.

I went back into the cargo bay—the contraband storage area where Grimlock and I had hidden before—and commed Soundwave, reaching out through the sparkbond as well. He came into my mind with a rush of exhausted delight. “Ravage: is missed.”

“So are you,” I told him, leaning back and into his vastness.

“It’s been too long since I’ve actually touched you,” Soundwave murmured. “I miss your body. Your frame. Your face, your arms, your warmth, your claws, your valve, your spike, your spark…every bit of you.”

“I’m different now, you know,” I told him. “I’m not like I was when I left, and I’m not exactly like I was before they cut me—”

Soundwave’s voice was soft and fond. “Of course you’re not. It’s been four million years. Those years have left their marks on us, regardless of the work we’ve had done on our frames. But somehow you’re even more beautiful than you were when I met you in Rodion.”

“It’s dark in here,” I said, laughing. “The screen’s not on, but I’m the cargo bay.” I felt his lip-plates on my neck, and a glossa-tip slipping between cables, and charge building up in my interface array.

“I have synaesthesia. I don’t need my optics to see you. I’ve already begun to build a new map of you in my mind. I can feel the flow of power under your plate and your protoform mesh, through the cables and lines.”

I felt it as he felt it. As overclocked as he was, I bet he was putting out enough waste heat to melt the snow outside on Io. “How much coolant have you had to drink today?”

“A lot,” Soundwave admitted. “I’m using a lot of the Station bandwidth as well. I should feel some guilt about using so much power and bandwidth for personal pleasure. There are others here who are separated from their loved ones.”

“Bit late for you to stop now,” I said; the charge rose through my body as his energy flowed through our sparkbond.

“We can be selfish a little,” he said. “Let your spike out, I’m letting out mine. We can touch ourselves and each other at once.” He let me see his body through his optics; his spike was pressurised, fluid seeping out of the tip and the scores in the foil-thin, flexible plate; he was gorgeous like that, as always. I felt his hand slide over mine, curling round both of our spikes. “My lovely consort. It won’t cost us nearly as much as all of the meetings we’ve had today,” he said fondly. “Will send Starscream a bill for the uplink to Cybertron.”

“Talk later.” I closed my optics and our sensoria merged; memories of pleasures past as vivid as the moments in which we had made them, remembered sensations stretching themselves to spread through the body I had now, rocking into each other’s minds, stroking each other’s shafts. As I began to near overload, the sensation of tape winding through me and over the contacts within his chest surged up from the depths of deep storage and into my consciousness; it brought us both crashing over the edge and into each other like breaking waves.

After we rebooted we established the connection again at a much lower power level—one that was safer for him, and less expensive of resources: audio only.

“I miss your body even more now,” I admitted. “It’s so nice when we lie together after an overload.”

“The tape…?” Soundwave’s mind was suffused with surprise. “You gave that up so we could be free to consent to each other,” he whispered. “I’m surprised you would want to remember it.”

“I wanted to forget the pain,” I said, “but not the joy. Somebody actually made us a toy; a cassette, without a person inside. Just a long loop of tape that jacks into my dorsal access panels and takes my place in your chest compartment, so we can still have that sensation again, and only when we want it.”

He laughed out loud. “I love you,” he said, “and tell Spinister thank you.”

“I will, but I’m not sure he knows what that means.”

Soundwave chuckled. “He’ll get the idea from context, perhaps. Do you really think we can trust Starscream?”

“He’s got no reason to hate me now. Even if he still wanted Megatron, which he doesn’t, I wouldn’t be in the way of that, now.” I shrugged. “I don’t trust him completely, but I don’t think he’d screw me over for fun. He needs all the friends he can get, like we all do.”

“He did say he’d call Fortress Maximus off you,” Soundwave replied. “I think Fortress Maximus must have annoyed him.”

“He sure annoyed me.” I sighed. “You’re right not to trust Arcee. She nearly killed me once. She scares me. And she still talks to her brother.”

“Told them she talks. Alpha Trion: not happy.”

“You sure you shouldn’t have kept that in reserve?” It occurred to me that I must look ridiculous, lying slack jawed against a bale of emergency supplies with my dormant spike hanging out… but I was comfortable. And nobody else used the cargo bay when we didn’t have cargo.

“If we’re all supposed to be at peace, then the Autobots should know, too.” Soundwave sucked air in to cool himself down, and I grinned. He went on. “Viridian = important to Autobots. Fortress Maximus complained to Starscream. Specifically wants her back? But she is not mature.”

“Ugh. She tried to sign into Autobuddies and activated some kind of virus that killed Krok’s laptop,” I groaned. “Not giving her up, even if she keeps her stupid red badge. Fort Max said she’s one of their agents.”

“Ridiculous,” Soundwave said wearily. “Viridian is too young to be anyone’s agent. You and the small one need to be home with your family. With me. I’m glad you have one of your own, now.”

“Krok won ‘Shoot Shoot Bang Bang’?” Laugh if you will, but it made me a little nervous. Aren’t miracles supposed to come in threes? Misfire got Necrobot evidence, Crankcase apologised, Viridian couldn’t talk but she could still write—and Krok won the game?

Which one of these wasn’t a miracle? Or were we due for two more? And if we were due for two more, what kind of run of bad luck were we heading into?

“Trophy,” said Crankcase, “wind up your jaw into place, sit the frag down, and eat something.”

Well, it wasn’t the worst advice. So I followed it. Krok had apparently hidden a crate of energon treats in his room, knowing they’d all have been despoiled at once if left in the galley, and he passed them out, and Viridian slipped into my lap.

“Let’s watch Real Housewives!” Misfire suggested. “You’ll love it, Cat. Swerve sent it. It’s proof that the humans are people like we are. They can behave as badly as we do, especially when they’re rich!”

“I’d like to find out how badly I could behave if I got rich,” Crankcase muttered under his breath.

I gave him a Look. “I bet you’d be nicer if you got money. Just to be perverse like that.”

“She got you,” said Fulcrum, laughing, “but I vote NO on Real Housewives.”

“Why?” Krok looked up at him sidewise.

“Because I’ll purge fuel,” Fulcrum said firmly. “I don’t want to watch disgusting organics being disgusting together.”

“But it’s not porn—” Misfire said plaintively.

“Ugh! You have human porn?” Fulcrum clutched at his abdomen, made a gurgling sound, and ran out of the room.

“No,” said Misfire, and then, when he saw the look Krok was giving him, crumpled a little. “I only watched one.” He sighed. “I feel sorry for humans.”

“I don’t want to know,” I said. “Do you, Viridian?”

She looked up at me, rolled her optics, and yawned.

Watching humans frag—with only half the normal anatomy, no data transfer capability, no electromagnetic field sensitivity, and no sparks to merge—sounded boring as slag to me. But everyone’s got their kinks.

Meanwhile, Misfire took the opportunity to screen the first episode of the show. What’s a housewife anyway? Viridian wrote on a datapad with a stylus, and held it up to the rest of us.

Crankcase laughed. “Your momma,” he said, and winked at me. “If Soundwave has his way of it anyway.”

“Apparently a wealthy and unpleasant human femme,” said Krok. “But Misfire’s right. You have to be sapient to be this much of an aft. Why does it matter how old Jo’s conjunx is anyway?”

“Humans don’t live long,” said Crankcase, “so the guy’s gonna drop dead on her, and when he does she’s gonna be pretty old herself and have trouble finding another one.” He popped a whole energon treat into his mouth. “I think Lauri and Vicki should make out.”

Viridian hissed. I agreed with her. “We don’t know nearly enough about these people to ship them,” I complained.

Misfire shrugged. “They go to the spa together a lot?”

“By that logic you and I have been clanging for millennia,” I said with a snort.

“You go to the spa?” Crankcase snorted. “I see how it goes. You go to Ravage for your girl time and the rest of us get you unwashed and uncensored.”

“Me Grimlock want go spa,” Grimlock announced, settling himself on the opposite side of me and Viridian from Misfire. “Look like fun.”

“It is,” I said. “I’ll take you someday when you’re better and I’m not so busy.” I could really have done with a spa visit. And I’d have liked very much to have had a chance for one before I saw Soundwave next.

Crankcase threw up his hands. “I can think of a lot more fun stuff to do with the money,” he said.

“You wouldn’t feel that way if you could remember when people like you weren’t let into nice spas,” I said wryly, “because apparently poverty and beastformer CNA are somehow transmissible through bath oil.”

“I can still think of better places to integrate.” Crankcase shrugged. “Why’s that kid so concerned about being as good at baseball as the big guy is? Is that kinda some kind of human Functionist thing?”

“I’m not sure,” said Misfire, “but the big guy’s his father. Remember these people are rich enough to have come from a House.” He started in on an explanation that I knew was going to be tedious and that was when a self-care alert went off on my HUD, because yes, I’m the kind of person who needs those, sometimes.

I excused myself to head to the cycler, hoping Fulcrum wouldn’t still be in there. He wasn’t. When I came out Krok was waiting in the hall, but apparently he was waiting for me, not the cycler. “I couldn’t reach Soundwave today. Was he talking to you?”

“Part of the day. Before that he was in meetings and after I’m sure he went to recharge.” I leaned against the wall. “Is something wrong?”

“On our end?” Krok shrugged. “Nothing that hasn’t always been wrong.” Then, he frowned. “How are you holding up? I didn’t know you when you were younger, Ravage, but even if I couldn’t have read what was written all over your face, I’d be an idiot if I didn’t think your head had been in a bad place.”

“The rest of me was in a pretty bad place too,” I said. “But we trashed it. So I’m okay.” I shrugged. There was no point in dwelling on that. “I just miss Soundwave. That’s all.”

I could tell Krok didn’t believe me. And he might have even been right. I hadn’t recharged well, but Viridian had needed me, and then…Misfire. But I also didn’t feel like trying to explain. Even though he couldn’t carry on much of a conversation, it felt like enough that Grimlock had been with me throughout the entire thing. After all, he was also a beastformer. He also had known that he could’ve been one of those people. I had seen in his eyes that he recognised that, in spite of his brain module damage. He might not be able to talk about it, but he understood it in a way that Krok couldn’t.

“I promised him I’d bring you back safe. And I left you behind.” Krok looked down at his pedes. “With Grimlock.”

“Hey, Grimlock was great! I couldn’t have asked for a better partner on that one.” I shrugged again. “It’s all right, Krok. I’m fine. Just…kindly remember that I am no pampered and cosseted princeling. No matter how much Soundwave pampers and cossets me. No matter how many fancy gel pastilles he makes me, no matter how often I went to a spa in the days when we still had them…no matter how many old newspark toys that I was denied he tracks down for me…I was still a slave, and I have not forgotten how to be a spy, an assassin and a saboteur.”

Then I hugged him, because I knew he wouldn’t hug me. “I’m still your friend.”

He hugged me back, but very carefully, even though I was a lot bigger and stronger than he’d ever known me to be before. It was frustrating.

“We don’t want to be the Glorious Lords,” I said, although I liked Lugnut, and I didn’t much care to make fun of him or any of his clones. “Just first among equals, and only first because somebody has to be. I loved Megatron. But I’m really, really not Megatron, and neither is Soundwave.”

Krok nodded, and hugged me harder, and then let me go. “Did Soundwave have anything interesting to say? I mean…interesting to me. Not you.”

I laughed. “Fortress Maximus told Starscream about our encounter. The bad thing about it is that means everyone knows I am on your ship. The good thing about it is Starscream told him to leave us the frag alone.”

Krok’s jaw dropped. “Well, there is your miracle,” he said.

I had to laugh. We were up to five. “You’re right,” I said. “But for what it’s worth, Starscream hated me because he thought I was his rival for a while. Even he wouldn’t have seen me done dirty like that. When he failed to murder me, the attempts he made were always clean.” Then I laughed. “I would not have predicted I’d ever feel grateful for that.”

“No,” said Krok. “Certainly not.”

I let my head fall back onto his chest, mostly because I was tired. He put his arm around my shoulders. “If you need to go and rest, go rest. I’ll watch Viridian.”

I shook my head. “It’s all right. I may fall over into recharge on the couch, but I won’t die if I do. I was just thinking, though.”

“Oh?”

“Krok,” I said, “if Galvatron knows I am on this ship, and the Autobots know I am on this ship, and Starscream knows I am on this ship…I don’t see the point of taking the long way home. Do you?”

Krok chuckled. “Nope. We’ll get you home to your lover as soon as we can.” He patted my shoulder awkwardly.

I hugged him—hard. “What was that thing that Spinister said about churches?”

Krok laughed again. “Who knows what Spinister’s saying, except when it’s obvious?” Then he let me go, pushing me gently away. “Anything else?”

I thought for a moment. “Actually…yes.” I sighed. “Apparently Fortress Maximus didn’t just try to take Viridian back on general principles. Starscream asked Soundwave why I had taken an Autobot operative with me, and Soundwave was kind enough to tell them she needed to be seen by Glit.”

Krok nodded. “That’s not really much of a surprise. I had the feeling, based on what she said, that she’d been sent there and got caught, not that she was just unlucky enough to run across someone malicious by accident.” He glanced away. “Does that mean Soundwave is going to have a problem with you bringing her home? She can stay with us—”

“Of course not!” I said quickly, shocked that he even imagined it possible for Soundwave to reject my child. “I’ve accepted every cassette he’s dragged home—he’ll take my daughter as she comes! I think he understands she’s young enough to be able to see more than one side of a thing. And also, she knows and remembers Shockwave, very unfondly. It would make sense if he made her. He’s got access to my CNA; he healed my mortal wound with one of his Ores, and I left some behind. It won’t take her long to see that we’re not all like that.” I ex-vented. “Still…thanks.”

“Shockwave,” Krok repeated, shuddering slightly. “Still. I’ve had greener recruits.”

I laughed. “I doubt that. Well. We have lots to discuss with her.”

Krok began to lead me back into the living area. “We can both talk to her. We’ve got time. Even without the circuitous routing, we won’t get back to the Station tomorrow.”

Fulcrum slunk past us to stand in the entrance of the living area. He was watching the entertainment, and pretending not to. He did not look like someone who was going to purge fuel.

We stopped behind Fulcrum. “Hey,” I said. “Either stop being dramatic and sit down with the rest of us to watch this silliness, or go back to your room and sulk.”

Fulcrum snorted. “It’s still gross,” he said, but he preceded us in.

We all ended up more or less in a big comfortable pile. Room was made for me between Misfire and Grimlock. Viridian slipped back into my lap, and we both ended up purring. I wondered why I had never once seen Autobots in a pile like this the whole time I’d been on the Lost Light. Maybe it just all happened behind closed doors. I hoped so, anyway. I didn’t want to think their lives were devoid of this.

Well, some of them probably were. I doubted Ultra Magnus ever got this close to anyone. But that was really his own fault…for making the choice to live a lie. I knew it would’ve been hard to give up what he’d been brought into shortly after his forging, but I wouldn’t have been able to do what he’d done. As antisocial as some people thought I was…I didn’t believe that I could’ve lived that way.

Then I frowned. I’d sent Megatron a ping earlier in the day, because I was worried about him after that trip to the Necroworld. There had been no response, except for his auto-responder. I pinged him again. There was still no response. Not even an auto-responder. Just…nothing.

Viridian made an unhappy miaow and Misfire and Grimlock both looked directly at me. “What is it?” Misfire said, frowning.

“I can’t get Megatron. Not even his auto-responder. Not even the old pre-programmed one.”

“He’s probably recharging,” Misfire said gently.

I switched on the interstellar time-dilation calculator and was almost, just for an astrosec, briefly relieved. “Well. This is his normally scheduled defragmentation time. But I have a private channel. I’d at least get a ping back, normally, just a ‘still here’ ping…I didn’t get anything. No confirmation at all that he even still exists.”

Misfire scowled. “Okay,” he said, and got up. “Time to return the favour.”

I followed him back into the room, Viridian on my heels. Misfire commed Swerve.

“Yeah mate, I know it’s his defrag time, and what the hell is he doing having a scheduled defrag, that is mad, what Decepticon does that—but she shoulda got something, Swerve, she’s his amica!”

Viridian jumped up without warning, forcing me to grab her and hold her like she was a pet. I would’ve been annoyed had it not been so clear that she wanted to comfort me. Meanwhile, Misfire was nodding and frowning.

“Okay mate, you too. Thanks.” Misfire broke the connection. “Swerve said he’s going to let Riptide take over the bar for the night and go and find out what happened. He also said you worry too much and that I was to try and distract you with stupid TV, so we’re doing that now, okay?”

Krok stood in the doorway, watching us. “That sounds like a good idea, Ravage.”

Viridian looked up at me expectantly.

“All right,” I said. “But don’t expect me to go to recharge right away when the rest of you all wear out.”

Misfire slid his arm around my shoulders. “Don’t worry, Cat. There’s six whole seasons of Orange County alone. We can do this all night if we have to!”

Chapter Text

“I tried to do what?” Megatron didn’t have the worst processor ache he’d ever had, but he’d definitely have put this one on the top 100. “If I tried to kill someone, why am I not in the brig?”

“Well,” said Velocity, “you’d been assaulted during a defragmentation cycle. Rang and I agreed that it was a perfectly understandable reaction given your millions of years of combat experience, especially since there were needles in your neck when you came online.”

That certainly did explain everything, including the processor ache. It just didn’t make sense. Why would a sanitation bot like Tailgate have attempted to perform mnemosurgery on him?

“Your outgoing comms were also disabled,” Velocity continued. “Swerve got a voice call from your amica that she couldn’t even get a ping to confirm you were still online.”

Megatron scowled. “So no one could have confirmed…whether or not I had called for help? I suppose it’s a good thing Ravage decided she missed me at that particular time. And a good thing Soundwave can afford to pay for her bandwidth.”

He hadn’t asked for help. It wouldn’t have done him any good when they’d put needles in his neck on Messatine, so he certainly wouldn’t have thought to do it if—no, when—somebody tried to do it again. But whoever was behind this had wanted to be sure that he looked as guilty as possible. “Somebody wanted to frame me for murder.”

Megatron scratched his helm. There were plenty of people aboard who thought he should either be dead already or rotting forever away in a cell. Setting him up to kill again would make sense, even if this particular arrangement did make it look like self-defence to anyone rational enough not to take leave of their senses upon hearing his name.

“Not someone particularly smart.” Velocity shrugged. “I can’t think of anyone with a few million years of combat experience who wouldn’t react violently to being assaulted during recharge. Whatever you’ve done in the past, it would be brutally unfair not to view your reaction as self-defence.”

Velocity handed him a cube of energon. It wasn’t drugged, but he didn’t question it. She was a medic; if she wanted to give him undrugged energon, who was he to argue? He drank it, relishing the cool clarity of medical-grade.

“Exactly,” said Megatron, “but given the things I’ve done, I don’t expect that consideration. If Ravage had still been aboard, and living with me, though…she would’ve shredded him. And I hope she wouldn’t have been blamed, either.”

“Since Ravage has left the ship and…moved on with her life,” Velocity said delicately, “do you think you should bunk with someone else for a while?”

Megatron laughed bitterly. The idea held no appeal, because there was no-one he trusted deeply enough to recharge beside, and he knew he was difficult to live with on top of his reputation. But it was cute of her to suggest that someone would be willing to live with him. “Even if I wanted to live with someone who wasn’t my amica…who would want me for a roommate?”

Velocity shrugged, purposefully not meeting his optics with hers. “If there’s nobody else you consider a friend, what about someone who cares very much about keeping you alive long enough to stand trial?”

Megatron snorted. “If you mean my SIC, I guarantee that will not happen.” It was a hilarious thought, now that he knew how much of a secret Minimus was hiding, except that it wouldn’t have been hilarious for Minimus, who would undoubtedly have tried to recharge and defragment wearing both sets of armour plate.

“I suppose not,” Velocity said. “It would be awkward for a number of reasons.” She smiled at him knowingly, which was also a little infuriating. He wanted to know what she thought she knew. Did she know about Minimus, being a medic? But surely she wouldn’t have smiled that way about something like that, even if the Camiens were universally ignorant on the topic of therioformers. “What about your co-captain?”

“I know this is the worst possible time to say so,” Megatron said, rolling his optics, “but we’d kill each other in our sleep.”

Velocity laughed. “Fair enough.”

Megatron stretched, swinging his legs off the side of the berth. “So where is Tailgate, anyway? I’m assuming I must have done him significant damage…”

“You would have killed him, if Cyclonus hadn’t stopped you.” Velocity began to straighten up the treatment room. “But I wasn’t there, so I didn’t see the sequence of events. It’s not my job to stop fights, it’s my job to take care of you all.”

Megatron finished his cube. “Even if no-one had blocked my communications, this still wouldn’t make any sense. Isn’t sneaking into my room and sticking needles into my neck a really bizarre and needlessly painful way to commit suicide? I haven’t done anything to Tailgate. He missed the war, same as you. There is absolutely no reason for this.”

“You’re not the only person to have noted that,” Velocity agreed. “When he comes out of it, you can be sure that Reng will be asking him about it. In the meantime…” She shrugged. “They’re improving the security of your habsuite, and I don’t have any medical reason to confine you here. But there’s somebody on this ship who really, really wants you dead, and I don’t think it’s Tailgate. The only people I can rule out are Rodimus, Ultra Magnus, Cyclonus, Swerve and myself. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to stay in the medbay?”

“I don’t think it’s Skids or Nautica.” Megatron shook his head. “Honestly, there are a lot of people here who’d like to see me dead, but I didn’t think anyone on this crew was stupid enough to come up with a plot like this. I’m going to do my job, so I’ll be on the bridge. I don’t want anyone thinking they’ve won something.” He got up and inspected himself in the mirror.

Velocity ex-vented, exasperated. “I figured as much,” she said. “But please comm that poor terrified person you call your amica and let her know you’re not dead. I’m amazed she’s yet to file for platonic severance.”

“So am I,” said Megatron, with a grin, “but I’ll take it under advisement as soon as I’m due for a break. I assume Swerve did tell her I’m still alive. Is Cyclonus all right?”

“I think he will be,” said Velocity. “Eventually. He might be a bigger idiot than Ravage is, though.”

Esmeral, Empress of Ankokuyousai, was up late. She was sitting in her study, copy-editing the latest draft of Concordian Ethics: Collectivist Mutual Aid and Conflict Resolution in the Shining Empire of Truth. She really liked the book, although she still believed the title was dry as dust, and was hoping she could get Ravage to change it. Once arranged in order, and linked together by poetry, the essays were both subversive and weirdly comforting, which was what she knew the Decepticons needed. They were also a sort of memoir, which is what she believed Ravage’s Iaconian publishers really wanted.

Ravage’s writing wasn’t subversive in the same way that Megatron’s poetry had been—his early works had spoken bitter truths to the people who’d lived them, while being pretty enough to give privileged people the distance to read whatever they cared to into them. Her essays were awkwardly philosophical; she didn’t want to call attention to her lack of education, but she wasn’t writing for a highly educated readership, either, so Esmeral left that alone.

It was older and gentler than Parvilla Stanixa’s voice—Parvilla’s writings had been reissued under Ravage’s name, and apparently Autobots and Neutrals were reading those, too. The poems had claws, which were always unsheathed in the last line or two. But some of them spoke in the still, soft voice of a memory, calling you back to a dream you might have forgotten, a time when you might have been wholly yourself without knowing who you were, and could still imagine finding a way to happiness.

“Esmecha, what are you doing awake?”

Deathsaurus stood in the doorway. He was so tall, and his wings were so broad, that he barely fit in it. And he was beautiful.

“How am I supposed to be otherwise, with the DJD on the way like a bad omen?” She tilted her face up.

As she had hoped, he came in and leaned over to kiss her, closing all four of his optics.

“We will survive this, too,” Deathsaurus said when he broke the kiss. “But you could ask Ravage to nod and laugh at the comments Tarn leaves on her posts instead of replying, at least for a while. Apparently Megatron thinks that Tarn wants to kiss me.”

Esmeral laughed. “Who wouldn’t want to kiss you? I am fairly sure Ravage herself has kissed you.” Esmeral could never decide if she was sad or glad to have missed the dangers and the pleasures of the old revolution. She had never lived outside of Destron, and had only heard the stories of her elders. Maitriona, her mother, had taken Ankokuyousai for herself early on, and pledged her service to Megatron when he needed it, but had served him by protecting the far frontiers of the Constellate, which were out of the way of the Galactic Council and of little interest to the Autobots.

Deathsaurus smiled. “She has, but it was before your spark had kindled, and she was too small to do more than that.”

“Well, I’ll tell her to let him seethe, Dezza. I know she is bored on her long trip home, but I’m sure there are people in her comments who are more fun to play with than ‘Eucryphtid’ is.” Esmeral sighed. “He’s so annoying, though. It’s honestly difficult not to argue, even for me.”

“Well, until I get him out of my feathers, kindly continue making the effort.” Deathsaurus yawned. “Come to bed. If you can.”

“I can, but I don’t think I can sleep.” Her wings rustled. “I would never endanger you. Ever.”

“He’s very sad,” said Deathsaurus. “Without that voice of his, he’d be nobody. Megatron’s hurt him, and badly. It’s a pity he can’t see that this is the best thing that obsessed old clanger’s done in the last million years. Even Soundwave isn’t so nakedly wounded, and Megatron stole his conjunx.”

“Borrowed without asking, perhaps,” said Esmeral. “He certainly couldn’t keep her. Do you want me to come to bed and not sleep?”

“Always,” Deathsaurus said, “but I can’t sleep late in the morning, so I will have to attempt to sleep now.”

Esmeral nodded. “Soundwave at least fell in love. There’s no room for anyone other than Megatron in the twisted space of Tarn’s sputtering spark, even if he does want to kiss you.” She felt a pang of guilt for saying so, but she hated having Tarn anywhere near their people, and whether or not Dezza remained on The List, she certainly would.

“Megatron did that to him,” said Deathsaurus. “Him, and all of the others. I know who he was, because I was there—in Kaon, when they broke the bell. Soundwave and Glitch, singing in unison. I don’t know who the rest of them are, though. I think they’re young, and also probably stupid, even if they’re very well-trained and do what they do very well. Whether they started out stupid or Megatron made them that way, this I don’t know.”

Esmeral frowned, because she didn’t want to say what she had to say. “I am not your conjunx endura yet. Let him come aboard on Wasseihaku. You may kill him on Ankokuyousai, and pay me the forfeit for killing my guest. If he has to come to my world, as he insists upon doing, I can’t permit him to leave it.”

“He won’t stay on Wasseihaku,” Deathsaurus said morosely. “That’s why I have to leave so early, to meet him there. I don’t want Leozack and Goryuu entertaining him all by themselves. I need to find out what he is. Maybe I’ll kill him. Perhaps I can turn him. I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep us all safe.”

Minimus Ambus sat at the small desk in his habsuite, in the middle of gamma shift. He too was sleepless. He had just received an encrypted message from Ravage, who was aboard The Weak Anthropic Principle, a ship with which he was not personally familiar. Lately, he had heard a great deal about the ship and its crew from his successor as Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord—Fortress Maximus—and he’d also heard even more about them from Megatron.

Ravage had taken no steps whatsoever to make the message deniable on her part, although she had also not taken any measures which would have made it possible for her to verify whether the message was read or received, unless she received a response. For that at least, Minimus respected her. He was afraid to open the message, which was ridiculous. He’d already considered what she might or might not know about him on numerous occasions. He’d braced himself for the impact, if she decided to tell anyone else, but so far as he knew, she hadn’t.

Was that about to change?

After a long moment of contemplation, he opened the message, which was addressed, notably, to Minimus Ambus of the House of Ambustus Minor, and not to Ultra Magnus, which was the only name by which she had ever addressed him before.

To Minimus Ambus Ambustus, Second-in-Command of the Lost Light,
formerly known as Ultra Magnus, Enforcer Emeritus of the Tyrest Accord,

Ravage Stanixa, Vox Destron, Soundwave Kymatos conjuncta, sends:

Greetings—

I will not call you ‘dear’ Minimus, because we have never had an honest acquaintance until now, though you have always known who I really am, and I have known who you really are since the night I discovered the body of your relative aboard the quantum duplicate of the ship where you serve. But I want to speak with you honestly now.

I know that you believe your brother, Rewind’s first conjunx, to be dead, and no doubt you have good reason to think so, and perhaps there are also reasons why you did not tell Rewind what happened to him.

But I also know that there are a great many missing and murdered beastformers whose fates were never learned by those who loved them, missed them, cared for them, and depended upon them. And I cannot in good conscience set aside the possibility that your brother may have also been one of them.

I am about to petition Fortress Maximus and the office of the Tyrest Accord for a full and public accounting of the designations of those individuals recovered from the facility that Fortress Maximus, the crew of the Weak Anthropic Principle and I jointly uncovered and disabled on the planet Tebris VII, under the ownership of a mech known to us as Demus.

I want the information posted permanently in a place where their conjunxes, amicae, colleagues, mentees, mentors, guardians, and friends will be able to access it without having to identify themselves to any authorities on the Autobot side of things who may or may not be privy to the information themselves. I don’t want anyone to be arrested, no matter what they may or may not be accused of, because they dared to try and find out what happened to someone they loved.

If you are willing to lend your voice to mine in dealing with Fortress Maximus, I would be eternally grateful to you for that. Whether or not you do, if he does not comply with our request that this information be divulged to the public, I will release a complete recording of the events of that day to the people of Cybertron, Destron, and perhaps even Earth.

The office of the Tyrest Accord is responsible not only to Autobots, but also to Decepticons. We still exist. Nobody wearing an Autobot badge is legally empowered to disband the Decepticon movement, the Decepticon military forces, or surrender sovereign Destronian territory to the Autobots, the Council of Worlds, the Galactic Council, or anyone else. As rulers of Sanctuary Station, if nothing else, Soundwave and I have a right to be heard.

Should it turn out that Fortress Maximus recovered your brother, or should his fate be revealed in any records he may have acquired, it will be up to you whether you choose to share the information or to lose it forever. I only speak for Destron and I have no right to judge how you live your ethics, which are foreign to me. But as one beastformer to another, I beg and entreat you not to hide any truth which this may reveal.

As heirs to the House of Ambustus Minor, you and your brother rose to power and became complicit in the actions of a system that oppressed, crushed and destroyed other people like you. You benefitted directly from laws and institutions that did immeasurable harm to the rest of us. I do not ask you to reveal the truth as penance for this. I do not know if I can honestly say that I or anyone else I know would be strong enough to give up what you were given in order to face what the rest of us were forced to face. I ask you this in the faint, glimmering hope that people who will not see any of the hundreds of others destroyed, disabled and enslaved on Tebris VII as people might find themselves unable to dismiss the personhood of Dominus Ambus, or Minimus Ambus, who is also Ultra Magnus. I want those people to have to care.

I am sharing with you some unedited recordings of the walk I took through Demus’ warehouse with Grimlock. I want you to see what I saw. I don’t know if you are able to feel what I felt, but I want you to feel it, because I’m not sure you ever have. If you edit it down into a format you could use to try and destroy my reputation, I will of course tell everyone what I know to be true of you, but I don’t believe I will have to. Megatron cares for you. And to me, that means you must be a much better person than that.

I want you to understand how much they hate us out there. If it occurs to you that you could have done something over these past millions of years to alleviate that hatred, do not dwell on it. There is no way to know whether you could or would have succeeded in that. I would only ask you to act now.

Megatron cares for you. Remember that he is my amica endura. The only things I have kept from him, really, are the political and military realities of Destron since his abdication, and the personal things that belong to me and to Soundwave together, alone. I’m afraid that you and I were never close enough for me to have kept your secrets from him, or from Soundwave.

Before you make any decision—no matter how angry I’ve made you—I beseech you to discuss this with Megatron. He fought for you, as well as for us, whether or not you acknowledge it. If Orion hadn’t gone the way he did—if you and your brother had brought your education and your moral understanding to the cause—perhaps things might have gone differently. It would have been nice if Soundwave and I had not been the only ones on Megatron’s council who argued against such persons as Galvatron, Scorponok, Tarn, and Overlord.

But that’s up to you. You can also discuss it with Rodimus. He has a bright spark, and he means well; I came to care for him more than I ever believed I would.

The past is the past and the future is before us. We can only do what is possible to do now.

I am trusting you because my amica endura trusts you, and because you did your best to save him from destruction, even when that was not what you wished.

We were never friends, nor could we have been while I was on board the Lost Light by your sufferance. Perhaps, if we are honest now, we can earn one another’s respect.

In the hope of peace without tyranny,
Ravage Stanixa Vox Destron

Minimus Ambus closed his optics for a moment, then closed and saved the message. Of course, she didn’t know. She didn’t know what they knew about Dominus now, and she probably didn’t know what had happened to Megatron, yet. She’d probably written this while waiting for news of him. He did know she’d contacted Swerve about that, or that someone had anyway. This was the second time she’d sent word to them about something wrong on the ship. It was almost…

It was almost as if she actually cared about people...because of course, she cared about people. That was obvious in all of her writings, no matter how lawless and shocking they were. Maybe she even cared about him.

He wouldn’t have to worry about outing himself if the information went public. He couldn’t deny that there would be those on the Council who’d want it buried. He couldn’t deny that there were those on Cybertron who’d seek to use the information to lure out unreintegrated Decepticons in hiding. He knew that the kith of the lost had a right to know.

So he’d ally himself with her, in asking that of his successor.

And he wouldn’t have to choose whether or not to reveal himself to a world that probably actually didn’t care about Minimus Ambus, now that Ultra Magnus no longer existed. But he also could not help feeling something a lot like guilt, and he hadn’t even looked at her recordings yet.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to look at recordings from a place like that, taken by someone who’d been one of Soundwave’s cassettes, and before that a Senatorial Recorder. But he wasn’t sure that didn’t make him a coward, and he wasn’t sure he could keep from looking. Why should he be spared what Ravage and Grimlock had braved?

He wondered if Megatron had recovered.

When he walked out onto the bridge, though, Rodimus and Megatron were arguing. Megatron wanted to take the first shift he’d been scheduled for, and Rodimus thought he should rest. Minimus knew that he wasn’t about to rest, not after that.

“Megatron,” he said quietly. “Will you come back with me to my habsuite? There is something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Megatron’s brow ridges flared in annoyance. “If this is some attempt to get me to lie back down and rest after spending a good portion of the last two shifts unconscious—”

Rodimus was making that... expression that Minimus hated almost as much as Megatron did. “Go,” he said. “You’ve missed out on a lot of important stuff. Command decisions. I got too much to do this shift, I don’t got the time to debrief you, let him do it?”

How could anyone make a phrase like ‘command decisions’ sound so inappropriate? And the grammar! It was almost as though he were doing it on purpose!

Megatron glanced from one to the other of them. Satisfied that Minimus had no idea what Rodimus was getting at, at least apparently, he rolled his optics. “Fine,” he growled. He was not fine at all.

In the hallway, once they were out of earshot of everyone else, Minimus ex-vented.

“I need you, Megatron.” Minimus hated the way his voice sounded. He was not a weak animal. He didn’t need people, because he had secrets, because there were things that he just couldn’t tell them, because they would disappear if they knew.

But if Ravage was telling the truth…Megatron knew. And he hadn’t disappeared.

“You should’ve just said that,” Megatron grumbled, and followed him down to his habsuite without any further complaints.

Chapter Text

I woke up on the couch, but I was comfortable; someone had put a pillow under my head, and Viridian was curled into me, with a mesh blanket thrown over both of us.

I felt cosy and warm and restless and hyperalert all at once. Why?

I was on my way home. Soundwave was going to welcome me with open arms. My...child? had been returned to me, and though I was angry that someone had made the choice to create her without my conscious consent or involvement, I was deeply and inexplicably glad she existed, regardless of the circumstances. And Megatron had reached me, and told me he’d been in the medbay, and in stasis for a while, but not to worry—he was going to be fine.

What did I have to panic about?

Megatron had been in the medbay. In stasis. Someone had dared to attack him with mnemosurgery needles, of all things. Tailgate had dared to attack him.

Tailgate, who was cheerful, and frequently silly, and smaller than me. With mnemosurgery needles. Where had he got them? He couldn’t have known how to use them! He was lucky to be alive.

If I’d still been sleeping with Megatron, I would surely have killed him, and I would have been sorry, because I had liked him, but that would not have brought him back. And I would have wished I could question him after my blood had cooled, because that had been so out of character for Tailgate.

I knew a lot of people hated Megatron. I even understood that they had reason to. I knew that even if he escaped execution, someone would probably get him some day, and it would probably be someone who had a right to try for him.

But Tailgate? Hadn’t he spent most of the war in stasis, and stuck in a pit?

If he’d been awake for some of it, perhaps that had driven him mad. It would drive anyone mad. But he hadn’t been put there by Megatron, or by the Decepticons. When he’d first heard of the war, he’d thought we were in the right. And we had been, initially. And I would never support a fragging theocracy. I wasn’t an atheist like Soundwave was, but if there were gods and they had wanted to rule over mortals, they wouldn’t have needed intermediaries.

This had to be some kind of conspiracy. An exceptionally dumb conspiracy, given their choice of Tailgate against Megatron, but being stupid doesn’t make people harmless. Stupidity sometimes makes people more dangerous, because the things they do aren’t logical enough to be predictable. I stretched, and considered who on the Lost Light might have been dumb enough to pick Tailgate as an assassin. Or if he’d even been meant to succeed, and what that might have meant.

Something was nagging at the edges of my mind. Getaway had been dating Tailgate, which I thought was a spectacularly terrible choice on Tailgate’s end, but…presumably that meant Getaway liked him, didn’t it? Maybe, if I got more recharge, it would become an actual coherent thought process that I could examine and evaluate.

Then I saw the datapad under Viridian’s head. I gingerly slid it out, smiling when she pawed at it drowsily, and then I realised I’d actually sent the letter.

The letter I’d written in the dead of the night, drinking engex, while Misfire and Viridian had watched a bunch of ridiculously wealthy and idle human females try to establish and maintain a hierarchy among themselves so badly that even I stopped finding it funny, and had therefore decided to channel my rage into a letter to Ultra Magnus, which I had revised at least seven times before I thought it sounded like something he’d actually read.

But I’d sent it. I’d promised myself I was going to read it over when I got out of recharge and give it one last revision as needed.

And then I’d fallen into recharge.

I looked down at Viridian, wondering. Had she been the one to hit ‘Send’? Or did I not remember? Had I written and sent it drunk?

I opened up the text file, read it twice over, and then I allowed myself to be a little relieved, because it was actually a pretty good letter. I could probably have written a better one without the assistance of engex, Real Housewives, and the ugly terror that my amica endura might have been dead…but it said what I’d needed to say, with no loss of dignity or control, and no calling Ultra Magnus a collaborator and a traitor to his kind—at least not directly.

I mean, I implied those things…but then, they were true.

He hadn’t responded. I told myself I shouldn’t be surprised, that he of all people would need to take his own sweet time about finding the right words with which to respond to me (especially if those words were any variation on ‘no, no, and fuck no’) and that if I’d already got a response it would mean he hadn’t taken me seriously.

I refused to give myself permission to panic.

But I’ve never been very good at not doing things just because someone had said I wasn’t allowed, even if someone was me.

I went back down into the cargo bay and commed Soundwave, and I read the letter to him. He told me I was brilliant. Then he started playing my EM field through our sparkbond and we talked each other through a couple of overloads, because we are predictable that way, and there are worse ways to snap someone out of a panic.

When I returned to the common living area, energon and video games were in progress, and Viridian was beating the Pit out of Fulcrum at Tetrablox. I still felt panicky. I didn’t know why. Soundwave was right; I had been right to send the letter, although it’s usually better to recharge over something like that, just in case.

I had already begun my formal petition to Fortress Maximus, so I got back to work on that. That was a much easier piece of writing, because all I cared about was being very clear about what needed to be done and why. Fortress Maximus had no secret identity. Everyone who disagreed with him already knew he was an aft.

“You need to fuel, too,” said Krok, bringing me a cube and an assortment of metallic powders. “Do you really need to do all this right now, or are you running on autopilot because you want to be too busy to think about what you just experienced?”

“Thanks,” I said, taking the energon and adding the spices, and then, “What?”

Krok sat down at the table with me. “Since we got off Tebris VII, you’ve revised your manuscript and sent it back to your agent—I’m assuming that’s Lady Esmeral—and you started working on something intense while we were all watching Misfire’s show last night. I could tell it was intense. There are faces you make. And the frantic editing and revision was also a really big clue. Now you’re working again. Until we went down on Tebris, you spent just as much time doing not very much as the crew does, and I thought it was good for you. You’re going to have plenty of work and a lot of pressure to deal with once you get home.”

“This is important,” I said. “It’s a petition to Fortress Maximus to conduct his investigation of what we found openly, and to make the names of all of the victims public and easily accessible, without requiring kith to identify themselves—so that he can’t use it as bait to hunt beast-form Decepticons down who aren’t doing anything but trying to find out what happened to the people they love.”

Krok nodded and gently removed the datapad from my hands. “Yes, that’s important. But drink your energon, Ravage.”

I did take a drink. It was good energon. And I like manganese, so I’d been liberal with the purple stuff.

“Fortress Maximus would have taken us in just for getting shot down and trying to buy scrap to fix our ship.” I took another drink. “He’s operating on the assumption that all Decepticons must be doing something wrong, and that if he arrests us and drags us in, he and Red Alert can get something out of us to charge us with. That’s not what he’s supposed to be doing. He’s supposed to be enforcing the Tyrest Accord. Getting shot down and being in the wrong place at the wrong time is not a violation of the Tyrest Accord. We weren’t there to sell anything. You flatly refused to sell…”

Well, they’d flatly refused to sell me. And I didn’t think they would actually have sold Grimlock, because Misfire would have lost it, and that would’ve been the end of this crew, and they knew that, now. And they also had had it brought home to them that nobody offers you money for people unless they’re going to do something awful to them.

Krok sighed. “In the end, yes. And we certainly won’t make that sort of mistake in the future.”

I nodded. “Fort Max is his power and he’s going to continue unless someone stops him. This is a public petition I’m working on now. Starscream will see it. Windblade will see it. Fucking Optimus will be able to see it, and hopefully Starscream or Windblade will make him look. He needs to know that if he tries to use this to shake people down, or hides the list of survivors so that he can disappear whichever ones he’s got uses for, I’m going to share recordings of what we found.”

I took another drink. “I haven’t stopped recording important things just because I’m a car now. I don’t have tape any more, except for that thing Spin gave me, but…I still have memory banks, and I maintain encrypted internal and external storage. I’m always on, Krok. I delete trivia, and I save the personal stuff that’s private or of interest to no-one but me where no-one else can get it. But everything that could be useful to the cause is time-stamped, recorded, encrypted, and kept behind multiple layers of thyline shielding to prevent accidental erasure.”

Krok nodded. “You save conversations like these?”

“Sometimes,” I said. “When I want to remember them. I’ve got a feeling you might say something important before very long. You’ve got that look about you.”

He handed me another cube, because I’d drained the one I had. I spooned the manganese over it, with copper shavings this time.

“I could wish you wouldn’t stir Fortress Maximus up while we’re still in this sector,” Krok said wryly.

I smiled at him and drank my energon like a good girl. “This is actually a sort of insurance,” I said. “If we don’t make it home in a reasonable amount of time after this has been posted as a public petition, people will take Soundwave seriously when he demands an investigation.”

“Oh,” said Krok, and he’d never looked greyer in my presence. He closed his optics for a moment. “Ravage,” he said. “I’m not…well. That is important, and it is important now. So I will leave you be to finish it after you’re fully fuelled. But…” He glanced over at Viridian, who was now beating Misfire at Tetrablox. “She needs you, especially since she is going to have to share you with Soundwave when you get home, and we both know you’re going to spend lots of time locked up with him in private.”

I laughed. “Okay, fair.”

“And Grimlock…”

“Is Grimlock okay? I thought Misfire would’ve said something—” I frowned. Just as Grimlock was the only one who really understood what I’d experienced, I was the only one who really understood what he’d experienced. Except Viridian, of course.

“He’s sleeping a lot more than he was,” said Krok. “He’s depressed. Misfire and you are doing your best, but I wanted you to know that…I’ve noticed. Just like I’ve noticed Viridian being clingy and needing your attention sometimes when you’re working, though Misfire’s been good for that too, and just like I’ve noticed how anxious and hyperactive you are. You and Grimlock are traumatised, not the same way that Viridian has been, but…”

I started to protest, because we’d got out of there with nothing but minimal scratches on our plate and bruised dignities, but…the truth was, we did have some awful recharge hallucinations, and I’d been prone to waking up from them and wandering, as had Viridian. “You’re right,” I said. “We are. But it can’t be helped. We can’t unsee what we’ve seen, and I don’t want to. People need to know about this.”

Krok nodded, slowly. “Just promise me that once you’re done with that you’ll take some time to relax, today, and fuel with everyone else. And there’s no shame in using a sedative if you need one to sleep.”

I nodded, worrying my lower lip-plate with a fang. “I don’t take sedatives. What if Soundwave calls with an emergency? What if someone fires on the ship again and you need me back in the gunner coves?”

“Soundwave isn’t going to comm you with an emergency you can’t do anything about,” said Krok, and I knew he was right. “He’ll tell you about it once it’s all over so you can be proud of him and have celebratory commsex in the cargo bay. Which I approve of wholeheartedly, so there’s no need to be embarrassed. And Misfire can actually hit what he’s aiming at if it’s a matter of survival. You really are a passenger, even though we all appreciate that you’ve acted as part of the crew. And we are in your service now, as well as his. We need you to take care of yourself for us, and stay strong, Ravage.”

I took his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you,” I said, almost airlessly. I was still a little embarrassed.

“I know I haven’t got your particular lived experience,” Krok said, and made it sound almost like an afterthought. “But I also know that you don’t want to worry Soundwave, and that Grimlock and Viridian are comforting, but not the best conversationalists right now. I am always here to talk, if you need to. And so are the rest of us. I know I’m still delusional sometimes, not one of us here is completely sane; but we can help each other, and I like to think we do.”

I swallowed the rest of the energon and wiped my damn leaky optics again with a napkin, which was even almost clean. “We do,” I said.

“I’ll let you get back to your work.”

I finished the petition a few breems later, shipped it to Soundwave for his approval, which he sent by text because we did not need to get distracted again with so much else left to do, and I sent it off to the Office of the Tyrest Accord and the Council of Worlds.

Then I went and let Viridian beat me at Tetrablox, too.

Chapter Text

Fortress Maximus was livid. But that was okay. So was Starscream; only for once, he was actually trying to hide it.

“Look,” said Starscream, “I had to call you off, because you have more important things to do than chase Ravage. She was only on Tebris VII because her transport was shot down, and she wouldn’t have attacked you if you hadn’t attacked the crew of her transport. Nobody aboard that ship had any intention of selling anything to anyone. Soundwave has confirmed that he paid them to take Ravage back to Sanctuary Station, with instructions to take a circuitous route in order to evade Galvatron’s agents. He is finally going to conjunx her. It’s only been four million years. It must be the longest engagement in history.”

“Well, she got in the way of my bust, and she took my agent to boot.” Fortress Maximus snorted.

“Nonetheless,” said Starscream, impatiently stirring a few drops of mercury into a glass of high-grade, “the Council of Worlds has not issued a warrant for her arrest. She has the right to go home, and we’ll all be better off if she does.” He shook the spoon over the glass as if it had personally offended him, because he couldn’t shake any of the people who actually had. Then he glanced up at Fortress Maximus. “I’m sorry, would you like some?”

“I don’t drink on the job,” Fortress Maximus said curtly.

“I would if I were you,” Starscream said, sniffing the glass and its contents before taking a small sip.

“She’s got an escaped prisoner on that transport,” Fortress Maximus said sourly.

“So she does,” Starscream said, with a shrug. “I’m afraid I don’t know why the Autobots arrested Grimlock for fighting Shockwave and Scorponok, why Ultra Magnus as Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord was even involved with that, or why Grimlock didn’t take the deal he was offered. What I do know is that Shockwave and Scorponok are menaces, and if Grimlock had taken them out for good, he’d have done us all a huge favour. He is now in no condition to be tried or punished for anything, and most important of all, I don’t care.”

“She’s also got my agent on that transport.” Fortress Maximus dropped a hard copy of an image on Starscream’s desk.

Starscream picked it up and watched the small green cougaraider dance a figure-eight around Misfire’s legs, drop the datapad, leap away, and scurry up Misfire’s back, then Ravage’s back. He raised a single brow ridge and tried not to smirk, but did not quite succeed. “That’s your informant? I think he quit. Unless he’s committed a crime, we can’t go after him, either. How old is he, anyway?”

“That’s Blackcat of Kalis,” said Fortress Maximus, frowning. “I’d intended to register myself as her mentor.”

“I intended to rule the Decepticons once,” said Starscream lightly. “I wasn’t nearly ambitious enough, was I? What matters here is that your position as Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord does not give you the authority to go hunting for Decepticons who are not violating it,” he went on to explain. “You attempted to arrest six Decepticons who weren’t breaking any of the laws that you’re supposed to enforce, apparently on the grounds that you dislike Decepticons, they must have been doing something wrong, and that once you and Red Alert had interrogated them, you’d be able to find a good reason to lock them up. That’s not how this is supposed to work.”

“You know,” Fortress Maximus finally said, “I should’ve expected this reaction from you.”

“Yes,” said Starscream. “You should’ve. You should’ve expected this reaction from almost anyone, except possibly Prowl. Would you please either leave or sit down?” He gestured fluidly to the most solid of the chairs in his office. “I’m afraid that towering over me has lost its effectiveness as a way of convincing me to do anything. It’s not like you’re going to beat me, or like you could get away with it if you tried.”

Fortress Maximus sat down. “Do you know what Ravage has asked me to do?”

“Yes. I think you should do it,” said Starscream. “If I have to order you to, I will be disappointed.” He let his lip-plates curl into a moue and fluttered his brows, and his wings twitched. “Of course, I’m accustomed to disappointment. But the Tyrest Accord was an Autobot-Decepticon treaty.”

“Technically,” said Fortress Maximus, “there are no more Decepticons.”

“Then you’ll have to tell me who started the riot in my spacebridge,” Starscream said, laughing. He paused to stir another drop of mercury into his drink. “If there are no Decepticons, then there’s no Tyrest Accord for you to enforce. The laws still exist, because they were written into both the Autobot Code and the Code of Interplanetary Conflict, and someone should be enforcing them, but your title and your jurisdiction might warrant discussion by the Council of Worlds as a whole. Are you still going to continue to stand there and tell me that the Decepticons don’t have the right to petition you for justice? You knew what the job entailed when you took it on,” Starscream said with a prim little sniff.

“But Megatron and the Prime agreed—”

“And no-one asked Soundwave, or Deathsaurus, or Shockwave, or Galvatron, or any other actual Decepticon leader. I’d have a better chance of shutting them down than Megatron had, standing there wearing that bright red badge of his. Megatron is a fool, and if the Prime thought that was ever going to work, he’s no brighter than I ever thought he was, either,” said Starscream. “For that matter, who’s the actual leader of the Autobots now? Are they even a polity? They don’t have a representative on the Council of Worlds. Cybertron does, because it’s a world. The Autobots aren’t a world. At least Sanctuary Station, Wasseihaku, and Ankokuyousai are planetary governments.”

Fortress Maximus crossed his arms across his chest. “You’re going to bring each of them into the Council, aren’t you? That’s your plan. Prowl said you were going to try to turn this thing into the new Decepticon Empire, but I didn’t believe him—”

“Stop,” Starscream said flatly. “Just…stop.” After a long moment, he ex-vented. “I’m going to be very nice and explain something to you that nobody else is going to, so listen to me carefully the first time, because this is a thing that I will not repeat.”

Fortress Maximus closed his mouth. Apparently he wasn’t as dumb as he looked.

“Don’t put yourself between Prime, Megatron, Soundwave, and Ravage,” said Starscream, very quietly. “Especially not now that Megatron isn’t holding onto Ravage’s leash. You weren’t around when the four of them were…well, a thing.”

“What,” Fortress Maximus said, and stopped, as if his processor had just gone dead before he could finish the sentence.

Starscream tapped his claws against his desktop. “Stop that. Wake up. Listen to me.”

“Did you just insinuate that Optimus Prime…” Fortress Maximus couldn’t finish the sentence. “With all of them?” His voice hit a high note that Windblade couldn’t have hit with a blaster. It was all that Starscream could do not to laugh.

“Well, I wasn’t in the room when it happened, but I was around back then,” said Starscream, shrugging with a little fluff of his wings. “I can’t imagine any better way to make Megatron less attractive than to drape Ravage and Soundwave all over him,” he said with a little shudder. “But they went everywhere together for a while. You ever notice that Soundwave and Prime have almost identical helm crests and blast masks?" He paused to let that sink in, but not for long enough to give his opponent a chance to answer.

“I’m not going to sit around wondering if they all ever clanged each other at once, although that implication is almost certainly why that one poem Ravage wrote keeps getting reposted and then deleted from Autobuddies. This is not the important part of what I am trying to tell you, so save the details for your self-service bank if they’re so fascinating. The important part is that no matter who was clanging who, and who was in it for more of an amica thing, their breakup had a body count.”

“Really.” Fortress Maximus was beginning to look sceptical, rather than shocked.

“You’re talking to the idiot who watched it all go down, then thought he could waltz right into the space Orion Pax left empty and give the other two the little push I thought they’d need to lose themselves in each other and get out of my way.” Starscream mimed the push with a flick of his fingers. If only he’d known then how mindlessly loyal Soundwave was, and how fiercely the cat defended marked territory.

“Fine. What does this have to do with me?” Fortress Maximus growled.

“You ever get between people who aren’t done with each other yet, try to help one or more of them, and then they all turn on you?” Starscream asked with a faint ex-vented sigh. “No? Really? It figures. Ask any of the people who tried to get me away from Megatron back before I decided he wasn’t worth having. I’m amazed that Ravage finally figured it out. I didn’t think you could get anything out of that mouth once her teeth sank in.”

“I don’t want to bring Ravage in because of anything she did to Optimus.” Fortress Maximus rolled his optics. “I want my agent back!”

“Yeah, that’s not happening. You can’t get anything out of her mouth once her teeth sink in,” Starscream repeated wearily. “Not until she’s ready to spit it out. Soundwave will back her up till the end of time, because she’s all he’s got now to be mindlessly loyal to, and she put her collar on him long before Megatron did. Galvatron showed his aft like I could’ve told him he would and apparently she’s just as good at what she does as I am.”

“I didn’t know how old Blackcat was,” Fortress Maximus began.

Starscream just laughed. “Who cares?”

“I care!” Fortress Maximus said, and visibly had to restrain himself.

Starscream shrugged. “Blackcat was older than any of your MTOs. And Blackcat wasn’t in her right mind when she fucked off with Ravage, but if she changes her mind, I am sure she’ll turn up. Spinister gave you the instructions for repairing the Roboids. The lunatic must have practised on someone.”

“Ravage is keeping me from my actual work with these ridiculous demands. If I can’t bring her in, I want her out of our territory!”

Starscream smiled. Now who was being petulant? But somehow it actually made the big bot seem almost sympathetic. “I’m fairly sure that she wants the same thing. I wonder if leaving Megatron was her Act of Devotion.”

Fortress Maximus had to laugh. Starscream grinned at him. But it was a thin little grin. For some reason, Megatron had never hit Ravage. Not once.

“I could give her an offer of safe passage through the spacebridge at Iacon Spaceport,” Starscream drawled, leaning back for the decanter to refresh his glass. “I bet that entire ship could go through.”

“You’d waste the energon for that?” Fortress Maximus made a worse face than any of the ones he’d made previously, which…was actually sort of impressive.

“How much did you plan to waste chasing them?” Starscream leaned forward, in the cosy, conspiratorial way he’d lulled a lot of other people into trusting him before, and cocked his head to one side. “Just don’t tell Prime about it. I don’t want another episode of that holonovela to happen where I have to watch.”

“We could at least trade them back,” Fortress Maximus countered. “Don’t the Decepticons still have some of our people?”

“Not Soundwave, and no, I don’t think so. Soundwave would pay a ransom for her and that crew, but then he’d be in a really bad mood, because Prime already attempted to blackmail him, and that’s how Ravage ended up in your way in the first place.” Starscream picked up a rust stick and nibbled at it delicately, then shrugged and offered the rest of the box to Fortress Maximus. “Do you have any idea what Soundwave knows about you? I don’t, by the way. I’m just asking. I only have an idea what he knows about me.” Which was more than enough.

“Ravage was on Tebris VII because Prime blackmailed Soundwave?” Fortress Maximus accepted a rust stick, which he then proceeded to use in lieu of a fidget spinner. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I think she was there because Prime failed to blackmail Soundwave, which is never a good thing to try, and you can figure the rest of that out on your own,” said Starscream. “Soundwave is planning something. He’s probably been planning whatever it is for at least two thousand years, against just such a contingency as Galvatron’s put him in. Soundwave is as smart as Megatron thinks he is. I’d just as soon whatever he’s planning does not happen here. He can have the whole ghetto if he wants them; they can follow her through and they can be his problem. I don’t need any more Decepticon riots in Iacon.”

“Do you really think Soundwave will trust you with his conjunx?” Fortress Maximus asked, glancing out the window. “I don’t mean…well, maybe I do. I’m sure he believes you’re a traitor, too.”

“He’s thought that for at least three million years,” said Starscream. “But he’ll be on the other end of the controls, which means he’ll be interfaced with the whole fragging network, and he’s penetrated that spacebridge’s defences before.” He deliberately made it sound as dirty as possible, because he’d noticed Fortress Maximus found innuendo unsettling.

Fortress Maximus clearly had misgivings, but he ex-vented slowly, and Starscream knew he was giving up on the argument.

Starscream lifted his glass of high-grade and drained it. “To me. I fix everything.” He rolled his shoulders languidly. “But I want you to do what she and the Magnus both asked you to do. It’s reasonable. You can’t go keeping all of those people as if they were pets while Cerebros works on them, no matter how adorable you think they are. People will think you’re perverse. Their kith should be involved while they are getting the help that they need, and the transparency will be appreciated.”

He poured himself another drink. “Think of the public relations! There’s no bad way you can spin this. There are still people looking for some of them. You’re doing your job, you’re acknowledging your responsibility to both sides of the conflict, and you’re helping missing and murdered beastformers. Innocent people and their families. As opposed to being one of the people who’s actually helping Galvatron win, by chasing the five most pathetic Decepticons ever and Cybertron’s next poet laureate all over the sector and distracting Soundwave. If the Council actually does have to recognise the Decepticons, Soundwave’s a sad case, but he isn’t a fuckup.”

“And Grimlock?” Fortress Maximus finally said, looking uncomfortably convinced.

Starscream chuckled. “You really care if Soundwave gets another pity recruit? If you really think he wants to fight us, which I assure you he does not, consider this: Grimlock will cause him more trouble than we can, from this far away.”

Chapter Text

From Litanies For an Army of Lovers, by Ravage of Stanix:
(originally from the author's private correspondence)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You are not a god, but I will pray to you, and you will worship me.
We don’t need gods to save us. We will save ourselves.

I will pray to you with my mouth full of petals, my open valve and my shivering spark.
Spread me out across this common ground, the sovereignty of Destron,
And exalt me as the voice crying darkness and warmth
In the cold, unbearable, clinical light of the occupied world.

You were always and never will not be my sanctuary.

I am an animal but so are we all
I will sing the soft noises of lust, from the depths of the earth,
And the comforting darkness of wide open spaces.
I will lie on the forge of creation, and hope will flare out of me everywhere
And every light struck from my triumph and pain will take root in a guttering spark
And we will survive;
We are heat, and heat rises.

I knew her first in the dark when I heard her crying. Golden and warm and red with streaks of pain that split her apart and she wanted it over forever and that was the one thing that frightened me more than anything else did that day. She thought maybe the people she loved would be safe if she went away and it struck me then that she cared more for them than she did for her own life, a chance to be free, a chance to become, to be love, to be all of the warmth that wanted to burst up and out from inside of her, to free herself and everyone around her from the fear that was the worst of the place we were in. I had seen her dance once before, and loved her in her joy; but then I came to know her in her pain.

After that she disappeared, and I was told that she got her wish; that she'd actually died. I began to forget that I was an I and she was a she and people were people and fell into inescapable light and noise. They cast me down from that height and into a darker place. There I was always defenceless when I was an I, and that was when I stopped trying to be.

But then the day came when I felt the pain in her body and the grief in her heart and the fear but also the everything building up and ready to blossom and spring and pounce on the world. That day I was her and I wanted to fix it all for her but I couldn’t fix myself, couldn’t move, even starving and knowing I had to move, where could I go, there was no space anywhere, the whole world was full of colours and numbers and screaming.

She came down the road in a betterer, bitterer mood, enter stage left surrounded by birds, there were two, one was laughing and brilliant, and one was a smudge of black tar on a rusty fence, waiting for something weaker to fall on his barbs.

And she was he and he was she and she was still golden and only the dullest memory of pain was inside and I reached for her and she seemed to remember me too and she asked me my name and I told him her name was Ravage and then she climbed up to touch my face and I couldn’t remember my name and the birds clicked and laughed and told stories and offered no bargains but she took my hand and led me inside and made me drink from a cube and said this is how you must do it, pick out just one thing, and I knew in that moment that she was the just one thing, the one just thing, the only thing, and I would be an I because she was an I and she needed an I to be with the I that she was and there was a spiralling fractal whirling out of my chest and it wanted to wrap around her, it wanted to keep her safe.

And she said later on silly mech, you can’t even keep yourself safe, that’s my job for now, but as long as you want you can be with me here, I know you are pretty and lost and belong to someone much better than me, but they haven’t taken good care of you and I only ask that when you can live in the world without it living in you, remember me kindly and look upon people like me as the same kind of spark that pulses in you—

and I told her, yes—
Yes, yes, I will always remember you
Yes I will never forget you

I don’t care where I came from, you are the only matter that matters, you are the one fixed point and around you everything else falls into its place
And you are so beautiful, all I could ever ask from this life would be to be home to you.

And then she kissed my forehead with a jangle of bright bells and wove her hands around my face and sang a song in words that purred and growled and howled, and everything was new again, and I stood up and for the first time there was space in me for me, within her.

And then when she opened the door and an acid rain fell from the sky and she howled out some old, burning rage and I felt it all swirling around her, the secrets they filled her up with and forbade her to speak, and I put my hands upon her cheeks, upon her muzzle and I cracked them all, falling like ashes, fluttering as they died, and then she said: this is my love, it is all I have left, and I finally shut them all out in order to wrap myself around her, a blanket of data and whispers, and music, and then I remembered that music was order and time, and I found the music inside me that all of the screaming shut off, and I let her thread herself through it and sing to me.

Chapter Text

Krok had pulled another chair up in front of his desk so I could sit next to him, and Viridian had sprawled across both of our laps while we discussed the last leg of our voyage home with everyone else involved.

“It won’t take that much longer to get to Jupiter if I take a straight shot at it,” Krok said, frowning.

“I know,” said Soundwave. “What I don’t know is where Galvatron, Blackrock or Skywarp are at this moment in time. And neither does Thundercracker or Marissa. They could have left the system, or they could have figured out a way to hide from me. Everyone knows you’re one of my people now, Krok. You’ll be safer here, and there’s plenty of work for you.”

Krok nodded. “For the sake of transparency, I’ve sworn myself to her. Given the situation, I didn’t and don’t think you’d find that a conflict of interest.”

Soundwave laughed softly. “I am sworn to Ravage myself.” I pressed my fingers to the screen, and so did he. Again, I felt that slight pulse of energy through the screen.

“The two of you are something more together than the sum of what each of you is separately. But I suppose you know that already,” said Krok.

Fortress Maximus was gritting his dentae on the right top quarter of the screen, looking pointedly at Viridian, who even more pointedly wasn’t looking at him. On the right bottom quarter of the screen, Starscream, who had been drinking high-grade with drops of mercury swirling around in it, made an elaborate show of yawning, his thruster heels crossed on the top of his desk.

“I’m sorry, did we forget to pay attention to you for two minutes?” I asked, shaking my head. “You already know we’re grateful for your help.”

“Doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy hearing you say it over and over,” Starscream sighed into his drink. “I can’t believe you thought I still had a grudge against you, Ravage.”

“You’re not exactly known for your forgiving nature,” I said, “and I did until very recently have a three-foot scar on my right flank that you put there in what seemed like a heartfelt effort to remove me from the universe permanently.”

“You’re not known for your forgiving nature either,” said Starscream. “But you and I have absolutely nothing left to fight about…and if either of us had the slightest minim of sense, we would have known that centuries ago. And I do want Sanctuary on the Council, eventually. I want the Warworlds, too, but as the individual worlds they are. You and Soundwave don’t get to vote for everyone else who still wears the purple.”

“We don’t need to,” said Soundwave, and I saw the conviction in him that I’d loved when we were all young, before he’d decided Megatron knew better than we did just because more people followed him.

I nodded. “If I speak truth to and for Destron, then granting those who follow us their own votes can hardly disadvantage us.”

“He’s trying to tell you that Destron is not a thing,” Fortress Maximus grumbled.

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Fortress Maximus,” said Starscream. “I don’t care about Destron. I care about the Council. One world, one vote. The only reason you’re here is to give your word that not only will you not pursue the Weak Anthropic Principle while it traverses the Hadeen system, you will, in fact, also ensure that nobody else does, because you want this kind lady and all of her people out of your disputed jurisdiction as much as they want you off their empennage.”

When Starscream said ‘all’, Viridian looked up lazily at Fortress Maximus and yawned, then tucked her head back down.

“You and Rung have convinced me to give my word, so I am giving it, and I will thank them not to question that I’ll keep it,” Fortress Maximus half-growled.

“I don’t need thanks,” said Krok. “I’m satisfied that I’m going to know exactly where you are until we’re gone.”

I was curious; I hadn’t spoken more than ten words directly to Reng, though he’d been present when Megatron questioned me to make sure I was really me. But the person I wanted to ask about that was Rang himself.

“I’m not asking questions,” I said. “My primary concern, in dealing with you, is the hundreds of people whose disappearances and potential deaths have been ignored, for who knows how long. If Rong’s standing up about that, give him my thanks.”

“I have agreed to comply with Ultra Magnus’ request—and yours—regarding the people we recovered on Tebris VII and their kith, Lady Ravage,” Fortress Maximus replied. I wondered how much it had cost him to call me ‘Lady’.

“Thank you.” I smiled, a little shakily. “Again, this is no more about me than it is about Ultra Magnus. I’m sure he’d tell you it’s just the right thing to do.”

Soundwave looked like he was about to choke on his coolant. I kissed my fingertips and pressed them to his mask on the screen, while Krok made a face at me and muttered something unhappy about germs.

“If you’re going to tell jokes I’m not in on, I might have to sulk,” said Starscream, “so don’t, you two.”

“The joke is Decepticons making pronouncements about right and wrong,” Fortress Maximus grumbled, “but I’ve said my piece—”

“Repeatedly.” Starscream smiled. “Are we all then agreed?”

“Affirmative,” said Soundwave. Krok and I looked at each other and nodded.

“Let’s get it over with,” said Fortress Maximus.

“Miss you,” said Soundwave, looking straight through my optics and into my spark, and all I could do was nod back at him.

Then, he looked directly at Viridian. “You too…my daughter.” Viridian chuffed and pawed at his face onscreen, and I could feel him grinning in my own spark.

Fortress Maximus signed off without another word.

Starscream just sighed. “Predictable,” he said, glancing at me, “but at least you got to pick this one.”

“Starscream: still trying to conclude an alliance?” I could almost feel the slight curve of Soundwave’s mouth under his mask.

Starscream rolled his optics and laughed. “You two have both come further than I would have ever imagined,” he finally said. “Just don’t tell me you’d probably say the same thing about me, and everything will be fine.”

Well, it was true, but I wouldn’t have. I do have some sense of self-preservation.

That night, when I went to recharge, Misfire and Grimlock trapped me between them again, and Viridian laid herself out on top of me. “You ready for the thrill ride to be over, Cat? Because I’m not sure I am.”

“Me Grimlock will miss sneaky cat.”

I nodded. “You’re going to be on Sanctuary with the rest of us, at least for a while. Krok…”

“I don’t want to fight,” Misfire said, suddenly. “I’m not saying I don’t want to help—”

I kissed his cheek. “I understand the difference,” I said quietly. “You don’t have to, you know. Krok’s the one you’re going to have to explain things to. I know he’s going to expect you all to be his officers, and Spin’s the obvious choice for his CMO, but… there is so much work to be done at the Station, and a lot of it, I think, is the sort of thing you’d prefer.”

“I know your air force probably isn’t what Galvatron’s is…” Misfire’s voice trailed off.

“Soundwave wants to win,” I said, teasing him a little. “And more to the point, we’re not going to fight in the Earth’s atmosphere unless Galvatron forces us to.” I vented out slowly, trying not to think too hard about that just yet. I wanted to think I was going home to be married, but the truth was, I was going home to a fight.

“And what if he does?”

I shrugged. “Well, ignoring the fact that we’re supposed to be fucking pacifists. Because that doesn’t mean we’re going to just roll over for Galvatron, especially not after what he just tried to have done to me. Still, we have Slipstream and Needlenose, and Red Wing and Acid Storm came through as Galvatron’s people, but they weren’t down with it when Soundwave told them what Galvatron had planned. They signed on with us, and I think we have some of the other Storms, but Soundwave’s the one keeping track of all that. We’re not going to conscript people into work that doesn’t suit them. Some old guy I used to know told me once or a few thousand times that form does not dictate function.”

Misfire vented out relief, and he even started to say something, but then he got pre-empted.

“I want to fight,” said Grimlock, looking down at us in a moment of clarity, and his arms tightened around all of us. I looked up into his optics; he was seeing us, the three of us, but he was also seeing the warehouse on Tebris. And possibly whatever he’d seen on Garrus-9 that he couldn’t tell us about. Viridian must have known too, because she made a loud, raucous miaow, and she put her paw on his cheek, and then she licked his nose.

“I know,” I told him, before Misfire could say anything. “I was there. But you’re hurt. And people aren’t going to stop hating us everywhere in the universe, just because we win the Solar System. Right now, the most important thing you can do to frag them all up is get better.” I stroked his cheek. “My conjunx is such a powerful idealist, it’s actually funny that I’m the Voice and he’s the Protector. He wants peace more than anything else, except possibly me. And so do I. But you and I, we know the truth. There’s always going to be another fight.”

“I wish you were wrong,” Misfire said, quietly.

“So do I,” I replied, and then I laughed. “Soundwave believes that I am. I really want him to be right.”

“I’m glad you do,” said Misfire, and hugged me. “Enough people have died.”

I rested my head on his huge chest and sighed. He wasn’t wrong, but why were so many of them always the wrong ones?

It had been thousands of years since I’d last seen the lights of Iacon’s spaceport, and they weren’t what I remembered, but really, what was?

Starscream came out there to meet me; he appeared to be alone, though I was sure he had guards. He walked, unconsciously, as though he had a companion I couldn’t see; I half-expected him to reach for the other party's hand at one point while he picked his way through the gathering around our ship. I would really have liked to ask him about it, but there was a throng of Decepticons surrounding us. I hoped they were all there for the right reasons.

I thought the crown suited him this time. The cape certainly made me feel better; it gave me the sense that at least he didn’t expect to have to transform in a hurry.

“I’m surprised to see you in person,” I said, as Krok ran systems checks and Misfire came over to tower over Starscream and make it clear that I was under protection, with Fulcrum behind him.

“I’m surprised to see you in person, especially looking like this,” Starscream said. “If anyone tells you that standing on two legs is selling out, they’re full of slag, but you know that, right?”

“I’d intended to spend more time as a quadruped,” I admitted with a sigh, “but I got tired of having to wash my hands five times as often as everyone else, and it’s easier to carry things this way. You know it is going to look absolutely terrible for you to come out here and talk to me, don’t you?”

“Hardly,” Starscream said with a sniff. “I’m putting an end to civil unrest and cleaning up the city. Do you see me kneeling to you or swearing myself to your service?”

“No,” I said quietly, “but I’m not one of the people who’s going to be looking for that.”

“Please,” said Starscream, with a flip of his wrist, as if he could banish the thought with his own hand. “All of those people have me put down for one of Galvatron’s, not one of yours. They can’t decide if Soundwave’s playing a long game or has just gone insane, and they say the predictable things about you, because they don’t understand that the difference between them and Galvatron is how much distance they like to pretend they can put between themselves and the slaughter.”

I snorted. “It does sound as though you might support me,” I said after a long moment.

“You’re the most interesting thing that’s happened to the Decepticon movement in a very long time,” Starscream shrugged. “What Galvatron’s doing is boring and stupid. The Prime already has plans in place to deal with him. I don’t know if you can pre-empt him, but it would be funny if you did.”

I laughed out loud. “Can you tell me what he’s planning?”

“I can tell you it’s stupid,” said Starscream. “I’m letting Windblade deal with him, so I don’t know the details, but you and Soundwave should probably know that ‘one world, one vote’ is actually intended to protect you as much as it is to control your influence, or anyone else’s for that matter. Sanctuary and Earth are in the same system, but if Cybertron and Luna get separate votes, then so do Earth and Sanctuary.”

I frowned. “Is there anyone left on Earth who even listens to him anymore? I thought the EDC was allied with us. Which is also hilarious, when you think about that, but Soundwave won’t actually frag them sideways. Galvatron would do it just to see their expressions.”

Starscream shrugged. “If Galvatron had done what he intended to do, there would probably be a few people there willing to hear him out, but Soundwave stopped him.” He looked up at the sky for a moment. “I knew how Soundwave felt about a lot of things for eons. We all did. A lot of people thought you were the reason that Soundwave stayed loyal and Megatron kept putting up with his quiet dissent. I’m not even sure they were wrong any more. But most of those people didn’t think you had any plans of your own.”

I shrugged. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I didn’t.”

Starscream laughed out loud. “Stop deceiving yourself.”

“Megatron said something to me once that sounded a Pit of a lot like that,” I told him. “But I never meant to be here.”

Starscream made a face when I mentioned Megatron, but then he finally said what I thought might have been on his mind: “I made a mistake when I tried to kill you.”

I raised one brow ridge. “That almost sounds like an apology.”

“It’s as close as anyone ever gets,” Starscream said flatly. “I’m interested in seeing what you do. Go home and do it. Entertain me.” Then he handed me a package. “Don’t open it here,” he said, leaning over. “It might be misinterpreted by some of those idiots we were talking about.”

“All right,” I said, and grinned. “After all, it’s not ticking.”

Starscream snorted. “As if a bomb I had made would ever tick,” he said, shaking his head. “Speaking of Prime, you had better go before he finds out about this and decides to show up.”

I glanced over my shoulder. Krok was beckoning me back to the ship. “I hope you enjoy the show,” I told him, and headed for the boarding ramp again.

“Break a leg!” Starscream yelled, and as soon as I was on board, the space bridge opened before us.

The package he’d given me held a circlet of black trithyllium, the darkest metal there is, with rubies and amethysts on the sharp, silver edged, lightning-like points. The note wasn’t signed. It only said, In case the Communist you’re marrying forgot you’d need one.

When everyone stopped laughing, though (and after Spinister had examined it), Krok put it on my head. And I wondered how Screamer had managed to have it made to fit me perfectly.

Chapter Text

Soundwave was more nervous than he’d expected to be, and he couldn’t stop staring at himself in the mirror of his private washrack; so, of course, Buzzsaw noticed. “What’re you moping about, Boss?” The aviform couldn’t make much of a face—the features that he and his sister had been given weren’t very expressive—but he gave it an honest go. “She’s coming home. Today. And you just had your paint redone. You look fine.”

Soundwave nodded and grinned, his exposed face doubtlessly bright with the hot energon flush of joy that rose up from his spark at the thought of Ravage back in his home, in his arms, in his life. “Correct.”

“So let Howler and the rest of us take care of the new arrivals, you know we’ll do a good job, and go fuel up, because you’re gonna need the energy. You’re gonna get fantastically laid, which you’ve been needing for a good long time. Don’t worry about your paint. She’s gonna put claw marks in all of that pretty new paint, and you’re not even going to want to buff ‘em out, because they’re gonna make you grin like the smug bastard you are every time you or anyone else takes a good long look at ‘em. The rest of us are competent to handle whatever else comes up.”

Soundwave rolled his optics. He hadn’t hesitated to let Glit and Medika remove the coding that bound his family’s will to his own, but he had forgotten what Buzzsaw’s mouth was like before they’d been made cassettes. “Buzzsaw: oddly preoccupied with my sexual life. With his sibling.”

“Buzzsaw’s invested in seeing you both happy for once, genius.” Buzzsaw rolled his optics. “Besides, the four of us used to live in one room, with a washrack and a recycler down at the end of the hall that we shared with ten other mechs. I mostly managed to avoid watching you clang my sister, but only because you usually went up to the roof for that. I’ve still seen her with her legs wrapped around you when you thought we were in recharge, and the whole slagged building heard her yowling loud enough to wake the Sparkless. And for over four million years, I have been very aware that we’re all a lot happier when that happens on a regular basis.”

Soundwave burst into helpless laughter, because he couldn’t even remotely deny it.

“Long-distance spark-sex with dirty talk not really equal to actually being hilted all up in her valve?” Buzzsaw snorted. “Who would have ever guessed that? If I were you I’d go and blow off some charge so you don’t come all over her before she unlocks her panels.”

“Requesting subject change,” Soundwave said briskly. Then he sighed. “Have not informed Ravage of the twins’ disappearance.”

Buzzsaw rolled his optics. “Stop worrying about the Terror Twins. You know they’re too salty to die. The Allspark’ll spit’em right out.”

“Don’t want to tell her that they’re gone. Don’t want to upset her. But what if she’s not?” Soundwave was only occasionally miffed that Ravage was far less interested in some of his other operatives than she was in her own siblings. The other cassettes had all been fully adult, and even though he had clearly seen that they needed support and care, a lot of them had been dumped in Soundwave’s lap whether anyone liked it or not. And Ravage hadn’t liked it.

Soundwave understood that. But he was excited about mentoring Ravage’s newfound offspring. Even though Viridian was not an adult, and came from Ravage’s germline, which made things different…he still sometimes wished that Ravage had felt that way about more of the other cassettes.

Soundwave knew that Rumble and Frenzy had been pushed on them by Megatron at a time when Ravage had very much not wanted more cassettes around; they’d still been learning how to live with each other as carrier and cassette while maintaining the autonomy and agency necessary for them to continue being lovers. He also knew that the twins had, at times, retaliated to her irritation with their general existence in her personal space by devoting an inordinate amount of energy toward pranking her, although they draped themselves all over her and apologised profusely when they sensed they’d crossed the line and actually hurt her.

It was…concerning…that Buzzsaw didn’t laugh and scoff at his concern.

Well, not immediately. “She does love the little pestilences,” Buzzsaw finally said. “But she’ll agree with me that Primus won’t want them and Unicron will be afraid of them.”

Soundwave relaxed a little, but then he ex-vented. “They helped me construct this place,” he said, cautiously. “If Galvatron really has them…we’re fragged.” Once the cassetticon obedience coding had been removed from them, the twins had started volunteering for missions on Earth, where they weren’t so bored. They’d said they were spying on Galvatron, but they’d stopped sending anything back a while ago.

“You were the one who decided to delete the cassetticon coding,” Buzzsaw reminded him, philosophically. “I still think it was a bad idea to do it without even thinking about whether or not we were suited to make all of our own decisions. I do have artistic impulses, and now I can’t even play with the humans—”

Buzzsaw’s surface thoughts welled up in a blur of spilt blood and energon, destruction and pain.

“Desist. I did as you asked and left myself a failsafe switch with you. But I don’t like it.” Soundwave did not want those thoughts in his head. Not ever. Especially not right now. “Are you trying to ruin my reunion with Ravage?”

Surprisingly, Buzzsaw stopped thinking about murder and torture. “No,” he said after a moment. “No, you two deserve to have at least one whole good day. So don’t ruin it, genius. That thing where you want to recount your offences against her and ask for forgiveness? It’s not a good plan. She already forgave you. She wouldn’t be coming back if she hadn’t.”

“If I don’t clear the registry, those stalled processes will resurface at a more inconvenient time.”

“So do it three days from now,” Buzzsaw replied. “Put it on your calendar. I don’t think what either of you needs right now is to talk. I know my sister, and what she needs from you right now is for you to do that thing that makes her engines backfire. Repeatedly. And no. Don’t tell me what it is.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Soundwave snapped. The backfiring had actually worried him when they were younger; it couldn’t possibly have been good for her physically, even though he could feel the pleasure that sparked through her entire chassis when it happened. Ravage hadn’t done it since she’d been put into a cassette, but now she had an engine again… And he needed to stop thinking about that before his spike pressurised.

“Query: where’s Howlback?” Even if Buzzsaw were a completely reliable source of relationship advice, which he was definitely not, he needed to know if Howlback was adequately prepared for the number of refugees that were liable to follow the W.A.P. through the spacebridge.

“I don’t know.” Buzzsaw ex-vented, irritably. “Look. For what it’s worth, I don’t think the brats betrayed you. They took that mission from Galvatron because they get bored out here. So do I. I’ve considered pretending to sell you out so I could go down there and make some masterpieces while I spy on them for you, but I wouldn’t ever actually betray you, because even though I thought you were a great big energon leech when I first met you, you bought us out from under Ratbat, you actually have protected our family successfully for millions of years, and you always treated my sister with all the respect a conjunx is due, even when you legally owned us. You should have bonded with her eons ago, and I don’t want to hear you say that she couldn’t say no. She said yes to you long before that development.”

“And yet,” Soundwave snapped, even more irritably, “I did manage to abuse that coding and harm her without even meaning to, Buzzsaw!”

Soundwave had offered all past and present cassettes the upgrades Ravage had had—or similar ones appropriate to their frametypes—as soon as Ratchet had sent him the information about what he’d done, shortly after he’d left the Lost Light—and it had brought even more people to Sanctuary, including the entire cohort of the Cobalt Sentries, who had quietly and unobtrusively walked away from the DJD at the end of the war. Buzzsaw had insisted on leaving Soundwave a failsafe switch, and Glit had decided to remain at a human-compatible size; but the obedience coding had been removed from them all.

And then Soundwave had seen the former cassettes’ true personalities change and emerge after repairs. So he knew what he’d done to his mate, the love of his life, without even meaning to—over and above the order to take Megatron’s life, if he wouldn’t return to the cause.

“You didn’t know,” said Buzzsaw. “You had every reason to believe that by refraining from giving orders outside of operational necessities, you would preserve her free agency—and ours. You didn’t realise that we’d be unconsciously taking in data regarding your preferences, or hiding things from you in order not to upset you.”

Soundwave slammed his fist into the sink so hard that it hurt his servos and the wall made a creaky noise around the bolts that held it up, because he was suddenly in the grip of his own rage, and it was a rage he couldn’t direct at anyone but himself. Because Ratbat was dead, though not for as long as he ought to have been. And he should have known better.

“Ratbat knew! That’s part of why he chose this for us—he’s been using me to continue abusing her, for the past four million years! He said this would ruin our relationship, and I laughed at him, because I didn’t realise—”

Buzzsaw groaned and his surface thoughts were replaced by jangled static. Soundwave ducked, but not fast enough; the next thing he felt—and saw—was the crash of a bright yellow wing on the side of his helm. “Stop it, you fragging idiot! He didn’t ruin anything! We’re fine now, and she’s coming back!”

Soundwave glared up at him, fist clenched as combat protocols engaged, but he knew it was Buzzsaw and overrode them. “I want to acknowledge that, so she knows I know what I’ve done, and she knows for sure that she’s safe now, before I take her again!”

Buzzsaw ex-vented, slowly. “Whatever you do,” he said, “do not bring up Ratbat.”

Soundwave nodded. He wasn’t the idiot Buzzsaw believed him to be. He hadn’t planned to mention their former owner by name. “I’m grateful that she still wants me, even after I gave her a wholly unconscionable order. I want her to know that.”

“She does know that,” said Buzzsaw.

Soundwave nodded, and then he finally said it out loud: “And I also want her to know that even though Megatron and you and the rest of your siblings and the Scavengers and the Cobalt Sentries and Deathsaurus and Esmeral and everyone else on our side except Cosmos wants her to do the Conjunx Ritus with me, she can still say no if she wants to!”

They’d been calling each other conjunxes since she’d decided to come home, but they hadn’t even specified which of their many acts they would choose to declare their acts of Intimacy, Disclosure, Profference or Devotion. He needed to know that she really wanted to make it official. He could imagine the amount of good-natured pressure that all of their families, friends and allies were exerting upon her. And Ravage had been manipulated enough.

Buzzsaw ex-vented, heavily. “Fine, genius. But after you do that, and she tells you how stupid you are for ever thinking she doesn’t want to do this, I expect to hear backfiring!”

“You’re not hearing anything,” Soundwave snapped, inspecting his knuckles for hairline cracks. There weren’t any. Good. “You and Laserbeak are staying with Howlback and Garboil tonight, and Ravage says that Viridian’s staying with Misfire and Grimlock.”

Buzzsaw erupted into cackling. “Okay. You’re not as stupid as I thought you were.”

Soundwave tossed a crumpled snack wrapper at him, rolling his optics so hard he was sure it was visible through his visor. “I don’t think she doesn’t want to frag me. She’s been making it very clear to me that she wants my spike as soon as we get behind lockable doors, and I don’t even plan to disappoint her. I don’t think she wants to break up. I just want her to know that swearing herself to me for the rest of our lives is still optional.”

“I still think the smart way to go on that is to remind her why she really does want to make those vows, preferably with at least three full-system overloads, before you give her a long list of reasons not to. But you do you, genius. You always do.” Buzzsaw shrugged.

Soundwave strode out of the washrack, sat down at the table near the energon dispenser, and poured himself a finger of high-grade, mixing it into a glass of coolant and normal energon, annoyed beyond measure. He could’ve told Buzzsaw to leave, and yet…hearing these things was unpleasant, but once they were said, he felt better. “Ravage’s fully informed, unimpaired and enthusiastic consent is more precious to me than anything, and given that it may have been four million years since I’ve actually had it, it’s also the thing I want most. And I want it an awful lot more than I just want to frag her.”

“If you think I want you to hurt my sister you really have had a processor failure,” Buzzsaw grumbled. “I just think her informed, unimpaired and enthusiastic consent is strongly implied by her actions, particularly since those actions happen to include using ridiculous amounts of bandwidth having commsex with you.”

Soundwave sipped his energon. “It bothers me that you don’t understand my concerns,” he said, although he really didn’t need to be thinking about Buzzsaw’s sexual interests—if he even had any, which Soundwave doubted—right now.

“Laserbeak, Garboil and I don’t even have proper interface arrays,” Buzzsaw reminded him, irritated.

The aviforms, like the feliforms, were experimental models which had been designed—designed to work as partners to the feliforms, in fact. But while the feliforms’ frame-types had been adapted from Quintesson-era models designed to desire and enjoy sexual interfacing, the aviforms didn’t even have the arrays for it in their alt-modes; the mass and flexibility required to produce spikes and valves had been deemed extraneous to their function. But there were other ways to interface.

During cassettification, they had been mode-locked as birds, and their frames had been further stripped to the minimal specifications needed to sustain their neural nets, ability to fly, and ability to see as well over long distances as they did close up; they had minimal fuel tanks and functioned best on fuel so highly refined it made other mechanoids wildly intoxicated. Cassettification reversal had given them back root modes, of a sort, but neither Laserbeak nor Buzzsaw had chosen to have root mode sexual function restored.

“You have cables and ports specifically designed for interrogation,” Soundwave countered. “Despite my telepathy, you are far more efficient interrogators than I am.”

“Yes. Because I don’t have to experience all the emotional content of the memories I’m rifling through,” said Buzzsaw. “And I’d be fragging useless if I had your morals, genius. If I had the drive for connection that you and Ravage have, I’d be a menace to society, but I don’t. I can absolutely get into another person’s neural nets and memory banks, but I have no emotional or physical need to do that, it’s just work. So I’m not.”

Soundwave sighed into his energon.

“Just because I understand that you and Ravage have needs doesn’t mean I have those needs,” Buzzsaw said quietly. “It means I’ve been observing you both for over four million years. When the two of you don’t do it, more often with each other than with anyone else, and preferably at least as often as you recharge, you both suffer, and so do the rest of us.”

Soundwave snorted, and he didn’t mean to voice the bitterness that followed; it just came up out of him like a fuel purge. “What? You’re going to tell me that when I’ve been missing or elsewhere deployed, she wasn’t just fine with Megatron?”

Buzzsaw’s immediate response was to cackle in a manner that very nearly activated Soundwave’s combat protocols, and he was still cross when he finally killed that process. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s funny that you never asked about that before, because you’ve been suffering for nothing,” Buzzsaw retorted. “They’re not good for each other that way.”

Soundwave snorted again. He knew that while Ravage loved him the most, and always had, there was something about Megatron that just…turned her on. Not that he didn’t. He knew he did. But he’d never expected anyone else to be able to get her that hot, no matter how strong the drives built into her had been.

“No, really,” said Buzzsaw. “I know they have an erotic connection, but interfacing doesn’t make them happier people, the way it does with you and her. When you’re gone, they try to comfort each other, because he misses you too—I bet he does even now—but they don’t always succeed. Sometimes they just make each other crazier. The two of you together used to be good for him without losing the ability to settle and balance each other as well, but you only think you’re propelled by rage, and they actually are.”

Soundwave badly wanted to argue with that. But when he actually considered it, he realised that when Ravage had been ‘facing them both separately, she had sometimes needed more from him, not less. The day she’d given herself to Megatron to distract him from his murderous rage at Glit had been followed by one of the most intense nights she’d ever spent with him, and even then he had known, on some level, that he was repairing the damage she’d taken by pulling the pain out of Megatron and into herself.

Buzzsaw shrugged, his wings flaring and settling. “She is not as good a brake on him as you think she is, and when she’s in pain because she misses you, she rarely bothers. When you’re not around she’s an open wound. And when she’s not around…were you fine with just Megatron? No, you were not. That’s why people like Jazz and Cosmos are drawn to you, genius.”

Soundwave groaned into his energon and finished it. Then he drank another glass of coolant straight, because he was Soundwave, and he was always overclocked, except…. Except sometimes, when Ravage was with him. “If she needs me that much, though…that doesn’t make my hurting her better.”

That was a new sting of guilt. He knew he needed her. Enough to wonder whether he was really capable of respecting her agency if he didn’t give her the chance to turn on her heel and walk away. It hadn’t occurred to him that Ravage might need him as much as he needed her.

Buzzsaw groaned. “She knows what you did or she wouldn’t have stayed away for so long. She already handled it. She got Ratchet to fix it so you couldn’t, anymore. She knows exactly what you did to her, and she’s still coming back, because she knows you weren’t trying to do it.”

“Except for the once,” Soundwave repeated.

“Except for the once. When Megatron finally made it clear that he never understood you at all. By deciding that he needed to go to the slagging Autobots to find decency, when you were right here all along,” Buzzsaw snarled, contemptuously. “Do you really think she blames you for wanting to know she was yours in the heat of that moment? Because I don’t. It was the part where she might have to kill him that she objected to. If you’d just asked her not to go back to him…”

Soundwave shrugged. “You’d all still have slave coding and I wouldn’t even know how awful it was.”

“Right,” said Buzzsaw, who headed for the door of the habsuite. “I’m going to go and help Howlback and Garboil. Meanwhile, stop brooding about all the mistakes you’ve made when today’s the day you start fixing them. And also stop staring at yourself in every reflective surface you pass, including that cube. You look just fine. And she already knows what you look like. You’re the one who’s getting a surprise.”

Chapter Text

We only got to Sanctuary first because a spaceship moves faster than a horde of people can walk, drive or fly—and also because we could dock directly with the space station. Krok debarked first. “As a precaution,” he’d said, and I knew he meant it, but I thought he was being a bit silly. If I wasn’t safe on Sanctuary Station, I wasn’t safe anywhere.

I followed Krok down the ramp, Viridian padding along at my side. Soundwave’s field and mind reached out for me even before my optics registered the sight of him: freshly repainted, buffed and waxed, not that he needed it, and for some reason, missing his blast mask.

It’s been far too long since I’ve kissed you, he said in my mind. I had never seen anyone more beautiful. I watched him greet Krok, wrapped in the loving, dark warmth of his extended EM field. He kept stealing glances at me, and also at Viridian. Krok noticed too, and made his pleasantries brief.

Soundwave walked up to the end of the ramp to meet me. He was beaming, golden optics shining through his visor. The scent of him filled up my intakes, drenching my nasal and vomeronasal sensors, and the only word I had for what I was feeling was…whole again.

Soundwave rested his huge hands on my shoulders. I stepped a bit closer. I was a little taller than I’d been when we’d first met, before they’d cut me down. But I was still not tall enough to kiss him, only to rest my hands on his shoulders and look up at him hopefully. The top of the door in his chest was just about level with the tips of my ears.

Soundwave lifted me, wrapping one arm around my waist and sliding the other one under my aft, cupping the side of my thigh just under the missile bay, until my face was slightly higher than his, so I could lean over, cross my arms behind his neck, and kiss him without the tape deck getting in the way. At first he pressed his lip-plates lightly to mine, and then he arched his neck to kiss my forehead. The third kiss was passionate; he opened his mouth against my muzzle, and once our mouths were sealed well enough that it wouldn’t seem lewd to everyone else, he slid his glossa over mine and kissed me so hungrily that I felt it all the way through my neural net, spreading throughout my body and pooling in my abdomen behind my panels. There were no formed thoughts in our joined minds, just a wave of emotion—missed you-love you-need you—want you—neverletmegoagain—

But we were not alone, so that was as far as it went. Soundwave took a step or two away to let the other Scavengers debark. Misfire, Grimlock, Fulcrum, Spinister and Crankcase were cheering as they came down the ramp. So was Laserbeak, whom I hadn’t yet seen, but could hear. People all over the docks, some of them people I probably didn’t even know, were applauding, whistling, and laughing good-naturedly, shouting out things like “Go Soundwave!” and “All Hail Cybercatastrophe!”

Soundwave kept kissing me. I didn’t want him to stop, and we didn’t need to breathe. We had multiple air intakes and vents. He’d pull back for a moment to kiss my forehead, my cheeks, or my eyelids, but then he’d kiss my mouth again and I would open it and everything else dissolved into glittering darkness and warmth and the knowledge that I had come home.

Where is your recharge slab, and how fast can we get there? was the first coherent thought that I managed. I was aching inside, and the only cure for that ache was behind the button marked PLAY. If he didn’t get me horizontal soon I was afraid I’d flood his room when my panels unlocked; I wasn’t sure how I didn’t manage to have lubricant smearing my thighs already.

And then, before he could even show me the room in his mind, Viridian let out a loud miaow.

We broke the kiss; when I looked down, she was standing on her hindlegs, forepaws on his leg. Everyone—everyone! laughed. Except one person. There was only one unhappy EM field on the whole dock surrounding our slip, and it belonged to a round-bodied green-and-gold mech with a red Autobot badge and a red helm, who looked at me like I was the harbinger of Unicron. I felt sad for Cosmos, and slightly guilty for forgetting about Viridian, but I couldn’t regret anything.

Later! someone thought loudly, and then I realised that the someone had been Viridian, and then I was too shocked to be annoyed. Since when had she been a telepath?

Soundwave shifted my weight to the arm that was under my aft and lifted Viridian up. For the first time, I noted how much like his her yellow optics were, and wondered (not for the first or even the millionth time) exactly what the fuck Shockwave had thought he was doing. This time, it was because I knew he had access to both of our CNA and could have used Soundwave’s code when he made her. I’d assumed that Shockwave had used his own CNA, because she clearly wasn’t an exact clone of me, but Shockwave wasn’t a telepath, and apparently Viridian was.

Soundwave was processing all of these thoughts right along with me, and I was pretty sure Viridian could hear them too. Finally, Soundwave said—out loud, as well as in our minds— “As far as I am concerned, you are my daughter too, no matter who provided the rest of your code. But I won’t be surprised if I learn it was me.” He kissed her on the forehead.

Viridian pawed at his tape deck. I’d suspected she had a cassette alt, but I’d never seen her transform.

“Later,” said Soundwave gently. “After I spend some time with your mother, and after I can be sure that it won’t impair your free will, you’ll be welcome to rest there. But I need to spend time with your mother in order to give you the full attention you deserve.”

I smiled at the plaintiveness in his voice. I was pretty sure his spike wanted out.

Viridian chuffed at him, rolling her optics affectionately. NEED TO REPORT!

Soundwave groaned, his field a muddle of general worry, paternal concern, and frustrated lust. I knew he was going to give in—he always did, in situations like this—so we might as well get it over with. But why did she need to report to Soundwave? He’d never met her before! I was suddenly concerned that someone out there might have recorded a virus on her, possibly even before she’d ended up on Tebris VII—a payload they’d meant to deliver to Soundwave. But he didn’t think so, dismissing the thought almost as soon as it popped into my consciousness.

Soundwave opened the door in his chest, and let her climb into his deck, curl up, and transform. I watched the tape spooling and spinning, and I felt concern, worry, fear, anger and rage spool and spin through Soundwave’s field. At least there had not been a virus. I wasn’t sure how he had known that there wouldn’t be. I didn’t know if this was an interminably long report, or if it just felt that way.

I just tried not to be irritated at being valve-blocked by another cassette yet again, especially since this one was apparently our daughter. Eventually, she did begin to rewind, and he began to purge those other emotions out of his field. She’s here with us now, and safe, I sent to him. Was there really anything urgent?

Viridian stilled in his tape deck. It’s a lot of things, but nothing at least one of us didn’t suspect, he sent to me, gently. Only one of immediate concern.

“Misfire,” Soundwave said, quietly, but aloud.

Misfire blinked, pointed at his chest in confusion, and then walked up to us, looking a little nonplussed. “We can, ah, talk later if you want, Boss.”

“And we will,” said Soundwave. “But you and Grimlock, you’re keeping our daughter tonight? I’ll need you to go with her to Glit in the infirmary.”

It was my turn to groan—in a mixture of guilty annoyance, maternal concern, and frustrated lust. “No,” I replied, without hesitation, as much as I wanted to hesitate. “We’ll take her ourselves.”

“Ravage: is sure?” Soundwave asked. He remembered how often we’d fought because he’d decided that Rumble or Frenzy or someone who’d stayed with us briefly had needed his time more immediately than I did, even though we’d had plans, or had been on the way to his private quarters.

“It’s the right thing to do,” I said, miserably, and he kissed my cheek.

Now you know how it feels, he sent to me teasingly. That didn’t make me feel any better about it, and it sure didn’t stop my anterior node throbbing.

“Viridian, eject,” Soundwave said gently; Viridian jumped gracefully out of his chest and danced her figure-eight around his legs, marking his thighs and knees with the side of her muzzle.

“We’ll go with you,” Misfire said firmly, in a tone that invited no opposition.

“Me Grimlock go too,” Grimlock added, although that had already been strongly implied.

“And we’ll stay with her after you know she’s going to be fine,” Misfire continued. “What’s wrong?”

Viridian was staring up at him like she didn’t know either; she’d made her report, and everything was just fine, and we could go on, really we could—but Soundwave just ex-vented.

“Cassetticon slave coding,” Soundwave said bitterly. “It’s causing her pain, so I want it dealt with right away. It’s glitched. She’s never been firmly bonded with anyone. Shockwave created her, but he isn’t a carrier; Blaster let her dock with him, but she didn’t want to join the Lost Light; she worked with Fortress Maximus for a while, and then some brilliant aft on Tebris VII tried to redirect it. Now she’s trying to bond to me too, and I want to bond with her—but not like that.”

What else is there? I wondered.

The rest of it can wait a few days. We are not going to think about it tonight. Also, if Misfire and Grimlock want to take her for the rest of the night after she’s out of stasis and ready to sleep, we are letting them, Soundwave thought to me.

I had to laugh. Now you know how it feels.

Laserbeak landed on Soundwave’s shoulder and briefly bunted her head against mine. She’d missed me, and oh, how I’d missed her too. I kissed the top of her head. We weren’t going to talk tonight, but there was a lot to catch up on later.

“Misfire and Grimlock are coming with us, Laserbeak, but please take the rest of the Scavengers to their quarters,” Soundwave said, and she nodded.

“We can stay on the ship,” said Krok. “I saw how many new people came through that spacebridge. You’re going to have mechs recharging in shuttlecraft.”

Soundwave considered this, and finally nodded. “If you insist,” he said, “I won’t refuse. But you will have permanent quarters here as soon as construction is finished.”

“Of course, sir.” Krok saluted. “Good night, you two. I hope you get at least a moment to yourselves tonight.”

“They will,” Misfire assured him, and Krok led Spinister, Crankcase, and Fulcrum back into the W.A.P. Laserbeak resettled herself on Soundwave’s shoulder.

More doctoring? Viridian complained, looking up at us fearfully. Hurts.

“This part doesn’t hurt,” I promised her when she looked up at me fearfully. “You’ll be asleep for it. It’ll help make some of the hurting you’re feeling now stop.”

“We wouldn’t let anyone hurt you,” Misfire told her, picking her up. He carried her, and Soundwave carried me, through the busy halls of the Station. People who knew me waved. People who didn’t know me did their very best to pretend they weren’t staring. So Grimlock stopped and transformed, fell into place with us like an honour guard, and he drew most of the stares after that.

The infirmary was bustling with strangers from the spacebridge, being screened. Glit might very well tell us to sit in the waiting room all night, and sure enough, he walked straight up to Soundwave without a word for me, which hurt more than I’d thought it would. He was less than a quarter of Soundwave’s height, and less than a third of mine, even standing bipedally. “I have a lot of patients,” he said firmly, “and some of these people are in terrible shape. We’ve only picked up a few new recruits who can help, so I’m triaging everyone.”

Soundwave was having none of it. “My daughter has been on Tebris VII.”

Glit apparently knew what that meant, because he stopped objecting at once, and then the other part of what Soundwave had said sunk in. “Your…daughter?” He looked up at us all, glancing from Viridian, in Misfire’s arms, to me, to Soundwave. “Ravage, and you—? Never mind, that’s just an old legend…”

“She was made in a lab like the rest of us,” I told Glit, annoyed. “They used bits of me to make her, so she’s my bit. We think they might have used bits of him, too.” I frowned. “Nice to see you again, too.”

“Ravage,” he said, and lowered his optics. “I’m glad you’re back where you belong. Let the Autobots fry the old tyrant without you.”

I hissed in multiple shades of frustration and buried my face in Soundwave’s neck. If Glit had just taken care of Megatron when he’d asked him to, he’d have got back to the rest of his patients within a few breems. And the second time Megatron had had to ask, he never got back to those patients.

Soundwave’s arm tightened around me protectively. “Glit, do your job. Get the cassetticon coding out of Viridian. She’s never had a proper carrier and they tried to enhance it on Tebris. I’m wholly sympathetic to all of these people, but our daughter’s in pain, of a sort you know well.”

Glit made a face, but he led us back to his personal office. It was like being in a doll’s hospital, except that most of us fit in the room, except Grimlock, who watched through the door. The table was the perfect height for Viridian, but I had to sit on the floor to hold her hand as Glit explained the procedure. She was frightened, and she wasn’t sure about Glit. He’s a good medic, I told her. It’s just that he’s also my brother—and sometimes we fight.

Glit looked down at Viridian. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t bite newsparks.” She nodded, and he put her under, then plugged in to access her code. I really wished Spinister had figured more of this out, but he didn’t know cassettes like Soundwave did. I had no idea how long it was supposed to take.

Glit frowned three breems in. “This is a mess,” he said. “I need to write a patch for it. I’ll keep her here asleep all night. You two, go to bed. I can make sure you’re here when she wakes up. I assume I won’t need to tell either of you that it doesn’t mean she’s all better now, not after all of the slag that she’s been through.”

“You can’t blame Megatron for this one,” I muttered under my breath.

Glit looked at me for a long moment, but didn’t say anything. Instead he went over to his desk. Soundwave followed him, and took the bottle of high-grade out of his desk. “No drinking tonight.”

Glit shrugged. I wondered how many others he had. He hadn’t been a drinker on the Nemesis, but obviously lots of things had changed. “If you hurt my daughter because you got drunk,” I told him, “I’ll kill you.”

“I’ll let her,” said Soundwave.

Glit rolled his optics. “You both know me better than that,” he said. “She’s an innocent.”

“Go,” said Misfire, patting my shoulder. “We’ll stay here. And make sure he stays sober.”

“Thanks,” I said wearily, and rose to my feet. Soundwave picked me up again, but this time he had one arm under my back and the other under my knees as he carried me back out of the infirmary.

Then Laserbeak grabbed the crown off my head, laughing wildly, and flew off down the hall with it. “See you tomorrow!”

Soundwave’s habsuite was dark. He knew I wanted the washrack and set me down gently in front of the door. I went in, took advantage of the cycler, and then splashed solvent all over my face and anywhere else I thought I might need it. My perfume had all worn off; I pulled it out of my subspace and dabbed it back on until I felt a little more like the femme who’d walked out of the W.A.P. and into his arms.

When I came back out, the suite was still dark, but it was filled with small, flickering lights in clear dishes. Soundwave was playing a soft, meandering piece of music he’d composed early in our courtship, such that it was. He’d set a tray of the energon gel pastilles he liked to make on the low table, and there were two chilled glasses of coolant and energon fizz. I almost burst into tears.

“How long since you fuelled?”

“Too long,” I said, and sat down with him on the couch. I reached for the fuel, but he shook his head, picked up my glass, which had a straw in it, and held it up to my lips. I drank half of it in one gulp; he smiled at me fondly, sipping his own. I started to reach for the sweets, and he laughed.

“Do I have to bind your hands?”

“No,” I said, and let him place one on my glossa. It was cold and sweet, with sprinkles of manganese. The lights, I suddenly realised, were little open fires, made of scented waxes and oils, releasing the smells of the night-blooming tropical flowers I loved.

“Let it melt,” he said, and I did; the flavours deepened and grew more complex. And then he leaned over and kissed me; there was another one in his mouth, a spicy one, with curled copper shavings. The flavours mixed with each other; and the scents of the spices and flowers wafted over my vomeronasal sensors, blending with the scent of him. The two treats, together, were somehow even more delicious than either one alone. I ended up swallowing all of it. As he’d intended.

Soundwave took his visor off, his optics glowing golden in the dark. He knew that scent and taste were as compelling to me as sound and light were to him, and he had composed a second symphony for me to go with the one he had written long ago. I kissed him fiercely, growling a little.

“Ravage,” he said. “You don’t have to do any more than this. You don’t even have to do this.”

“I had it fixed so that nobody can make me do anything,” I told him, “so that means you can be sure that I want to do this.”

“I did hurt you,” he said, and brought the glass to my mouth again. I drank the rest of it down. “And I want you to know that I’m sorry for that.”

“I hurt you too,” I said. “We’ll hurt each other again, but not so badly, because that’s what people do, Soundwave.” I dipped my fingers into the traces of cold foam still left in the glass and wrote my name across the glass door of his tape deck, and then I licked it off, tracing the glyphs with my glossa. “And then we’ll forgive each other, because we’ll know it wasn’t intentional. And we love each other. And we’re miserable apart.”

“Buzzsaw said you’d say something like that.” He slipped back into my mind. I let him feel the throbbing in my anterior and ceiling nodes. He took my fingertips, still dripping foam, and sucked on them, and drew glyphs on my thorax and abdomen with the syrup from the gels on his fingers.

“I can imagine what Buzzsaw said. But I’d rather not.” I lay back on the couch, and let him feed me another pastille. I was starting to feel a lot less tired, and not a bit less aroused.

He leaned over me, and kissed me again, slow and deliberate, just like he had in the slip, his thigh between my thighs. I let my panel open, so his thigh was pressed into my wet, swollen valve. “I want,” I thought and said at the same time, and concentrated on the feel of his hard leg, covered in slick, fresh paint, against my aching protomesh. He ground into me and I pressed my anterior node into him, moaning.

Soundwave licked the syrup off my chest, and then my abdomen, and slid down to circle my anterior node with his fingertips, pausing now and then to dip his fingers into my valve. I let the callipers clench on him. He felt so good. His hands were good. I couldn’t get my legs far enough apart, and then he slid down between them and began to lick and kiss my anterior node. “You might look different,” he said aloud, “but you still taste the same.”

I moaned when he thrust his glossa into me. Once I’d been small enough that he could fuck me with it—small enough that he’d had to open me up with it before I could take his spike. It still felt amazing inside me, but he could no longer reach my ceiling nodes with it, which made us both laugh.

“You said you wanted me to frag you through the berth,” he said, almost shyly, and kissed me with a mouth full of copper and spice and my own lubricant.

“You don’t have to be careful with me anymore,” I said.

“I always want to be careful with you.” His reverence spilled out of his words and through both of our fields.

“I’m still smaller than you, but not so small you could break me.” I reached for his panel, and he let me; his spike slid out heavy and pressurised. He gasped when I stroked it, and I felt the phantom sensation of my own touch in my anterior node. It was slick with his lubricant, pearling up on the tip and welling up from the scores in the thin, flexible plating. I put my fingers in my mouth. He didn’t taste any differently, either. He picked me up with one arm, grabbing the tray of treats with his other hand, and carried me into the room where his recharge slab was, where he laid me down. I spread my legs wide and opened myself. He leaned over and kissed my swollen anterior node, and then he rubbed the tip of his spike over it, slowly.

“Soundwave—!” I cried, suddenly desperate to have him, have all of him, feeling my neglected ceiling node throb, and he took me, sliding home and hilting himself, grabbing my wrists in his hands and holding them down as he held himself up on his elbows. Every thrust, he ground into my anterior node and snapped his hips, so that every time he hit every single one of those deep sensory nodes, including the ceiling node. It was exactly what I’d begged him for over the comm. And I loved it. The entire sensor net within my valve was alive with charge and slick for him; I could feel my callipers rippling around him, and feel him feeling them, too, which was always extra delicious.

It would have broken me when I was Glit’s size, but I wasn’t, and I loved the force and ferocity of it. I wrapped my legs around his hips to keep him in. He grinned exultantly, took his helm off, and let the deep blue crest rise up from the nape of his neck to the crown of his head, like a fin, leaving his coolant lines bare for me to mouth at when his face and head were close enough to mine. That always made him moan and gasp.

And then the front door of the tape deck slid off, and the seams in my chest opened, and our spark chambers opened as well.

I was already close to an overload. When the coronas of our sparks touched each other, I hit the edge hard, but I stayed there until the merge was complete and I lost myself in him. After that I just…kept coming, as he pressed his chest into mine and rutted me, overloading himself, thrusting as deep up inside me as he could. My entire body contracted hard around him and then it just…all flowed out of us both, leaving us dazed and blissful and still holding onto each other. He rolled over onto his back so I could collapse on top of him.

I didn’t want to move. But I also knew that feeling wouldn’t last. There were tears pouring out of my optics. But the tears were good, and everything...everything felt like maybe, it might be just fine. At least for a while.

“We’re not done yet, are we?” I asked.

He fed me another treat. “Oh, Pit no,” he said, and kissed me again.

Chapter Text

I'm adding this afterword primarily to alert everyone who has been following this fic that it, like the previous one, has undergone a substantial revision.

You'll probably want to reread this one--at least the chapters that say they've been revised! Some of them were just fine writing-wise and only needed a bit of reformatting. But this fic needed a small plot revision, as well as revisions for style.

When I first read the last MTMTE issue, and Ravage got fridged, I ragequit the comics for a while. During the pandemic, I finally started writing my fix-it fic, and then I went and read the Lost Light books, and started reading the following non-Lost Light books as well. I also met some people who were really, really great roleplayers, and one of them had a really adorable, really canonical version of Needlenose. The Needlenose who originally appeared in A Few Small Repairs was characterised based on the few bits of screentime he had prior to the point at which I stopped reading the comics, and TFWiki doesn't really fill in all the blanks. I therefore became aware that I had unwittingly assassinated the character--both in terms of killing him, and also in terms of completely fragging up his characterisation; sure, he has reason to hate Soundwave, but he wouldn't take it out on anyone else.

Needlenose is still part of the story, but he isn't responsible for the misdirection of the W.A.P. to Tebris (Galvatron being perfectly capable of that dastardy all on his own). He also doesn't get murdered by Buzzsaw and Howlback. In fact, there are a few revised chapters in Designs and Persuasions where he appears, as he is on Sanctuary Station.

Of course, there's still the question of who sent Soundwave that image macro (and why they sent it to Needlenose, too; that was mean!) You'll have to wait on the answer to that question.

The series is definitely still being updated. I know it's been a while since I posted any new stuff, but I had a bout with depression and some challenges at work that had to take priority for a couple of months.

Things are better now, and I intend to complete the whole series--all five arcs, including Year of the Cat, which comes after both Every Day is a Winding Road and Designs and Persuasions.

Side stories and poems, including AU of AU side stories and poems ("oh brave new world--" is definitely non-canonical), that I've written for various 'weeks', are included in a new series, All Hail Ravage, which The Voice of Stanix is a part of; that way they don't interrupt the flow of the fic but are still attached to it.

Also--thank you to @ScreamyBird, my co-conspirator, unofficial beta and primary source and enabler, ever since the night we sat up on Discord till the wee hours of the morning talking about how Ravage should never have been fridged. <3

Thank you for reading, and if you choose to reread, thank you for reading again! I love you all and appreciate your feedback and your love.