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VIII.
Nemesis

One of Barricade’s internal IC zip points sounded, pulling him out of another bracing round of staring blankly at the monitor. Blackout was right, he thought. He had been doing this too much lately. Drifting into some mental state where he could pretend he didn’t exist. That the past didn’t exist. Too much he wanted to not remember. Unremember. He wondered if the human languages had a more accurate word. Or the concept. But even pursuing that idle thread meant remembering they were in this particular solar system, this particular galaxy. And all the rest of the history that brought them here fell in place like a path of ugly black tiles.

He didn’t want to remember the interrogation. Didn’t want to remember Flareup’s last look at him as Soundwave’s transmission ripped through the air—his doing. Didn’t want to remember Starscream’s rage. Much less Starscream’s bordering-on-treasonous remark. If he moved at all, Barricade thought, he’d have to act. Instead, he found himself sitting, numb, trying to force his mind into…nothing. Peace? Calmness? They were beyond him. But empty—he’d take that.

Still. He sat up, slowly, his joints stiff. He’d been blowing off even routine maintenance lately. Should write myself up for that, he thought. Something to do that doesn’t destroy something important.

Shake it, he said. This mood is pathetic. I begin to hate myself. Oh, wait, already do that. He called up the zip: a reminder that he should review and log intrasystem communications. That sounded suitably tedious—almost as dull as staring at the monitors stewing in angst—but at least something got done. The zip brought up a scrolling list of comm traffic in categories—local bot-to-bot (full of silly chatter, as usual), mission-channel (optempo picking up, he noted); all-channels (none, which meant he hadn’t missed and huge emergency or, Primus forbid, final declaration of Decepticon victory); intersystem (base-to-base, also thin and routine); and finally a very small list of comms out of the Sol system.

Most of those were routine—he’d seen them before in previous zip-points, the comms lasting about the same amount of time—status reports and other business-of-warfare hail to the glories of bureaucracy stuff. One stood out to him. Far nebula. Wasn’t even aware of any action out there. Who?

He hit Soundwave on his comm.

“What do you require?” Soundwave acknowledged, neutrally. Hi, how are you? I’m fine, thanks. And you?

“Looking at intrasystem comm for the logs. Call to RU-784A?”

“What of it?” Was it Barricade’s imagination or had Soundwave’s voice taken on a guarded tone?

“Who made it? Who is it to?

“Your reason for requesting this information?”

Barricade prickled. Soundwave was trying to stonewall him. Something was definitely up. “Let’s see,” he said, “I’ll start with Chief Intel Officer.” He didn’t want to mention his suspicions—-suspicions he hadn’t even put into words. Had Starscream taken action? Was he trying to organize a coup? If so, whom would he contact? Who the hell was way out there, anyway?

“Megatron initiated the call.” Barricade felt air ventilate in a rush. Wasn’t Starscream. Wasn’t that far along. Still a chance to stop him before he did something terminally stupid. And get them all killed. Soundwave didn’t continue. As if hearing the name ‘Megatron’ should have ended the matter. If Barricade pushed it, he had no doubt that Soundwave would report the entire conversation directly to Megatron. Barricade debated. Should he push it? Right now he was in the leader’s good graces. But he’d seen time and time again not only how briefly that lasted but also how little protection it afforded. He’d seen Starscream go from high praise to a regen-level beatdown in less than a solar cycle.

Of course, that was Starscream.

“Barricade.” Soundwave. Asking if he was still there. Time’s up, smarty-mech. Push it or no?

He forced a smile, knowing it would carry through his voice. “Thanks. All I really needed to know.”

Soundwave clicked off without a reply.

Barricade sat back. This wasn’t over. He’d find out another way. A way that didn’t get Megatron’s attention, good or bad. Soundwave liked to think he was the only comm resource on the Nemesis? He logged onto his console, calling up comm specs. Gigs of information jumped on the screen. Somewhere, in here, he thought. He’d find a way to track the call. Find who it was. Without anyone’s help.

He felt something distantly familiar burn near his spark. He had a job to do. There was a reason Soundwave was suppressing the name of Megatron’s contact. There was a reason the two of them didn’t want anyone else to know. And that was reason enough for Barricade.

Tension...I really enjoy the POV from Barricade himself, he's such an understated character that doesn't get the right amount of recognition in fan fics, I for one like knowing things from the Decepticon's view point even if it's just one 'con.

I am really keen on finding out what Megatron and Soundwave are up to, a twist I did not expect in the story line... excellent...
*drums fingers until next update*

I like it.

Flareup's perspective--remember, she's piecing together a 'story' from what she's seen. It may (or may not) be accurate.

IX.
Diego Garcia

Flareup circled the island, agitated. She’d never felt so…confined before. Not even on the Decepticon ship, where she was surrounded by enemies, and hadn’t left the repair bay except that…except that once. That memory was a confused blur of redlighted agony—the harsh sound of the small red bot’s laughter, Ironhide looking down at her, looking down on her, blandly. Starscream’s hands, cool and tight, around her shoulders. And then. And then Barricade, carrying her carefully to repair bay. She remembered the sensation of her foot tire swinging with each of his strides, her free arm bouncing, the hard slickness of his armor against hers. And the apologies. Over and over again, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” like a litany or a chant, even though he thought she was unconscious. You don’t say words you don’t mean when you think no one can hear you.

And no one understood her. No one understood that she heard the sincerity behind his words. No one else saw the concern in his eyes as he sat by her for cycles as she lay, bordering incoherent, in the repair cradle.

Of course they couldn’t understand—they hadn’t been there. But they could, at least, take her word for it.

Instead, they told her she needed some sort of therapy. Or ‘time to readjust’. Or, and this from Arcee, “recommit to her priorities.” Thanks, sis. What did Arcee know? She spent her whole time processing intelligence work. Arcee even managed to twist Barricade handing her down from the copter as him ‘pawing’ her.

Flareup wrapped her arms around her chassis, rubbing idly at a small scratch in her paint. Barricade’s hands had rested in the same spot as the jet’s. She could still feel the strong grip of his hands under her shoulder joints, hesitating to touch her. Afraid to hurt her. Making only that one small scratch. He wasn’t evil. They were wrong.

She heard the rumble of an engine behind her. She flinched—she really didn’t want company right now. She wanted to go over the memory. Figure it out for herself. Last thing she wanted was another lecture from Chromia. Or worse, Ratchet. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? That’s all she wanted at this point. Since they couldn’t be bothered to meet her halfway, the best they could do was not even try to meet her at all.

“Hey, Flareup?”

She sighed heavily, turning. “What do you want, Sideswipe?”

He looked taken aback. “I—uh, I just wanted to apologize. You know. For not recognizing you.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” she said. Get it over, so he’d go away. “Honest mistake.”

“Yeah, uh, I just…,” he approached closer, the sunset glinting red-orange off his silvered armor. “I think I missed a lot.”

She snorted. “Yeah, you could say that.”

He stared at the waves lapping at the white sand beach in front of them. The setting sun turned the water violet and the sand pink. “You want to talk?”

“I’ve had more than enough offers of therapy, thanks.” Another one. Another, ‘but Flaaaaaare, you just need to talk about it.’

“Sorry. Didn’t mean that way. Probably no good at that, anyway. Just wanted to hear it from you.”

She turned. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

She sighed. “Not much to tell. Ironhide and I were taken prisoner at Bourzey. We were brought up to the Nemesis.”

Sideswipe winced. “Did they torture you?”

“No, well, yes, but….” She looked down at her hands. “I mean, not at first. They were actually really nice. I know, it sounds ridiculous. But it’s true. Did full repairs. Talked to me.”

“Talked to you?” She could see that Sideswipe was imagining some sort of vicious torrent of abuse.

“Yeah. That’s it. He was really nice.”

“He? Nice?!”

She caught herself. “Yeah. I knew one of them. All he did was talk to me. About them, you know, how they live.”

He shook his head. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“Yeah,” she said. “it doesn’t sound like what we say about them. But that’s what happened.” A tinge of hostility in her voice. Like no one could believe a ‘con could be decent. More like no one could acknowledge that their ‘common knowledge’ of the enemy might not be entirely accurate.

“Okay,” Sideswipe said. He felt stupid. He knew he wasn’t smart, but this was the first time he really felt it. He just wanted her to keep talking. “But they did hurt you.”

“Others, yeah,” she said. Until Barricade put a stop to it. She’d seen the injuries on his frame—the long claw marks that had to be Starscream’s, the cracked facial plates. But she didn’t think Sideswipe would understand that. “What was worse, really, was Ironhide.”

“What’d they do to him?”

“Apparently nothing. He was standing there watching the whole thing.”

“I don’t think—“

“I saw him, Sideswipe. He was just looking down at me.”

“They must have hurt him pretty bad.”

“Nothing after Bourzey. That I know of. They repaired him, too. Fixed him all up so he could watch them beat me.”

“Naaaaah. Flareup,” Sideswipe said, “They must’ve done something pretty awful to him too.”

She shrugged. What had she thought? That he would understand her? He didn’t even think females should be in combat. “Ask him yourself, then. I don’t care if you believe me or not,” she said, her voice hard.

“I just meant that, you know. Well. Ironhide really cares about you. Everyone knows it. Maybe he was in shock or something.” Sideswipe shifted uncomfortably. He hated all of this emotion talk. He just wanted to know whose ass he should look forward to kicking for this. For her. That much, he could do.

“You know what I love? I love how everyone keeps making excuses for him. You all run to his rescue like he’s the victim. You know what? I’m the damn victim, if you care to think about it. My armor was ripped off. Not his. My eye destroyed. Not his. You should all be making allowances for me.” She dropped down and spun off into the approaching night.

Yikes.

PS: Glad you're using Sideswipe, he's one of my favorites, beside Optimus Prime.

Very interesting stuff be good to see more of Flareup see how she develops.

Liking your Sideswipe so far

OOooOoo, good intense femme drama! I'm liking it. I especially love how you used a romantic setting ::longs for a warm tropcial sunset:: for a very prickly encounter.

Yeah, maybe I should just give up and admit I will update Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday? This week: Optimus, Starscream and Ironhide. Enjoy (?) !

X.
Diego Garcia, Delta 1

Optimus dropped onto the repair frame harder than he’d intended. His new knee wasn’t holding mass at angle-pressure as well as it should. Of course, that was why he was here in D1. One of the reasons. The other was that he really didn’t have the heart to face the others.

Ratchet frowned at the sound. “New knee, huh?”

“It’s fine,” Optimus said. He knew Ratchet did his best, and under the circumstances—the time, the resources—Ratchet had done an amazing job getting Prime to function at all. He wasn’t about to quibble over a creaky joint. “Just tired.”

Ratchet ran a field-leak scanner over Prime. “Didn’t go well, I take it. At the aircraft carrier.”

“I don’t know how it went. They sent me away so that they could discuss it. They should be reporting their decision soon.” His mouth turned down bitterly. After MSG Sternburgh’s presentation, they’d had reports from psychologists, and then the ambassadors of countries who had allied with the Autobots. He was supposed to be there to answer questions, but no one had had any for him. They treated him like a large piece of furniture. An in-the-way piece of furniture.

“That doesn’t sound very positive.”

“No. I thought not.” He hated making Ratchet be his sounding board, but he knew that the medic’s instincts were good. And also that Ratchet wouldn’t share his opinions with anyone else. Good or bad.

“These humans shouldn’t play fast and loose with our alliance like that,” Ratchet grumbled, picking up a fine-machining tool. It clicked on with a whir. He applied it to Prime’s knee, sanding away the parts that showed friction wear. “Sure they go their feelings hurt, but they can see there’s a bit more at stake than that, can’t they?”

“I hope so.” He did. With every fragment of his spark, he hoped the humans knew the magnitude of what was at stake.

Ratchet lowered his voice, so quiet that Optimus had to strain to hear him over the machining tool. “You know Ironhide feels awful about it.”

Optimus sighed. “I know.”

“He’d like to apologize to you.” Ratchet avoided his eyes. Optimus wondered if Ironhide had put him up to this. Or even knew. Ratchet sometimes went too far playing peacemaker.

“It’s not me he has to apologize to, Ratchet.” If only it were. “Where is he, anyway?”

Ratchet shifted uncomfortably, leaning closer in to the joint. “Straighten, please,” he said, before answering. “He didn’t want to be in your way, so when he saw you coming, he left.” Ratchet looked up. “It’s not cowardice.”

“I understand. Ironhide doesn’t need to be afraid of speaking to me: he knows that.” More than that, Optimus trusted Ratchet would carry that message to the bot. Ironhide was prideful. It made things…difficult at times. But no one ever doubted his courage when it mattered. Ratchet nodded acknowledgement. Optimus continued, “I really would like to talk to him at some point. To hear his side of the story.” He didn’t think Ironhide had had a chance to do that yet.

Ratchet frowned, though at the sliver of metal he pulled out from a piston or at Optimus’s words, Prime couldn’t tell. “He hasn’t exactly been open about that to me.” A warning. A hint. Go easy on him.

“I just want to hear him out. He knows that I know him better than that.” Than what? Prime couldn’t say. He remembered his cold horror hearing those hateful words pouring out of the audio—watching the Master Sergeant’s presentation showing Ironhide’s face, a rictus of hatred, as he spat out his loathing of humans. Do I? He asked himself. Do I know him better than that?

“He’s worried that you won’t let him fight again.” Ratchet reached for exterior joint lubricant, rubbing it into the newly-machined knee.

Prime sighed. “In the circumstances, it’s inadvisable. Tensions are so high right now that if Ironhide knocked over a fire hydrant they’d read it as an act of war.” He saw his own struggle reflected in Ratchet’s face—necessity (diplomacy to the humans) over right (consideration of Ironhide’s feelings). “I know it’s hard for him. But just a little while longer.” He slumped back against the hard flat surface of the repair frame, letting its cool metal suck heat out of his external heat sinks. He was tired. Beyond tired. And he hadn’t even dealt with his fellow Autobots yet. They waited for him in Alpha 1; waited for the news, waited for him to be the leader and take charge and make everything right. He wished he had the ability to do that. He wished he had the energy.

“Decepticons,” he heard himself say, “have forced recharge. I wish we had it.”

Ratchet shook his head. “It’s brutal. A bot has only a cycle’s downtime per solar? No wonder the ‘cons are all crazy.”

“Still,” Prime said, wearily, thinking of those in Alpha 1. Waiting for him.

“No,” Ratchet said, firmly, snapping the cap on the lubricant closed. “The way to win this war is not to become like our enemy. Ironhide is struggling to learn that: make sure you don’t need the same lesson.”

Whoa, intense!

Oooohh sneaky sneaky update I liked it a lot!

Good characterisations, I can see Prime being exactly like this to someone he can absolutely trust... Ratchet too. The atmosphere just keeps building and building... edgy for more now

Short, but it (finally) gets some forward momentum. And deliciously Starscreamy....

XI.

Nemesis

Starscream hesitated in the corridor outside Megatron’s control chamber. What is it I am doing? he asked himself. You do not ask Megatron for favors. You do not show up unsummoned. Especially not you. But his de facto banishment from Megatron’s presence—his banishment from leadership, in effect—had eaten away at his better senses. He could stand no longer being sidelined. Pushed aside like some broken or obsolescent tool. He coded the door open and walked in, forging (badly) confidence. Megatron saw him, but lowered his head back to his command console, pretending to be engrossed in reading some report. Starscream knew Megatron read every report—as had he when he was leader—but while he had scoured for tactical advantage, Megatron was looking for flaws.

He waited, locking his joints audibly into position. He would not go anywhere until Megatron heard his request. If that meant he had to recharge right here, he would. Now that he was here, his warrior courage would not let him retreat.

A cycle later, Megatron addressed him, snapping him out of his low-power state. “What is it you want, Starscream?”

“I.” He faltered, wishing he had some of Barricade’s easy way of words. “I have failed you on repeated occasions.” The words burned in his vocalizer, even though he had practiced them in his head for cycles.

“Yes.” Complete assent. What had he expected? Megatron to argue with him?

“I am no longer of service to this unit. I would better serve the Decepticon cause reassigned elsewhere. Where the mission is not so critical.” There, he’d said it. It had taken every bolt of courage he had to force those words over the knot of shame in his throat.

“No.” Megatron turned back to his console. Dismissing him.

“My-my lord?” Dangerous ground.

“I said no, Starscream. Did you not hear me clearly?” A slight edge to his voice now.

“But I am,” he heard his voice fade, “am a liability to our combat effectiveness.” He hated how meek his voice sounded.

“The one place you are not a liability, Starscream, is in combat.” As close as Megatron would ever come to praise. The jet said nothing, his eyes guarded. Megatron leaned back, irritated. “I will not honor your obvious desire to foment rebellion against me from some distant corner of the universe, Starscream. You will stay right here, where I can keep an eye on you.”

Starscream blinked, stunned. Megatron had never questioned his loyalty so directly. His intelligence, yes. His competence—on a nearly solar cycle basis. His command decisions, certainly. But he had never yet been accused of outright treason. It smacked of dishonor, this distrust. Starscream felt his hands begin to vibrate with suppressed emotion. “Megatron. My lord. I have never—“

“Nor will you get the chance, Starscream. You shall stay under my command—and my eye. That ends the matter.” He turned definitively back to his monitor. “If you feel so underutilized,” he tossed over his shoulder, “you might lower yourself to running escort for the Tunguska transports.”

The interaction between Megatron and Starscream is brilliant. I could just feel the command coming from Megatron as he sat there, and was waiting for something really bad to happen to Starscream... dangerous ground indeed!

Loving the tensions building between the 'cons so far.

Mama.

Very good.

::swoooon:: You could probably write those two talking about the weather and it would be full of win!!

Note: Ironhide does not have good conflict resolution skills. (What would be the fun in that?)

Things really take off next week!

XII.
Diego Garcia
Ironhide rolled along the ring road of the island, trying not to admit to himself that he was hiding. Or running away. Only so far to run, though. So he told himself he could use a little exercise, and the island could use a little reconnaissance, and he had avoided noticing how paper thin either excuse really was.

Dark had settled over Diego Garcia. He could see the glow from the base proper in a wash of high wattage light. He thought he could recognize Sideswipe—the two arm-blades slicing the pavement in harsh contrast in the strong light as he skated up and down in front of the hangars. No doubt showing off a new move. Ironhide ached for his innocent cockiness. Behind him, to his left, the lines of the runway blinked in various bright colors. In front of him, only the darkness of the settling night, the whoosh of the waves on the shore, and the glow of his headlamps.

And his thoughts.

He accelerated, as if he could outrun those thoughts. Yeah, right. No, he was stuck with them. And his fellow Autobots were stuck with him.

A purple shape loomed up on his right. He slammed on his brakes, tires squealing on the sand-blown pavement. “Uh, sorry, Flareup,” he said, his frame rocking back at the end of the forced-stop.

“Haven’t seen you around much,” she said, coolly. She’d slammed to a stop herself to avoid hitting him. She pushed back into robot mode.

“Yeah.” He waited for her to say something. Anything. If she raged at him, he would deserve it. If she struck him, he would take it. If she cried—he didn’t know what he’d do. But he wouldn’t tell her to stop.

“Hiding from everybody?” she asked. Her tone was impossible to read.

“Just not going where I’m not welcome,” he said.

“The way everyone makes excuses for you, that’s simply not true. If anyone’s not welcome right now, it’s me.”

“You look different, that’s all.” He had to admit, the two-colored eyes were…disturbing.

She bit her lip. “Since when is that supposed to matter? We judge bots by how they look, now? Or is it—or is it we judge them by where they got their parts? I’m somehow less than everyone else because I have a few Decepticon parts?” She threw her hands in the air. “I hate to remind you, Ironhide, but you have Decepticon repairs, too.”

Ironhide stepped back, stung. “Yeah but…Ratchet’s looked me over. Said everything was to standard.”

“Of course it’s to standard! You think we’ve been fighting this enemy for so long and they’ve somehow been doing it with substandard parts?”

“No, but…the important part is that he’s looked me over.”

“No, the important part is all of your repairs are hard to see. Internal mechanisms. Mine are surface.” She moved her arms so that her armor glittered in his headlamps.

Start again. “Flareup,” he pleaded. “This is not how I want this to go. I want to hear what happened.”

Anger faltered on her face. “Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t care about the others. But,” his turn to hesitate, “I really don’t want you to hate me.” His voice was small.

“Hate you?” she shook her head. “I have had enough of hate, honestly. There’s enough of that in the world already—I’m not going to add to it.” That, at least, sounded more like the Flareup he remembered. The Flareup he cared about. She was still under there—somewhere.

“Flare…I know what it looks like, what happened up there.” How could he forget? Every instant of her torture was seared into his memory. And what his optics hadn’t seen, a mind filled with ages of violence and warfare filled in. He remembered her looking up at him, seeing him. Her eyes locking against his. “And I know—or can guess—what you’ve been through. It changes you. It does. It has to.” He thought back to his own combat experiences. “I just don’t want you to change so much. That’s all.”

Her voice was soft. “Thank you.”

He pushed further, taking a step closer. “It was all a set up. From the start. I swear. Barricade—“

Her voice withdrew some of its softness and warmth. “Barricade was never anything but nice to me.”

“Flareup,” Ironhide said. “You have to know that was all an act.”

“Do I?”

“He’s evil. He arranged to have you,” he choked on the word, “tortured. Can’t you even see that?”

“You know what I see? I see that you’re so closed-minded you can’t even grasp the concept that there might be one Decepticon who isn’t completely horrible. And with that, I see that there’s really no hope of peace, ever.”

“That’s crazy, Flareup. We’ll get peace. Finally. Once we….”

“Once we kill all the Decepticons, right? That’s what you were going to say. Once we murder everyone who is different from us.” She threw her arms wide. “Well, look. I’m different from you. Start with me. Go on. Kill me.”

“Flareup!” he said, his voice full of horror. But he couldn’t for his spark think of anything else to say.

I am warming up to Flareup... and Ironhide really doesn't like dealing with his issues does he?

Great interaction between these two... so much tension and I was even surprised she didn't hate him... Can see more tension for these two in the future looking forward to seeing how they or if they resolve this!

Wow, it's getting intense!

Great intensity from Flare-up! I'm very into her character. Ironhide's quickly learning that hell hath no fury like a femme scorned.

I hated crypto, too.

Wednesday, brace yourselves for a long one. And Sidewipe being...himself. And then Friday, Starscream. I'm already swooning.


XIII.

Nemesis, Intelligence Control

Barricade grunted to himself. For about the fiftieth time—fifty-eighth, his processor corrected—he read the paragraph. If he had been following the directions, if he’d done it right, he should be able to call up the reception freq of any call. But when he put in the suspicious one, the one Soundwave had shut him down on, it spat out a string of seemingly random numbers. No one had a freq this long. Or an ident code.

“Slag,” he cursed, slapping the console with impotent frustration. What was he doing wrong? He wasn’t an idiot. His high cog apt scores had been what had pulled him—finally—from the tedious stress of Combat Control, in his second-chance. He’d built up an arsenal of psychological tricks and information against anyone he deemed a threat and, over megacycles, had managed to climb up the ranks to Chief Intel Officer on the Nemesis by the force of his damn processor alone. And now he was seriously supposed to believe he couldn’t follow a fragged-up instruction manual!? He tried again. The same impossibly long string of numbers.

Encrypted? Slag it—Soundwave could fly circles around him in crypto. Still, he could try. He knew something. He counted up the digits, figuring if he factored them he’d get a clue. Wrong: a prime number. Maybe that itself was significant. He tried to think of factors for the entire number. Still not promising. Oh, this was useless. He didn’t even know what he was looking for: an alphanumeric code? A binary? Base-eight? Parts of it, the manual told him, marked codes of communication relay points, lag boosters that sped the transmission faster-than-light. But even so, what should have been the freq code made no sense. Crypto, he thought, for about the ninetieth time in his intelligence career, sucked.

His comm buzzed. “On,” he said, brusquely. Wasn’t really in a chatty mood.

“Barricade,” Soundwave’s cold voice came over, making Barricade bolt upright in suspicion. But no, he thought. His IC console had triple redundant firewalls. He’d installed the last set himself, with a constantly cycling hack destabilizer. If Soundwave had so much as blinked seductively at his console, it would have warned him. At least. Maybe not stopped the intrusion, but it would have flagged. Frantically, he called up a shell.

“Soundwave,” he said, his voice suspiciously buoyant. “How can I help you?” His shell came back empty—no incursions, or even attempts. A mass of characters at one point, but when Barricade checked the time log, that was when Blackout had plopped his giant aft on the console.

“Megatron wishes an update on your progress.”

“My progress? On what?” He scrambled to think what Megatron might possibly want from him.

“The possibility of a second viable meteoric energon site.” Through his stiffly neutral voice, Soundwave still managed, somehow, to sound impatient.

Slag, slag, slag! He’d forgotten all about that. “On it. Following some leads.” Or I will be, as soon as you get off my fraggin’ comm, he thought. Like this timing wasn’t suspicious, right? He calls Soundwave out on that out-system call, and now…juuuuuuust enough time for a little confab between Megatron and Soundwave, Megatron wants an update. Did they think he went sentient yesterday?

“When do you expect your leads will yield results?”

“Soon.” He felt a measure of control creep back in his voice. Soundwave, trying to game him? Not going to happen. Not even on his worst day. And this was far from his worst day. “You may tell him that I will let him know as soon as I find an actionable lead. Personally.” Meaning, cut you out of the loop, Soundwave.

“I shall inform him,” Soundwave said, crisply, and snapped off the comm.

Barricade smirked. Soundwave in a huff was more entertaining than he’d thought. Still, that was a warning shot right across his face. He’d better come up with something. He called up his chrono. Long night ahead. Right, what had Flareup told him? He’d been almost torn apart by distraction at that moment—so eager to get rid of her, to end this hideous chapter, to finally get some rest, some distance between the he that had done…those things…and the he that was trying to make sense of them.

And, he hated to admit, he’d been distracted by…her. A female. Even with her tedious pacifism, there had been something…something distracting about her.

Oh, you are fraggin’ losing it, Barricade, he snapped at himself. Only things tying you to the cycle bot are curiosity that you didn’t fully examine the only female you’ve ever come in contact with, and regret for what you did. Mostly to yourself. You might remember whose side you’re on?

That made his thoughts jump to that uncomfortable conversation with Starscream. Oh, Starscream, he thought, please, please don’t be thinking of rebellion right now. Or ever. Please. But when it came right down to it, Barricade, whose side are you on? Starscream’s words hissed like the human’s religious serpent in his audio memory, ‘Don’t tell me you still believe in the Decepticon cause?’ Did he?

Did he?

Chuckled at the *if he so much as blinked seductively*

Very nice... I also want to see the answer to that last question...

Oh my! Does Barricade have a crush!!?? The fangirl in me squees at the prospect.

'Cade is so fun to read but I also can't wait for the Starscream bit.

Going well, but I'm a boy. I need action!

Angst is almost over. Talkin's still continue for a bit. But trust me: there's like 5 chapters of battle scene coming up, and only after THAT does it get really brutal. I am...not well.

XIV
Diego Garcia

This could only be good, Sideswipe said, bouncing on his skate wheels up to the runway. Colonel Axelrod had summoned all of them—human and Cybertronian alike—to a big assembly at the end of the runway. General Morshower was going to speak. That was also a good thing: the last time the general had addressed them directly, they’d gone into a full-scale battle with the ‘cons. Finally, Sideswipe thought, no more of these piddly little skirmishes. Yeah, they were fun and all, but a great final push against the enemy? What more could he ask for?

There were no briefing materials at the site, though. Weird, thought Sideswipe, but then he considered that if Soundwave could monitor satellite imagery, a big open briefing with lots of pictures and diagrams would be a dumb idea. Well, they’d probably break into teams later and get specific assignments. His enthusiasm drooped, but didn’t completely fade—he wanted to jump right to the good stuff, and not have to sit through a pep talk. Now, he could give a great pep talk himself. And he could appreciate, he supposed, a good speech. But everyone had been sitting around so droopy and glum lately. He was ready to skip the pep and get right to the hitting.

“Hey!” he said, rolling past a group of the NEST soldiers. A few grunted half-heartedly back at him. Huh, Sideswipe thought. The mood kill has been hitting them, too. What we really need to cheer everyone up is a good battle. Something we can all get behind, like slapping some ‘con skidplate.

He scanned the audience as he joined the group: Ratchet looked cranky, but that’s pretty usual; Optimus looked…well, blank really; Arcee and Chromia bunched together like they were too caught up in some girly drama to even notice they were about to get a good battle; Ironhide looked miserable, which puzzled Sidewsipe until he realized the bot still didn’t have his pulse cannons back—that would be enough to depress any bot; and Cliffjumper? Well, Cliffjumper looked tense.

Sideswipe didn’t like that. Cliffjumper was normally his buddy, his partner in heroism. They had similar attitudes toward the fight, even though their styles were different. Scratch that: Sideswipe had style, Cliffjumper had none. Still a difference, though. And Cliffjumper was always, he admitted, a bit more clued into the big picture. Had to be, for being one of the smaller bots. Had to grab advantage where he could.

He rolled up to an open spot, right next to Flareup. He hesitated, but no one would ever say Sideswipe feared anything, especially not a cycle bot. “Hey, Flare,” he said, “Mind if I’m here?”

“Of course not,” she said.

“Thanks,” he said. He reached for something to say, stopped himself. Last time, Sides, he told himself, didn’t go so hot. “Uhhh,” he finally said, “You know what this is about?”

She shot him a look that appeared almost irritated for a moment. Then her face softened. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Nope,” he said, cheerfully. Hopeless idiot was a role he would gladly play, if it meant Flare wouldn’t get mad at him again. The Autobots should be a team, which meant everyone should get a long. All that infighting and drama was sooooooo for the Decepticons. Which is why they were bad. And needed to have their crankcases ripped out.

Flareup’s voice was low. “When we were captives of the Decepticons, Ironhide said some pretty nasty stuff about the humans. And now the humans are upset about it.”

Sideswipe laughed. “Are you kidding me? ‘Hide says nasty stuff about everyone. All the time. These people need to learn to let it roooooooll off the back, you know?” He caught some strange and dark looks from the NEST team, standing at parade rest in formation. He shut up. They couldn’t be serious. No one took Ironhide’s temper seriously. Oh, you took it seriously in that you got the frag out of his way, but you didn’t actually listen to what he said! Sideswipe looked back, trying to spot Ironhide. The older mech hung on the fringes of the Autobots, head down. His arms looked scrawny and bare without the cannons. That, more than anything else, made Sideswipe sad.

A bustle at the podium, and Sideswipe recognized General Morshower and the base commander Colonel Axelrod. Oh good. This will pick things up, he thought.

The general cleared his throat noisily. “Gentlemen,” he said, nodding at the stiff, square formation of NEST soldiers, and acknowledged the Autobots with a wordless nod. “I wouldn’t call you here to waste your time. I trust you all know that. There have been several meetings at very high levels to discuss, erm, recent events. VERY high levels.” He cleared his throat again. His eyes found Ironhide’s, then Optimus’s gaze. “The situation has caused us to, ahem, to re-evaluate our priorities and, errraaaggh,” he coughed loudly, “our recent alliances. Particular concern has been paid to a certain new realization of the Autobot’s global capabilities.” An awkward shuffle of feet. Colonel Axelrod’s eyes were hard on Ironhide.

“What’s he mean?” Sideswipe whispered to Flareup.

“He said that we could destroy the planet if we wanted.”

“Huh? Is that all? It’s true.” He shot another look at the humans. Did that kind of stuff upset them? Only made sense if they ever bothered to think about it. Natural that the Autobots’ weapons were capable of the big damage. And they should see what the ‘cons could do if they wanted.

General Morshower shook his head. “We have gotten word from…ummm, our superiors. I’m sure many of you will find this unfortu—unfortunate, but as of today, the NEST team has been ordered to stand down.” He turned to the soldiers. “Your various governments thank you for your service and each of you will receive the personal gratitude of the President of the United States. You have all been granted thirty days of leave, effective at 1800 this evening.” He turned to the Autobots. “This base will be closing down. You will be given thirty days to utilize the base, including Air Force assets at your discretion, out of gratitude for the service you have accomplished for the United States government. After that, our alliance is over.” He coughed.

Sideswipe was stunned. At least the general had the good sense to look embarrassed. This was ridiculous. The alliance over? The ‘cons would destroy them! And over a stupid comment?

“Frag me,” he breathed. He looked down at Flareup. She looked…worried.

“But the Decepticons are still out there!” one of the humans burst out. Sideswipe recognized Captain Lennox’s voice. “We need the Autobots to fight them.”

The general shook his head. “It has, erm, has long been suspected that the only reason the Decepticons are still here—now that they have their leader and the, uh, the cube they were after was destroyed—is the presence of the Autobots themselves.” He coughed. Either he was coming down with something, Sideswipe thought, or he really wasn’t cool with what he was saying. “My superiors suggest that, uh, if the Autobots located to off planet—say the Moon, or farther—the Decepticons would leave.”

“You’re going to put this whole thing on that speculation and an insult?” Sideswipe burst out. “The ‘cons won’t stop till they’ve destroyed everything.”

“We have no proof of that,” Colonel Axelrod stepped up to the podium, smoothly. He seemed way more on board with this base closure than Morshower. Even though it meant he’d be out of a job. “In fact, if we do statistical analyses of the encounters we’ve had, neither strategically nor tactically do the Decepticons seem bent on world domination. They come with a targeted mission, execute that mission, and then leave. They most certainly do not ‘destroy everything’.” He glared meaningfully at Sideswipe. Sideswipe’s ‘collateral damage’ problem was notorious. Well, can’t fight a ‘con without breaking a few buildings, that’s how it’s done.

“Is this guy serious?” Sideswipe asked Flareup.

She nodded. “Maybe he’s not all wrong. Maybe they will just leave. They aren’t as evil as everyone thinks.”

It was his turn to give the shocked look to Flareup. “Not evil? Flare, they—“

“Do not start that again,” she hissed, turning showily back to the stage.

“In fact,” Axelrod continued, implacable, “when faced with human assault teams, many times, the Decepticons will not even engage. In other words, it’s you they’re after.”

“Oh, like Qatar. Yeah, sure didn’t engage us there.” one of the NEST team said, bitterly. Axelrod turned to the speaker.

“Master Sergeant, you are living proof. You were how close to that Decepticon helicopter? Did he shoot at you?” He altered his gaze to take in the rest of the soldiers. “At Qatar, the Decepticon called Blackout did not engage until he had been engaged first. And his actions can all be categorized as suppressive fire.”

“Categorize him as glitchin’ crazy,” Sideswipe muttered to Flareup. She kept a stony silence.

The Colonel aimed his glare at Prime. “Moreover when they do engage with human forces, they only do so with the forces of countries allied to the…” he paused for dramatic effect, “Autobots.”

Morshower stepped back up. “What he means is, that, erm, it has been proposed that alliance with the Autobots is a liability.”

Sideswipe looked back at Optimus. What was he thinking of this just ridiculous stuff? He realized they were all looking at Optimus. And Optimus was looking from them, to the NEST team.

“Yes,” Optimus finally said. “We see your point. We shall remove ourselves from this base within thirty days.”

Sideswipe was stunned. Where was Optimus’s leadership? He should have stood up to those stupid humans. “Come on, Optimus!” he said. “You can’t be serious! You’re really going to listen to a bunch of squishy little things with bits of ribbon on them?”

Flareup grabbed his arm. “Not helping,” she said.

He shook her off. “Come on, everyone! Let’s be serious. You’ve all turned your backs on Ironhide. He’s one of us. We stick together. That’s the Autobot way. And,” he said, warming to his theme, “we fight Decepticons. That’s what we do. We don’t need their help or their permission,” he gestured behind him to the stage, “we did just fine on Cybertron.”

“I thought Cybertron was dying, due to your…overzealous warfare,” Axelrod cut in.

“And our inability to listen to each other,” Flareup said, under her breath.

“That was their fault! The Decepticons ruined Cybertron. And now they’re going to ruin Earth!”

“Fighting you.”

“Yeah! Fighting us.” He didn’t hear the sudden inrush of air from the others. He only saw the stricken look on Prime’s face, Ironhide’s lowered head. Somehow, he got the distinct sensation he’d just made things worse.

*gasp*... just oohh... wow...

*Goes to re-read*

Excellent just so tense... I am biting my nails as we speak... (so glad I got to log on and read this)

XV.
Tunguska LZ

“How these Earth creatures find all of this…nature,” Starscream spat, with distaste, “admirable, I shall never comprehend.” Even before the area had been honeycombed by paths made by drones digging up chunks of the crystallized energon, it had been unpromising enough—the sky a flat lead-white, the trees a despairing shade of brown, sparsely leaved even in late summer. As though summer never really came here. Even the ground was ugly—greyish-yellow muck that felt chalky-gooshy underfoot, and threatened treacherous slips at nearly every step. A thick clotty fog hung close to the ground making everything feel wet and look dirty.

“Not something I waste my time with,” Blackout said. He hunched in his copter mode, half loaded already with his next batch of crystal chunks. An unsteady stream of drones trickled up to his open doors as soon as each drone found a good piece. They moved with a speed and brightness that showed they were advancing farther along the long slow road to sentience, chirruping to each other and themselves, the very picture of content.

Starscream was the absolute contrast: sentient, enormous compared to them, and utterly miserable. Blackout knew better than to ask what gave he and Vortex the incredibly dubious pleasure of Starscream’s company just now. And he hated to admit that the jet’s presence was a relief. He’d already chased off two full wings of the Sukhoi fighter jets all by himself, leaving Blackout and Vortex and the ground teams to do their transport job in peace. And he’d gone after the Soviet jets with an aggression that told enough of the story for Blackout to puzzle out. Another punishment mission for the jet. It was as if Megatron would never stop punishing him. He wondered how, why, the jet took it.

Starscream paced the perimeter of the LZ, cursing as one of his smallish feet slipped in the muck. “I hate this place!” he spat with more venom than the situation really required. Hard to tell if he meant Tunguska or the entire Earth. Blackout wasn’t about to underestimate the jet’s capacity for hatred.

Blackout struggled for something defusing to say. “Thanks, Starscream.”

“For what?” the jet whirled around to face him, his eyes narrowed in fury. Blackout rocked against his groundwheels.

“I mean thanks for running interference for us. Those fighters are annoying, especially at full capacity.”

“It is,” Starscream snarled, “apparently the one thing I am good for.”

Blackout hesitated. Starscream’s moods had always been a bit notorious, but lately, really, since Megatron’s return, Starscream had been flying on a downward spiral. At top speed. “Yeah,” he said, carefully. “You can do this in your sleep. Still, appreciate it.”

Some of the tension left the jet’s shoulder mounts. “You are welcome,” he said, stiffly, awkwardly. Hunh, Blackout thought: Barricade was right. When in doubt and confronted by large angry Seeker, praise him. Looks like it worked. He watched as the jet struggled to find something to say. Finally, Starscream managed, “I suppose this is boring for you, as well.”

“Not exactly a gold-star day in my personal log,” Blackout admitted. “But getting this energon is important.”

“I suppose.” Starscream turned his head, absently scanning the sky. Not ignoring you, Blackout, the copter told himself. Doing his job. And apparently something else. “What, Blackout…what do you think we should use all of this energon for?” Blackout got the distinct sense that this wasn’t a casual speculation. Not that Starscream ever went for that anyway.

“I’m going to have to say, ummm, energy?” He wasn’t going to answer unless he had a clue what this was about. He wished Barricade were here. Barricade could see through just about anyone.

“I am overwhelmed by your wit,” the jet said, flatly. “Energy to do what?”

“Not sure what you’re asking.”

Starscream sighed, looking down at Blackout. “Never mind.”

Blackout cursed, inwardly. He’d blown something—he knew that much. “Pretty sure Megatron has some plans for it,” he said, trying to get things back on track.

Another sigh, somehow angry this time. “Yes, I suppose he does.”

“You know what it is?” Trying to fish for information. Damn. He really wished Barricade were here. He’d run the whole thing past him next time he went skyside. At least figure out what the frag he’d done wrong.

The tension snapped back into the jet’s shoulder gyros. “No, I am not privileged enough to know his almighty plans,” he said bitterly. “Which is why I am down here. Partly.”

Frag it all! He was definitely going to talk to Barricade about this. The Seeker clearly wanted to talk to someone. But Blackout knew that picking, well, Blackout, was a terrible choice. He wasn’t a very wordsy bot. He did what he did best—stayed quiet. The jet looked back at him, expectantly, waiting for him to say something.

“Starscream,” Blackout began, stalling. Change of plan: he’d get Starscream to talk directly to Barricade—no way Blackout could manage this himself without fragging it up completely. The jet silenced him, suddenly, with a sharp wave of one hand, his head snapping up to the sky.

“Visitors,” Starscream muttered. He fired his jets, spinning himself up into the sky.