Brotherhood
Part 2: Life's Lessons
“Wait a minute,” Smokescreen asked with a sudden curiosity. “You two are brothers?”
Sunstreaker repressed the urge to roll his optics. He liked Smokescreen, despite only knowing him for going on three solar cycles. He was easy to talk to and seemed like an all-around fun guy. Smokescreen did not look especially powerful or anything, but he proved to be a force to be reckoned with in the scrap or two they participated on their trek to Iacon. He was a warrior with a processor on his shoulders. Sunstreaker liked that. Still, Sunstreaker was getting sick and tired of hearing the same question each time they met someone new. Sunstreaker understood fully that siblings were rare, if not unheard of, for their race, but did they have to hear it cyclically?
Before he could answer, Sideswipe interjected.
“Yeah, but don't ask how. We haven't figured out why or how yet either.” Sideswipe paused for a moment. “You know, Sunstreaker, I never realized how lucky you are to have me around.”
Sunstreaker laughed sarcastically. “‘Lucky?’ If I was lucky, you wouldn't be such a pain in the resistor.”
Sideswipe's mouth curled into a wry smile. Sunstreaker waited for Sideswipe's comeback. Sideswipe was also up for a little verbal sparring. Sunstreaker liked this little game, as did Sideswipe. The two Autobots were warriors and were at their best in battle. Sometimes they would have mock one-on-one battles between each other, but it usually ended with both of them visiting the infirmary. Instead they started verbal battles. It kept the mind sharp and quick and their torsos in one piece.
Just as Sideswipe began to speak, Sunstreaker's senses sparked. Behind them and slightly to the west, he heard a faint whistle of parting air. His instincts, sharpened by millennia of furious warfare, kicked instantly into action. He did not have to calculate the speed the flyer was approaching, he simply knew where he would be. In fact, he did not think at all, except for one thing. His one and only thought was of Sideswipe. The flyer was heading straight for him.
Sunstreaker leapt in front of his brother and landed between the flyer and Sideswipe. Millicycles later, laser fire ripped through his impeccable armor. But he did not care. As he fell to the ground amidst the shouts of anger and surprise, he only thought of Sideswipe.
Then the world went black.
Suddenly, it was light again. A bright gold light slowly flowed into a silvery-blue shimmer. It felt as though the shimmer was moving, but Sunstreaker could not tell. As a piece of the silver light branched off, Sunstreaker was struck with an unexpected revelation. 'This is when me and Sideswipe were created,' he thought in wonder. He watched from his metaphysical venue as the figures of himself and his brother looked at each other for the first time.
He started abruptly as thousands of images raced suddenly past his apparent field of view. He recognized some of the still shots. Others were a complete mystery to him, as if they were future events or perhaps simply dim memories. All of them revolved around himself and his brother somehow. Several times he found himself elated; he would have laughed had he the ability at the moment. Other times he felt intense anger or sadness. It surprised him how strong these emotions were. Sunstreaker was usually very good at controlling his temperament; flying off the handle could get a good warrior killed. Maybe his corporal state enhanced the images. Maybe it was because he was so close to death.
The last image lingered longer. Sunstreaker seemed to be hovering over his own shattered body. Nobody was around him. ‘Man,’ he thought as he grimaced at the horrific sight, ‘I look like slag.’ Sunstreaker looked up to the horizon at another silvery light closing in on him. Sunstreaker squinted into the light, observing the structure it appeared to have. It was spherical in shape and, within it, was a shifting cloud of some kind of gray material.
As the light enveloped him, Sunstreaker heard a soft hum in the silence. As the hum grew louder, he looked around curiously, wondering where it was coming from. Slowly, the noise became intelligible.
“Sunstreaker, wake up.”
Sunstreaker frowned. ‘Ratchet,’ he thought, ‘why the slag would he be here?’ He looked into the still-growing sphere as it slowly blurred. Its color scheme shifted from grays to red and white of Ratchet's head.
“Sunstreaker.”
‘Wait,’ he thought, ‘I'm not dead?’
“Sunstreaker.”
The world began to melt into a familiar form again.
“Sunstreaker.”
* * *
“Sunstreaker.”
Sunstreaker sat up with a start at the sound of Ratchet rousing him and stared down at Sideswipe's prone body. Sunstreaker had to admit that his brother looked a little better, thanks in large part to Ratchet and Hoist. Most of the structural damage was repaired. A large, ugly-looking hole remained open in his chest. Wires and tubes, of which Sunstreaker had no clue as to their purpose, extruded from his internal systems. It had been a day since Sideswipe had sacrificed himself to save Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker felt the urge to berate the unconscious form of his brother but did not. It would not be fair to do that, not when Sunstreaker had done the same thing five million years before and would never hesitate to do again.
As he listened to the soft hum of the medical equipment attached to his brother, Sunstreaker could not help but frown at the memory of his near-death experience, which he found unable to ignore over the past day. Sideswipe had told him the day that Sunstreaker woke up that he had been out for five days after the attack. Sunstreaker could hardly believe that. It felt as though he was unconscious for mere minutes, not days. He found himself wondering if Sideswipe was having the same visions. Inwardly, he hoped he was not. The images were disconcerting. Even now, after all this time, Sunstreaker was almost helpless to study the images he did not recognize. Were those images his future? Was it some sort of clairvoyant vision that he was helpless to stop? Over the past day, most of which was spent sitting at Sideswipe's side, he would fall into a trance of sorts, sifting through these images, looking for one particular shot, one of the Decepticon that had done this to his brother. Never did a single one surface.
Before standing, he stared deeply into Sideswipe's dark optics. Damage either of them had suffered in the past did not mount to internal damage Sideswipe suffered from that butcher's blade. Sunstreaker found himself asking what would happen if Sideswipe did not pull through, if Ratchet’s skill could not pull him back from the brink. Would a part of Sunstreaker die as well? Some might scoff at this and call the thought absurd. Sunstreaker was not so sure. Perhaps Sunstreaker would remain in one piece physically, but what of his mental self?
Sunstreaker lifted his head as he heard something emanating from the hallway outside the infirmary. It was something he had heard before, of course. He had simply never paid it any attention to it before. Sunstreaker stood, squeezed Sideswipe's hand once, and turned to investigate the noise. He felt Ratchet's confused stare on his back.
“Sunstreaker? Prime called down; he needs to meet with you.”
Sunstreaker waved his hand dismissively and muttered an acknowledgment. He was focused on the racket outside. Sunstreaker stepped around the corner and crossed his arms. Blaster was in front of him down the hall, leaning casually against the one of the walls reading a data log of some sort. It was not exactly the usual Blaster music; he was playing a soft vocal song Sunstreaker had never heard before. With a frown, he stepped closer to Blaster and glared at him until Blaster looked up.
“Oh,” Blaster uttered, “hey, Sunstreaker.”
“What are you doing?” Sunstreaker asked tightly.
“What?” Blaster asked, as a look of confusion washed over his faceplate. “I'm serenading the boys in the infirmary like I always do.”
“Well, stop. It's disturbing Sideswipe.”
A knowing look washed over Blaster's face and he gave a Sunstreaker a slight smile. Sunstreaker repressed an urge to pummel him until the smile vanished.
“Sideswipe likes this stuff when he's in there,” the communicator said. “Don't ask me why. Personally I can't stand it, but he told me a while back it relaxes him.”
Sunstreaker's frown deepened. “Fine,” he hissed, “*I* don't like it, so do me a favor and can that garbage when I'm in there.”
Blaster paused for a moment, in a bit a shock from Sunstreaker's blunt attitude, and nodded. “Yeah, all right. No problem.” Blaster heaved himself to a standing position and left.
Sunstreaker, shocked himself, could only watch him leave. ‘What the slag is wrong with me,’ he asked himself. Of course, he knew what his problem was. It was Sideswipe. All that time ago, when Sunstreaker had saved Sideswipe's life, he had not given a thought to how Sideswipe must have felt when he was off-line. Even still, this was different. Sideswipe was probably pretty sure Sunstreaker would wake up. Sunstreaker did not have that guarantee.
‘Do I feel guilty?’ he thought. 'Is it my fault that Sideswipe is lying there right now? If I had been more careful or a better shot, he'd still be walking around.'
Sunstreaker angrily shook his head, ridding himself of the self-doubt. He was not the one to blame. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were warriors. Sometimes there were casualties.
'But when one of the casualties was Sideswipe and it came about in such an underhanded manner,' Sunstreaker thought, 'there will be hell to pay.'
* * *
Smokescreen sat in the back of the room while Optimus and Jazz went over the plan for the upcoming offensive. Smokescreen had to hand it to Optimus; taking a minute or two to quickly run down the plan of attack with the entire force was far more efficient in the long run then the instantaneous departure from the base that had become more prevalent. Optimus Prime was very good at adapting to the military atmosphere. On Cybertron before they left, the war had shifted from a guerilla-type affair, where the Autobots made quick energy assaults, to defensive actions here on Earth. In the latter type, the Autobots relied heavily on platoon commanders to make quick, on-the-fly decisions from one phase of the attack to the next. For a while on Earth, the Autobots used similar attacks in offensive strikes against the Decepticons. They were often victorious, but the battle was inefficient. Thus, Optimus went back to the traditional briefing before the attack. Even with the numbers even on Earth and fighting a superior fighting force, the Autobots were able to hold their own.
Smokescreen leaned back in his chair and looked up at Jazz. Optimus found it so easy to talk to him and Smokescreen could tell why. All of the Autobots liked Jazz. Still, all of the Autobots liked Bluestreak as well and Optimus could not talk with him so easily. It was mind-boggling; Smokescreen could not even fathom a logical reason for it. Which of course left the illogical ones, to which Smokescreen could only theorize.
Digging into the fears and worries of the Autobot warriors became infinitely easier for Optimus once Smokescreen was revived. The warriors liked to talk to him and the feeling was mutual. It had always been like this. Logically, he was used to root out these fears and worries. Still, a part of him could not help but be wary of this. Smokescreen liked talking to them; what Smokescreen disliked was how sneaky his job was. It was almost as if he were betraying confidences.
Smokescreen smiled despite himself. Not that the warriors were unaware of this already. Each side thought Smokescreen was acting as a go-between. He believed his real job was to bring the two sides closer together. Despite this higher order agenda, he was still firmly grounded in the knowledge that others relied on him to know how the other felt. It could be stressful, especially with so many warriors on Earth. Smokescreen relished the challenge.
His thoughts cleared suddenly as Optimus paused in the briefing and then said, “Sunstreaker, are you sure you're up to this?”
Smokescreen saw half of the room turn to look at the warrior leaning against the wall to his left. Smokescreen kept his optics locked on Optimus.
“Don't you worry about me, Prime,” Sunstreaker replied with an almost-forced neutral tone.
Smokescreen did not like it, but he refused to let his face show it, knowing somebody might be watching him for a reaction. Sunstreaker had already refused to talk to Smokescreen several times. Smokescreen felt he knew the answer why. He and his brother were sharp; they knew very well what Smokescreen's secondary function was. They knew that Smokescreen would not run off to Prime with every mundane detail that was discussed. They enjoyed talking with each other. But they also knew there were some things that Smokescreen could not keep from Optimus. This had never stopped them from talking with him before; they knew it was for the good of the Autobot cause. It worried him that Sunstreaker refused speak with him. It was like he was hiding something.
Smokescreen repressed a scowl as a vivid memory rushed to the forefront of his mind. This had happened before. A warrior near cracking had not wanted to talk and Smokescreen could not bring himself to force that matter, as it rarely helped. That young Autobot, Inertia, had been lost because of it. There was little he could have done to truly help him, but he still could have done more. Smokescreen refused to dwell on the mistakes that were made. Still, the memories pervaded.
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had been there that day. In fact, they almost managed to save Inertia's life. They probably would have if Inertia had the will to live any longer. Inertia had felt solely responsible for the deaths in his previous squad, including that of his commander. No one Transformer is responsible for such an act, not in reality. Smokescreen remembered trying to explain this to him, but to no avail. Smokescreen lowered his head with the same pang of guilt he felt each time this memory surfaced. 'No,' he thought, 'I won't beat myself up about it.' One does not learn that way, he told himself. One had to learn from what happened in the past.
Smokescreen glanced casually at Sunstreaker. 'And try like mad to not let it happen again.'
* * *
Smokescreen sat beside Inertia at his otherwise empty table and casually glanced around the recreation room. His focus, however, was riveted on Inertia. The warrior had been in the squad for a couple of decacycles, but nobody really knew that much about him. Smokescreen did however.
The young Autobot was the lone survivor of a very close-knit battle group. In Smokescreen's assessment, most of the assault on the Autobots was eerie and reeked of Snaptrap and his bog-dwelling goons. Other parts seemed like it was done by somebody else. It had started slowly, with several members simply disappearing. Then others vanished, only this time their dismembered bodies were left where they would be found. Finally, the slaughter ensued, leaving one introverted survivor.
It was a saddening story, and most likely frightening for such a young warrior to go through alone. But that was exactly how Inertia was handling it. Alone. He refused to talk to anybody about that day. Which was the reason that Optimus had sent Smokescreen into the fray. It did not matter to Optimus or anybody else in the higher command how Inertia survived; he had and that is what mattered. But nobody believed that Inertia was doing the right thing by bottling his thoughts up, least of all Smokescreen.
Out of the corner of Smokescreen's optics, he observed the way Inertia carried himself. The young warrior was a ball of nerves despite the casual, nonchalant way he tried to act. On the battlefield, the fluid movements Smokescreen had seen in earlier video feeds of Inertia before the incident were replaced by jerky, almost careless, tactics. Even here, during one of the few moments of relaxation available to them, Inertia's expression was darker than Cybertron's perpetual black sky.
Smokescreen leaned toward Inertia and said over the din, “Sometimes it helps to talk about it.”
For several seconds, Inertia continued to stare off into the middle of the room. Smokescreen could tell the Autobot had heard him though; Inertia's optics regained their focus and they were flitting between the table and the middle of the floor. Smokescreen knew he had to wait. Forcing the inner workings of ticking bomb usually led to it blowing up in one's face. The first rule of the diversionary tactician was patience. Moving too swiftly would only tip your opponent to what you had planned while offering you little reward. So he waited.
After several more minutes, Inertia said, “What would you know about it?”
“More than you might think,” Smokescreen replied. “I've been through the fire a couple of times. A lot of us have. We can help if you let us.”
Inertia scowled. “Looks to me like you have enough trouble keeping your nose out of other people's business.” Inertia looked at Smokescreen for the first time, continuing to frown deeply. “You might have heard it a million times but there is no way you can possibly understand if it didn't happen to you.”
“Who's to say it hasn't?” Smokescreen inquired, prompting Inertia's brow to furrow even deeper. “I don't have to be able to understand for you talk about it. Just hearing your feelings in words can help deal with them. It isn't perfect, but it's sure as shooting better than bottling it up inside.” Smokescreen leaned a little closer. “Talk to me, Inertia. I won't say a word to you at all if you don't want me to and I won't tell another soul. But it will help.”
Inertia held Smokescreen's gaze for a second and then lowered his head into the palms of his hands. “Talking isn't going to bring them back,” he whispered, barely audible above the background noise.
Smokescreen frowned upon hearing this. He didn't like the tone of it. It sounded as though he had already given up. It made Smokescreen uneasy.
“*Nothing* will bring them back,” Smokescreen returned quietly.
“It's too dark,” Inertia whispered, “I have to let in a light, one way or another.”
Smokescreen's face twisted into a look of confusion. “What?” he asked, hoping he was not interpreting the sentence correctly.
Without warning, Inertia leapt out of his seat and angrily shoved Smokescreen across the room. Caught off-guard, Smokescreen found himself skidding several feet across the floor on one heel until he clipped another table and he rolled into the middle of the room. He quickly raised his head and cursed when he could see no sign of Inertia through the milling crowd.
He jumped to his feet and sprinted out the main entrance and skidded to a stop once outside. Frantically, he whipped his head back and forth, trying in vain to locate the young warrior. He stopped when his gaze happened upon two figures he recognized. Without another thought, he ran swiftly toward Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.
“Have you seen Inertia?” he asked in a tone that expressed his urgency.
“The new guy, right?” Sunstreaker asked. “Yeah, he went that way.” The yellow Autobot pointed toward the west. Toward Decepticon territory.
“Slag,” Smokescreen said hoarsely and started running toward the west, dragging the brothers with him. “Come on. I'm going to need some help.”
“Why?” Sideswipe asked with an honest curiosity. “What's he doing?”
“Something stupid,” Smokescreen responded sorrowfully.
* * *
Smokescreen skidded to a stop and transformed. As the twin warriors he had in tow did the same, Smokescreen took several steps closer to the disturbing scene before him. Inertia was sitting precariously upon a gangway over an encrusted smelting pool. The smelting pool was part of what appeared to be a recently abandoned Decepticon stronghold. Smokescreen could still feel the heat from the pool billowing around him even with the dark crust floating over the molten metal beneath it.
Smokescreen stared up at Inertia. The young warrior was sitting with his feet dangling over the pool. Beside him was a small pile of scrap metal that he was tossing into the pool. Each fragment that left his hand punctured the husk floating on the surface of the pool, releasing a small flame as if the smelting pool was displaying its anger for being disturbed from its slumber. Inertia appeared to pay the pool's outbursts no mind whatsoever, even as the flames reached up for the Autobot, glancing off of his metal skin. 'He's far worse than I expected,' Smokescreen thought. 'This is out of my league, but I have to get him back to base.'
“Shouldn't we go after him or something?” Sideswipe asked, on alert inside the old Decepticon compound.
“Yeah,” Smokescreen answered, “but I should go up there myself. You two keep an optic out for any Decepticons that might be coming back to turn the lights off or something.”
“You got it,” Sunstreaker replied confidently.
As the two warriors scanned the air and surface around them, Smokescreen moved quickly toward the disturbed Inertia. What Smokescreen had said back at the recreation room had been true. He could only imagine what Inertia had been through. Smokescreen had lost friends in this war; he had never met anybody who had not. But this kid's experiences were far worse than merely losing friends. He had been hunted lunar cycle after lunar cycle. He watched friends get snatched away into a fog and turn up cycles later in pieces lying in their path. He had seen some of the remnants of these hapless warriors. The horror frozen in time on their faceplates was enough to sicken the most hardened warrior. As Smokescreen reached the gangway where Inertia was sitting, he came to the realization that he could not even imagine how the young Autobot felt. How could he? He had never felt the raw wild instincts that had to take over to survive such a trial.
Once he stood at the end of the gangway, Smokescreen crouched down and stared intently at Inertia. The young Autobot didn't appear to notice him. His soot-covered form simply continued to toss scrap into the smelting pool and stared off at some distant point over the horizon. Feeling the temperature increase around them, Smokescreen hazarded a glance down at the pool, noting a good-sized hole opening beneath them. 'Too much longer,' Smokescreen thought, 'and we're going to be a bundle of fused circuits even without taking a dip.' Smokescreen inched closer, but kept his distance. A solid shove from the stronger Autobot, like back at the headquarters, would send Smokescreen to a certain death.
“What do you say we get off of this thing?” Smokescreen said lightly, trying to sound more relaxed than he really was. “I've already had my heat treatment for the decacycle.”
Inertia gave no sign that he had even hearing Smokescreen. He simply dropped another scrap into the pool. The flame from this piece jumped high over the gangway, forcing Smokescreen to raise his arm over his face to defend against the heat blast. Inertia never moved.
“Inertia,” Smokescreen prompted, his mind racing to think of some way to get the kid to talk.
Inertia placed his hand down on the scrap pile beside him and stopped. Smokescreen held his breath, waiting for Inertia to make the first move. Tense seconds passed, punctuated by an occasional prominence of fire and scorching heat. Finally, Inertia turned and looked at Smokescreen.
“Why do you even care?” he asked sternly.
“I simply do. I don't want you to throw away your life. And it's not what your friends would have wanted either.”
“No,” he said softly, “they wanted me to do something then. To actually come through for them when they needed me. Instead, I turned soft and lost everything.” He stood and looked down at the smelting pool. “He said if I ever wanted to finish this, to come back here. So here I am.” He glanced at Smokescreen again. “This is my fight,” he finally said in a tone that clearly spelled out that he wanted to be alone.
Smokescreen paused. “He” was whoever had done this to him. Smokescreen was now positive it was not Snaptrap. That monster played games, but not this kind. The Decepticon in question not only toyed with and tormented his opponents in the field, he also found ways to do it away from the battle front. The list of enemies who had this technique was short and none of them seemed to match up to Smokescreen's analysis.
Smokescreen stood his ground and said, “No battle like this should be fought alone. I can help.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” a voice to Smokescreen's left stated. As Smokescreen turned toward the new arrival, he was viciously jarred off the gangway. Smokescreen scrambled for some kind of purchase and finally grasped the gangway just before plummeting into the smelting pool. Against his better judgment, he glanced down at the glowing orange hole that had opened in the middle of the pool, hoping it didn't spit more fire at what it could very well think of as a sacrifice.
“Impressive,” the voice said again, “but I don't think you're supposed to be hanging out here.” The Decepticon laughed as he leveled his blaster at Smokescreen, but was cut off with a grunt as Sideswipe barreled into him with the aid of his rocket pack. Smokescreen heaved himself back onto the gangway and looked over his shoulder for a second at Sideswipe and the Decepticon. Smokescreen peered into the darkness, trying to make out any feature that might help identify their assailant but to no avail. Smokescreen quickly turned toward Inertia and was shocked to see the Autobot simply standing calmly watching Sideswipe and the Decepticon tussle in the air, almost as if he was waiting for his turn.
Then, with no expression on his face, Inertia leapt toward the two airborne warriors. Smokescreen watched in horror as the young Autobot landed on the Decepticons back, snatched Sideswipe, and flung him from the Decepticon's grasp. Sideswipe kept his presence of mind, looping under the gangway, and finally landing beside Smokescreen.
“What's that idiot doing?” Sideswipe asked incredulously.
As if to answer, Inertia sneered at the Decepticon and yelled, “Finish this ”
Before either astonished Autobot could react, the Decepticon grasped Inertia roughly by the shoulders and flew quickly toward the smelting pool's surface.
“NO!” Sideswipe and Smokescreen shouted simultaneously. Sideswipe jumped off the gangway and raced down toward the Decepticon and Inertia. But he was too late. As the Decepticon leveled off over the pool, he unceremoniously dropped Inertia onto the blacked crust over the pool. Inertia simply sat there for a moment. The thicker crust that rested at that part of the pool withstood the young warrior's weight for a few seconds. In that time, Smokescreen saw of glimmer of regret cross Inertia's face, followed by hope as Sideswipe closed in on him. For a moment, Smokescreen thought Sideswipe might get to him in time. Then the brittle rock cracked and dropped Inertia into the pool. Sideswipe made a quick stab at Inertia's hand, but it slipped under the surface too quickly.
“Slag ” Sideswipe shouted and arced upward quickly as he approached the outer wall of the pool. As he cruised up toward the waiting Sunstreaker, Smokescreen watched the Decepticon alter his course toward the flying Autobot.
“Sideswipe, look out ” Smokescreen hollered. Sunstreaker, however, was already on top of it. He fired his surface-to-air missile at the charging Decepticon, who had to react quickly to veer out of the missile's path. Smokescreen heard the Decepticon curse as he flew away from the brothers. Then he stopped and hovered for a second, staring at Smokescreen. Finally, Smokescreen was able to make out some features of the Decepticon. Smokescreen stared at the blue and black Decepticon's red eyes for several tense seconds.
Finally, the Decepticon said, “Later.”
After a beat, he transformed and blasted off toward Decepticon territory.
* * *
Smokescreen stood as Prime dismissed the battle units to their respective squad leaders, feeling a bit shaken. That Decepticon, the one who had killed Inertia, looked identical to the one who had attacked Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.
As Smokescreen turned to leave, his line of sight passed Sunstreaker's position against the wall. That knowledge will only serve to make the warrior more withdrawn. He had gone after Sideswipe before, after all. Even if it was a coincidence, Sunstreaker could very well reason that the Decepticon was simply trying to finish the job. In fact, a part of Smokescreen wondered if that was not true as well.
* * *
Marauder sat in front of the communications station in the main room, doing his best to look bored with the monitor duty he had been ordered to undertake. In truth, he was practically jumping out of his armor. The mission was a success. Two Autobots were out of the picture, waiting to be found by their foolish lot. He hoped that a communication that the Autobots might send about their grisly discovery that awaited them would be intercepted while Marauder was on duty. And while Megatron was in the room. The Decepticon commander was wrong about him, but that was certainly no error on Megatron’s part. He did not serve so long in the capacity of Decepticon commander by making mistakes. Marauder was not one to say to his commander that he had made a mistake. Starscream did that enough, and Marauder had seen the consequences for it enough as well.
In truth, Marauder was not even sure that the Decepticons would truly find out about the elimination of the two Autobots, at least not in the short term. For that reason, Marauder was already working through another mission in his spare time, perhaps a little more high profile than a couple of mere soldiers. There was not much time to be had however. Marauder found himself on a multitude of missions over the last several days. Guard duty, monitor duty, soldier . . . if it were not for his recent success, he would be jumping out of his armor in a frustration rather than joy. Still, Marauder prided himself on his efficiency and he felt the next phase of his plan was coming along nicely.
A soft internal tone sounded, signifying the end of his shift. Nodding to the Decepticon that took his place, he rose. He nearly started when he saw Soundwave watching him wordlessly mere feet away. Marauder watched his expressionless optics for moment and then, uttering an acknowledgment, slipped past him. He did not need his instincts from years in the field to know that the Decepticon communicator was following him out of the room. Marauder repressed a smile. ‘Of course,’ he thought, ‘he’s heard what happened.’ Once in the hallway, Marauder turned.
“Was there something you needed to discuss with me, Soundwave?” Marauder asked confidently.
“Not I,” Soundwave said. “Megatron wishes to speak with you.”
“I see,” Marauder said neutrally. “Lead the way.”
As Marauder followed Soundwave through the base, he played through all of the possible scenarios in his mind. It was likely that Megatron would be angry that he had disobeyed orders, but Marauder was prepared for that. He would simply continue rationally. He would point out the obvious mistake that some courier or another low-ranking Decepticon had mixed up personnel files with another Decepticon, giving Megatron the wrong impression of Marauder. He would explain that this was the most efficient way of not only showing that error, but also rid them of two Autobot warriors. He remained confident that he would be able to explain everything to Megatron and show him the valuable asset he had at his disposal. Then, no more monitor duty. No more guard duty. Such tasks were beneath him.
Shaking himself from his reverie, Marauder looked around and frowned. There were walking through the crew quarters wing of the base. In fact, they were walking through the hall that contained Marauder’s own quarters. Suddenly alarmed, Marauder strode closer to Soundwave.
“Where are we go-?” He stopped as he looked past Soundwave at the door to his quarters standing open. He stepped past Soundwave and walked into the room and saw Megatron seated at the communications console.
“Commander, this is an unexpected surprise,” he said, trying his best to keep his voice steady. He opened his mouth to say more, but before he could Megatron spun around and leveled his fusion cannon on him.
“You idiot,” Megatron growled menacingly. The tone of his voice caused a shudder to rack Marauder’s body before he could help himself. He found himself wishing that Megatron would yell instead.
Megatron rose and took several steps toward Marauder. The cannon was still centered on the Decepticon’s chest.
“A year’s worth of work. A year of gathering energon, of feints to keep the Autobots off guard. A year of planning. And *you* are the one that nearly brought this down around us.”
“I don’t understand, Megatron,” Marauder managed before Megatron turned again and fired his cannon into the heart of the makeshift communications console along the wall.
“Of course, you don’t understand. You don’t *have* to understand. You were given simple instructions that you chose to disobey. You created that console instead. You tapped into the Autobot’s communications link.”
“Only so I could prove to you what I am worth,” Marauder interjected.
“You are worthless,” Megatron whispered. “This station did not have the same safeguards as the main console. Not only were you able to tap into the Autobots communications, but they could very well have tapped into ours. It is lucky for you that they did not or you would not have lived another second after crossing through that door.”
Marauder blinked. What Megatron said was impossible. He had seen to the establishment of the safeguards himself.
“Megatron,” Marauder said, but stopped at the expression on his commander’s faceplate.
“And for what? A failed mission?”
Then, Soundwave thrust a data pad into Marauder’s surprised hands. Marauder looked down at the image. It showed Sunstreaker and another Autobot helping Sideswipe into their base. Sideswipe was most assuredly offline and Sunstreaker did not look much better. Still, this image was shock. Marauder had checked himself. They were dead. He was sure of it. Marauder looked up at Megatron again.
“So,” the commander said. “We have an incompetent soldier who cannot follow simple instructions. We have a bungling fool who has endangered our greater mission on this mud ball by veritably giving the Autobots access to our communications. We have an arrogant assassin who cannot so much as destroy two Autobots. I suffer through Starscream’s insolence and betrayal because he at least nets results. I forgive failure when it is the exception rather than the rule.
“But your mistakes, a word that hardly comes close to describing your actions, have been constant and very close to bringing irreparable damage to our cause. Imprisonment is too lax a punishment for you, but it will do until I decide what you fate is.” Megatron turned his head up to Soundwave. “Take him to prison level. I’ll deal with him later.”
Minutes later, Marauder was alone in a small cell, energon-enhanced energy bars keeping him from freedom. He leaned against the back wall of the cell and stared with unfocused optics at the cell bars. It was a disaster. All of it. The warriors were alive. Megatron was sure to punish him further. The cruel fate of living life in complete sensory deprivation in the Decepticon prison hold on Cybertron might be too lenient, based on Megatron reaction to everything. There was only one thing Marauder could do. He had to escape. It was the only way that he could set everything right again. It was the only way to be held in favor in Megatron’s optics. He had said himself that he suffers failure if it is the exception rather than the rule. Perhaps he could show Megatron that this recent failure was just that: the exception.
Marauder pushed himself forwards and glanced around the prison level. He nodded. Escape was the easy part. Righting his wrongs would be difficult task. Marauder smiled.
Difficult was nothing to a Decepticon.
To be continued…
To be continued...
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