Outcast
I walked into the dark tavern and paused just inside the doorway for a moment, allowing my optics to adjust. In the darkness, I watched several of the shadier characters give me one look, finish their drinks, and hightail it towards the back exit. I couldn't help but smile at that. Reputations don't take long to build in a place like this.
I strolled up to the bar and took my usual seat. As the barkeeper placed a tall glass of energon in front of me, I glanced around the tavern. The place was nearly empty, not especially surprising given that it wasn’t even noon yet. Still, the bar was a perfect subset of the class of beings that lived in this town now. Good folks who were smart enough to mind their own business. The criminal element was almost extinct from this planet. Again. It happened every time I came back here. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say "after I'm kicked out again."
I heaved a sigh and looked down at my drink. I liked it here. I really did. There was something quaint, if mildly disgusting, about how the mud that the citizens of this fine town (note the sarcasm) call roads sticks to me feet. There was something calming in actually being able to watch a sun rise and set everyday. The landscape was varied and interesting, even if the inhabitants weren’t. But this place simply wasn’t home. It always felt like a stop on the road, no matter how long I stayed here. Dredging up all of those old, and mostly bad, memories always made me homesick.
I know what you’re thinking: bad memories make me homesick? I must be mental, right? Well, maybe I am. But I’d have to call you a liar if you tell me that your own home life is perfect. And even though it isn’t perfect, it’s still home. Sometimes I would think about how I ended up in the revolving door between this rock and my home. Not often, but sometimes. Every time that I wondered how it happened, why I always ended up going one step too far, I can’t help but think it was meant to be.
‘But how,’ I always asked next. How could somebody be destined to be an outcast, even among his own brethren, those he fought beside for so many years? What kind of life is that?
The answer to that one is pretty simple actually. It’s the life I chose. Do I *have* to a disobedient, disruptive force that will actively disobey orders just because I feel like it? Of course not. But I’ll let you in on a little secret. If I did things in a more conventional, and decidedly duller, manner, I wouldn’t be nearly as good at my job. And it’s not just that it’s my personality either. I firmly believe that you have to be willing to stoop to the other guys level if you truly want to get inside his head and cross a few wires, so to speak. *They* are willing to do it. If you’re not, you’re one step behind them. Space this out over a couple of million years, you might as well pull the trigger for them. Needless to say, this isn’t exactly a popular opinion among my fellow Autobots. And as you’ve probably guessed, it’s part of the reason I ended up here.
The door to the tavern swung open, interrupting my thoughts. I didn't look to see who it was. The heavy gait of new patron tipped him off as a Transformer. Only two others besides me ever visited this backwater planet and either one of them would be a delightful change of pace from my daily routine.
"Dear *Primus*, what is that ugly thing sitting at bar?" the Transformer announced.
I smiled into my glass of energon at the sound of Grotesque’s voice. I looked up and spotted his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. "No, no, no. You're looking in the mirror again, Grotesque. I'm over here."
Grotesque laughed and slapped a hand against my back before pulling up a stool beside me. I instinctively placed a hand over the top of my glass as the force of the greeting pushed me closer to the bar. I don’t even want to tell you how many glasses of energon I’ve lost just from Grotesque saying “howdy.”
I watched Grotesque casual glance around the bar. His easy-going nature was both irritating and infectious. Everything was a joke to him. That’s probably a big reason why we got along so well. Other Autobots’ idiosyncrasies didn’t phase me, otherwise Doublecross’s unique disagreements with himself would have drove me batty long ago. And Grotesque either didn’t notice or didn’t care that my own personality could get, how shall we say, abrasive sometimes.
"Nice place," Grotesque stated sarcastically as he surveyed the denizens of the tavern. He looked back at me and asked, “So what’s good here?”
"Well," I answered with a smirk, "the energon's about as bad as you can get."
"You're a regular riot, Pug," the barkeeper bellowed. He dropped another glass of energon in front of Grotesque. "On the house, bub. Any friend o' Repugnus is a friend o' mine."
Grotesque lifted his glass, swirling the energon in it for a moment, and watched the bartender walk over to another customer. "Friends, eh? Well, that's gotta be the first time I've heard that about you, Repugnus."
I shot our reflections in the mirror a wry smile. The way he was carrying himself was almost shouting that he had some reason other than just cracking a few jokes for coming all the way out to this planet. I’m pretty good at reading these kinda things. "How'd you know where to find me?" I asked, even though I was sure of the answer.
"That thing you call a secretary tipped me off," he answered. "Said you were doing research. I'll tell ya, though. This is my kind of 'doing research.'" Grotesque took a long drink and grimaced. "You're right; this is crap. Say, Repugnus, why do keep that secretary of yours around anyway? She was a terrible secretary last time I was here and she's worse now."
"You see the legs on her?"
Grotesque laughed. "Yeah. Ten of them by my count."
"I've always been a leg 'bot," I replied, prompted more laughter from Grotesque. I smiled again, but this time it was half-hearted. ‘Yep,’ I thought, ‘he’s definitely got something to say that he doesn’t want to say.’ Grotesque’s last visit, a couple dozen years ago with Doublecross, had been simply a recreational visit. Grotesque had been as laid-back and calm as when he’s on Cybertron. This time, though, there was an agitated undercurrent. Something was on his mind. And I knew what it was.
“This isn’t a social call, is it?” I prompted.
Grotesque took another drink and stared at my reflection for a long minute. Finally, he chuckled and said, “Am I getting that easy to read?” He set his drink down and turned to face me. “No, it isn’t. Some pretty big things have been happening back home. Did you know Optimus Prime died?”
Leave it to Grotesque to drop something like that as I’m taking a drink. Energon sprayed across the bar, striking more than one suddenly agitated patron. The bartender gave me a look that was a cross between irritation and concern. I waved him back to his work as I looked at Grotesque.
I must have looked shocked. Grotesque laid a hand on my shoulder and said, “Don’t worry; he got better.” I knew the look of shock wasn’t going to leaving my face from that statement.
“Got better?” I asked. It was a rhetorical question; I knew how to decipher Grotesque’s prose. Prime had died and had somehow come back to life. It made me think back four million years ago. The last Autobots said that Optimus Prime died, I was one of a few that didn’t buy it and one of two that stated so quite vocally. Personally, I find it perversely humorous that the other vocal Autobot was Ultra Magnus. Not many Autobots can stand me for any length of time and Ultra Magnus is at the head of that pack.
“So Magnus was the leader then,” I stated matter-of-factly, trying not to tip my hand again.
“Um, no,” Grotesque said slowly before taking another drink. “He was still second-in-command. You see…” He stopped and swirled his glass in the air as if he were trying find the right words. “Before I tell you who it was, I gotta tell ya, the kid did a bang up job considering everything he had to deal with. I’ll fill you in on all that later, but it was… Well, it was Hot Rod.”
“Hot Rod.” I said slowly. I then shot Grotesque a bemused look. “Anything else I should know?”
Grotesque leaned back and thoughtfully scratched his head. “Let’s see. We were attacked by a giant transforming planet, which Hot Rod saved us from. Some weird aliens are running around saying they created us. Megatron is gone and the Decepticons are lead by a new guy named Galvatron. We beat Galvatron and sent him packing and hoped we had heard the last of him.”
“That all?” I asked sarcastically. I hefted my glass and said, “A guy leaves for 5 years and the whole place falls apart.”
“It’s a lot to digest, I know,” Grotesque responded sympathetically. “The short version is that things are pretty peachy on Cybertron. But, uh, things are a little less than peachy elsewhere.”
“Which is where I come in,” I finished.
“Yeah.” Grotesque looked at his drink and pushed it aside. “Rumors are flying that Galvatron is starting to make trouble again. So, whatcha say to pulling that Autobot symbol out of retirement?”
I let out a harsh laugh. “Right. Like Magnus is just going to welcome me back into the fold with open arms. You don’t think the same exact thing is going to happen? That I’ll do my job and do it well and then get sent packing again?”
“Well, with that kind of attitude…” Grotesque stated with a hint of annoyance. “Listen, Repugnus. This is real. Yeah, you and Magnus will still butt heads. Hell, you and everybody will butt heads. Fact of the matter is you’re really the only Autobot for the job. And everybody, including Magnus, wants to see you back as an Autobot. What do ya say, buddy? Wanna go home?” Grotesque’s face lit up with a smile. “I promise that it’ll be an all-around uncomfortable experience for everybody involved.”
Well, with an invitation like that, how could I possibly refuse…
* * *
Home.
For the longest time, all I could do was just sit in the shuttle and stare back at the golden spires pasted against the black, star-covered sky. Grotesque was right; a lot had changed. He explained to me how this new “Golden Age” happened. It was a lot to take in during one sitting and, quite frankly, sounded quite fantastical. However it happened, the end result was magnificent.
And yet foreign. For six million years, I lived on a dying world of drab grays, sporadic energy supplies, and war. Now Cybertron appeared as it did in the video reels I remember seeing so long ago, so full of life, energy, and hope. Looking at all of that, I imagine that it might get hard for some Autobots to remember that the enemy is still out there.
The distinct difference in the landscape wasn’t the only thing that gave me pause. I still had the joy of going face-to-face with my old friend Ultra Magnus. Still, that wasn’t going to get more comfortable the longer I sat there. I stood and walked up next to Grotesque. First thing we were to do was drop my things (which composed of my little-used laser and a few pieces of electronic equipment that might end up being useful) before the briefing. On the way, I talked Grotesque into letting walk past the command area so I could get an idea of whom I’d be talking to. He agreed. I almost wish now that he hadn’t. When he walked past the doorway, I heard:
“He’s completely unreliable, Prime. You remember what happened last time he was here.”
That was the first thing that I heard from anybody other than Grotesque upon arrival at Iacon. Ultra Magnus stating in his deep authoritative voice that “he” was unreliable. Naturally, given that it was Magnus that said this and that he knew that Grotesque and I had arrived, I surmised without a doubt that Magnus was talking about me. Let’s ignore that fact that he wasn’t talking about me and was actually discussing a rather unscrupulous human named Dirk Mannis. It doesn’t change the fact that Ultra Magnus and I will never be considered best friends. Or even cordial for that matter.
So, you’re probably wondering, why don’t Magnus and I get along? First of all, Ultra Magnus is a model soldier. Even though I may not especially like him on a personal level, I can plainly see why Optimus Prime and many others say that he is the perfect second-in-command. When he is serving in this capacity, he follows orders to the letter and never, ever messes up. And quite frankly, if Ultra Magnus had remained the second-in-command he was destined to be the entire time, I sometimes wonder if the two of us ever would have really fallen out. Sure, I still would have annoyed the ever-loving slag out of him, but…
The problem was that Optimus Prime vanished for four million years and command naturally fell to Ultra Magnus. He did a pretty good job considering the circumstances. The thing of it is he was obviously uncomfortable being in the position to give the final go ahead. He still used that second-in-command mentality. Not only did he still follow battle plans and strategy to perfection, he expected everyone else to as well. Over time, Ultra Magnus became a master at battlefield improvisation. I had to marvel at the number of times he saved our hides out there. And naturally springing from this, it didn’t take him long to learn to give his soldiers a little slack and it didn’t take them long to see Magnus’ different, but still viable command technique. Well, most Autobots anyway.
I simply couldn’t play the game like that. Not if I wanted to live to see the end of my missions. I had to play things by ear. If the Decepticons moved, I had to as well. I rarely had time to tell anyone that I left or summarize my probable goals or log it with the communications officer or give an estimated time of return or any of other thousands of things Magnus wished to have before, during, and after the mission. My function forces me to be reactionary. Every fiber of Ultra Magnus’ being screams for structure. Multiply this by a couple of million years of fighting a war of survival and you can probably see where our problems lie. Time after time, we would discuss the nature of my missions. Often times it would become heated. I would explain that I often couldn’t wait for orders and that I did my job well and efficiently. He would explain the need for structure and organization to better defend against a more powerful foe. We never could get through to each other that the other was right. Eventually it just turned into a shouting match, one Magnus rarely lost. He has one pit of vocalizer.
The big finale occurred a couple of thousand years ago. I had to embark on this particularly nasty mission. I was gone for weeks. I had to dash between four different planets and take on three different identities. You don’t even want to know how many times I was this close to getting a sonic blast right in the ol’ laser core. Needless to say, I didn’t have time to inform anyone where and when I had gone. And when I returned I naturally fell under the wrath of Magnus. He droned on with his usual soliloquy about the need for order and all that other crap and demanded to know where I had been and what I had done. Let me tell you something. I had never told anyone, not even Grotesque or Doublecross, the gory details of what I did on my mission. Some of the stuff I do more than a few Autobots would have a lot of trouble with; Optimus Prime knew this when he tapped me for the position. Mercy was something that got you killed. And since I didn't want to end up a pile a scrap metal, mercy wasn’t something I could afford. It all comes done to that whole willingness to do what the enemy does thing. Well, something inside just snapped. I rattled on to Magnus every detail, every Decepticon I killed, every installation I destroyed, everything. It shocked him. All he could do more several minutes after I finished was stare at me. Then, he left, mumbling some slag about me being more Decepticon than Autobot.
That was not something I could tolerate. Being able to act without mercy towards an enemy in order to further the cause I believed in did not equate to actually being that faction that I despise. I fumed about this insult for days. When I returned from my next assignment, the usual argument ended with my dismissal from the ranks. Ultra Magnus called it a sabbatical, but we both knew better. And I gladly excepted the chance to get away from what had quickly turned into a living hell. It never seemed that I was gone for too long though. I’d get called upon to come back to do a dirty job that no one else wanted to do or could do. I’d stick around for a bit until Magnus and I were at each other’s throats and off I went again.
You want to hear the ironic part? Doing what always turns out to be mercenary type missions that I do for my fellow Autobots now, I’m not fully in the loop. Oh, I keep tabs as best I can from my backwater summer home, but it’s not enough information to do my job well and return with my chassis in one piece. So I have to get briefed on the nature of the mission I’m about to embark on. By Ultra Magnus. With a smug smile on his face. Primus I hate that.
* * *
Perhaps the one thing that bothers me more than anything coming back home are the whispers. Each time I returned, the whispers get louder and more widespread. The first time I was “invited back” after the being booted out by Magnus, it was like coming home. Half the Autobots in the base had thought I’d been on some long-term mission. Most of the rest just went on as if nothing had happened. One or two would look at me strangely as I passed them in the hall or quickly stop talking if I entered a room.
Now, the Autobots weren’t so subtle. I walk down the hall and feel like I was on parade. Some Autobots would part ways or walk a little closer to the wall when they saw me coming. Others would stop and stare, as if I were that strange a sight to see here. And the whispers.
Early on, all I heard of the whispers was an occasional “There he is” followed by a stony silence and peering optics. Even if I never heard that, I would have known they were talking about me. It’s my job to know what’s going on. Plus, I’d have to be an idiot to not figure it out. I leave for a couple hundred years and then show up again, only to disappear years or weeks or days later, depending on how much tolerance me and the leadership have for one another at the time. I simply let the other Autobots have their fun and spread their rumors. I guess I should have known better about the latter.
Spreading disinformation is a very important part of my primary assignment. Confusion really can lead to victory in the intelligence field. They start to become to busy straightening out the knots I make to realize that there’s even an enemy agent in their midst. Friends start to trust each other just a little bit less. Reaction times are just that much slower. And the more it spreads, the more people start to believe it. That’s what happened with the rumors about me. Somewhere down the road, somebody mentioned that I left the Autobots and joined up with the Decepticons. Idle gossip with a bullet. Each time I came back, the rumor had taken hold that much more. To Ultra Magnus’ credit, he tried to quell this rumor as best he could, but protecting a mercenary’s reputation goes to the back burner when you need to concentrate on a war that the Autobots seemed to be on the downside of more and more. The last three times I’ve come back, I stayed to do my mission and that was about it. Grotesque and Doublecross tried to convince me to stay, that the rumors would die down the longer I was around, but I knew better. If I stuck around, it would breed fear and distrust. Autobots would trust each other less. Reaction times would slow. The rumor would spread more before it died down, and more Autobots would start to believe it. I’ve created rumors like this over the course of my career. I’ve seen what it does to a fighting force. I will not be the reason the Autobots lose any battle. So I leave.
Is that noble? Maybe, but it’s also the best I can do to help the Autobots now.
* * *
“This mission is of vital importance. Time is of the essence.”
Those were the very words used by Ultra Magnus when he started the briefing. Two hours later, I was sitting in the exact same spot listening to background information which would be of no use to me at all during the mission. This is a quick-in/quick-out espionage assignment. Everything that I needed to know to make this mission a success, I learned in the first five minutes.
The Decepticons have been reportedly chumming about with a race of organics called the Piterions. The Piterions have been at war with a race called the Grytons for the last couple of thousand years. On top of this, the Decepticons have been slowly mobilizing additional troopers from several far-flung galaxy posts. Add it all up and you’ve got the start of trouble. Whoever was able to supply this information couldn’t dig any deeper. Thus, where I come in.
What was making no sense was the extended version of the intelligence report that Ultra Magnus was droning on with. I can not be seen by anybody while scouting around and, if necessary, taking care of the problem. Any Piterions spot me, they’ll most likely notify Galvatron. If I end up needing to go to Gryta for whatever reason and they spot me, they’ll most likely suspect the citizens of Pitery of no-good. If the Decepticons spot me, well, they’ll just kill me. Any way you look at it, if I’m in there for a long enough period of time where the diameter of the planet we’re heading for actually becomes useful information, I’ll most likely be dead already.
As Ultra Magnus moved away from the planetary idiosyncrasies and on to the hypothesized mental state of a race who have been fighting for a dozen generations (like I don’t know what that feels like), I glanced sidelong at the partner that was being forced upon me. His name was Freeway. He was tiny, blue, and among the more annoying individuals I think I’ve had the pleasure to meet. Frequently, and followed by an exasperated pause from Magnus, Freeway would interject some snide remark about Decepticons, aliens, humans, his so-called friends, me. It didn’t really seem to matter as long as the little fool got a laugh, which he had yet to receive. Frankly, I could have been using this time to learn more about this guy instead of useless facts about random planets. He wouldn’t be on this mission if he didn’t have some sort of intelligence background. Ironic that such an idiot works in intelligence.
“Alright,” Ultra Magnus said, “in the interest of time, I’m going to skip over any further information about the inhabitants and move into some of the Decepticons which may present on the planet and the population density of the two worlds.”
“Right,” I said before I could stop myself, “because that slag you were just dictating to me about the diameter of the planet is going to so vital to the mission.”
Magnus crossed his arms and shot a long-suffering look towards Optimus Prime, who had been quiet save a few warning words to Freeway from time to time. Prime barely moved and certainly didn’t acknowledge the look. He had been around long enough that two Autobots are going to resolve any differences with this mission was to talk it over themselves. Of course, those two Autobots were not Ultra Magnus and Repugnus.
Magnus looked back at me, his cold glare boring into my optics. “Besides the fact that planetary facts are quite necessary when planning a mission, I was most recently talking about the effects of war on the Piterion society.”
“Magnus, of all the races in the galaxy, you’d think that Transformers would know a thing or two are war without end and how it effects society.”
“Every race reacts to war differently. We are nearly immortal; they are not.”
“But,” I countered, “the basic underlying theories will be the same. They’re paranoid about outside races. They think everybody out there is teamed up with the enemy. I don’t need a psychology thesis to explain unnecessary hypotheticals to me.”
“Sounds like an excuse from somebody not smart enough to wrap their head around it to me,” Freeway said to nobody in particular.
Magnus continued, ignoring the little twerp. “Those are more than mere hypothetical situations. The situation there is volatile. Your attitude about this seems almost flippant. One wrong move from you out there could trigger unstoppable war between the Piterions and Grytons.”
“As opposed to the stoppable one that we’ve just been letting run its course for the last couple thousand years, right? It’s a war, Magnus. It’s between two worlds that can’t seem to see things from the others point of view. They’ll continue to fight after I’m through with this mission, no matter what happens.”
Magnus pointed a finger at me. I hate it when he does that. “This is exactly the sort of attitude I’m talking about. You have this steadfast refusal to look beyond the now and see what kinds of long-term consequences the actions you’ll have on their war. It might appear that you get the job done and done well. But ten years down the road, something that seemed harmless before has suddenly blown up because of a proper lack of training and background information. That’s what this meeting is about. It’s a preventive measure to make sure any possible circumstance is accounted for.”
I sat back, visibly annoyed. Freeway said something snide, but I had already grown used to blocking him out. I kept my gaze locked on Magnus.
“It sounds like you’re trying to transpose future possible, and unlikely I might add, mistakes on what I’ve done in the past. When I have I ever messed to any degree, let alone to the degree you’re talking about?”
“Never,” Magnus admitted without pause, “but missions of this type have not been attempted by you in past. This is a different situation. We’re talking about doing things that potentially could affect non-Transformers. If something happens to escalate matters between Autobots and Decepticons, we can deal with that ourselves. But to do that to another race? That is completely different and far more difficult to plan for. A small mistake could lead to global consequences for another planet and it would be on our shoulders.”
“You’re making a mountain out of a dust pile,” I pointed out. “You make it sound as though my mere presence there or anywhere that I go on this mission is going to have some kind of irreparable damage inflicted on the fabric of galaxy order. It’s actually quite simple. I go to the planet, find out what I can, and don’t get caught. I get caught, I die. That’s incentive enough for me to succeed. Have a little faith, Magnus.”
“It’s not a question of faith,” Ultra Magnus returned. “I know you are capable of success under most circumstances. I am simply concerned with the nature with which you have performed your duties in the past. The degree of violence that some of your missions have taken in the past is questionable at best. My chief concern is that you will make the situation between the two races worse through your actions.”
I looked down at my lap and took a deep breath. Screaming and hollering was not going to get me out of that room and on the mission any faster. That little tiny insinuation, that remark about violence, was usually enough to quickly escalate to my dismissal. I calmed myself down and answered him.
“Ultra Magnus, violence is not the only thing that I am capable of. Despite what I’ve heard flying around Iacon here, I’m not a Decepticon. I’m simply willing to do what I have to in order to forward the Autobot cause. If that means sending a few Decepticons to visit Primus a little earlier than their reservation stated, then so be it. I understand that not everybody would do that and that not everybody is going to understand it, but that doesn’t change the way I will always do things to make the future safer for all of us.
“You might not have complete faith in me that I can keep the violent nature that everybody has decided is what I’m all about in check, but that, nor this discussion, is going to change the facts. The Decepticons are up to something and have involved the Piterions. I have to go Pitery and cannot get so much as seen or I’ll likely be shot on site by either a triggerhappy Piterion or an equally triggerhappy Decepticon. I have find out what the plan the ‘Cons have hatched is and do my best to stop it or slow it down. Planetary population and guesses on situational attitudes of an alien race are not going to get me any closer to getting that done. I need to actually be there and watching the patterns these guys follow, not guesses based on sketchy, cryptic prose from Autobot command, a good 35 light-years from the planet in question. And frankly, Magnus, I’d think that you’d like that. It’s nice and orderly and it will allow that pipe to remain lodged in your anal-retentive afterburner.”
It wouldn’t be a conversation between Magnus and me if I didn’t add something like that. I continued.
“I am the only Autobot for this job.”
Freeway laughed. “Yeah right. I could do it easy.”
I looked down at him. “If they thought you could handle this one, mini-bot, then you’d be gone and I’d still be relaxing at my summer home.”
Freeway’s smile dropped slightly, but rebounded. “You should scoff at size, gruesome. With your size and that Primus-awful color scheme, you’d stand out like a Decepticon at a peace prize convention. You look like something a Junkion hacked up.”
I sighed and looked back at Freeway. He was out of his league if he thought he’d out-insult me. “I wasn’t talking about your size, peabrain. I was talking about your cranial capacity.”
This time the smile dropped away completely. There was an ice-cold anger in his optics. It was a sight I’d get used to for the next couple of days. I turned my attention back to Magnus, who was sitting there slowing fuming. He looked as though he might combust right there before my optics. Then, to my surprise, he stood and crossed the room. He punched a couple of keys on the computer console and it ejected a data disk. He grabbed the disk and turned, handing it to me.
“Fine. This disk has the rest of the information that we have on the Pitery/Gryta conflict and locations of Decepticon activity. We have a refurbished Piterion ship the Junkions put together for us that will leave in one half hour. Freeway should be able to get you onto the planet. From there it is up to the two of you. Intelligence reports estimate you will have about two days total to complete the mission before whatever the Decepticons have planned will go into motion.”
I got up to leave, casting a curious glance at Optimus Prime, who was quietly contemplative the entire time. I suppose there is little you could do with two intense, hard-nosed, stubborn slagheads like me and Magnus.
And turned and headed for the door, but I was stopped by a hand dropping on my shoulder. I turned and looked up at Optimus Prime. I wanted to shrink away from his deep gaze. Not many can make me feel like that. I glanced over Prime’s shoulder at Ultra Magnus, already diligently back to work mobilizing the Autobot defense against an unknown strike happening at an unknown time.
Prime following my optics to Magnus and turned back towards me. “Our defenses are not up for the kind of attack we believe the Decepticons have in store,” he stated matter-of-factly. “We are all trying to ready ourselves from the hell that might be unleashed, both mentally and physically. Both of you are important cogs in that readiness.”
I nodded, fully understanding his meaning.
“And that pipe to which you referred,” he added. “If that pipe wasn’t in his afterburner all this time, none of us would be here right now. Remember that.”
I hate it when he’s right.
* * *
Most people I’ve met would rather not do the kinds of things that I do. It might sound thrilling and it really is. But the chances of dying increase every single time you step out onto the field. More so than the average warrior really. If you think about it, while the enemy is all around you trying to finish you off, your friends and allies are around you as well. The necessity of working on your own with counter-intelligence suits me wonderfully. As you have probably noticed, any number of different souls would be more enjoyable to spend some quality time with then yours truly. Nobody wants to be around me and I work best on my own. A match made in heaven. A part of the reason why I loathed having Freeway as a partner in this is for just this reason. I wasn’t used to it. It’s usually difficult enough watching out for yourself without having to baby-sit someone else in this.
Another reason was that the guy just plain got on my nerves. The incessant joking back at the base was nothing to compared to the first hour on this ship with him. He just wasn’t going to let that little dig I threw at him earlier go. Every other minute it was some snide comment or another. If Transformers had mothers, mine would have been insulted at least thirty times by now. And in between the editorials about my intelligence, my looks, my transformation, and everything else, he would sit there and mope while we tested his equipment. Some people just can’t take what they themselves deal out.
Thankfully the trip was relatively short (I should note that when I mumbled this aloud, Freeway thought I was mocking his height. Touchy, touchy). We parked the ship amid some space debris and sat in orbit for a couple of revolutions. Here is where I saw that the choice to send Freeway with on this mission wasn’t just a cruel joke thought up by Magnus and Prime. Freeway intercepted the coded messages seeping into space and translated them without pause. He proved to be quite adept at it actually. I found myself grudgingly impressed. A half a day of this and we were in sync with the planetary defense and found barren yet useful place to set down: an old communications dump. With any luck, I would still be able to tap into the defense schematics and access the Decepticons’ plans.
After we landed, Freeway and I waited at the back hatch, Freeway listening in vain for any word of us being spotted. After a couple of minutes of only static, I knew we’d just have to chance it.
“Forget it for now,” I snapped at Freeway, “we’ll tap in inside. Hopefully we’ll have better luck.”
As Freeway grumbled some reply, I reached into my back compartment and handed Freeway one of the contents. He gasped when he saw what it was.
“A Decepticon symbol?” he asked pointedly. “Not really doing too much to erase those rumors, are we?”
I glared down at him. “Oh yes, like you couldn’t design from memory after so many years. Just take it and shut up. If, Primus help us, we do get spotted out there, that symbol is probably the only thing that will give us enough time to get out of here in one piece. Now shut up and come on.”
We placed the Decepticons symbols over our Autobot ones and stepped outside to caution a look around. The heat out there nearly sucked the wind out of me and the sand carried in the wind pelted my steel skin. Can’t imagine why they abandoned this place. We stepped inside and I stopped. Something wasn’t right about this place. It was the smell of it.
“Step lightly, Freeway,” I said quietly.
Naturally, he didn’t. He stomped his metal feet towards a com unit, grinning wildly. “What’s the matter, Repugnus? Still scared of the boogie-con?”
I growled, but said nothing. After a moment of getting no reaction, Freeway offered a look of exaggerated hurt and relented, plugging himself into the console. I looked around in the darkness for a while longer, trying to find anything that seemed out of place. Dust and sand, seemingly undisturbed for years, lay quietly in the corners. Dust hung in the air, but that could very well have been from our own movement. Still, something didn’t seem right.
I turned to Freeway, who was quietly sifting through the transmissions that were finally getting through. I waved my hand to get his attention.
“I’m going to take a look around. Keep your communicator open and stay plugged into that thing. Let me know if there are any strange transmissions.”
“Boogie-cons can’t use radios,” he replied with his idiot grin.
One obscene gesture later, I set out to explore the station. I transformed into my insect mode, trying to track down where the stench was coming from. I opened the door at the back of the room we enter and stepped into what seemed to be some kind of command post. I walked past some of the equipment, studying it. Best I could tell, it was some sort of targeting system. ‘This isn’t a communications station,’ I thought, ‘this is a military strike post.’ That changed everything. I grabbed my scanner from my pack and quickly scanned around for lifeforms. Nothing. I walked along the walls feeling for something that might act as a door or compartment, but to no avail. I slowly stooped down to the floor and gently glided my hands across the hard metal surface. If the Grytons invaded and infiltrated this bunker, the Piterions would want to be able to stay hidden. This structure would be built to render scanners useless. Cursing, I opened a channel to Freeway.
“Hey, shorty,” I whispered into the communicator.
“Yeah,” a voice behind me answered.
I scrambled around, transforming into robot mode and calling my little used blaster from subspace. That little slaghead was right behind me.
“Whoa there tiger,” he said, completely unfazed. “Jittery and ugly. The worst of both worlds.”
“Why aren’t you at the com unit?” I asked frantically.
“I’m still listening,” he answered, pointing at an antenna resting on his shoulder. “I just didn’t want you to have all the fun.”
I dropped my blaster and grabbed him by the neck. “Listen, you little twerp. I needed you to listen to the console and watch the door. We thought this place was abandoned, but what if someone comes calling?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “We die, that’s what. And don’t want your ugly mug being that last thing I see before meeting my maker.” I released him and he stumbled back a couple of steps.
“Primus, you hothead,” he hissed, “why don’t you fly off the handle a little more?”
“It’s NOT flying off the handle. This place isn’t abandoned. It’s a military installation. You think a race that knows nothing but war is going to abandon a place to war from.”
“We haven’t detected anyone,” Freeway pointed out as he started to glance around suspiciously.
“I know,” I said, my tone more thoughtful. “I’m starting to wonder if they know we’re here.”
That’s when the floor dropped out from under us. Literally.
The rest of this, from when we dropped to when we were saved from certain death when I grabbed a well-placed beam and Freeway grabbed my equally well-placed foot, took about half a second. My business ain’t for amateurs. We plummeted about twenty feet before I got my wits about me and looked down. Some kind of nasty energy pool was waiting for about another eighty feet down. Judging from the way it incinerated my blaster, which got a head start to oblivion, I figured it wasn’t going to be doing us any good either. My optics darted around, trying to find anything that would help us out of this predicament, when I noticed the sparks shooting up from what was left of my gun seemed to be vanishing behind something. I reached my hands out, hoping that it wasn’t just my optics giving out on me. They weren’t. A solid object smacked heavily against my open hands and I clasped down as hard as I could. Freeway grappled for purchase as he slid down me and grasped my foot, dangling mere feet above a certain death.
My little prayer to whomever was watching over me was interrupted by a startled squawk ahead of us. I slowly lifted my head above the beam I was holding on to and peered at the surprised resident of the facility. We stared at each other for a couple of seconds before he paced back one step.
“Decepticons?” he asked, mostly to himself, his nervous eyes darting between my own optics and my fake Decepticon symbol. No doubt he was trying to figure out why any of them would be out here. My thoughts raced ahead to what he might do now. The most logical would be to call ahead to one of his superiors or the Decepticon squad commander on the planet to ask why we’d be sneaking around. My optics focused behind the Piterion on the com console that he was monitoring.
The Piterion turned and looked at the console himself and deftly pivoted around. He activated the device he was holding, which produced an energy bridge from his location to the console. He began walking quickly towards it, peering nervously over his shoulder after every couple of steps.
I had a plan. Freeway wasn’t going to like it. There was, however, no time to explain it to him. I began swinging, quickly building up speed.
“What are we doing, you jackass?” Freeway shouted.
“Giving you a boost,” I answered as I reached the right angle of my swing. I kicked Freeway loose, sending him flying towards the Piterion. I let my momentum take me over the top of the beam and dropped gracefully to my feet. As I got my bearings and started bounding on the interspersed beams towards the organic, I watched my partner, who was screaming with surprise cutting through the air, soar towards the console. He transformed into his car mode just before landing on the bridge between the Piterion and the com station and skidded to a stop. He quickly reverted back to robot mode and stopped the Piterion in his tracks with a shot in the air from his pistol.
As I grabbed the Piterion by the shoulders and grasped the bridge device from his hands, Freeway threw his pistol to the ground and hollered, “What the hell was that? You could have killed me!”
“Quit being a sissy, Windcutter, and shut up.”
Freeway’s angry expression suddenly shifted to one of confusion. I prayed to Primus that he’d figure it out and play along. After a second, his hand wandered up to his faux Decepticon symbol and dropped to his side. Maybe he wasn’t as dumb as he looked.
“Yeah well, this wasn’t part of the plan. I thought the boss said this place was empty.”
“Well, I guess it isn’t.” I pushed the Piterion towards Freeway. “Take him back up top and tie him up. I’m gonna check around a bit more and see if there are any more of these fleshbags slithery around.”
Freeway nodded and started up a ladder with the Piterion in tow. After the two were out of sight, I plugged into the communications station and started sifting through any past communications using Freeway’s code breakers. If I wasn’t so good at hiding emotions, I would be noticeably shocked that Freeway had been so useful on the trip thus far. Sure he was annoying the diodes out of me and almost got me killed, but I was sure that I *would* be dead by now because of him. The little surprises life has in store for you to keep you on your toes.
On the dull trip out here, I tried to wrap my head around why the citizens of Pitery, who have kept all focus squarely on their eternal war with their enemies in the next system for generations, would suddenly waste time and energy working with the Decepticons. The most logical reason, of course, was that the Decepticons were helping them with the war somehow. I surmised that perhaps, somewhere in the back of some computer somewhere, a paper trail might lead to some mention of the Decepticons giving weapons to the Piterions for something in return. For five minutes, I sifted through military communiqués and political directives searching for the treaty that was undoubtedly forged between Pitery and the Decepticons. From time to time, a wrong turn would reveal some shred of the society that was slowly being consumed by the war they were fighting: a recipe, a poem, a description of a landmark. I couldn’t help but see the reflection of the Transformer race in those. To most, society had disappeared long ago, leaving only war in its place.
Suddenly, I found the right documentation. I could sense my optics widen with what I saw. A bomb, I thought. I glossed over the basic design, which revealed nothing surprising except that it was strong enough to destroy the planet. Interesting. I never would have guessed such a detached method of destroying the enemy from those who had taken the war so personally thus far. As I pulled back from the data storage and found my way out of cyberspace, I mulled over what could be done about the situation. Based on other documentation, the Piterions were planning on helping the Decepticons invade Cybertron, thus giving the Decepticons a daunting strike force, once the bomb had exploded and the majority of Grytons were off in whatever afterlife that they believed in. But if the bomb never exploded? I smiled inwardly and I unplugged from one outlet of the console and connected into another.
It would take more than just deactivating the bomb to dissolve the alliance and throw the Decepticons primary plan out of commission. I had to make sure the Piterions would never trust the Decepticons again. I maneuvered quickly through the Piterion computer banks and began dictating a nice fake Decepticon communication for the Piterions to discover. My favorite part of this job is creating misinformation. Spreading rumors is fun too. It’s amusing to watch how quickly it spreads and mutates into something else. But with rumor fabrication, there can be so little imagination involved. It can be quit shocking what people will believe sometimes. Creating misinformation, though, that was an art. Unlike rumors, misinformation has to be believable. It’s something that is in the permanent record of a society. If it’s outlandish, people will get suspicious. Plus, it has to follow the same style as other documents or communications. If it sounds too foreign or too casual, it won’t be believed. And this particular communication had to be believed. I pulled away from the console and lifted the panel below the main distributor. I quickly clasped a timing device to the main modem wire and replaced the panel.
This was one communication the Piterions will want to hear after we’ve paid a visit to Gryta.
* * *
Part of the thrill of doing what I do is never knowing what you’re going face next and where you’ll end up going before the next sunset. Naturally, you have to have some background going into this mission, though not as much as Ultra Magnus doled out earlier. That was overkill. But so much of this business is improvisation. All the prep work in the world might not get you ready for the need to hightail it off of one planet and onto another. Just because you’re going to a Decepticon outpost and are not expecting any off-worlders there doesn’t mean there won’t be any or that they won’t see you or ask some annoying probing questions you don’t know the answer to. There’s a lot of stress involved. It’s simply the nature of the job and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Slag, sometimes the adrenaline is the only thing keeping you from getting caught by some pursuers.
One thing that I found that didn’t help was letting the stress get to you when you don’t have to. There’s nothing that stress is going to fix before or after a mission. Or at times like now, when we are coasting at high speeds from one planet to another. The mind needs time to settle and absorb all that you’ve seen and done and just relax. I usually settle back, switch off my optics, and think of nothing and let my mind do what it has to in order to stay focused on the task at hand. If you get all worked up about something and you’re alt mode suddenly becomes a big ball of tension, you lose something when you have to focus again. You’re jumpy and more careless. Where you might otherwise perform flawlessly, you start to doubt yourself and look over your shoulder one too many times. In short, it’s a good way to get yourself killed.
And Freeway was well on his way there.
I couldn’t see him because, naturally, my optics were off, but I could certainly hear him. He’d pace across the small ship, tap his toe against the floor, sigh overly loud, purposely tripping over my outstretched legs, anything to try to get my attention in a way that might be considered subtle by any stretch of the definition. I knew what he wanted to tell me. He was needlessly concerned about the Piterion that we left tied up at the strike post. After walking back to our ship, Freeway griped about how un-Autobot it was to leave him there. He was in the middle of nowhere and who knew when someone would get to him. I had simply waved off his concern, knowing that someone would likely retrieve him well before he was in any physical danger. I instead imparted to him about what I had discovered about the bomb and the Piterion alliance with the Decepticons. This seemed to quell him for a while, but then he started worrying and tensing up, thinking more about the Piterion that would have shot our heads off if he had a gun strong enough to do that. Now he was this close to being that little ball of tension.
I checked my chronometer. We were getting close to the planet. If Freeway wanted a little face time with me, I decided to give it to him. Especially if it Freeway would vent a little bit.
I sensed Freeway walking towards me on another strafing run at my legs. This time as he tripped over them, I lift them up, causing him to lose his balance and tumble to the ground. He somersaulted back to a standing position and wheeled around at him.
“Finally woke up, you big goon.”
I stood up and looked down at him. “If you got something to say, then say it. And then I’ll tell you why you’re wrong in very small words.”
Freeway shot me ice daggers from his eyes and started in. “The Piterion, Repugnus. That’s what’s wrong. We left him there to die for all we know. He did nothing to us to deserve that. We are not at war with the Piterions.”
“Aren’t we?” I asked. “They are in cahoots with the Decepticons to attack us on Cybertron. Besides, he’s probably been found by now.”
Freeway’s comportment faltered a bit. “Not yet they haven’t. You said you put together that fake communication. There’s no way they’ll work with the Decepticons.” Freeway pointed his finger at me. Did I mention that I hate that? “And we don’t know if he was found. For all we know, he might never be found. At least not till it’s too late.”
My hand snapped out and grabbed his outstretched finger. I pushed it back, forcing him against the wall behind him, and watched his face twist in discomfort.
“It’s been all of three hours. If he were so fragile as to die in that time period, he’d never be out there fending for himself in the first place. In another three hours, the communication we put into there system will get sent regardless of what happens here. The Piterion government will see who sent it, what it said, and where it was sent from and dispatch a unit to investigate. They’ll find that poor fragile soul you’re so worried about, he’ll tell him a couple of Decepticons did this to him, and he’ll be honored as a hero for saving his people from Decepticon treachery. Doesn’t sound so bad to me.” I looked at his finger and let it go. “And don’t point. It’s rude.”
Freeway shook his hand out and looked at it with concern. Before I saw it coming, he balled up a fist with the hand and threw a punch at me. He’s stronger then he looks. I stumbled back a couple of steps and couldn’t quite stifle a grunt of surprise.
He smiled at me and shook his out some more. “Good. It still works.”
Guess that’s the closest thing to an apology to expect from him.
* * *
“Come on, Repugnus, let me do it. That bomb isn’t ticking any slower.”
I growled with frustration and moved aside, letting Freeway at the scanners and turned my attention to the signal dampener. This was the only thing that was keeping us from being detected by the Grytons and being shot out of the sky. The problem was, after examining this valuable piece of equipment, we soon began doubting that it would survive the fiery decent to the planet’s surface. If it didn’t, I wouldn’t want to be flying through the Gryta’s atmosphere in the Piterion ship. If anything screamed “destroy without prejudice,” that was it.
Given that, I started looking for a hole somewhere where a ship might be able to set down unnoticed. When we arrived, we soon found that the population density on Gryta, the smaller of the two planets, was substantially greater than on Pitery, something I would have found out had I allowed Magnus to continue in his briefing before the mission. I made a mental note not to mention this little fact to Magnus. I’ve seen his smug “I was right and you were wrong” smile before and didn’t care to see it again. Ocean areas were minimal and didn’t give any good cover for a landing on shore. Mountainous areas were covered with pressure sensors and monitored through a video feed. An alien ship would be noticed in busy municipal areas, based on the several we heard commandeered through tapping into radio transmissions. Enemy vessels wouldn’t stand a chance.
I walked over to our equipment and started to gather together what we would need: Freeway’s communication pack, the diagnostic equipment, and the tools we would need to detach the bomb. I strapped everything tightly to my back and stepped up behind Freeway. There was one other option we had. I didn’t like it one bit. It was dangerous. Miss by one micron and it’s lights out. But the more time that passed, the more likely that it became our only option.
“Anything?” I asked, already know what the answer would be.
Freeway’s fingers danced swiftly over the keypad before him, trying to find anything that might get them in. In the seconds before he answered, he checked four more options, all of them duds.
“Nothing. Maybe if we had a couple days, something might open up, but…”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence. The bomb was set to blow in under an hour. Freeway stood and looked up at me.
“So, now what?”
I reached behind him and tapped in new coordinates for the ship’s course, taking it down towards the surface, and motioned for Freeway to follow.
Freeway glanced warily back at the dampening device and said, “You think it’ll hold out?”
I reached the side hatch as the ship entered the atmosphere. Reaching for something to steady myself, I looked back at the signal dampener working overtime trying to keep the ship invisible to scanners below. I checked the pressure outside and watched to rise quickly as the surface approached. I checked our location over the surface. Almost time to go. About a thousand feet below, there was a small, defunct ventilation shaft a little bigger than me. From the schematics we pirated in orbit, it seemed to lead to the general area we needed go to find the bomb. The problem was that it was a thousand feet down and little bigger than me.
“No,” I answered as the dampener conked out, “but here’s our stop.”
“What?” Freeway asked in confusion just before I blew the door open and the air rushing out of the ship blew him out into the open sky.
I jumped after him and was pushed forward by the explosion where the ship at been. It certainly didn’t take them long to take it out after finding it. I steadied myself and shifted around so that I was falling feet first towards our target. I looked down and spotted Freeway flailing around and at such as angle that he was falling slower than me. As I rushed past him, I grabbed him and shifted so that my body was parallel to the ground and shove Freeway onto my shoulders.
“What the hell was that all about?” Freeway screamed against the wind rushing into our faces.
“Better than blowing up, isn’t it?” I shouted back with a smile.
“Yeah, going out with a splat is much better than going out with a bang.”
“Bitch bitch bitch,” I replied quietly.
Three hundred feet, two hundred, one hundred. If I said I wasn’t nervous, I’d be lying. Truth is, I’ve never really tried anything quite like what I was attempting. Sure, I’ve jumped out of exploding ships before and I knew how to control where I fell and how fast, but I’ve never actually tried to pinpoint a landing with this kind of accuracy and without a chute to give me a softer landing. What I did have was a harness that used to in sticky situations when I needed to be anchored to something. It was larger enough in diameter to cover the vent we were falling into and stronger to hold my weight. If, that is, I wasn’t falling at a high rate of speed carrying a passenger. I figured it would stop our fall for about half a second before disintegrating and sending us falling down the vent again.
I pivoted so that I was falling feet first into the vent. Freeway, to his credit was actually taking this in stride. His grip around my head was nearly painfully tight but he had his arms position in such a way that I could still see where I was going. As we entered the dark vent, I would have released a sighed with relief if I was breathing at all. Instead, I released the harness, which smoothed out over the vent cover and brought us to a painful stop. My shoulders and back screamed in resistance to the pressure exerted on them. But for that brief second, we were stopped.
“Ow,” I said.
Just as I had thought, the straps of the harness evaporated and sent us tumbling through down the vent again. Now, thanks to that heavenly pause in acceleration, I could better control the descent. I placed my hands and feet against the sides of the vent to slow us down. We quickly made our way to bowels of the command post, where the Decepticons planted the bomb we were after.
After we reached solid ground and as I checked myself over for any damage that needed immediate attention, Freeway quickly accessed the Gryton security database.
“They’re on high alert after destroying the Piterion ship,” he whispered. “Some troopers have been dispatched nearby to investigate some noises.” He looked back at me and smiled. “That would be us.”
“Are they anywhere near the bomb?” I asked, trying to keep him focused. He seemed a little too giddy after surviving that free fall.
Freeway scanned through the building schematics. “Kinda, yeah. Should I divert them off?”
I looked over his shoulder at the schematic. They were far enough away that we could get our job done with relative ease. It was the troopers scouting near the depot hanger that worried me. We were going to need an escape ship and that was the only place where we were going to get one. I decided to worry about that later. We needed to get to the bomb.
“Stay tapped in if you can,” I told Freeway quietly, “and let’s get this over with.”
We quickly worked our way to the auxiliary power station without seeing a single Gryton guard. I removed the engineering pack and made short work of the bomb. I grabbed the power source and the timing device and tucked it away where it would be safe if anybody decided to start shooting at us. We walked quickly back to one of the side halls and started making our way towards the hanger.
“Is it just me, or is this almost too easy?” Freeway asked, sounded a little spooked.
“Hold it right there!” a booming voice shouted from behind us.
“Never, ever ask that,” I whispered hoarsely to him as we both turned around.
In front of us was some sort of scout vehicle. It was, for the most part, a big gun with a seat for the pilot. The Gryton sitting atop it considered us curiously. I was surprised that he hadn’t alerted any others yet but I certainly wasn’t going to stand there and wait for it to happen. I glanced over the Gryton, checking for any kind of armor I’d have to avoid when I shot him. And then I remembered my gun was a cloud of vapor on Pitery. I cursed to myself as my mind raced. ‘Freeway’s gun,’ I thought. It was strapped securely to his back. I considered inching a little closer to the small Autobot, but quickly thought better of it. The Gryton would surely attack before I could make my grab for the gun. I simply waited for my opening.
“Heh,” the Gryton said, “I could have sworn that we told you Decepticons that we could fight our own battles.” Thank Primus we hadn’t removed the symbols yet. He pointed the vehicle’s cannon towards Freeway. “Now you’ll see what you find when you snoop around too much.”
He reached down that tapped a few controls and announced. “Hurital to captain.” A confused look washed over his face as he looked down at his communications station. I glanced down at Freeway, who was trying not to smile. He was jamming the transmission. Again, I couldn’t help but be impressed.
“Captain? This is Trooper Hurital. Do you read?” The trooper looked up at us with a knowing look. “You’re doing this, aren’t you?” He reached down to activate the cannon.
This was my chance. I lunged at Freeway as the Gryton fired at us. I grasped the gun off of his back and shoved him to the ground and out of the line of fire. I jumped to the left and fired the blaster, nailing the Gryton in chest and knocking him off of the scout vehicle. I rose to my feet and walked over to him. He was lying with his face against the ground. I rolled him over with my foot and looked him over. He’d have a big headache when he woke up, but he’d live.
I looked up at Freeway, who was already settling in the pilot seat of the scout vehicle. He flipped open the communicator and cleared his throat. “Trooper Hurital to captain,” he said.
“This is the captain. What is your report?”
“I just encountered two Decepticons, sir. My ride has some structural damage, but I managed to scare them off. They’re heading towards the auxiliary power station.”
“Any additional information you can give us.”
“Yes sir. One of them is sort of on the small side and blue. The other one is big. And ugly.” Freeway winked at my scowl face.
“Good work, trooper. All units, converge on the auxiliary power station. Hurital, head for the depot hanger and get a new ride, then meet us at the power station. Those Decepticons obviously didn’t learn their lesson last time.”
Freeway switched off the communicator and smiled up at me. “Let’s go.”
I shook my head. “No way,” I said, returning the smile. “I’m driving.”
* * *
I glanced around my temporary quarters at Iacon to make sure that I grabbed everything, even though I already knew that I had. It seemed like it was taking less and less time to pack up after the mission was done. Maybe it was that I was getting used to not staying long anymore. I quit bringing personal items and just stuck with what I’d need to get through a couple of stress filled days. I stared down at my stuff and sighed. It was almost depressing.
I heaved the pack on my back and turned to leave. I stopped suddenly when I looked up at the door. Freeway was standing there, leaning against the frame with a wry smile on his face.
“Leaving already, are you?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“Without even trying to stick it out? How the hell are those rumors you hate so much going to go away?”
“They won’t. Believe me. I’ve spread rumors in my day that mutated into stone cold facts after enough time, no matter what anybody tries to stop it. It would breed distrust and tentativeness if I stayed. I can’t be the reason why the Autobots falter when the Decepticons try again.”
Freeway chuckled. “I think you’re believing your own propaganda a little too much. Little things count too, you know. You were right about the Piterion that I babbled on about during the mission. He could have fouled up our mission if we let him go. I was just getting riled up about the mission. And when you shot at that trooper on Gryta, you know that my weapon would be on stun.”
That was true. He had his weapon pointed at Piterion at one point. There was no way that Freeway would have the blaster set any higher in case he had to actually use it on him.
I wasn’t sure why he was trying to convince me to stay, but I did know that he was telling me things I really wanted to believe. This is my home, even when it’s far away. I am an Autobot, even when I’m wandering through the mud they call streets on my other world. No matter how big the blow out was between me and Magnus or me and anybody that sent me packing, I always return when they needed me. I would love to stay. But I simply knew that it wouldn’t work out.
I shook my head. “Sorry, Freeway. I’ve tried so many times under so many different conditions. I’ve come back during massive outbreaks in the fighting, during times of peace, and just about any other imaginable circumstance. It’s not just what the Autobots think of me. I mean, I suppose that you’re right about that. That could change. But I won’t. I can’t. If I leave here now, though, with everybody on all sides feeling relatively good about the situation, maybe I can come back just for the heck of it and bum around. That’d be nice for a change.”
Freeway shrugged, already knowing what my decision would be. If you had asked me before this mission, I never would have believed me and this guy would start to understand each other. The good money would have been on me killing him.
“Yeah, I guess,” he finally said. “Well,” he reached out his hand, “keep in touch.”
I studied the hand carefully and cautiously reached mine out. Without touching his hand, I reached back and grabbed his wrist, turning his palm up. In it rested a small device, which unless I was mistaken, was small shell of an oxidizing agent. I was smart enough to look up Freeway’s bio on the way back to Cybertron. The practical joker part stood in particular.
Freeway laughed and shook his hand loose. He backed towards the door and pointed at me. “Catch ya later.”
I smiled after him once he left the room. I turned and looked out the window one last time. ‘Home,’ I thought wistfully. ‘It’s the not the last time I’ll see you again.’
The End.
Back to the Fanfic Page
Back to the Prime's Watercloset