Why start a holy war when you can start the Great War?
3P
Shockwave was somewhat less than amused. Whether the message had originated from Tripredicus or not, it meant that someone, somewhere, was on to him, and someone was going to make his next move very important.
Obsidian was suspicious, now: whether it was the brewing rumors, whether Elita's new recruits had told him inadvertently, the general would, also have to be dealt with, or else his time was through barring the gates. The public was catching on. And Darkwave was biding his time. A smart move perhaps, to wait until an army was prepared on the Predacon side, to settle in and observe; Soundwave had never been one to make a hasty decision in command. It made his descendant a powerful ally, but his position was not currently in question, and Shockwave feared his own would be, soon.
Shockwave was over nine million years old, and Elita had never seen him reveal when he was tired. He'd never sit to work when he could be standing. But she knew him well enough to tell from his posture, from his pacing, from the set of his unchanging eye. He was upset, and yet he barely spoke a word. He emerged into the main office—Elita's office—from their private rooms in the back, and said nothing to her but: "I'll send for Grimlock to peruse my newest proposal."
"Darling..." She attempted to gesture him to a seat, but, naturally, he wouldn't have it.
"Your new recruits. Send Waspinator in to see me, as well."
"Double check?"
"The young sparks are the only ones that catch the big mistakes." He accepted the embrace Elita offered him, setting his one functional hand on her back. "We shall have to have a conference with the Predacons."
"Of course. ...To explain why we have failed them."
"And not a word shall be spoken among us of what is really happening. Yet they all already know."
Elita stepped away. "I...don't like this."
"Nor do I." Shockwave pushed the com button on his wife's polished oak desk. "General. Your assistance is required."
Waspinator scratched the Maximal symbol on his head, as he often did, ever since the day when he decided to adopt it. "Girls built funny," he declared, somewhat to the irritation of the med-bot who was trying to explain Autobot anatomy. "Autobots built funny, and girls built funny, so Autobot girls...built VERY funny."
Otternaut giggled to herself, as she hung her Maximal Pax plaque up on the wall behind her desk. ...Imagine that, her very own desk in the council citadel! Her very own office, which she shared with the planet's best repair specialists!
Elita's primary medical assistant signed off the com, and turned to Waspinator. "Good news. We got a dealer for those refit joints. We ship you out for a fitting tomorrow."
"Goodie!" Waspinator clapped his hands like an excited child.
"That's great! I knew they'd fix you up!" exclaimed Otternaut.
There was a knock on the door, and Waspinator's teacher opened it. Elita One ducked a little under the doorframe, then settled in comfortably in the high-ceilinged room. "How are my new students doing?"
"Wazzpinator got special fitting tomorrow!" Waspinator exclaimed. His mentor looked up to Elita and shrugged.
Elita smiled warmly as she looked down at the insect. "Waspinator, my husband requests your assistance. It is, as he says, of utmost importance."
Waspinator blinked in surprise, and pointed to himself as he gave Elita One a questioning look. She nodded at him. He gave another questioning look to Otternaut, whose optics reflected nothing but sympathy. Waspinator swallowed hard, and stood up straight. "Waspinator doing important duty for Magnaboss. But...hopefully...be right back."
"Have fun," Otternaut responded, sheepishly.
Waspinator nodded again, then buzzed out of the room.
"Everything going well?" Elita asked of her assistants.
"Well, he's smarter than he seems, anyway. Otternaut here is a quick study! She'll be up through in record time."
"Good!"
Otternaut looked away as the pair talked, hoping to avoid being in the direct line of a compliment. After a moment, she felt the need to interrupt, and gingerly stepped in to the conversation. "Magnaboss... ma'am?"
"Yes?"
Now having Elita's attention, she looked away. "I was wondering, that is to say...could I talk to you?"
"Yes, always. And I hope in time you will, eventually, be comfortable just calling me Elita."
Otternaut halted in momentary surprise. "You—I'd be allowed to do that?"
"Hopefully we'll be working together a long time."
"I'd like that."
"What is it you wanted to ask me?"
"I—I know it's none of my business, really, and I probably shouldn't ask, but—"; Otternaut looked away again, "you said they had to erase GuardianClaw before? He seems like such a nice guy. What happened?"
Elita's expression darkened. "No dear, your friend, as you perceive, he is not... such a nice guy."
"Just doesn't seem like quite as much FUN to me," Snitch concluded. "Hey, sign up with the Maxie-revolution, and make the Decepticons look bad all over again. Or..." he pounded his drink onto the grime-covered metal of the tabletop, "join the Predacon revolution, and get somethin' for free I USUALLY gotta pay for!" His laugh had an edge of a whisper. "Maxies are gonna be losin' numbers! Matrix off-line, Predacons got better parties..." His voice lowered. "If Magnaboss REALLY is who they're SAYING he is..."
"Don't believe it, not for a minute," Burrimus responded, at a much greater volume. "Decepticon wants soldiers, he conquers the Warriors, not the Diplomats."
"De-CEPT-a. They always do what you don't expect."
"I'll believe that when I see it." The badger/fixer finished his own drink, signaled the barkeep for another. "At least the business is back in force again. Burns my circuits how MY pay rate's gotta stay tied directly to Swiftsting's."
"Darkwave's."
Burrimus snickered.
"Nah, s'true. Swiftsting has been kowtowing to that winged sewer rat ever since they got back from the unauthorized trip. And ya know why?" Snitch's voice dropped to a whisper again. "Shoooockkk... waaave."
"I don't buy it. I'll sell it for a profit if I gotta, but I sure as slag won't buy it."
The doors of the bar slammed open, and the patrons near the entryway clammed up as a tall figure, weight piled up in mottled grey fur and metal muscle on his shoulders, took a single step inside. Like the antagonist in a Western showdown, he scanned the room, with a sniff at the musty air. Only one optic was exposed to the air; the other was covered over with a metal plate, riveted crooked, with little finesse. No one was certain why Dredwulf, maximal dire wolf and bounty hunter, considered the missing optic an irrepairable wound. But they knew that, like the countless weapon scars that mottled his iron-colored frame, it had been missing as long as any of his employers could remember: since a time when many had different forms, and others had different names.
Dredwulf singled Snitch out after a moment, as the Predacon had feared he might. First the hunter pointed at Burrimus, accusing him: "You're not at work."
"I..." The badger stammered a moment. "I'm on a break. You collecting already?"
A single nod, then the hunter looked down to Snitch. "Information?"
Snitch giggled nervously. "Well, you know me... Hear the new stuff about the 'Last Maximal'? Pardoned on three counts of murder, then IMMEDIATELY goes rogue. Or, or there's the one about the poor Maxie sap they found dead in an alley in Silicon. Spider-bites, no energon in 'im, no witnesses. Open-and-shut, but most of the cult babes have alibis. They say—"
Dredwulf leans forward, and without another word, reached over and tore off a half of one of the organic fly's wings. Snitch yelped in pain, drawing the attention of anyone not already witnessing the event. Dredwulf leaned in, staring the small Predacon down. "You know what I'm talking about."
"This—this ain't the rat's usual sniffing grounds, if that's what you're after! You know he—he wouldn't be caught off-lined anywhere east of Silicon..."
"No, if he was caught anywhere east of Silicon he'd get off-lined," muttered Burrimus.
"...best I know, you have to check underground!"
"Tell me the bruin is with him."
"Cahoots."
"Confirmed?"
"Confirmed!"
"Good." Dredwulf eased up. "He's easier to track, anyway."
"You know," Burrimus added, "he—the bear, he's worth double still kickin' what he is off-lined..."
"I know." The hunter armed his gun. "It's a pity."
"I don't like giving up on Maximals," Elita said after a moment, resigned.
Otternaut felt the need to argue her friend's case. "He saved my life."
"His Maximal programming kicks in at unusual times, I believe. Others have not been so fortunate."
"What did he do? That got him erased, I mean."
"He kills people in ways I do not approve of," Elita responded. She seemed to choke something back. "For example, I happened to LIKE the boy. I am sorry he betrayed us. I was sorry that he died."
"He... which..." Otternaut was at a loss. "Sorry who died?"
Elita paused. "Cheetor. I'm sorry... I thought you..." Yes, the otter had been there, that day, but maybe she didn't remember. "You WERE there." Elita had been certain that Cheetor was going to return from the battle site at the Pit, but, now that he was gone, too... "He was depressed. He didn't have a lot left. He wanted to help Optimus." But Optimus had been doomed to fail. Still, there was no lie in Elita's voice when she continued: "I wish he could have."
Those fortunate ones...
To be fast, and free and young
I used to count myself among
Such fortunate ones.
But that's been denied.
No longer time still on my side
Had too much passion, too much pride;
It's all been denied.
High expectations,
I flew too close to the sun.
I've wasted all my tries
And now I know my time is done...
It's all gonna stand in my way...
I don't want to go on this way...
I don't want to face the next day,
Or the night.
"Eerie," said the researcher, shuddering.
"Yes, they said he'd left some recordings behind," Scanner responded, coldly. "Get to wiping them; this research is top-secret for now."
"I've never heard that old song...played quite like that. I didn't even know he—"
Another Maximal pulled Cheetor's guitar out from behind the cold work bench, and finished his colleague's sentence. "Had it with him? Yup." They'd had Cheetor caged in this room for a while, when his pain was too great for him to control long-dormant feral impulses. Transmetal II was a frightening technology, but thanks to his use as a test subject, the Maximals had better measures to counteract it. Scanner had been far enough from this room that he hadn't seen what that work entailed. But he knew that the cheetah's main power had been speed healing, and the scientists had been working him to his limit. Magnaboss's orders, or one half of the team, at any rate. But the other...
"Wait. Keep those; don't throw them to scrap." Scanner had a momentary second thought, and put his hand on the arm of the guitar. "The file, too. Magnaboss said once she liked hearing him play."
"In the wake of Primal's death, his was easy to ignore," Elita said. "Megatron has died for his transgression. Guardian has not."
"It just... I know it shouldn't bother me, but it does, somehow."
When Elita spoke again, her words were chilled; she spoke as her husband sometimes spoke. "There is little chance you will have to be there when the final blow is struck. Be glad you came to us."
Elita's sudden uninvolvment, her…anger? made Otternaut a little confused. "He protected me. He was... he is my friend. And I know what he did was wrong, and I know you've said erasure didn't work on him before, whatever it is that he'd done to deserve that, but... it just feels like I'm betraying him, even though I know it's the right thing to do, because he's trying to start another war." She sobbed. "It's all so confusing sometimes."
"You have not betrayed him. We would have found him regardless." Elita noted now the sudden change in her own tone, and softened. "Don't be afraid. It is prison he faces, not execution without trial."
Otternaut barely heard her. "I mean, I've got a great place to live now, and friends, and it's just totally gear working for you and everything. He's out there without anything. He probably thinks I've betrayed him, or will realize it when I haven't tried to go find him. He's going to die alone, and with nothing, and... nobody expects that..." She began to cry. "Nobody expects to die alone, and nobody should."
Elita got down to her knees, lifting Otternaut's saddened face to look her in the eye. "Otternaut, we are a Maximal people. You may see murder in my husband's eye, but we do not offer your friend a lonely death. He'll be tried just as any criminal, and sentenced as any criminal."
The promise, perhaps even false, still cheered Otternaut somewhat. "Do you think I'll be allowed to see him?"
Elita searched her optics. "Is that really what you want?"
Otternaut nodded slightly. "I know it won't help, but I just feel like if I explained it to him..." She paused. "He probably wouldn't believe me, would he?"
"I cannot say." Elita removed her hand. "If Shockwave and I could sit down with each Maximal on the planet, and explain ourselves, very clearly, as I have done with you... I like to hope that everyone would believe us."
Waspinator itched his head again.
"Plan...look okay to Waspinator."
"Good. You are dismissed."
Waspinator hopped down from the metal stool, and took a long look around Shockwave's own, utilitarian room. It was easy to tell which touches in the shared space were Elita's: the marble floor, potted plants. The computer console, standing upright, unpolished metal, was all Shockwave. There was a bed the two presumably shared, but Waspinator doubted very much that Shockwave indulged a sleep cycle, at least any more often than every hundred years or so. The room was Decepticon-scaled, and Waspinator felt smaller than usual in these spaces. He was willing to admit that the cyclops frightened him; ancestral memories filled him with an artificial awe. But he was an advisor now. This was Waspinator's place, too.
"Just—"
Shockwave turned to look at him expectedly, and he stopped cold.
"Just—" Waspinator buzzed upward, hoping to address Shockwave at eye level. ...He hovered. Well, almost eye level. "If Predacons know Maximals are Decepticons, and Maximals know Predacons are Unicrons, why everyone say nothing?"
A moment of processing. "First of all, the Maximals, are, as advertised, descended from Autobots. Make no mistake; I am the only variable."
"Why?"
"I prefer heroes to hoards. Heroes are more predictable."
"Ohhhh..."
"Second of all, the difference between public knowledge and public rumor is still very different. I will not be the first to tip my hand. Tripredicus has made no indication that they are aware of Elita."
"Ah. So THEY not going to hurt pretty ladybot."
"Not on my life." Another pause. "Still, you have pointed out a flaw in my plans, as is your duty, and I am going to consider it. Your assistance was appreciated."
"Really?"
Shockwave stared the Predacon down for just a moment. "Yes. You are dismissed." Waspinator floated out half in a haze, half on a cloud. One of the greatest Decepticon generals ever just said his assistance was...appreciated?!
"Do you know why each and every one of you is formed with a weapon in your grasp?"
"Because that's how the Autobots were?"
"Possibly. That's one guess. To be honest, I wish I knew. All I know is, if you didn't start out with them, you would get them from somewhere. We weren't always like this."
"We weren't?"
Elita One's face lit up a moment, as she lingered on a memory. When she spoke again, it was a mutter, rising into a sentence. "...boats, and sunshine, and sporting events, and simple jobs for simple people. We never learned anything and we were stupid and happy. Before Megatron, before Elita One, before anything."
The Golden Age. A time Otternaut had heard only stories about. It fascinated her. "No war? No killing?"
It took Elita a moment still to come out of her reverie. "I am old....and I am tired...of the fighting."
Otternaut agreed. "All it is is more people dead—good people—and then that's something else to lay blame and fight for." She blinked. "I... Primus, I almost ended up like that."
"Casting blame?"
"Casting blame, fighting because of it. It was like I'd finally seen one too many good people die, and all of a sudden I almost didn't care anymore. I didn't care about stopping the fight, or even if I was doing right by the Covenant. I just wanted to make someone else pay." She paced backward as her voice raised. "I threw away my staff. I listened to what GuardianClaw had to say about fighting to make it so no one had to fight." The strangeness of the vow taking hold of her, she looked down at her feet. "It was so hard not to listen, even though it was wrong. It felt like even Primus didn't care anymore, so why should I?"
"My dear, I've been working for more than ten million years, STILL trying to figure out what is right. To be honest, I still don't know. But I believe that Primus sends us signs."
"I hope so. I wonder, sometimes, if he would be very angry with us." Elita laughed slightly, thinking back to her meeting with Vector Sigma. "If he was, at this point I think I'd stand and argue my case."
"Would he even listen?" Otternaut was still very serious. "It isn't like very many try to really listen to him."
Still thinking of Vector Sigma, Elita shook her head a little. "I tried..."
In the decacycle interim, while the Matrix recovered, Vector Sigma—component of Primus—had learned the technique for altering a crude metal frame into a Maximal protoform. The Matrix attendants, who had been off work for the last few weeks, were more than pleased to have contact with the legendary computer, though it was rare to talk back while it was completing such an important task.
Rhinox was chilled a little by the impersonality of the task of creation. A grateful female, mate in tow, ejected a borne spark, and an attendant delivered it. The couple was then dismissed. Though some day they might see a familiar face on the street, stop, and wonder to themselves, they would never know exactly who or what their own offspring became. Thinking of Stormcrow, he wondered how different the system would be if everyone knew the names and identities of their offspring: if parents were advisors, and not strangers.
Meanwhile, Alpha Trion, deep in the programming files of Vector Sigma, still pondered his lone daughter's choices.
"Is there anyone who remembers what it was like before the fighting? You said it was before you; was there someone who told you what it was like?"
"Oh, no, I remember. I was just a different person then."
"I..." Ariel! Otternaut's mind raced for a moment. How stupid of her: Elita One was...she really was Cybertron's legendary female general. Feeling suddenly sheepish and unfamiliar, Otternaut covered her tracks. "...of course, I just didn't realize you would remember, I guess. Sorry."
Elita smiled. "You'll get tired of my old stories, some day."
"Get tired of hearing about a united Cybertron? I don't see how I could." Otternaut sighed. "I wish I could have seen it."
"Beautiful place," Elita mused.
"Were there really trees?"
"Yes. And rivers," Elita added, hitting the otter in a weak spot.
"Gear. It would have been so nice to see those."
Elita paused, and gave Otternaut a sudden glare. "Are you going to ask questions about my ex-husband? ...They always DO."
Otternaut swallowed. "It's hardly my place to ask what Cybertron was like. And it seemed like you didn't want to talk about him before." She shook her head. "I have no right to ask you about him."
Elita made no move to hide her surprise. "Are you certain?"
"He... He may have been a public hero to my ancestors, and I'm sure I wouldn't mind hearing about him from someone who knew him. But he was a private citizen to you. It's not my place to ask. It wouldn't be right to just intrude on your memory of him, no matter what that memory is."
Pleased at the thoughtful response, Elita smiles. "Otternaut, Optimus Prime was a leader of men, he was a leader of battles, and he was the best Cybertron ever created at what he was designed to do."
Overhearing, Otternaut's repair specialist mentor added, "Which is what she always says."
Elita smiled, and nodded.
"That's why they loved him," Otternaut said softly. "Why they still do."
"They always will. And they should." Elita sighed, and stood up again. "And now, if you haven't any other questions...you have training to complete, and I must go keep my husband's hand off the button."
"I..." Otternaut caught herself. "Thank you."
"You'll get tired of my Golden Age stories eventually," Elita predicted. "I promise."
"It's hard to get tired of your dreams."
"Good to hear that you and I dream the same dreams. You're a fine addition to the team."
"Thank you." Otternaut grinned. "I'm awfully glad to be here."
The moment Elita One was out of earshot, the med-bot still standing next to the Autobot charts gave a long sigh. "Nope, you'll NEVER get tired of the Golden Age stories."
Obsidian reviewed the file again. The Maximal records were perfectly clear, stating a death for the Decepticon Shockwave during the last battles of the Great War. Cursing his lesser security access, the general ruminated again over what the little Maximal had told him. Shockwave in charge of EVERYTHING. If that were actually true, it would be simple for him to alter the records as he saw fit, and a skim at any except maximum clearance would be entirely worthless.
How best to handle the situation by the book? Obsidian clicked on the terminal and referenced a second file.
MAXIMAL PROTOCOL FOR ENCOUNTER WITH AUTOBOT
Skim, skim...
MAXIMAL PROTOCOL FOR ENCOUNTER WITH DECEPTICON
If it were true...
A subheader for Decepticons found on Cybertron itself had a process to follow.
"Step 1: Apprehend:"
Easier said than done, Obsidian thought.
"Decepticons, as Autobots, are valued ancestors, not simple criminals, and should be treated accordingly. The Decepticon attitude, however, promises to disallow the peaceful apprehension that an Autobot encounter would likely provide. Inform the Deception that his presence on Cybertron is no longer allowed by Maximal law, and his best option is to speak with the Maximal Council without resistance. Capture undamaged if at all possible. Use of deadly force allowed only in the most extreme of circumstance, when Maximal citizens are at risk."
Which would probably be nearly every time.
"Step 2: Determine legal status:
"If the Decepticon is listed as living on an amnesty colony, he is to be re-deported to that colony as soon as resources allow. If the Decepticon is listed as missing in action or confirmed dead, he is to be tried for war crimes under the details listed in Pax Cybertronia (Subsection 3.49)."
Records on Shockwave determine him dead, therefore...
Obsidian began to sub-reference the Pax file mentioned, but as he was waiting for the display, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He glanced over to the dim corner, and saw a shape perched on the edge of towered metal machinery. It was a bird, black, red, gold, and angular. Its wings flapped once, and it stared, red Decepticon optics down at Obsidian, who staggered backward. For a tense moment, the two 'bots glared across the room, each wondering if the other was planning to move. Obsidian muttered to himself: "Step One: Step One: Apprehend..."
"You've nothing to worry from Laserbeak, General. I simply sent him to scout your current location. Usual protocols do not apply."
Laserbeak vaulted from his perch, flying to somewhere behind the general. For a nanoclick, Obsidian was afraid to turn around. He knew who he would see standing there, and he was not sure he was entirely ready. He pushed his emotions aside, and turned, looking back, and up, into the single staring eye of Shockwave.
"For your duties standing guard at my Citadel, as menial as you might find them, I feel it is time we increase your security clearance," said the giant. "Wouldn't you agree?" Laserbeak, a bird nearly Obsidian's size, was perched calmly on Shockwave's shoulder, preening himself.
Obsidian stared mutely for a moment. "It's true."
"Yes, what you have been told is true. It will not be long before all of Cybertron is aware. However, for now;" Shockwave leveled his gun-shaped arm, making its size and potential firepower very clear to the Maximal standing before him, "speaking my name aloud is a VERY punishable offense."
Obsidian balked. What he heard behind that threat was absolute: he could not even tell Stryka; he could not utter the word "Shockwave" beyond the Citadel walls. And he was a Maximal, offspring of Autobot frames, Autobot sparks. He was torn between his ancestral duty and his programmed duty... And came at last to a conclusion. Obsidian took a knee before the towering Decepticon. "Magnaboss, my allegiance to you, and your Cybertron, is still unwavering."